Page 30 of Until the End (The Lost Letters #3)

Ginny

M ariana firmly grips my hand in hers. “It’s so good to meet you in person.

Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the sitting area in her spacious office that looks out over LA.

In her sleek lavender pantsuit, Mariana seems formidably approachable.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a ballerina bun, and her makeup is light and natural.

“Thank you. It’s great to finally meet you, too.”

“How do you feel being back in LA?”

I settle onto the couch cushions while Mariana sits in the chair next to me. “Good and bad. I’m excited to be working with you and to start recording the album, but there are a lot of rough memories here, too.”

Mariana’s expression is soft and lacks pity. It makes me respect her even more. “Well, let’s get some paperwork signed, and then we can chat, yeah?”

Understanding dawns on me that she wants to get the NDAs signed to allow us to speak plainly without having to worry that our secrets will be sold to the highest bidder.

It happens, of course. A piece of paper can’t physically stop someone from breaking an NDA, but it does make legal action a whole lot easier.

Mariana and I go through each page of the paperwork. I’ve already read through all of this, but she wants to make sure I understand all the clauses. We talk comfortably throughout the mundane process, and by the end of the hour, I feel like we’ve connected more than the first time we chatted.

Once the paperwork’s filed, Mariana describes the opportunities she wants me to think about.

She has a couple of movie deals she thinks I’d be perfect for, which makes my eyes bug out at her.

They’re both musicals, and I guess my voice would fit one of the characters.

I tell her I’ll think about it, but I’m pretty sure my answer will be no.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” I start. Mariana raises an eyebrow, indicating she’s listening. “Writing music has always been my favorite part of this job. I’ve been wondering if I should transition into writing songs for other people more than myself.”

Mariana leans back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “Is it the fame you struggle with the most, or…?”

“I do have a hard time with that, yes, but to be honest, the touring is hard on me. Having to put myself out there night after night for months on end is more exhausting than I could ever describe. By the time we get to the last shows, I feel like I don’t have enough energy to give the crowd a proper performance.

I’m half-assing it, and I feel guilty. The thing I love most is knowing that people are resonating with my songs.

I don’t need the glory of people fawning over me to get that. ”

“Do you never want to tour again?”

I pause. I’ve never thought about that as an option. “No, I liked touring at first. Sharing my music with the world was a blast. Then the second album came out, and the schedule was grueling. It only got worse from there.”

She nods. “I think we can find some common ground between what the studio will try to demand and what we’ll accept. I want you to have the life you dream of. If you’re not happy, neither am I.”

I think this is the start of a great partnership.

“Where to, Miss Ginny?” Daren asks from the driver’s seat.

“Dinner. Let’s find something to bring back to the hotel.”

“Anything in particular you want?”

“Oh, what about that Indian place with the best naan?”

“Carson will love that. He was excited to try new foods while he’s out here.”

I smile at that. “I was hoping he would be. Did you guys talk much on the drive over?”

“We did. I got to know him a little better, and I have to say, you’ve picked a good one.”

“Took me a minute, but I finally did.”

“Can I say something that’s not really in my job description?” Daren’s hesitancy makes me frown.

“Of course. I see you as a friend, Daren, not just an employee.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I just want you to know that the Weasel had a lot of us fooled, and I’m sorry I didn’t do something to help you sooner.”

I reach between the front seats and pat him on the shoulder with a laugh.

Why am I surprised that Carson’s nickname for Wesley has permeated my whole team?

“I appreciate you saying that. I don’t blame you for not noticing.

It wasn’t your job to monitor my relationship.

He wasn’t physically harming me, so how could you have known? ”

“I knew you weren’t yourself, and that should’ve been a sign on its own. ”

“It’s in the past. I’ll carry the trauma with me forever, but I won’t let it dictate my life anymore. Now, on to other traumatic topics. Have we heard anything from my stalker?”

Daren grunts. “No. The rat hasn’t come out of his nest long enough to track him. I’ve had the guys surveilling the hotel and keeping track of who comes and goes.”

“So there haven’t been any men in trench coats creeping around the lobby?”

Daren snorts. “No, unfortunately. That would make my job a whole lot easier.”

When we get closer, I place a call to the restaurant for a carryout order. I get entirely too much food, but we’ll need leftovers for tomorrow. I also got Daren his favorite curry to take home with him. He gave me the stink eye through the rearview mirror when he heard me order it.

A little while later, we’re pulling into the packed parking lot of the restaurant. Daren finds a space to squeeze into and heads inside to pick up our food.

I stare out the tinted window, coming to terms with how drastically things have changed.

I was supposed to be married by now. Wesley and I would’ve just been getting back from our honeymoon, and I’d have jumped right into the recording studio for the next album.

Instead, I’m living in a hotel with my best friend and hiding from a stalker.

It’s insane.

People mill around the area, carrying shopping bags.

I’ve always enjoyed people watching, especially when I’m in the SUV.

No one can see through the windows while I stare at them.

Creepy, I know, but I find their lives fascinating.

I want to know what they do for work and who their friends are.

If they’re happy or just pretending to be.

Living my life in a bubble of safety has given me a new respect for how others live.

Across the street from the restaurant, someone’s standing in the entrance of an alley. It’s shadowed and hard to see what they’re doing, but it feels like they’re looking right at me.

There’s no way they can see me—the tint is too dark.

I keep staring back, hoping maybe they’ll move and I can see their face. It’s definitely a man. The build just doesn’t fit the typical size of a woman.

Maybe it’s no one. He could be a drug dealer, waiting to make a deal, or a homeless person just hanging out. I have no clue.

What I do know is I’m glad I never got out of the car. They can’t know for sure that I’m in here. Even if they recognize Daren, they can’t see if I’m in here, which means for now, I’m safe.