Only years of practice schooling my face and my emotions keeps me from spitting my drink all over myself.

    I do choke on it, though. Apparently, you can’t gasp and swallow at the same time. Who knew?

    It takes every ounce of willpower I’ve got to keep the cough locked deep inside. Somehow I manage, mainly because there’s no way I’m giving her that satisfaction.

    Of course, tea in the lungs makes it more than a little difficult to breathe, let alone talk. Not that I could if I wanted to. My voice—like the rest of me—is frozen as Sly’s way-too-sexy face shes before my eyes.

    Thankfully, Bryan steps in. The fact that he looks absolutely mystified only helps sell the story. “Mateo Sylvester? The football yer? I don’t think Sloane’s ever even met Sly.”

    “Really?” Vittoria turns back to me, and there’s a calcting look in her eyes that tells me she’s got something. I just hope she’s not a mind reader, because there’s not a lot I can do tobat the fact that Sly’s been on my mind significantly more than he should be. “Is that true, Sloane?”

    “Actually, no.” I start to take a casual sip of my drink to show I’m fine, but I’m still not recovered from thest one and it goes down roughly. Still, I persevere. “I met him for a few minutes the other day, when I was performing in Austin. His grandmother’s a big fan.”

    “Is that who’s in this photo with the two of you?” she asks. “His grandmother?”

    She swipes something open on her phone, then extends it to me as Bryan crowds around to look.

    It’s the selfie I let abu Ximena take of the two of us in my dressing room for her Instagram ount. I didn’t think anything of it—my fans post pics of us together whenever they can catch me out in public somewhere. What I didn’t ount for at the time is that Sly is clearly in the photo, too. He’s leaning a shoulder against the wall of my dressing room, looking hot as hell and like he totally belongs there.

    More, the intense look on his face as he stares at me—not his grandmother, me—speaks volumes. So much so that it has my heart kicking up and my mouth drying out despite myself.

    Click. Her photographer chooses this moment to zero in and take a series of close-ups of my face.

    “That’s her,” I say as dismissively as I can manage—which I know isn’t nearly as dismissive as it should be. But I really liked Ximena, and it feels dishonest to pretend otherwise. “We talked for a few minutes and took a couple of pics. Then they left.”

    “That’s all it was?” she asks, her gaze locked on my face. “A quick meeting with his grandmother?”

    “That’s all it was,” I answer with a shrug, because it’s true.

    Any thoughts of Sly I’ve had since then don’t matter. Neither does the fact that I’ve been staring at his phone number at least five times a day since Olivia sent it to me.

    Behind the reporter’s back, Bryan looks half relieved and half like he wants to strangle me, but since that’s his normal expression, I feel like I’ve done a pretty decent job dodging the grenade Vittoria justunched my way.

    Until she follows up with, “I noticed you don’t follow Sly on any social media ounts. Do you n to?”

    That’s an easy answer, so easy that I don’t think twice about what I’m going to say before I blurt out, “No. Why would I?”

    “You tell me.” The conniving look is back in her eyes. “You seem to have a taste for men at the top of their games, especially ones who are adored by the world for it. Sly fits that mold.”

    My stomach sinks, but I pretend not to notice.

    “Come on, Vittoria.” Bryan sounds full-on annoyed now, and for once that annoyance is directed at someone other than me. “You know very well that Jarrod and Hayden are off-limits. It’s the first rule in the interview packet—”

    “I didn’t ask about Jarrod or Hayden. I asked about Sly Sylvester.”

    “Yes, as a way to get to the truly tragic stories of Sloane’s exes.” Bryan remains firm. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss today.”

    “The fact that you think my questions about your client’s new romantic connection aren’t relevant makes no sense,” Vittoria shoots back. “Especially considering her reputation, deserved or otherwise, of attaching herself to talented men and sucking them dry.”

    And there it is. The usation I can’t get away from. It doesn’t matter how many songs I write or stages I set on fire. To people like her, I’ll never be an artist. Just the girl who ruins men the world protects. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. But the old ache res anyway, proof that some wounds remember the shape of the knife that made them.

    If it weren’t for my years of media training, I might haveunched myself off this couch and bitch-pped the reporter myself. As it is, I fight past the pain, a millionebacks hovering on my lips. Before I can find the right one, Bryan does it for me.

    “Thesements are off the record,” he snaps. “And this interview is over.”

    For the first time, Vittoria looks surprised. More, she looks uneasy, like it’s just urred to her that she might have gone too far. “You’re seriously ending the interview after ten minutes? These are valid questions.”

    “But your characterization of Ms. Walker is not.” Bryan looks affronted on my behalf, and I appreciate his defense even though I literally pay him for it.

    But that doesn’t mean I can afford to just sit here and let him speak for me. My reputation relies on my lethal bite. If I let this reporter walk away without so much as a nibble, that safety begins to erode. And there’s no way I’m going back to the way things were when I was defenseless. Not when I’m already so close to breaking.

    Which is why, when Bryan moves to escort Vittoria to the door, I hold up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, Bryan. I’ll answer her questions.”

    He looks like he wants to overrule me, but again, I pay him. So he just steps back, looking more than a little panicked as he waits for whatever I do next.

    What I do is turn back to Vittoria, making damn sure the look in my eyes is as mocking as it is dismissive. “A cursory nce would tell you that I don’t follow anyone on social media, so yes, I can say with absolute certainty that I have no ns to follow this Sly on any tform. We met for ten minutes, nine of which I spent talking to his very charming grandmother. He mostly loitered. After that, they went one way and I went another. That’s the extent of—”

    “Thank you, Sloane.” She gives Bryan a smug smile. “That’s all the statement I was looking for. Now—”

    “Do not interrupt me.” I wield my tone like a sword. “And don’t call me Sloane. We’re not friends.”

    Her eyes go wide, her mouth gaping open as she searches for a reply, but I’ve got the high ground now and I’m not giving it up. “This little end run of yours, trying to dig up stories that have been over for years, isn’t original. Bryan sees it twenty times a day from reporters with more skill and better resumes than you. Your questions are tedious andck imagination, so if you think backing me into a corner is going to be your big break, think again. Also, I don’t need you to like me. I just need you to remember that I don’t open a vein for anyone, let alone you.”

    I pluck a cookie I have no desire to eat off the te in front of me, kick my feet—tarant slippers and all—up on the table between us, and continue without missing a beat. “If you have any original questions, feel free to ask them now. Otherwise, you can exin to your editor why Ms. Walker told you to shove your bullshit interview and your pedantic attitude up your ass.”

    I take a deliberate bite of the cookie, ignoring the way it turns to sawdust in my mouth. Then say, “These are delicious. You should grab a few on your way out.”