Bright sunshine poured through the window, warming my skin and coaxing me from sleep. My smile fell away as I patted the empty space next to me. I sat up, and looked around with bleary eyes.

A tray sat on the bench at the foot of my bed, a piece of paper tucked between the cup of coffee and plate of waffles.

Frowning, I recalled the notes Beckett used to leave strewn around the loft before he’d go on tour. As if his abandoned trail of breadcrumbs and sweet nothings would cushion my fall after they led me off the cliff. And there was always a cliff.

He’s not Beckett.

I picked up the lukewarm cup of coffee and stared at the frothy contents. Sweet with extra cream, just the way I liked it.

Gazing at the note, I took a sip, but before I got the nerve to sneak a peek, my phone shrilled.

Scrambling to retrieve the device from the pocket of my jeans, I debated answering Tori’s call.

“Hey, Belle.”

“Do you know what I’m looking at?” she asked without preamble.

I picked at the crispy edges of the waffle. “No clue.”

“A bill from the Omni Hotel, charged to Twin Souls for a four-night stay.”

Groaning inwardly, I kicked myself for using my corporate American Express card to pay for Harper’s room. “And?”

When I heard teeth gnashing, I could almost picture the vein bulging in Tori’s neck. “What was she doing here, Taryn? I told you—”

My guise of serenity crumbled into a cloud of anger. “I didn’t meet her in the office.” Shoving to my feet, I stormed to my desk. “She’s my client, for fuck’s sake.”

“Our client, apparently, since she’s signed at Twin Souls.”

Not really, but oh well. I wasn’t going to bother explaining the finer nuances of Harper’s contract to Tori at the moment.

Yanking open the desk drawer, I searched for my super-secret hidden pack of cigarettes. After sneaking a couple of puffs of Chase’s smoke last night, I was craving a hit. Big time.

I stopped digging when I pulled out a long-forgotten photo shoved in the back of the drawer. Damaged, Leveraged, Revenged Theory and Drafthouse, all standing below a banner for the Sixth Street Takeover Tour.

And me, wrapped in Beckett’s arms, with Paige on one side and Tori on the other.

“Nothing happened between Harper and Dylan.”

The lie slipped out in a whisper as I closed the drawer.

Tori sighed. “What’s done is done. I just … I don’t want …”

To lose anything else.

Knowing her as well as I did, I could finish the sentence that she never would. But Dylan wasn’t Tori’s to lose, not when she’d never claimed him.

Sinking onto the bed, I stared out at the wisps of white fluff dotting the blue sky. “There won’t be any publicity. I’ve already told the label the story’s bullshit.”

After a long moment, Tori cleared her throat. “I saw the article in the Statesman. The one about you and Beckett.”

My stomach twisted. “Really, it’s out?”

She hummed. “Yep … this morning.”

In the end, Beckett’s misguided loyalty wouldn’t do any good. The next time he was spotted with a supermodel or a fangirl, the speculation would start again. The whispers.

I wonder what happened. I bet it’s Taryn. Poor Beckett.

I released a staggered breath. “Beckett doesn’t want to be linked to Maddy. So he just …”

Used me.

“I don’t think so. He said—”

I picked up my fork and stabbed at the waffles. “I know what he said. It doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah, he told me about that guy,” Tori said quietly. “Are you still seeing him?”

Since I’d yet to provide any details, the hurt edging her tone was justified.

My focus shifted to the note on the tray. “We’re just friends.”

Friends, at least …

“Well, you can tell me all about your friend tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

“Caged is playing the Parish. They’re down a manager.”

“I know. I’ve gotten a few emails from Logan Cage. But there’s something … Hold on…” I plucked my iPad from the nightstand and then did a quick search. “Here it is. Their last manager said they were trouble.” Scanning to the end of the article, I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. I know that bitch. She’s the problem. Dylan mentioned them a few months back, but I’ve been too busy to set up a meet.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sarcasm infused Tori’s tone. “Anyway, I think we should sign them.”

“Sign them?” I laughed. “That’s not how it works, Belle. You know that. I need to take a look and then—”

“That’s why I’m asking you to come along. I want to be involved in the vetting from now on.”

Tori was serious about extracting a little payback for Harper. And I had to wonder if she’d resort to such immature tactics if we hadn’t been friends since kindergarten. But the stakes were higher now. Higher than she realized.

“So, do you want to go, or what?” Tori pressed.

A headache threatened, but I willed it away. “Of course, I want to go. What time?”

“We’ll pick you up at eight.”

Fuck.

Dropping my head into my hand, I rubbed my temples. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Dylan and Beckett and me.”

“Why would you invite them, Belle?”

“Because I want their opinion,” she snapped.

Since my opinion was the only one that mattered, I needed to remind Tori of that by going along on her little adventure. “Fine. I’ll see you at eight.”

Ending the call, I tossed the phone on the bed, and since my day couldn’t get worse, I plucked Chase’s note from the tray.

Taryn,

Enjoy your breakfast. We’ll talk soon.

A brushoff …

I guess a week and a half was the shelf life for a fling. Especially one involving a superstar ex and newspaper articles full of angsty confessions.

At least he made me breakfast.

Disappointment swam in my gut as I dropped the note on top of the waffles. I watched the ink run as the butter spread across the paper. And when the scrawl was too opaque to read, I pushed to my feet and shuffled to my closet to choose my suit of armor for the day.