Page 26 of Home Coming

“We need to strike while the iron is hot,” he began, the exuberance evident in his tone. “I want to capitalize on this before TikTok, which has the attention span of a gnat, moves onto something else.”

She sighed, wishing they all would move on. “Okay. So what do we do?”

“I’ve booked you two hours of studio time for late this afternoon here in the city. You’re going to record your song—that song—and then we’re getting it up on Spotify. It isyoursong, right? You wrote it? Please tell me you own the rights?”

“Yeah, it’s mine. But you told me music wasn’t part of my brand. That I could only focus on fashion and beauty.”

“That was before I knew you could sing. And you didn’t tell me you wrote songs. Or could play guitar.”

“She plays like ten instruments,” Josie piped in. “Our band teacher said she was like the Swiss Army knife of our high school band.”

Quinn let out a snort and Bailey remembered his being forced by his parents to go to every one of Josie’s school band performances during his senior year. Of course, Bailey had been performing too, not that he’d noticed her back then.

He was noticing her now, thanks to the song that told the world her boyfriend had fucked around on her with a skinny little model. The song Xander wanted on Spotify so the rest of the world who might not have already caught it on social would hear it.

Great.

“Can you get to the studio by four-thirty today? Where are you anyway?” he asked.

“I’m upstate. I guess I can make it back. I won’t make the morning bus but there’s a train out of Albany if I can get a ride—”

“Jeezus, Bailey. Considering what happened in your apartment, will youpleaseact like you earneleven thousand dollarsa post and take a damn car service instead of mass transit? I beg you.”

“Ten thousand,” Bailey corrected as her gaze skittered over to Quinn, whose poker face briefly registered that dollar amount with the twitch of a brow.

On the screen Xander shook his head. “Not anymore. Your price just went up with that new follower count.”

“What happened in her apartment?” Quinn asked after grabbing her hand so his face showed on the screen and he could speak directly to Xander.

The enormous dollar amounts being thrown around like it was nothing wasn’t what had Quinn joining the conversation. It was Xander eluding to the intruder.

Xander cocked up one brow. “Oh, so you didn’t tell Gray Sweatpants here what’s up? Please, allow me. Someone broke into Bailey’s apartment. Walked right off the fire escape and into the window while she was there, alone, because she insists on living in a shit building like a damn pauper and not hiring security.”

“It’s not like it’s a slum. It’s just…modest,” Bailey defended softly.

Over her protest, Xander continued, “I told her she was not to spend another night in that apartment and she was supposed to have hired herself a bodyguard. I don’t suppose that’s you, is it, Sweatpants?”

Quinn’s eyebrows crept up at the nickname. “The name’s Quinn. And no, it’s not me. Was the break-in random or were they targeting Bailey specifically?” he asked.

Bailey shook her head. “I’m sure it was random.”

“It’s definitely not random,” Xander answered at the same time. “They tossed the place and now we know why. Stuff is starting to show up online for sale.Yourstuff, Bailey.”

She sucked in a breath as she reached for the back of the sofa unsteadily.

“What stuff?” Quinn asked.

“A dress and a pair of shoes. I recognized both as being from sponsors. And they’re her sizes.”

Bailey paled further at that information, shooting Quinn a glance.

“I’ve heard no mention from Bailey of her needing or hiring security,” Quinn, now in possession of the cell, told Xander.

Quinn’s gaze moved back to where she stood still braced on the sofa.

“You might be fine here in town with me and Josie, but you’re not traveling to the city alone. And not on mass transit. Not gonna happen. Not on my watch.”

“I like this guy,” Xander said. “So, Quinn, what do you suggest?”

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