Page 39 of Last Chorus

Fifteen feet away, on the other side of Chateau Fontaine’s upscale bar, Evangeline sits with five other famous faces in a horseshoe booth. The lighting is dim, the music loud, and it’s close to two in the morning.

Besides the waitstaff, I’m the only sober person in the place.

The luxury hotel in West Hollywood is the last stop on Glow’s afterparty tour, and thank fuckfor that. I’m exhausted, my senses overloaded to the extreme, and Zander is at the end of his rope from me dragging him all over the city. Or he was until a few minutes ago. Now he’s flirting with a nerdy-looking dude I vaguely recognize from television.

Evangeline throws her head back in a laugh. I can’t hear it, but I don’t need to in order to know it’s fake.

The bad feeling I had earlier is back with a vengeance.

Something happened after I left the house. I have no idea what, since Lily and Rye have avoided me like the plague all night. But they’ve also avoided Eva. Or maybe it’s Eva who’s been avoiding them.

My gaze narrows on what I can see of Clay’s face. He’s currently at the bar, his back to Eva’s booth. He’s chatting with two men—one of them a recognizable music producer—and sipping a bright green martini like a dumbass. He looks even more smug than usual. Not surprising, since Glow took home two more Grammys tonight and Clay’s deluded enough to think they’re his by proximity.

But I haven’t missed the fact that besides arriving and leaving together, he’s kept his distance from Evangeline all night, too.

“You good if I head out?” asks Zander. A quick glance behind him reveals the blushing actor.

Smirking, I nod. “I’m not going to stay much longer. Thanks for hanging.” Leaning toward him, I lower my voice. “Have fun polishing your new Grammy.”

Zander laugh-groans. “You’re such a loser. Speaking of, have fun with your stalking.”

I roll my eyes and wave him off. When they’re gone, I look back across the room just as a scowling Lily walks in from the other side. I don’t see Rye, but he’s probably not far behind.

I straighten from my slouched position against a wall. Before I can decide whether or not to approach Lily, she beelines for Evangeline’s booth. Leaning down, she whispers something to Evangeline, who rears back, shaking her head and laughing. Lily tries again. This time, she’s able to tug Eva to standing.

It’s immediately apparent that Evangeline is wasted. She stumbles in her high heels. Lily reaches out to help her, but she jerks away and almost falls again. When she finally balances, she does a little bow that makes everyone in the booth laugh.

Lily steps forward again, urgency and worry clear in her expression. She says something that causes Evangeline to frown, and I watch her lips shape the words, “I can’t, Lily.”

After a pause fraught with enough tension that I feel it across the room, Lily spins on a heel and stalksaway. Evangeline stares blankly after her, swaying on her feet.

A quick glance toward the bar tells me that Clay hasn’t noticed the drama. But others have.

I’m walking before I’ve processed the thought. Just as Evangeline turns to sit back down, I curl my fingers around her bicep. Startled, she looks up at me with wide eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She nods, her gaze lowering to my mouth. I tell myself I’m only imagining the heat in her eyes, that the increased glassiness is from booze and not lust. My body, of course, decides differently.

Ignoring my suddenly tight pants, I slide my hand down to her elbow and guide her into a nearby hallway. She’s so out of it, she doesn’t comment when I pull her into a family bathroom.

Given the luxury of the attached hotel, it’s no shock the space is huge and spa-like, with a separate seating area, high-end finishes, and mood lighting. On the double-sink vanity, there are baskets of toiletries and a pitcher of ice water next to a stack of sparkling glasses. The toilet is off to the right, the partially open door confirming that we’re alone.

I flip the deadbolt on the main door, then steer Evangeline to a leather couch. She sits—or rather, falls—then topples to the side until her cheek is smooshed on a cushion.

Her eyes flutter closed. “Mmm cold. Feels good.”

Swallowing a sigh, I head for the water dispenser and fill a glass. Then I crouch next to her head.

“Can you sit up for me?”

“Nopity nope.”

Despite my frustration, my lips quirk. “Evangeline, come on.”

“Pfft.” Eyes still closed, she squirms, bare legs scissoring until her high heels thunk to the floor. “Thas better.”

She rolls onto her back and stretches with a hum of pleasure, completely oblivious to the fact her silver-beaded minidress isn’t stretching with her. The hem rides so low over her chest, I can see the small mole above her right nipple and a hint of pink areola.

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