Page 128 of Sing For Me

“Right. Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but Neil’s off the show.”

For a moment, neither Eli nor I say anything. Then I ask the obvious question. “Why?”

Kelly looks at Augusta. “Do you want to tell them? Or should I?”

Augusta pinches her lips, and Kelly continues. “Despite your best efforts at setting him straight,” she says, looking at Eli, “my husband has continued to harass Ms. Lopez. She indicated she did not feel she was in danger, and rightly wanted to continue to see the show through. However, last night, Neil unfortunately went so far as to send her unsolicited images.”

“Les ‘dick pics,’” Jacques clarifies.

Eli and I look at each other in abject shock.

“Now,” Kelly says, sounding shockingly level-headed about all of this, “I’ve spoken to my superiors, and they’ve left the decision with me. But we essentially have two options. Tank the entire show or film the remainder of the final episode with a new host.

She looks to Cass. “Hosts.”

“Wait,” Eli says, “You mean…the two of you?”

Cass looks at her brother with an expression I’ve never seen on her before. Like she’s looking for his approval. “It’s not so crazy, is it?”

“No,” Augusta says. “It is perfect.”

The four of them—Kelly, Cass, Augusta, and Jacques—all turn to me. “Reese,” Kelly says, “Cassandra, Augusta, and I talked a great deal about this before you got here. We think there’s an opportunity to turn this into something groundbreaking.”

Cass looks at me, almost wringing her hands on the tabletop. “I gave them a little insight into your history with your ex—no details at all, just that you didn’t sing until now. I remember how you were that night up there a couple of years ago, how it looked like you dragged yourself onto the stage.

I look up there now, remembering the scared, broken woman I was when Cass hired me. Michelle had talked me into getting up there; I wasn’t ready.

“I thought it was Eli who’d done that to you,” she says. “But seeing that man last week—I should have known better. I’m sorry, Eli.”

Eli squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything.

She turns back to me. “To see you sing in that video was inspiring. Persevering when an asshole has tried to break you.”

Kelly picks up the thread. “We know Mr. Houghton won’t be an issue now, despite Eli’s actions.” She darts a glance at him that looks half irritated and half affectionate, only not in a way that feels threatening to me. Not at all, I realize. “What we’d like to do is host the show as normal, keeping the reason we’re doing so a mystery until the end of the show, when we will make an announcement about why we took over hosting. We’ll explain why we’re not tanking the show, despite the wretched actions of my husband. We won’t let one man’s actions destroy the trajectory of Ms. Lopez’s career.”

My chest feels tight as I look at these women, but not with something uncomfortable. With amazement at how they’ve pulled together to do something incredible. I can’t help wondering what it took for Kelly to convince the suits at her network to go through with this. I think we’ve all underestimated her.

“This all sounds amazing,” I say. “But what does it have to do with me? My story’s not public.”

“It’s not,” Cass says. “But to us, you embody courage. And after we say our piece, we’d like you to perform your song. The one Eli keeps singing to himself in the office about the shoots through the leaves. You know, Eli, the one that should drive me batty because of the Kelly family’s inability to hold a tune.”

I whip my face to Eli, who makes a pulling-his-collar gesture. “It’s good, what can I say?”

Kelly clears her throat. “I won’t lie, Reese, but you’re one of the reasons my bosses agreed to this proposal. They think your star is going to continue to shine. I did tell them you had offers of record deals. Sorry if that was an unfounded bluff but you were incredible, so I hope it’s true.”

I look at Eli, who says, “No pressure, though, right?”

“No pressure to do it,” Cass agrees. “And if you want to do it but not sing that song, that would be fine too. I’d tell you to think about it, but there’s not really any time, unfortunately. We can give you a minute though?”

Jacques sits back in his chair, smoothing his mustache like an evil villain. Except Jacques is no evil villain. Especially not now, when he says, “She will do it.”

“Hey,” Eli says. “Not up to you, buddy.”

“Am I wrong, Therese? This is what you always wanted. It is like the food, when you say what we are missing, you have that same look on your face, like you are thinking about it. But you already know. And you are always right.”

Then Jacques Leclerc, known asshole chef, winks at me.

I can’t help it—I laugh. “You’re unbelievable,” I tell Jacques.

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