Page 29 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

After she’s gone, I’m going to have a really hard time trying to care about much of anything.

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When we arriveat the party, August trails about a step or two behind me as we enter the building via an actual red carpet that’s been laid out on the sidewalk in Marigny,which is flanked by a swarm of photographers, andwhat the fuck, but okay then. It’s a little weird to see this little, funky, eclectic part of New Orleans trying to pretend it’s some kind of glitzy Hollywood boulevard, but again, my give-a-fucks are low, and I just want a drink to take the edge off.

Once inside, August stands with me for all of five minutes and rattles off pertinent information—again, still avoiding looking at me.

“Everybody’s here,” he says, close to my ear as he scans the room. “Liza, Brennan, and Jimmy are probably with Oscar. Luke is probably raiding the buffet. I have to go talk to Sylvia and her family, and they’re waiting for me at one of the tables. If you need something, just text me, but it shouldn’t take me that long. When I’m finished, I’ll make the rounds with you so we can hype you up to these people. If you get bored before that, go hang out with Luke and try to keep him from eating literally all the food.” He pulls his face away from my ear like he’s actually going to look me in the eyes, but his gaze does an awkward flit around the space above my hair. “Don’t be nervous, and definitelydon’tcause a scene.”

I don’t know what his deal is lately, but I’m guessing hemightbe feeling a little shitty about all his nastiness with me after I made a scene of a different kind at the label last week. Which is fine. I’m not really in the mood to do this whole song-and-dance right now anyway.

“‘kay,” I say, turning away from him to head for the bar. After about five paces, I get that distinctive, weighty feeling of being watched and glance over my shoulder long enough to see him actually looking at me. As in, he’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his slate gray suit pants like he’s got nowhere in the world to be, despite him just telling me he needed to go talk to Sylvia.

The look is penetrating; not in a critical way, rather it’s more contemplative and almost disappointed. Which is not a look I’ve ever seen on him before, and I don’t know what to make of it.

After a second of this unreadable look, August pivots and crosses the room with long-legged strides, so I turn back around and continue to the bar.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I’ve realized there aren’t any actual seats at the bar, because this isn’t abar. It’s a boujee-ass party for a bunch of New Orleans music industry VIPs. So I’m relegated to standing next to one corner of the slab of marble while I skim my gaze over the room.

The theme isgold. Gold everywhere. Gold glittering chandeliers. Gold satin tablecloths. Crystal champagne flutes with gold stems. Waitstaff decked out in gold suits that remind me of something that a Motown vocal quartet might have worn way back in the day. Gold centerpieces, and gold up-lighting along the perimeter.

There is so much gold that I’m wishing for a pair of sunglasses, but I settle for focusing on August and his slate gray suit way across the room while I absently swirl the cocktail straw in circles in my drink. He’s still at the table with Sylvia and her family. Sylvia’s only sixteen, and her ascent to stardom was quick, so her parents naturally have a lot of concerns, which is, I guess, what they’re so enthralled in conversation over, and why August is taking so long to come get me to make the rounds.

“Quite a spectacle, huh?” a male voice says to my right.

I tear my gaze away from August to see a young guy about my age; fresh-faced and a littletoocute for his own good. Inky black hair, tousled and falling slightly over his crystalline blue eyes. Black suit, white shirt, no tie. A blinding white smile, dimples, andyeah.Really cute.

“Yep,” I say, lifting my drink to take a long sip from the straw, then setting back on the bar to stir it again. “Someonereallylikes gold.”

He chuckles and leans his back against the bar next to me, but with a respectable amount of space between us. “Did you ever watch the Austin Powers movies?”

I snort and then have to hide my mouth with my hand to stifle my laughter. “Oh my God.Yes.” I pick up my glass to wave it at the room before setting it back down on the bar behind me. “Goldmember. This party would be that guy’s wet dream.”

I laugh again, stirring the drink some more while I briefly meet the guy’s eyes. At that moment, I also notice Brennan on the other side of him, eyeing us both while he gestures at the bartender.

The guy matches my laugh and shakes his head. “Seriously. When is Foxxy Cleopatra gonna show up?”

We both laugh again, and behind the guy’s head, I see Brennan lift his chin to make eye contact with me. “You doing all right, darlin’?”

His tone isodd. Brennan is normally the most easy-going and cordial person alive, but right now, he sounds a little weird. I wonder if this fresh-faced cutie is some kind of bigwig I shouldn’t be talking to unsupervised, and August sent him over to “check on me.”

“I’m good,” I say politely. “Just enjoying the scenery.”

“Very good.” Brennan takes a glass of scotch and a champagne flute from the bartender, and his eyes focus briefly on the nameless cutie before meeting mine again. “You know where to find us if you need anything.”

I blindly pick up my glass again and salute him with it as he starts to step away. “Will do.”

“Friend, colleague, manager?” the guy queries, picking up a beer and gesturing at Brennan with it.

“Oh. Hmm.” I ponder, slipping the straw between my lips and sipping until I drain the glass. “I’m gonna go withcolleague.” I gesture with my empty glass across the room. “He’s with the label I just got a contract with, but I don’t directly work with him or anything.”

The guy’s dark eyebrows lift pleasantly. “Oh, so youarea singer?” He nods at my ridiculous costume. “I figured you probably had to be.”

“Singer, musician, et cetera,” I say, lifting my hand to gesture at the bartender, but then stop because I feel the tell-tale, heady swirl of early intoxication. The drinks here must be stronger than I’m used to because Inevercatch a buzz this quickly, and I should probably slow down.

I lazily wave a hand at my outfit. “Idid not choose this ridiculous getup. I was told—”

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