Page 145 of The Oscar Escape
She fumbled through wads of crinkly napkins and pairs of sunglasses. “I’ll also need one point five million dollars.”
“I don’t think you’ll find that much in there or between the seats.”
“Aren’t you a funny guy? I’ll dip into my trust. I know my parents would approve of this purchase,” she replied, then shrieked. “I found a five-dollar bill. And look, a boatload of quarters.” She counted them out. “Twelve. I’ve got eight dollars in cash. It’s a sign. It’s got to be a sign.” She stuffed the bills and coins into her pocket. “Can I use your phone, and do you have anything to eat in here? All I’ve had today are bonbons. I’m starving for real food.”
“All the snacks are in your aunt’s car. I’m told they should have something for you to eat at the venue.”
Her aunt.
“Where is Aunt Harper?”
“Helping.”
“Helping? Who is she helping?”
“Just general, normal, run-of-the-mill helping—because it’s her nature to . . . help out,” the man blathered.
He was hiding something.
Aria eyed the man. “It’s Aunt Harper’s nature to yell at asshats who drive slowly in the left lane. Who do you think I got my superb driving temperament from? What’s going on, Uncle Landy?”
“Didn’t you need to make a call?” the man said smoothly, clearly enjoying this game of cat and mouse.
“Yes,” she huffed, channeling Aria, age seven. She plucked the phone from the console and found Dom’s name in the contacts. She tapped the call icon, then flinched, anticipating what was coming.
“Are you trying to kill me, Aria?” Dom boomed.
“No, you’re a gem, Dom. I adore you.”
“Did you hit your head? That was a downright pleasant comment. Sweet, in fact,” the man sassed.
“Oh, eat worms, Dom. I didn’t hit my head. This is me giving off positive, loving energy, you butthole douche nozzle.”
“Aria,” Landon chided as they blew through another intersection.
“Sorry, Uncle Landy, I’ll tap it out next time. Listen, Dom,” she continued—a woman on a mission. “We’re on our way to Red Rocks. I’m with my uncle and like half of the Denver Police Department. We’ll be cutting it close. The show will go on, but it’ll be different. This is the last show I’m under contract to do, right? And we haven’t hammered out a new one?”
“Correct. I was waiting to see if you’d hit double platinum before renegotiating your contract for leverage. So yes, this is your last show under your current agreement.”
That was music to her ears.
“So . . .” she mused theatrically, “if I defied the label, there’s nothing they could do.”
“Also correct,” Dom replied with a wicked trill.
He got her message. She was going rogue, and he was there for it.
“You can tell the makeup and the wardrobe lady I won’t need them. I know the label wants them in charge of my look, but—”
“They quit, honey. Gone, goodbye, sayonara!” Dom quipped.
“They did?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I found another team to help you prep for the show.”
“I don’t need it, Dom.”
“It’s in your contract. Let’s try not to burn every bridge, Miss Thing.”
