Page 22 of Catastrophically Yours
Maybe they all had.
A sharp knock echoed through the apartment, and Drew's pulse quickened. Piper wouldn't knock—she had keys. But it was too early for casual visitors.
Drew padded to the door, Pickle trailing behind her. Through the peephole, she saw a familiar silhouette that made her stomach drop.
Chris stood in the hallway, leather jacket fitted perfectly across his shoulders, expensive boots polished to a shine. He held a thick manila envelope in one hand and wore that devastating smile that had once made her forget her own name. Dark hair fell across his forehead in that deliberately careless way he'd perfected.
For a moment, Drew considered pretending she wasn't home. But Chris had always been persistent, and she'd learned it was better to face difficult conversations head-on rather than let them fester.
She unlocked the door but left the chain engaged, peering through the gap. "What are you doing here, Chris?"
His smile widened, revealing teeth that were definitely whiter than she remembered. "Nice to see you too, Drew. Can I come in? I've got something that's going to change your life."
"How did you even find me?"
"Sadie." He shrugged, unapologetic. "Took some convincing, but I can be very persuasive when it matters."
Drew made a mental note to have words with her best friend later. She reluctantly unhooked the chain and opened the door wider, stepping back as Chris swept into the apartment with the kind of confident energy that seemed to fill every available inch of space.
He paused just inside the doorway, taking in Piper's meticulously organized living room. His fingers trailed along the back of the couch, lingering on one of the perfectly fluffed throw pillows like he was testing its authenticity.
"So this is where you've been hiding." Chris picked up one of Piper's labeled storage containers from the side table, examiningit like a curious artifact. "Jesus, Drew. Color-coded labels? What happened to you?"
Heat flared in Drew's chest, protective and sharp. "Nothing happened to me. I'm just staying here temporarily."
"Temporarily." Chris set the container down with deliberate care, but she caught the way he shook his head. "Right."
Drew crossed her arms. "What do you want, Chris?"
His expression shifted, becoming more serious, more focused. This was the look he got when he was about to pitch a venue owner or convince a reluctant sound engineer to work past midnight. "I want to give you everything you've ever dreamed of."
He moved to Piper's pristine coffee table and began pulling papers from the manila envelope, spreading them across the glass surface with practiced efficiency. Contract pages covered in dense legal text, letterhead that made Drew's breath catch, numbers that seemed too big to be real.
"The label loved your demo," Chris said, his voice taking on that persuasive rhythm she remembered too well. "I mean, they were blown away. Three-album deal, Drew. Fifty thousand signing bonus, plus full creative control. Studio time with some of the best producers in Nashville."
Drew stared at the papers, the words blurring slightly as her mind tried to process what she was seeing. Three albums. Creative control. Fifty thousand dollars—more money than she'd seen in her entire adult life combined.
"This is..." She sank onto the edge of the couch, careful not to disturb the contract pages. "This is real?"
"As real as it gets." Chris sat beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—expensive and woody, nothing like the simple soap scent that seemed to cling to Piper's apartment. "Everything you've worked for since college. Everything we used to talk about in those crappy dive bars when we were nobody."
She picked up one of the pages, scanning the dense legal language. Her name was there, spelled correctly, next to numbers and terms that represented everything she'd been chasing for years. Financial security. Professional validation. The chance to reach more than just the handful of people who showed up to open mic nights.
"There's just one thing," Chris continued, his voice carefully casual. "They need an answer soon. Like, tomorrow soon. And if you're serious about this—really serious—you'd need to come to Nashville with me. Tonight."
Drew's head snapped up. "Tonight?"
"The industry moves fast, Drew. If we wait, if we hesitate, somebody else gets the studio time. Somebody else gets the producer's attention. You know how this works."
She did know. The music industry was notoriously fickle, built on timing and momentum and being ready to move when opportunity knocked. But leaving tonight meant leaving before Piper got back from her run. Before they could finish the conversation they'd started in Chapter 9 about wanting something permanent. Before she could explain what this apartment, this life, had come to mean to her.
"What about my living situation here?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Chris's expression flickered—just for a moment—with something calculating. Then his face softened into what looked like genuine concern.
"Drew, I get it. You're grateful. She helped you out when you needed a place to stay. But think about what you're saying." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to that intimate tone he used to use when they were alone. "You're going to give up your dream—your actual, real dream—for what? A temporary housing arrangement with someone you've known for two weeks?"
"It's not like that."
