Page 7 of Highball Rush
Another nod.
“She’s fine. Jonah’s taking good care of her. Cops have the guy who did it.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She put the cracked phone in her pocket, brushed her hands together, and stood, using the porch railing to help herself up.
“That was a real good thing you did,” I said.
She gave me a solemn nod, then walked back toward the woods. She limped a little—had ever since I’d known her. Some old injury. Like most things about Henrietta, I’d probably never know the story behind it. And that was fine by me. She was who she was, and the rest didn’t really matter.
I envied Henrietta’s life a little bit. She lived outside the rules. Made her own way in the world. People told stories about her, but the town gossip didn’t seem to touch her.
Gossip. I let out a long breath. There was going to be plenty of that, all with my name attached. That video was one thing. Two million views. How the hell did something like that happen?
But I had a feeling even a video of me going around the internet wasn’t going to hold a candle to the story of Gibson Bodine sneaking around with Callie Kendall thirteen years ago.
I’d lied before when I said I didn’t care what this town thought. I’d deny it till the day I died, but a part of me did care. I knew what they thought of me. Good for nothing son of a drunk. Goin’ nowhere fast.
Some of that reputation I’d earned. I was a grumpy bastard and an asshole to most people. I started bar fights to blow off steam, always spoke my mind whether or not it was what people wanted to hear, and didn’t have any patience for dumbasses.
But the rest of it was down to my father. A man who’d publicly deteriorated in a town where everyone knew everything. Saw everything. Judged everything.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get out from under the shadow of Jonah Bodine Sr.
3
MAYA
My body had no idea what time it was. The clock told me nine thirteen a.m., but I was still in a haze of jet lag. I took a sip of my triple-shot latte while the elevator rose. I was used to jumping around time zones, but I’d touched down in L.A. less than twenty-four hours ago. If Oliver, my boss, wanted a fully awake and alert Maya, he should have given me another day to acclimate.
I stepped off the elevator and flashed my ID badge at the receptionist. She gave me a polite nod. I’d never met her; it had been over a year since I’d been to Attalon Records headquarters. It looked the same as I remembered: sleek, modern furnishings. Framed awards and album covers on the walls.
Yui stepped out of her office, dressed in a black blouse, white skirt, and a pair of killer red stilettos. Her jet-black hair framed her face in a sleek bob and her lipstick matched her shoes. I glanced down at my clothes—plain white t-shirt, old jeans, and sandals—and decided I was too jet-lagged to care.
“Look who’s awake,” Yui said. “I didn’t think I’d see your face until tomorrow.”
I shrugged, cradling my coffee against my chest like it was a lifeline. “Oliver said he wanted to see me. So, here I am.”
“He probably doesn’t realize you basically just landed. You know how he is.” She tilted her head, looking past me. “His door’s still shut. I think he’s on a call. You might as well come sit.”
“Thanks.”
I went into her office and plunked my tired self down in a cream faux-leather armchair. Yui Ito had been with Attain Records for almost as long as I had. She’d started out as an intern and was now one of the independent record label’s top publicists.
She was also the closest thing I had to a long-time friend. We saw each other about once a year, maybe less. Sometimes I crashed at her place when I was in L.A. Yui was gorgeous, no-nonsense, good at her job, had a secret love of root beer ice cream, and never dated anyone for longer than six months.
And that was the extent of my knowledge of her. It was hard to stay in touch when I traveled so much, and while most people used social media to keep up with their friends and colleagues, I had zero social media presence. I didn’t even have my picture on Attalon’s website. Just my name and a vague description of my job.
“Your hair is cute,” she said, lowering herself into her industrial office chair. Her desk was glass and metal, her entire office impossibly cool. “I didn’t notice it last night.”
“Thanks. Mermaid hair.” I ran a hand down my thick, wavy hair. I’d let it grow the whole time I’d been on the road, so it was long. And multicolored.
I was a serial hair-colorer. Over the years, I’d dyed it almost every color imaginable. Platinum blond, red, brown, purple, blue, silver. I’d even had a regrettable black hair phase. Right now, my base color was my natural blond, but I had a partial rainbow of turquoise, blue, lavender, and purple mixed in.
“It works on you,” she said. “How long do you think you’ll be in town?”
“I’m not sure, but judging by Oliver’s early summons, probably not long. I’ll be out of your way in a few days at most, I’m sure.”
She shrugged. “It’s fine. You’re easy company. I barely know you’re there.”
