Page 90 of The Devil and His Sparrow

“And let your career tank? Let your friends’ careers tank?” Leo ran a tired hand over his face and shook his head. “This is your fan’s business, Zagan. You are a public figure, demon or not. Your fans have a vested interest in all of you guys, so when things like dating spring up, the fans feel like they have a right to know, reasonable or not.”

My patience with this conversation was growing dangerously thin. I didn’t stop working on that song that I actually felt something for to be nagged at about some unfounded—well, not totally unfounded—rumor that wasn’t even anyone’s business. I didn’t give a fuck if I was a “public figure.” It gave no one a right to me and my personal life.

I walked over to Leo and jabbed him in the chest, harder than necessary. “If you’re that worried about it, you clean it up. This is your punishment for your sins, remember? Doing as we fucking tell you. So do your job and squash the rumor to calm the Sinners down.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed while his lips curved in an icy smile. “I figured that’s what you’d say. So I already did. You and the rest of the boys get your suits ready. We’ll be doing a charity event this Friday at Bloomings.”

“WHAT A FUCKING JOKE,” DANTE groaned. He leaned back next to me, readjusting the lapels on his maroon tux. “I can’t believe we have to put on a show for these cameras all because you got caught with your human.”

I ignored Dante’s dozenth complaint of the week.

“I don’t even get what the big deal is,” Perseus said. He sat across the limo from Dante, Coldin, and I. His navy tux jacket was open, exposing the crisp white shirt beneath. “It’s a known fact that we mess around. Why does it matter if Z got spotted with Iyla?”

“Because she’s a threat to the fans,” Xander chuckled.

The asshole had found the whole situation amusing ever since Leo broke the news of the rumor and clean-up plan to us. Xander didn’t see tonight as an annoying inconvenience like Dante did. He saw it as a chance to poke fun at me and the fan’s insane outlook on us.

“People aren’t allowed to claim us, remember?” Xander added, flicking a piece of non-existent lint off his forest-green tux. “We belong to our fans as their distant lover. They see Zagan being with Iyla as him cheating on them.”

“I’ll never understand humans,” Perseus grumbled and stared out the window.

“We don’t have to understand them to enjoy them,” Xander grinned, licking his lips suggestively.

“None of that tonight,” I warned Xander. “This is a charity event for Bloomings. It’s just a bunch of sick or injured kids and adolescents. Not your thing.”

“Won’t the nurses and doctors be there? Family members of the kids?” Xander asked with a single raised brow.

I rolled my eyes, realizing the demon was going to find someone to leave with, even if that wasn’t what we were here for. I wasn’t going to waste my breath trying to convince him to keep it in his pants tonight.

Leo’s “brilliant” plan to do away with the rumors of me dating were to explain the mystery girl in the photos as a fan who’d reached out with a heart-wrenching story of her sick sister. Together, she and I were putting together this event for the patients and their families, and the reason we’d gone to the club was to check out different DJs for the event—at least, that was the story Leo gave the press. The members of Sinners Do It Better would come, pose for some choice photos, and make a hefty donation to Bloomings.

The only thing that kept me from being irritated with the whole charade was the fact that this place was important to Iyla, and our donation would actually help them. So if it made Iyla happy to host this event, it wasn’t an inconvenience.

Anticipation broke out inside me like a crashing wave. I hadn’t really seen Iyla today, only popping my head into her room to tell her bye as I left to meet Leo and the band for final preparations for today. I couldn’t wait to see what dress she and Addie had picked out for tonight, though she could show up in a fucking potato sack, and it wouldn’t matter. She’d still be the most gorgeous girl in the room.

The limo pulled around to the front doors of Bloomings. There were three cameramen already there, practically chomping at the bit to get the best shots of the night. We got out of the limo with our plastered-on charm—except for Coldin, who always appeared bored. We brushed past the photographers in a chorus of flashing lights and waltzed into the building.

Dr. Seward and the nurses met us at the doors with bright smiles, their scrubs and doctor’s coat traded in for evening dress wear.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Dr. Seward greeted, shaking each of our hands. “We’re so thankful for your donation and your putting this all together.”

Flashes captured the handshake and grins exchanged by the doctor and myself.

“Please,” I said politely. “It’s the least we could do. You guys are doing some great work here, helping and treating those who need that constant health care attention. We’re proud to contribute anything we can.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be contributing much happiness tonight,” Dr. Seward said with a hearty chuckle. “All the residents are over the moon to have you guys here.” He leaned in like he wanted to share a secret and whispered, “The little ones have no idea who you guys are. They just know someone famous is here.”

I grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

He swept his arm wide, and the nurses parted like the Red Sea as Dr. Seward said, “This way. We’re holding the celebration in the sunroom.”

Over the moon was right.

From the moment we entered the extremely packed sunroom, we were all bombarded with squeals of delight, requests for photos and signatures, and shy hugs. Everyone, family members and patients alike, were dressed up for the evening, and the sunroom had been turned into a scene right out of some low-budget movie about high school prom.

Tables lined the edge of the room with refreshments, monitored by my favorite—Patrice. Her pointy nose was turned up at us, though I saw the hint of a smile when she saw how happy the residents were. Red-and-black balloons had been blown up and clung to the ceiling as the helium forced them to fly. Little cheap multi-colored strobe lights sat in each corner of the dimly lit room, and tables had been brought in for all the people to sit around, arranged perfectly around the center of the room, which had been left open as a dance floor.

The photographers from outside had shuffled into the room and were capturing plenty of shots of all five band members interacting with the crowd. As I put on a show of smiling and engaging in small-talk, I tried looking around the room in search of Iyla. I didn’t spot her anywhere, and the impatient anticipation to see her doubled.

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