Page 61 of Sins and Secrets

“We’re both in a wedding together in a week.” I nod and my client gives a little noncommittal shrug. “Small world.”

Very small world.

And yikes. Grae seems like he’s been through hell and back. Well, I guess he has. A few months ago, he was the hottest music producer in the world one minute, and fodder for the rumor mill the next. He looks rough. For every other man on the planet, his worst day is their best. Still, he’s shed about twenty pounds since I last saw him, his skin has a sort of faded sheen, and he’s about a month overdue for a haircut, which gives him a shaggy, mysterious vibe. I can see why Waverly fantasizes about him.

“You look like shit,” he says to me, and the irony is not at all lost on me. Then he squints like he’s reading into my soul. “Absolutely not.” Grae shakes his head and takes a step back. “No fucking way are you touching my body with a tattoo machine. I don’t want your bad mojo on me forever.”

“I’m fine.”

Grae side-eyes me and walks toward the couch, pulling his bag on his lap as he sits. “Listen, I booked time with you. I went through the hassle of getting a day pass, we’re hanging out, but you’re not tattooing me.” Day pass? Oh shit, he’s still in rehab. I guess he needed security to leave the facility.

Darren squints like he’s reading something far away and nudges Grae’s shoulder. “Wanna take bets on what happened?”

Grae frowns as he opens his bag and digs through it. “I’m not allowed to partake in any risky or addictive activities while I’m out, otherwise I lose the privileges I’ve worked so damn hard for.” He pulls out a sketchbook and a shit ton of pens. Seriously, like twenty, all different colors, brands, and styles. Dropping them on the table and spreading them out, he motions for me to sit next to him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s a dumb question. I’m not sure why I asked it.

He raises an eyebrow. “I was drugged by my personal security agent, OD’d, flatlined, came back, and spent five days in intensive care before being released into a drug treatment center for ninety days. It was supposed to be forty-five, but on day forty-four I had a panic attack and they decided to keep me longer. I’m great. Let’s draw.” He points to a blank piece of paper and grabs a drawing utensil.

Darren clears his throat and throws up his hands, “for the record, I wasn’t the one who tried to kill him. I was giving him CPR.”

“Right.” I take a pen and start to draw a little circle.

“Plus, I lay awake thinking about the cringiest thing I’ve done in years.”

“Do tell.”

He groans and drags his hand down his face before flopping back on the couch. “So, I wanted to thank the guys at Mastodon, and I heard they were in the hospital. I totally thought they were working. So, I go into the room and there’s the one person on the planet that fucking hates me. He says the building exploded and my instant response is, ‘Oh, is everyone okay?’ Dude’s hooked up to like a billion machines…so no, he wasn’t okay. And to make it all worse, he was the one who saved my life to begin with. Ugh.” He hangs his head.

“Yeah, Phoenix,” Darren laughs, “Lance really fucking hates you.”

Now I’m confused. “Wait. Who’s Phoenix? And who’s Lance? And why does he hate you?”

Grae points to his chest. “I’m Phoenix. Mastodon gives all their clients code names so they don’t get emotionally attached.”

Darren chuckles. “Yeah, that didn’t work for Lance. Not only did he fall for his client, but now she works for us too.” There’s more to the story, and I’ll have to ask him about it later.

“I’m glad Lance is happy.” Grae dips his head and grabs another pen. “I’m not sure exactly why he hates me, but I’m sure he has his reasons.” He sighs. “Everyone in the industry thinks I’m a cliché. Good news is a little time in rehab never hurt anyone’s music career. It’s not like I can explain I was drugged. No one will believe that. I’ll get the ‘oh right, sure’ sort of treatment. No, thank you.”

He lifts his head to look at me. “But that’s still not nearly as interesting as what you’ve got going on over here.” He waves his hand up and down my body.

He adds two smaller circles to mine, and I understand what he’s trying to do. Co-drawing—creating and building off each other’s design.

“Well, things are messy.”

Grae draws two lines coming off the circles and connects them. “You hate messy.”

“I like other people’s drama, but not my own.” I keep adding swirls and little things to paper. “Don’t write a song about this?”

“If I do, I’ll keep your name out of it.” He nudges my shoulder and makes my swirls into a jagged line.

“God, I don’t know where to begin. So, there’s this girl,” I start.

Darren pipes in, “Is it Waverly?”

I nod, unable to meet their eyes. “She came into my shop about a month ago, trying to cover up the worst tattoo I’ve ever seen. Thing is, she’s my sister’s best friend and maid of honor at her wedding. The same wedding we’re both groomsmen in.” I motion between me and Darren.

“And the problem is you like your sister’s bestie? That’s not a big deal.”

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