Page 44 of For The Record

“Why would you be happy about that? Aren’t you the one who tells me not to rush into things?” I say, almost quoting the Elvis Presley song.

I see her shrug over FaceTime. “Yeah, but if you brought her home, Mom would grill her and not me.”

Classic teenage self-centredness. I can’t say I miss that phase, even if I think I might still have the one-track-mind, selfishness that flares up.

A week goes by and I receive nothing but radio silence. I get the hint. Even her emails are curt and professional.

Skye,

Dinner this week? I want to apologize.

Leo

Hi Mr. Perez,

I am afraid that my schedule is indefinitely booked up. If you would like, I will set up a meeting with your assistant, Ms. Kim.

Sincerely, Skye Holland

It’s enough to make me want to smash my keyboard. Just when I’m about to leave for the day, picking up my briefcase and swinging my keys from my hand, Annabelle stops me. “Mr. Perez, sir, don’t forget that you have the charity gala tonight at the Hilton.”

“The Hilton,” I say numbly. “Right.”

I completely forgot about that. Thankfully, I always have one tuxedo hanging in a dry-cleaning bag in the closet at my office. “And only my attendance is required, right? No speeches or anything.”

“Nope,” she says, typing away and never tearing her eyes away from her keyboard. “But, you should know that the charity is to raise money for new homeless shelters in downtown L.A, being thrown by some fashion magazine.”

“Got it,” I say. Setting my briefcase back down, I check the time. “Is it at eight?”

“Eight-thirty.” She keeps typing, the clacking of the keys suddenly aggravating me to no end. “You have three and a half hours to get something to eat, get dressed, and make it there.”

I briefly calculate the time I’ll need. It shouldn’t be too long. “Thanks for reminding me, Annabelle.”

She nods. “Of course, Mr. Perez.”

I remind myself to give her a raise for the next quarter. Maybe another vacation day. As I shutter the windows and quickly change out of my jeans and sports jacket, I try not to wonder if Skye will be there. Technically, this is a work function since Volume Records is the one hosting, with Timothy Stewart being the MC. My old golfing buddy. I actually hate golf, but it’s better than being left out while I watch the board members smoke cigars and spew locker room talk.

While my stepfather, Ricardo, being Cuban, actually quite likes cigars, I never smoked growing up. I never even had a rebellious weed-smoking, stoner phase in college. My father always smelled like cigarette smoke every time I saw him, the scant handful of instances that we met between the ages of five to twelve.

At six, I’m ready to go, having quickly polished the few scuffs on my wingtips, and I head out to grab a quick bite before the too-long charity gala that will doubtless last way too long. Having scarfed down some sushi, I make my way over to the Hilton.

Golden chandeliers, marble floors, and string quartets playing in the ballroom greet me when I enter the hotel, following the signs toward LA MODE MAGAZINE CHARITY AUCTION. Auction? I don’t remember Annabelle saying anything about an auction.

I make my way over to the bar, snagging a whiskey, just as I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Tim: MC, subpar golfer, and board member. Also known as Man Who Could Make or Break My Career. I force a smile. “Hey, Tim, what’s up?”

“Not much, Leo.” He claps me on the back, raising his glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey, neat,” I say. “What about you?”

“Macallan, fifty-year,” he responds. “How have you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been alright,” I say with a shrug. “Just signed Ryder Black and all, and that’s been pretty good.”

Tim frowns, a furrow forming between his bushy salt and pepper brows. “You know, Leo, I don’t know if all the board members would agree that that was such a good deal.”

“And are you among those?” I brace myself for more office politics. Not my ideal pastime, but it’s better than lurking around the bar all night trying to avoid Alina and find Skye.

He shrugs his broad shoulders. Tim was a linebacker in college, his stocky build having solidified over the years into a bulky frame and a faint beer belly. “Listen, Leo, I like you. You’re a great guy and I trust a lot of your decisions! But look at what’s happened so far. Drama with his ex-girlfriend, who’s working for you now? And now this song leak… it’s not a good look.”

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