Page 96 of A Little Broken

Thank you!

My phone vibrates again. My sister’s name flashes across the screen.

Not today, Satan.

I silence the call, and set it face down.

Not today.

29

TATUM

Two hundred people, my ass. The place is packed. Bodies gyrate in the middle of the room, and the wired speakers blare music so loud I can practically see the notes strung together. My lips curve up when I recognize the song. It’s Doomsday. Rory must recognize it, too, because I catch her smirk as she bumps her shoulder into mine.

“Coincidence?” she asks.

My brows pull. “What else would it be?”

“He knows they’re your favorite band,” she reminds me.

She’s right. He does.

Refusing to acknowledge the potential thoughtfulness behind the party’s playlist, I wrinkle my nose and lift my chin toward the edge of the room. “Come on. Let’s start cleaning.” I reach for a flute on the windowsill, but a man balancing a tray of food intercepts me.

“I can take that, miss,” he says.

“It’s fine. I was hired to clean up?—”

“Tatum, I presume?”

Rory and I exchange glances but don’t answer him.

Deciding he’s correct, the man explains, “My staff has been ordered to make sure you don’t lift a finger.” He snaps his fingersand lifts his arm high into the air, pointing to me while making eye contact with another server across the room. “Tatum,” he mouths. His arm moves over Rory. “Rory.”

The server nods their understanding, and Rory lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”

“I’m confirming the rest of the staff are aware of your presence this evening,” the man explains, giving me his full attention. “Tatum, I was told you like Jack and Diets and chocolate shakes. Do you have any other preferences?”

He knows my order?

I shake off the spark of flattery, dousing it with sheer stubbornness.

Focus, Tatum.

“Pretty sure drinking on the job is frowned upon, but thanks.” Glancing at Rory, I add, “Let’s split up. I’ll take the top floor, you take the bottom. I have my phone if you need me.”

She opens her mouth to argue, and so does the waiter beside her, but I ignore them both, slipping through the crowd like water through a crack in a dam. Seriously. It is so. Freaking. Packed. When I reach the second floor, I press my ear to the secondary bedroom’s closed door in hopes of confirming it’s empty. With my luck, there are two people getting busy on the other side, and if it’s Pax, I might literally stab something. Not because I’m jealous, mind you, but because… Nope. Not going down that road.

By some miracle, only silence greets me, and I push the door open. A few beer bottles sit on the windowsill, but otherwise, the room is untouched. Striding toward the small mess, I pick them up, then move to the next room. The soft strum of a guitar makes my ears perk and my heart race, though I refuse to acknowledge why. It’s not like I want Pax to see how cute I look in the dress he had delivered to my house or anything. Because that would be ludicrous. I also refuse to acknowledge the fact that whetherI want to admit it or not, I’ve been scanning every room for a glimpse of the familiar rockstar despite my best attempts to appear unfazed by this entire ordeal.

Just open the damn door, Tatum, I remind myself.

Grasping the handle, I push the music room door open. A few people stand inside. Some are messing with Paxton’s guitars. Others flip through his music collection like they own it. I wonder if Pax knows they’re in here. Knows they’re touching his things. Knows they’re making themselves at home in his sanctuary.Mysanctuary. Did they findThe Count of Monte Cristo? Did they flip through the worn pages the same way I did not so long ago? My mama bear instinct threatens to take hold, but I bite my tongue and close the door again, refusing to cause a scene over something that is absolutely none of my business.

Beer bottles in hand, I turn around, smashing into someone. Like a couple of bowling pins, we crash to the ground, the half empty beer bottles spilling over me and staining the slinky black dress Pax sent me.

Shit.

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