Page 139 of All Twerk, No Play

This tab didn’t close for two days.

Ripped this one and uploaded to a private playlist before it gets taken down.

Despite a packed calendar, I always reserve a 15-minute lunch at exactly 1.

And then, the one that hit me square in the chest:

@Lil-Irish-Songbird-Told-Me

Thousands of listeners, but there’s no contest for your biggest fan.

My grip tightened on my sister’s phone, heart pounding. Tori was listening. She went silent when she was overwhelmed, but she still cared.

And that changed everything.

I cleared the filter before handing back the phone, and my sister scrolled through more comments. “Some of these people have never been in love, and your music gives them hope of finding somebody who cares as much as you do.”

I pursed my lips, looking back up at the skyline. Was she listening right now?

Adriana nudged my knee. “So … can we turn on monetization? For them?”

Thousands of people tuned in daily to find hope … including the person I was singing for.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Turn it on.”

Adriana pressed a few buttons, then made an obnoxious ‘ka-ching’ noise. “That’s it, bro. You’re now a professional musician. A YouTube influencer. A beacon of hope and romance.”

I shook my head with a coarse laugh. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”

Adriana grinned with a playful shove. “Just shut up and keep singing.”

"The Bitch is Back," Elton John

Victoria

Theofficewasquiet,the dim light of early evening casting long shadows. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my stash of protein bars was depleted so I headed for the vending machines. Whispers from a nearby office made my hair stand on edge. I stepped on the balls of my feet to silence my heels, inching closer to the CFO suite.

The office door was ajar, Spencer’s hand trailing along the stiff shoulder of Courtney, a newly hired junior analyst.

I swallowed the bile in my throat at what Spencer thought hecould get away with. Scratch that: What hehadgotten away with, repeatedly. Thirteen years ago, I hadn’t known how to help those women who stood up for me.

But I knew now. I fumbled for my phone and pressed record.

“But I have a boyfriend, Mr. Larsson,” Courtney said.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” Spencer said, laying that shitty fake British accent on thick.

“I don’t think I should,” she whispered, her expression one of clear discomfort.

“Come on, Court,” he leaned closer, caging her against the desk. “I thought you wanted to earn senior analyst.”

Perfect, Spencer, just what I needed to hear.

Pushing the door open, I positioned my phone to keep Spencer’s guilty expression in frame as I asked Courtney, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Courtney shook her head as Spencer noticed my phone. “Are you recording this? You—you can’t do that! That’s illegal!”

I tilted my head like he’d surprised me, then replied, “You know what? You’re right.” His shoulders relaxed. “New York is a one-party consent state, so if Courtney doesn’t want me to record this conversation where you offered her a promotion in exchange for sex then I’ll happily delete it.” I turned to Courtney with a conspiratorial grin. “But if she wants me to keep recording so I can back her up in court, she can give her consent and I won’t need yours, Spencer.” Courtney's shocked expression shifted to disbelief. “So Courtney, do you want me to keep recording the conversation that will give me the clear evidence to finally fire this sexual predator?”

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