Page 41 of August Lane
“The consigliere?” August turned to study David. Despite the heat, he wore shirtsleeves and a tie. His dark hair was streaked with gray and slicked into a side part with pomade. He cut his eyes at everyone he passed, as if they were all trespassers in his executive suite. August nodded. “Okay, yes, I see it.”
“I hate that guy,” Mavis grumbled. “I don’t work for him, but he always acts like he’s seconds away from firing me.”
“He’s like that with everyone.”
Mavis’s eyes widened. “Of course you know him.” She grabbed August’s arms. “Deal with him for me. Please? I’ll owe you.”
It had been years since August had seen David, not since she was little. There was no way he remembered her. But she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to extract a favor from Mavis, who, unlike Paul Cleebus, the man they called “ghost mayor” because no one ever saw him, was one of the most influential people in Arcadia.
“Move that money back to the showcase.”
Mavis’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t. It’s already spent.”
“Well, do something. Find another sponsor. Make sure Silas doesn’t cancel it.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Before August could thank her, she pivoted and escaped with a brisk walk. David reached August minutes later and eyed the divots left by Mavis’s heels.
“Probably something I said.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.Again, August was struck by how unbothered he seemed by the heat. The beads of sweat on his brow were the only sign he was standing in the same ninety-eight-degree hell as everyone else. “I have that effect on women.” He focused on August. “The stage is wrong.”
“I know. So does Mavis.”
“Is it being fixed?”
“Yes, in two days.”
“Perfect.” He clasped his hands together. “See? She didn’t have to run away. I can be reasonable.”
“Pass that along to your demanding client.” She pointed at the billboard. “That thing is tacky. She looks like the star of a BlackHee Hawrevival.”
David gazed up at Jojo’s image, his expression unreadable. “Be nicer to your mother, August.”
“You remember me?”
“I gave you a doll once.” He finally looked at her. “The kind that pees. Do you remember what you said?”
“No. But if I was older than ten, blame the hormones.”
His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “You don’t have kids, do you?That’s what you said to me. Then you tucked that expensive doll under your arm like a football and went to your room.”
“Was that Christmas?”
“Only one I ever spent here.” He looked around. “Nothing’s changed except you.”
She ran a hand over her hair, suddenly conscious of her appearance. He was probably used to being around women who considered makeup and hairstyles a hobby. Or, as in her mother’s case, part of their job description. “Kids grow up.”
“Which makes them harder to parent, or so I’m told.”
“Good thing she never tried.”
“See? That’s what I mean. I don’t want you poking at her like that when she gets here. She’s already dealing with people questioning whether she’s earned this award.”
“Will she actually show up, though? I mean, the woman couldn’t be bothered to come back for her mother’s funeral. It’s hard to believeshe’ll show up to sing with Luke Randall, of all people. Why would she bother?”
David pulled out his phone and opened his Spotify account. August watched him search for “Another Love Song” with her heart hammering at her ribs. She didn’t want to hear it.
“Look at this.” He started scrolling, showing her a list of covers by other artists. “What do you see?”
