ALLIE: Ding-dong, the witch might finally be dead. G-Latham just walked out of here without asking about you.
Good, I tell myself, remembering that awful night. Good…
And as it turns out, Allie is right. The monster who introduced himself to me as Griff really does seem to have given up on finding me to finish his game of “mindboink the naïve girl.”
I don’t get any more “guess who was in here asking about you” texts from Allie.
However, the next time I hear from my old friend, her news is even more alarming than one of her G-Latham texts.
And she doesn’t text. She calls—just a few days after my boss, Olivia, asks me to come with her to Kentucky to help set up a Louisville-based version of her Women with Disabilities clinic.
She calls, and before I can even say hi, Allie tells me, “Bernice, I’m in trouble. And I need your help.”
CHAPTER 22
GRIFFIN
“C’mon, Griff. Help me, help you,” Jenni says as the car Phantom Zhang’s assistant sent for us pulls up to a little backhouse sitting behind the famous Glendaver castle. It’s one of those huge, old-world stone and marble mansions that robber barons used to love commissioning for themselves back in the day.
A meager backhouse isn’t exactly the kind of green room experience I got used to during my heyday as G-Latham. But hey, I’m getting paid stupid bills to perform at the wedding of Phantom Zhang’s brother, so I can make it work—especially if they throw in the five bottles of Glendaver bourbon I asked for on my rider.
That’s what Jenni should be concerned with right now. Instead, all she’s been talking about since we boarded the company plane in Vegas is some extra photo op she wants me to do.
I haven’t performed in over a year, thanks to the pandemic. And I haven’t even been back to Nashville in nearly three years—not since that fateful Thanksgiving when I decided to give up on finding Red.
I think Jenni’s a little too hyped about being back in the South and actually getting to do her job onsite for this gig instead of from behind a laptop in the Vegas rental house she’s been trapped in for way too long with her latest long-term.
“No!” I answer. Again. “And can we quit it with the Jerry Maguire refs?”
I swear Jenni doesn’t know that dude’s totally made up. He’s been her patron saint ever since she made the switch from working as my assistant in Nashville to working as my agent/PR/personal branding manager in Vegas.
I climb out of the limo just to get out of another Tom Cruise-inspired speech.
“How about Succession then?” she asks, following me out of the car. “Because I’m not the one who’s trying to convince Daddy Latham that you have what it takes to run AudioNation. And Geoff’s all over the news with his drive-in wedding concert series.”
“Please do not call my father that unless you’re planning on leaving your girlfriend to become wife number three,” I answer. “And that concert series is a stupid bad idea. The last thing people should be doing after a pandemic is throwing marriage on top of their misery.”
“They’re inspiring people,” Jenni insists, jogging to keep up with me as we make our way to the backhouse’s door. “And they’re getting a lot of AudioNation artists in the press.”
“Yeah, and they’re also costing AudioNation millions of dollars. We’ve already lost two summers of touring profits, and now we’re paying out the nose for this publicity stunt. I’m telling you, me getting in good with Phantom Zhang is the way to go. No photo ops, just me killing this set I’m about to do, then convincing him to sign on as an official AudioNation liquor sponsor. His VIP3 soju brand is killing with Asian markets all over the world.”
Jenni stumbles a bit. “Wait, you actually had a plan for coming here?”
“Yeah, I’m good for more than signing on artists,” I answer, my tone salty AF. “And after I land this deal with Zhang, Dad’s going to realize that too. Where is everybody, by the way?”
I frown at the closed backhouse door. “You’d think they would have sent someone to meet us. And why aren’t the Reapers here for security duty yet?”
Jenni winces. “I might have gotten us here a little earlier than planned.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “And why would you do that?”
“Okay, don’t be mad,” she says.
“Don’t make me mad,” I shoot back, furrowing my brow. “What the hell’s going on?”
She holds out her hands, palm forward, and explains. “So when I was talking with Zhang’s assistant about possible photo ops for you, he mentioned a little girl in the backhouse daycare who apparently knows all the words to ‘You, Me, and the Music Forever’ by heart.”
“A lot of kids know that song by heart,” I point out grumpily.