I fucking miss old times.
The afternoon is a blur of studying. First with Ethan. Then in my room. I barely have time to change, fix my hair, and do my makeup before Sharon pops by to whisk me to the venue. She talks my ear off about how impressive it is that I'm helping with the band's books at such a young age, and about how she actually works for a software company that always has room for smart people in software design, especially people with master's degrees from NYU.
She assures me that Portland's gorgeous sunny summers are worth the six months of rain and grey. Sharon seems nice, but I'm glad when we arrive backstage and find Mal. He plants a deep kiss on her lips, whispers sweet nothings in her ear, and sends her away.
I bite my lip to keep from commenting on his player moves.
He chuckles but says nothing about my resting bitch face.
Our workspace is a dressing room. Its locked door is labeled Private. Seems Mal is the only person who has the key.
He locks the door behind us and sets up his laptop at a table in the corner. The room is small but it's clean and the table has two chairs. It's a fine place to work.
I double-check my findings then I go over them with Mal. He nods as I explain, only occasionally interjecting to ask for clarification. Mostly, he nods or shakes his head, holding his usual Mal Strong it's hard being in charge but someone's got to do it po
ker face.
When I've explained everything I can, I do my best to summarize. "It's possible this is an accounting error, but that's unlikely. Twenty grand goes missing then it shows up two months later. You haven't lost any money, but all signs point to someone 'borrowing' it and replacing it secretly."
"Hmmm."
"Should I do anything about this?"
"No. The money is here. Twenty grand isn't anything to fuss over."
That must be nice. "What do you want me to tell Ethan?"
Mal pushes up from the table. "Mind if I ask you something personal?"
"Do I have a choice?"
He raises a brow.
I push myself up too. I try to copy his cool and composed gesture, but it's not happening.
I pace.
He stares.
I pace faster.
"That a no?" he asks.
"Just ask."
"You and Ethan—is that really no strings attached?" His voice drops low enough to convince me he's concerned.
I wish I had an answer. I fold my arms and hold Mal's steady stare. "I'm trying to work on living in the moment."
He chuckles. "That's bullshit."
"Maybe, but it's true. I haven't had any fun since Asher died."
"Any?"
"Not the kind you have with Sharon. Or when you step on stage every night. I know that's hard work, but I see the four of you after. Even you look exhilarated."
"Hmm…" He gives me a paternal once-over.