Page 342 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I set the tumbler back onto its tray.

Andrew’s leaning over the bar, palms planted flat against the mahogany as he talks to Jess, one of Raymond’s flirty PAs. The second my eyes hit him, he senses it and glances over his shoulder at me, bicep flexing when our eyes lock.

I can’t tell how he’s feeling.

I don’t want to leave him.

But he gives me the smallest chin lift,

like—Don’t worry about me.

We’re good, baby. Go.

I breathe out slow,

drying my hands on a clean bar towel.

Raymond leads the way,

passing between suits.

In the center stands a grand piano, equipped with a mounted mic for him, leaving a second mic waiting for me in a tall chrome stand. I step up to the stage and watch as he delivers a quick speech. I don’t even realize Raymond’s finished until he pulls me in for a performative hug.

I half-hug back.

Raymond sinks onto the piano bench, shooting me a wink as his fingers stretch over the keys.

I glance out across the ballroom.

Three hundred faces glow in candlelight—artists, assistants, executives, producers, people who once filled the halls of Soundwave while Dad was alive. Most watched me grow up. Most haven’t heard more than two words from me in years. Not since the funeral, when grief turned me into a crypt.

The melody starts⁠—

But then I do the unthinkable⁠—

“Hold on. I wanna say something.”

The melody falls apart.

Raymond freezes.

My brain freezes,

going into shock.

Shit, Allison.

You stupid motherfucker.

My throat tightens as I stand on the other end of their waiting gazes.

Well. Here goes nothing.

(And I mean that literally ‘cause I’m standing, a still portrait in the room.)

Someone clears their throat,

breaking me from it.