“Definitely a reality check.”
She nods, and her eyes—so dark they’re almost black—shine under the fluorescent lights.
“Well. Glad I could help ruin your day.”
I open my mouth again, but stop myself.
And leave.
The car door slams. Familiar. Safe.
“Harrison!” someone calls and it’s too shrill, too loud.
I glance back to find one of the girls from earlier who shrieked in the shop.
Fuck.
I sink low in the seat.
“Where to, boss?” Lee asks, already merging into traffic.
I should head to the Savoy. Or the hotel. Or the studio. Or hell.
Instead, her voice plays on loop in my head: You stuck to the formula.
“Go around the corner,” I say suddenly. “Slow enough to draw the crowd.”
Lee’s brow furrows in the rearview. “Harrison—?”
“Humour me.”
He doesn’t argue.
We crawl forward, the girls following behind us. When he rounds the corner, I slip out and double back, hoodie up.
She’s locking the shop. Still shaking her head.
I step out of the shadows. “Hey.”
She jumps. “Fuck! You can’t creep up on people like that!”
I laugh. “Didn’t realise I was creeping.”
“Guess you’re not used to it.”
She eyes me again. “What do you want? I thought you got chauffeured off to luxury land.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Would you believe me if I said I was at a loose end?”
“No.”
“Even when I do this?” I bat my lashes.
“Definitely not.”
Her smile flickers.
“Really,” I say. “Your brain might be faulty.”
She goes still. Her face blanks.
“I’m not the one who makes terrible music.”
She turns, walking past the spot where we first collided.
I pull my cap down and follow.
I shouldn’t.
I know that.
But I do anyway.