Somehow this woman always knows what to say to make me feel better.
“Yeah—” A knock on the front door cuts me off.
“Expecting any visitors?”
Getting up from the table, I shake my head. “Nope.”
I mutter a curse the moment I open the door.
Because Chandler Dicky is standing on the other side of it. Again.
“Two hundred thousand.”
I go to slam it in his face, but he wedges his foot between it and the frame.
“Our first show is tomorrow night in California,” he says in a big rush. “We’ll be going on the road right away, so you’ll need to make a decision soon.”
For fuck’s sake. Is he deaf?
“My decision is no.”
This time when I slam the door, I lock it afterward.
“The manager came back again?” Mrs. Palma exclaims when I return to the kitchen.
“Yup. The asshole doesn’t understand the meaning of no.” I grab a water bottle out of the fridge for myself and her. “Luckily the tour starts tomorrow so he’ll be out of my hair for good.”
That same weird look from last night is back on her face as she takes the bottle from me. “Oh.”
This woman is the closest thing I have to a mother figure and best friend, so I know when something’s not sitting right with her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Averting her gaze, she takes a small sip of water. “But just out of curiosity, how much money would you have made if Phoenix didn’t steal your song and you had been paid for it?”
I think about this for a long moment because there are a lot of variables to consider.
While my dad has written songs that have been featured on albums, he’s best known for writing two hit songs during his career. I remember he once said he made around three hundred and seventy-five thousand in royalties the initial year his first hit song came out…after taxes.
However, he also told me the first year is when you make most of your money…because the older a song is, the more it loses value over time. Also, if the song is cowritten with anyone, even just a line or two—like his second hit was—you have to split all the royalties with them.
However, my song was solely written by me, and Sharp Objects not only blew up, it was also nominated for a freaking Grammy.
A sharp sting of pain strikes through my heart, because I know my dad would have been proud of me for accomplishing something so prestigious.
And equally devastated because I was dumb enough to let Phoenix use me.
Just like my dad told me he would.
“Off the top of my head, I’d say half a million in royalties for the first year alone. Bare minimum.”
But there’s no way to know for sure. Hell, I’m probably underestimating.
She blows out a breath. “Wow.”
“I know.” I raise a brow. “Why do you ask?”
She places her water bottle on the table. “This guy seems like he’s willing to give you whatever you want in order to do this.”
“And?”
“I know the thought of involving yourself with Phoenix again is not only scary, it’s downright senseless.”
She’s got that right. “Agreed.”
“For the girl who had a huge crush on some punk kid in a band and thought he was a rock star,” she continues. “But you’re not that girl anymore, Lennon. You’re an independent, strong, confident, self-assured young woman. And as crazy as it sounds, I think doing this would not only be a way for you to conquer your demons with the guy who screwed you over…it’s also a way to get some of the money you so justly deserve.”
As much as I want to protest—because the thought of being anywhere near Phoenix makes me homicidal—my brain can’t seem to formulate a proper argument.
Except one.
“I get what you’re saying, but even if I wanted to, I can’t. There’s no way I’m leaving my father for eight weeks to run off on some rock tour.”
He needs me.
“I can take care of him,” she proposes. “He’s been in good spirits lately and it’s not like we won’t keep in touch every day. You can talk to him on the phone and we can do video—”
“No. Not only is that way too much to ask of you, it wouldn’t be right of me to accept. I’m his daughter. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s taken care of.”
Just like he’s always taken care of me.
Her expression becomes serious, a sure sign she’s not ready to give up just yet.
“You’re only twenty-two years old, Lennon. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. The years where you’re supposed to have fun, make mistakes, go a little wild, and learn and grow along the way.” Her gaze cuts to mine. “Your father wouldn’t want you to waste them trapped here taking care of him where the only reprieve you get is working behind a bar at a strip club just so you can make ends meet.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she’s not done yet. “I know what I’m about to say will hurt, but most days he doesn’t even know who you are, so he’d be peacefully oblivious to your temporary absence.”
As awful as hearing that is…it’s the sad truth. I’d be missing him far more than he’d miss me.
However, I’m terrified of not being here for those moments when he does remember me.
I don’t want him to think I abandoned him.
“But—”
“All a good parent ever wants for their child is for them to figure out what makes them happy. Music is that thing for you, Lennon.”
Looking ready to throw down the gauntlet, she stabs the table with her finger. “Despite Phoenix being there, it’s still a great opportunity to be around what you love. Not to mention, doing this means you won’t have to struggle financially anymore. Being able to provide for yourself is something your father would also want.”
My chest caves in because she’s making it harder and harder to say no with every point she makes. “Mrs. Pa—”
“For heaven’s sake, it’s eight weeks, not eight years, Lennon. You will be back. In the meantime, I will take care of everything while you’re gone. Physically he’s fine, so you have nothing to worry about. Plus, Richard and I enjoy his company so it’s really no bother.”
It’s not that I don’t trust Mrs. Palma to take care of him, I know she will. It’s the thought of leaving that makes me feel guilty. Along with inconveniencing her.
“I appreciate it, but I can’t ask you to do this.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” Her expression softens. “Richard and I weren’t lucky enough to have children, and I know I’m not your mother, but I care for you as if you were my own. So, please, let me do this.”
My throat prickles. She brought out the big guns.
“I’ll think about it,” I settle on, because I need to take some time so I can weigh the pros and cons.
That said…there’s an important motive Mrs. Palma failed to mention.
One that’s urging me to turn my maybe into a yes.
Revenge.
CHAPTER 25