a hermit who lived alone in the woods, she understood technology well. She used a computer at the library, and I hadn’t needed to show her how to use the phone. She didn’t text me very often—usually just wandered onto my land—but occasionally she’d text asking for a ride.
The screen had a big crack right down the center.
“That ain’t good. I’ll get you another one.”
She gave me a closed-mouth smile, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes. Holding up a finger, she dug in her pocket again. Pulled out some wadded-up cash.
“Nah,” I said, waving her off. “It’s on me. Consider it your saving-Shelby’s-life present.”
Smiling again, she pocketed the money. I didn’t know where she’d gotten it, but she obviously had a supply of cash. I figured she’d brought it with her when she’d moved out to her little cabin some twenty-odd years ago.
I handed her phone back. “Keep this for now and I’ll have a new one for you soon.”
She took it, but kept looking at me, her eyebrows lifted.
“Wondering about Shelby?” I asked.
Another nod.
“She’s fine. Jonah’s taking good care of her. Cops have the guy who did it.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She put the cracked phone in her pocket, brushed her hands together, and stood, using the porch railing to help herself up.
“That was a real good thing you did,” I said.
She gave me a solemn nod, then walked back toward the woods. She limped a little—had ever since I’d known her. Some old injury. Like most things about Henrietta, I’d probably never know the story behind it. And that was fine by me. She was who she was, and the rest didn’t really matter.
I envied Henrietta’s life a little bit. She lived outside the rules. Made her own way in the world. People told stories about her, but the town gossip didn’t seem to touch her.
Gossip. I let out a long breath. There was going to be plenty of that, all with my name attached. That video was one thing. Two million views. How the hell did something like that happen?
But I had a feeling even a video of me going around the internet wasn’t going to hold a candle to the story of Gibson Bodine sneaking around with Callie Kendall thirteen years ago.
I’d lied before when I said I didn’t care what this town thought. I’d deny it till the day I died, but a part of me did care. I knew what they thought of me. Good for nothing son of a drunk. Goin’ nowhere fast.
Some of that reputation I’d earned. I was a grumpy bastard and an asshole to most people. I started bar fights to blow off steam, always spoke my mind whether or not it was what people wanted to hear, and didn’t have any patience for dumbasses.
But the rest of it was down to my father. A man who’d publicly deteriorated in a town where everyone knew everything. Saw everything. Judged everything.
I didn’t know if I’d ever get out from under the shadow of Jonah Bodine Sr.
3
MAYA
My body had no idea what time it was. The clock told me nine thirteen a.m., but I was still in a haze of jet lag. I took a sip of my triple-shot latte while the elevator rose. I was used to jumping around time zones, but I’d touched down in L.A. less than twenty-four hours ago. If Oliver, my boss, wanted a fully awake and alert Maya, he should have given me another day to acclimate.
I stepped off the elevator and flashed my ID badge at the receptionist. She gave me a polite nod. I’d never met her; it had been over a year since I’d been to Attalon Records headquarters. It looked the same as I remembered: sleek, modern furnishings. Framed awards and album covers on the walls.
Yui stepped out of her office, dressed in a black blouse, white skirt, and a pair of killer red stilettos. Her jet-black hair framed her face in a sleek bob and her lipstick matched her shoes. I glanced down at my clothes—plain white t-shirt, old jeans, and sandals—and decided I was too jet-lagged to care.
“Look who’s awake,” Yui said. “I didn’t think I’d see your face until tomorrow.”
I shrugged, cradling my coffee against my chest like it was a lifeline. “Oliver said he wanted to see me. So, here I am.”
“He probably doesn’t realize you basically just landed. You know how he is.” She tilted her head, looking past me. “His door’s still shut. I think