A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,19

had your agent spend half a day writing that,” she says dryly, “and you won’t use a word. That’s borderline sadistic.”

My dad flashes her a grin. “Come on, Hales. I’m a songwriter. And it’s only sadistic if he’d be at the fundraiser tonight.”

I can’t help smiling.

I like my stepmom a lot. She’s smart and funny and bold. She runs her own software company with a guy in Philly who’s Tom Hiddleston hot and used to be her professor.

It kills my dad that she won’t leave Carter and go out on her own, which he insists is because Haley could do better solo, not because Carter’s younger than my dad with a panty-dropping smile.

Dad and Haley met back when he was still on tour and she was interning. However it happened, he looks at her like the sun rises and sets out of her ass.

It’s the real fucking deal.

“You look fantastic, Annie,” Haley comments.

“Thanks.”

“Jax?” Haley nudges my dad with her elbow.

He frowns. “It’s not a dress. It’s a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.”

My jaw drops. “It is not!”

“Could we not afford more fabric?” he asks Haley, who narrows her gaze at him before turning to me.

“Ignore him.”

The black dress Pen and I picked out skims my body, has little spaghetti straps, and ends mid-thigh. It’s sophisticated and fresh, especially with strappy sandals. I left my hair down, taming the waves that tickle the bare skin between my shoulders.

I feel older, grown-up. More confident.

I stare out the window and hum under my breath.

“Is that from the musical?” Haley asks me. “It’s sounding good.”

“Thanks.” I look at my dad, but he’s on his phone. “Don’t forget to line up security for the night of the show.”

Assuming I still have a role, I think, but I’m not about to say that.

He glances up, blinking. “Annie, it’s on the list.”

I shake my head.

When we pull up in front of the venue, my dad grunts, adjusting his tux. “It’s not too late to turn around,” he mutters. “We can grab the bourbon, head home, and fund this entire project ourselves.”

“That’s not the point. The point is to collaborate.” Haley pauses. “If you’ve never heard of it, a collaboration is where you compromise and work as a team—”

“Funny, Hales.”

The charity event is a fundraiser for music education at some gallery in Fort Worth with a bunch of people my dad knows. Sophie’s at home with Uncle Ryan playing babysitter, which I think he secretly loves.

The frustration I felt in the car ebbs as we make our way around the event. My dad glad-hands people. It’s not in his nature, but despite Haley’s joke, he’s come around to it. Usually, he doesn’t invite me to these things, but tonight, he introduces me around.

"This is my daughter, Annie. She’s a junior at Oakwood,” he tells one producer. “And taking two AP courses.”

“One, actually,” I say.

My dad frowns. “Since when?”

I shift, twirling the drink in my fingers. “Since I’ve decided to drop calculus.”

“Excuse us.” He stalks toward a spare room and yanks the door shut behind us. “You can’t drop calculus.”

“I can. I checked the school’s drop policies, and even though it’s late in the semester, they’ll allow it. And I wouldn’t be losing a credit. I can get one for the musical. I have to turn in an assignment, but basically, it’s as good as done.”

“You're not dropping calculus for a musical.”

His commanding tone sets my teeth on edge.

“Calculus isn’t a prerequisite for Columbia. Even if it was, I still have time to take it next year.”

“You’re in school to learn, not to mess around on stage.” He spreads his hands. “You can do that anywhere. Anytime. The education you’re getting right now is important.”

I want to blurt that I can’t think about proofs and second derivatives when I’m trying to hang onto the lead of the musical, but I know if I tell him, he’ll just tell me it’s better that way. Or look at me as if it’s obvious that I could never command a stage like he could, like Tyler can.

“Do you even get the irony?” I ask. “You’re telling your own child music isn’t important at a music education fundraiser you’re keynoting.”

“I didn’t say it’s not important,” he retorts. “But music’s not the world.”

“It’s your world, and you won’t let me near it.”

The words hang between us because that’s the crux of all of this.

I’m the daughter he keeps at a distance, the one he shuts out from part of his life when he lets