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Remy nearly ran down the halls after the bartender; he called out for Val as he passed the green room, but his brother had headphones on and didn’t hear. Celeste lifted an eyebrow, but Remy was gone before he could explain. Down the hall, up the fire stairs, to a tiny, tiny office door covered in ancient band stickers and the occasional piece of gum. The lumberjack bartender had abandoned him at the turn, eager to get back to his bar and his tips; Remy lifted a hand and knocked hurriedly on the door.
It swung open almost immediately to the grinning, nearly chaotic-looking face of the SALT general manager.
“What’s going on?” Remy asked.
“Come in,” the manager said, stepping aside—
And revealing the reason Remy had been sent for.
“Vivi,” Remy said, the word louder than he intended, panic still on the syllables.
“Thanks so much for getting him,” Vivi said to the manager, who was still grinning almost clownishly over the fact thattheVivi Swan was in his club. “Can we borrow your office for a second?”
“Of course, Miss Swan. Make yourself at home. Sorry it’s such a wreck,” the GM said, flushing a little as he noticed a stack of pizza boxes, the top one open to reveal a handful of uneaten crusts. The room made Vivi glow like a beacon in the night. Or maybe a beacon in a dumpster.
“Thanks—Steven, right? I appreciate it so much,” Vivi said brightly. “And trust me, it’s fine. I’ve been on a tour bus for weeks. Anything not on wheels feels like a five-star hotel.”
This was unconvincing to Remy and, based on the GM’s expression, equally unconvincing to him. Still, he backed out of the room, almost jittery, and let the door latch shut behind him.
Remy turned back to Vivi, heart beating to the sound of her breath, which appeared to be moving to the house bass blaring downstairs.
“Hey,” Remy said, though he wasn’t quite sure how he’d decided on saying that. There was some sort of disconnect between his body parts—head to mouth, mouth to heart, heart to hands.
“Hi,” Vivi answered, lips curved a little, and the action reunited his organs. She was wearing a short skirt and tall boots, with a light-pink sweater which made her lipstick look particularly cherry-red. Remy fought the urge to run his eyes up and down her form.
“You’re here,” Remy said. “I thought you went to Europe today.”
“Later,” Vivi said, nodding, rapping the desk with her nails. “I was back in Nashville for the CMAs—”
“I saw,” Remy said.
“Yeah. And I just thought I’d stop by and see your show before I left the country,” she said cheerily, voice becoming a little false.
“Nashville isn’t exactly a stone’s throw from LA,” Remy said, furrowing his brow.
“Yeah,” Vivi answered, and she looked so unrehearsed, so unpracticed, that it felt as if Remy was seeing an entirely new model of Vivi Swan. “I guess,” she said then stopped for a long time. She studied some papers on the desk, an order for bulk maraschino cherries. “I guess I didn’t really get an actual chance to say goodbye to you. And that felt weird.”
Remy nodded, mentally calculating the distance between them. Six feet? Six miles? Six inches?
“And I was also thinking about what you said. About how you couldn’t ask me to come on the European leg because I’m your boss—”
“Vivi—”
“Wait, wait, let me finish,” she said, swallowing and lifting her eyes to his. “I should have asked you. Not because I’m your boss or whatever, but because I knew I wanted you with me basically from the night I got stuck on your bus. So I should have just said it aloud instead of waiting for you to say it.”
“Thanks,” Remy said, which sounded stupid as hell. He licked his lips and looked down, unable to keep his eyes on her, feeling crushed by the weight of her irises.
“And…I guess…that’s what I’m asking now. Will you come to Europe with me? Please? I’ll pay the other guy’s salary. All of it. He’ll be fine. But will you come?” Vivi said, voice softening.
Remy dared to look up and nodded.
“Okay. Well. Good,” Vivi said, taking a breath and smiling. “Great. I’ll call Walter and have him book your tickets. We can fly over together.”
The house music faded—Quiet Coyote was about to come back onstage. Remy glanced at the door, wondering where Val would assume he’d gone off to. Not here. Certainly not here, certainly not with Vivi Swan, certainly not with his hands sweating.
“Why didn’t you just call me?” he asked.
Vivi shrugged, a tiny movement that barely moved her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
