Chapter 4

The next morning, Ethan' s lawyer arrived with the divorce papers. Ethan didn't even have the decency to give them to me himself. He was already gone, taking Tara to a brunch with some record producers.

The lawyer was kind, apologetic. He explained the settlement. It was generous. The mansion, a significant portion of Ethan' s stock portfolio, a lifetime of alimony. More money than I could ever spend.

I stared at the papers, at the black ink detailing the end of my life as I knew it. It all seemed so meaningless. What good was money to a dead woman? I had three days left. The red thread was now a pale pink, barely visible.

Later, I overheard Ethan on the phone in his study. He sounded stressed, angry.

"What do you mean, Hughes is backing out?" he yelled into the phone. "That deal is worth millions! I don't care if he's a lecherous old bastard, just make it happen!"

Mr. Hughes. I knew him. He was a powerful music mogul with a reputation for being difficult and for having wandering hands. He was also a huge fan of old-school blues. My kind of music.

An idea, a desperate, terrible idea, began to form in my mind.

I found Ethan pacing in the living room, a storm cloud of fury around him. Tara was trying to soothe him, stroking his arm and murmuring comforting words.

"I can fix it," I said, my voice clear and steady.

Ethan stopped pacing and stared at me as if I' d just grown a second head. "Fix what?"

"The Hughes deal," I said. "I know him. I can get him to sign."

Ethan let out a short, harsh laugh. "You? How?"

"I'll perform for him," I said. "A private concert. Just me and my guitar. I'll sing the blues for him until he signs on the dotted line."

Tara looked at me, her eyes wide with fake concern. "Jocelyn, you don't have to do that. Mr. Hughes... he has a reputation."

"I can handle him," I said, my eyes locked on Ethan. I took a deep breath. "I'll do it. I'll get you the deal. And in return... you give me what I want."

Ethan' s eyes narrowed. "And what is that?"

"One kiss," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "A real one. That's the price."

He stared at me for a long moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked at Tara, then back at me. A cruel, dismissive smile played on his lips.

"You think your little performance is worth that much?" he sneered. "You think you can just buy my affection? You're even more pathetic than I thought."

He turned his back on me. "Do whatever you want. I don't care. But don't come crying to me when it all goes wrong."

He didn't believe I could do it. But he didn't say no. It was a sliver of hope, and I clung to it.

That night, I went to Mr. Hughes's hotel suite. It was as bad as I expected. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of expensive whiskey. Hughes was old, bloated, and his eyes roamed over my body like a physical touch.

I sat on a stool, my guitar in my lap, and I sang. I poured every ounce of my pain, my love, my desperation into the music. I sang about lost love and broken hearts, about dying embers and last chances. Hughes listened, captivated. I fended off his clumsy advances, keeping my smile fixed, my voice steady. I drank whiskey with him, my head spinning, my body screaming in protest.

Finally, after two hours that felt like a lifetime, he picked up a pen.

"You've got a deal, little lady," he slurred, signing the contract with a flourish.

I felt a wave of relief so powerful it almost knocked me over. I had done it.

Just as I was putting the signed contract into my purse, the door to the suite opened. It was Ethan. And right behind him was Tara. She had been crying.

"Ethan, thank God you're here!" she sobbed, running to him. "I was so worried! Jocelyn told me to come here, she said Mr. Hughes wanted to see me... and he... he tried to touch me!"

She pointed a trembling finger at Hughes, who was looking confused. Then she looked at me, her eyes full of venom.

"She set me up," Tara whispered to Ethan. "She tried to sell me to him to get your deal."

Ethan' s face went white with rage. He looked from Tara' s tear-streaked face to me, holding the contract. The conclusion he drew was instantaneous and horrific.

"You bitch," he breathed.

He lunged at me. He didn't hit me with his fist. He slapped me, hard, across the face. My head snapped back, and I stumbled, falling to the floor. The signed contract fluttered out of my hand.

He stood over me, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with a hatred so pure it was terrifying.

"You endangered her," he seethed. "For money. For a deal. I will never, ever forgive you for this."

He turned his back on me, scooped a sobbing Tara into his arms, and carried her out of the room, leaving me on the floor, my cheek stinging, my hope shattered into a million pieces.