“And I paid the fines asked. I did the community service required.” Jesus Christ. How many times do we have to rehash this? “I don’t get what the big deal is this time around. The courts or whoever allowed me to travel last time. Do your job and they’ll approve it again this time.”

“Huh.” It’s the only sound he makes and for some reason, it unsettles me when it shouldn’t.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your legal indiscretions are one thing. The nonstop TMZ mentions and photos are another.”

“Dude.” I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I can’t help that paparazzi get paid to take pictures and make shit up.”

“What is a judge to think when you say ‘I’m on my best behavior. I won’t do the same shit I’ve been doing again’?”

“Who said I was going to say that?”

His chuckle is condescending and so much like our father’s that I roll my shoulders and fight the urge to walk out. “Me. Your lawyer. I’m the one who said you were going to say and do that or else I won’t represent you.”

“Come on.” I sigh. “The dramatics are so not like you.”

“Dramatics?” he scoffs. “Really?”

Bitterness coats my tongue but I swallow it down like cheap vodka. “Really.”

“So that latest story isn’t true?”

“Which one would that be?” I narrow my eyes at him and shake my head in disgust.

“Exactly. Which one would that be? There are so many posted you don’t even know what the latest is.”

“There are opportunists everywhere willing to lie for a payday. Willing to say an innocent picture is something bad. I don’t have to tell you that.”

“And yet the one journalist in particular who keeps the stories about you alive by constantly stirring the pot is causing you the most trouble.”

“Lori is . . . Lori is just that—an opportunist,” I state about the journalist who has the biggest hard-on for me. “I didn’t do shit.”

“And there’s always an excuse for your behavior.”

I bite back my smart-ass remark, my cutdown to blame him when I’m well aware of my own actions. I own them. It’s so much easier to blame him.

Hasn’t it always been?

“I put in the request to your probation officer like I always do when you need to go overseas. He said he’d bring it to the judge.”

“Like he always does,” I finish for him, wanting to hurry up this fucking urgent conversation we needed.

“Correct. And he did. But the judge who normally approves your travel, your . . . exceptions, without pause, is no longer there.”

The first finger of dread slithers up my spine. “So a different judge will approve it. This is Los Angeles. I know I’m not the only musician on probation in this town who needs to travel for work.”

“The judge assigned to review your request is an unforgiving prick.”