Jeremiah stood, and I realized we were almost eye-to-eye. When had he grown so tall? How much of his childhood had I missed? How much would I continue to miss because of my career?

“Would you prefer I called her a slut? How about clingy, cheating bi—”

“While I couldn’t agree more with the sentiment,” a young blond woman said, bustling into the room, “probably best not to say it here, when reporters are lurking just down the hall. Their ears—via microphone, you know, like those of the Weasley brothers in The Order of the Phoenix?—yeah, these ears put those to shame.”

Jeremiah blinked at the woman, probably shocked by the Harry Potter reference as much as the attempt to use humor as a warning. Jeremiah settled back, his mouth twisted in a surly line.

“Angelica?” I asked.

She offered me a fine-boned hand. “Yes. Angelica Gatlin. Your newest team member, and Jon Singer’s personal fixer-upper.”

Part of me wanted to blame Jon for getting me in this mess in the first place—he helped put together my team, set up my tour schedule. And I’d been off-balance—trying to find my equilibrium—since I started this tour schedule. Shouldn’t that have told me something? I obviously needed more time with my wife to ground me.

I glanced over at Philip, who’d continued to relax in his chair, one leg propped on the other knee. An urbane businessman, well pleased with his position in the world.

“We need to talk,” she said, causing Jeremiah to snort and sink farther into his seat, and Dave to raise his brows high, his jowls quivering in indignation.

“Good one, Dad. Just bring your latest sl—”

“What did you want to talk with me about?” I said on a sigh, unwilling to hear the rest of Jeremiah’s words. Marsha and Dave wouldn’t reprimand him for the use, and clearly I had no sway with discipline.

Angelica glanced at the other people in the room, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they landed on Philip. At least she and I agreed on him.

“You want me to tell you in here—in front of all these people?”

“Considering my son and father-in-law think I’m having a torrid affair with you, yes, I think that would be best.”

“Ick.” Angelica’s jaw snapped shut and her cheeks turned redder than the Santa decorations I’d passed on my way in. “That’s not . . . We’re not . . . Oh, my goodness. I’ve never even met you until just now.” She brought her hand up to her cheek and pressed it there, hard. “So, um, I wanted to let you know that Monique is suing you.”

I rocked back on my heels. “For what, exactly?”

“Attention.”

I almost smiled at that, but then the reality of the situation hit me: my brand, my image as a musician was about to take another hit.