light up. He hadn’t done it to make her feel obligated to give him something in return.
He yanked at the tape on the box. Even though he’d long ago made the decision to have his mail checked at headquarters before he opened it personally, they still tried to give him some illusion of privacy by closing his envelopes and packages back partially and securing them with tape.
Inside the box there was an unsealed, padded envelope. He tipped it over and something slid out, weighty in his palm. Frowning, Eli turned it over, examining the ceramic cat figurine with interest. Why would she send him a knickknack? He wasn’t the type of guy who collected shit. He glanced around at the barren decor of his house. Anyone who knew him—hell, anyone who’d ever met him—knew that dainty breakables weren’t his style.
“So, this former client? Is she a little old lady or something?” Carly eyed the cat figurine with interest. “I think my grandma had one like that.”
Eli ignored her and picked up the envelope included. It wasn’t sealed and contained a single sheet of computer paper.
I wonder if she even noticed it was missing.
His blood chilled. Something in his face must have alerted Carly because she took the letter away from him and scanned it.
“When was this sent?” he barked.
Carly fumbled with the packaging. “It was postmarked a week ago but I only got it from the mailroom a few days ago.”
Eli tucked the figurine back into the padded envelope and closed it. He wished now that he hadn’t opened it with his bare hands but doubted it made much of a difference in the end. The types who were crazy enough to send threatening letters were rarely crazy enough to leave fingerprints. He tucked the box under his arm and grabbed his coat off the back of the kitchen chair.
“Wait, Eli! Where are you going?” Carly trotted behind him as he walked to the front door. She stepped out onto the porch and waited as he locked the door behind him.
He didn’t look back as he got into his truck and started the ignition.
“Cancel all my appointments next week.”
KAY WALKED BACK into the control room to a hearty round of applause. Jackson had called that afternoon and asked if she was available to record that night because one of his other artists had canceled. At first she’d said no because she didn’t want to be one of those girls who constantly bailed on her girlfriends. However, when she told Sasha, her friend hadn’t minded at all and decided instead to meet her at the studio. Now she was clapping and whooping the loudest.
“As many times as I’ve heard you sing, you can still bring tears to my eyes.” Sasha swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her long, glittery nails sparkled under the studio lights.
Her friend loved making a statement, which was obvious from the bold manicures she got every other week to the daring clothes she wore. Today her entire outfit was made of some kind of lime-green shredded fabric that hugged her hourglass figure perfectly. The color looked good against her cocoa complexion. With her hair elaborately braided and twisted up into a high ponytail, she looked like an Egyptian princess in a club dress.
Kay grinned as Sasha enfolded her in a hug. They’d just finished recording the first power ballad on the album, and Kay was quite sure she’d nailed it. Mac and Jackson both seemed really pleased with her, so she could only hope that meant they liked her songwriting. She’d been afraid they were only saying they did to spare her feelings.
“Thank you. I’m starting to get really excited about this. I mean, I was excited before, but it’s different now. Having my songs out there.”
She shook her head, not sure how to express what she was trying to say. Luckily Jackson seemed to get it.
“It’s because these songs are yours. They represent you. It’s great to have people love your singing, but it’s better to have them love your style. To