After her father's tragic passing, Nora Davis is forced behind the scenes, nothing more than a stepping stone for others in their journey to stardom. When an opportunity presents itself, Nora, trapped under her stepmother's heel, takes it as her cha...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Eli started a direct message with the anonymous profile Nora'd created. His scalp prickled, his fingers shaking as he typed.
therealEli: Voluntarily?
The response came not two minutes later.
Dream_ON: No.
He gritted his teeth, the keys loud as he typed out his next message.
therealEli: What do you need?
Dream_ON: Nothing. Hold. One day.
therealEli: Can I call?
Dream_ON: No. Phone broke.
He'd texted Nora before when they'd done their chemistry project together. Nora's texting was flawless, fully fleshed out sentences. Not these little fragments. He was 100% certain that this was Nora. But he didn't like the way she talked. As if she needed to keep it vague. To disguise herself.
As if she were afraid someone would trace the profile back to her.
His pulse pounded. "She wants to do this alone," he muttered mostly to himself.
This was the reason she needed a break, needed space from him. He was sure of it. She was too smart not to have something up her sleeve.
Lizzie's palm landed on his shoulder blade. He froze slightly, completely forgetting she was there for a moment. "You have to let her fight her own fight if that's what she wants," Lizzie said softly.
His fingers speared through his dark locks.
Then Lizzie grinned, something touched with a hint of wickedness. "That doesn't mean we can't be ready with backup." She pulled out her phone and put the device to her ear, waiting a moment. Then, "Jackson. We need to do some digging."
Eli sucked in a slow breath; his throat tight.
therealEli: One day. That's it.
There was no response.
❆❆❆
After her brief exchange with Eli, Nora opened her email and began sorting through the forwarded messages.
Only when the sky turned a dim gray did she take off her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose. She spent the entire night going through emails and trashing those that were of no use. Anything that was moderately helpful was moved to a separate folder in her inbox titled Song Ideas.
