By the next afternoon, I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get back to the library. I want to check my email and see if Professor Gould responded, to find out whether he’ll help push my application through. And more importantly, I want to search for every bit of information the web has to offer on Nox Knight.
Unfortunately, my whole day is hijacked by a call-back from the lip gloss people. Modeling’s still not my favorite thing, but I did my best. I’ve decided to try harder on all my go-sees. If I’m going to defy Pappa and go to art school, I’ll have to pay for my own tuition and living expenses somehow. And if smiling and pouting at a camera with extra glossy lips is what it takes, then so be it.
Carter was right—there’s no reason I can’t do both. If I want to gain my independence and start making my own decisions, then I’ll have to become financially independent somehow.
When I finally finish, I fall into the back seat of the car, which is waiting for me just outside the shoot location when I emerge—poor driver probably had to sit here all day to make sure I didn’t escape again.
“Excuse me,” I say to him, leaning forward. “Could we stop by Mr. Frey’s office? I need to sign some contracts.”
Alfred texted to say he’d messenger the contracts over, but it occurred to me during the shoot today that some face time with him wouldn’t be a bad thing for my plan. I can show him how enthusiastic I am about working, tell him how “great” things are going so far... and maybe even get some information about Nox Knight while I’m there.
Brenna did say he was a client of Alfred’s. It wouldn’t be too weird to ask my agent about a fellow client, would it? Only one way to find out. None of the girls know where The Hidden’s lead singer lives in Los Angeles—I asked—and I have only a few days left here before returning to Georgia. And only a few months left until I’m a married woman—gag.
If my childhood friend really is alive and well and in the same city, I’ll never forgive myself for not taking advantage of this opportunity to find him while I’m this close. Imagining a tearful, happy reunion with him fuels me as I climb out of the car and head into the gleaming office building.
But as I approach Alfred’s office, my steps slow and my bravery falters. Mr. Frey probably doesn’t take kindly to unexpected drop-ins. No doubt his schedule is crazy busy. He might not even be in.
Gathering my courage, I force myself to take the last few steps to his receptionist’s desk. “Um, hi. I’m Vancia Hart. Remember me from the other day? I was wondering if Mr. Frey would have a few minutes to see me.”
“You have no appointment?” Her tone is icy, a thin brow lifting in disdain. After barely glancing at the daily calendar in front of her, she frowns up at me. “I see no appointment for Vancia Hart here.” Her name plate reads Rowena—a witch name—figures.
“No. I need to ask him a question about the contracts I’m supposed to sign. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
No response. This vicious guard dog isn’t going to let me get close to Alfred today. She’s already beginning the Head Shake of Denial when her desk phone buzzes. Lifting it to her ear, she says nothing, just listens. She nods.
“Yes sir.” Then she drops the receiver back into its cradle. “You can go in.” She tilts her head toward the massive double wooden doors leading to Alfred’s office.
Okaaayy... that’s weird. “Thank you.”
I push the doors open, and Alfred stands and walks around to the front of his desk.
“Vancia. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
His friendly demeanor catches me off guard and nearly makes me forget what I wanted to say. “Oh, I wanted to thank you in person for the help in booking the jobs. It’s going great so far, and I think I’m really going to like the work.”
His expression falls, almost as if he’s disappointed at my enthusiasm. The exact opposite of what I was expecting.
“I see,” he says, then smirks. “I’d thought for a moment perhaps you were going to tell me you’d changed your mind and that modeling wasn’t for you. I suppose I should have known you’d never go against your father’s bidding...”
His tone of voice leaves something hanging in the air between us. An invitation to contradict him? I don’t know—it’s weird.
“Um... not this time, I guess.” Lame and non-committal, but I’m not sure what he’s expecting from me. The whole vibe of this meeting is unsettling, from the way he greeted me as if he was actually glad to see me, to his cryptic comment about potentially disobeying Pappa.
Of course, that’s exactly what I’m planning to do and the only reason I’m here pretending to be eager for a modeling career. I need the money to pay for art school. I’m certainly not going to share that tidbit with Alfred, though. He’s probably just spying for Pappa in the wake of my “sneaking off” episode.
Taking a seat in one of the two guest chairs that face his desk, he waves his hand at the other, indicating I should sit as well.
In a soft voice, he says, “I knew your parents—did you know that?”
I drop into the chair opposite him, suddenly breathless. “No. I didn’t. Were you their agent?”
“Yes, actually, but we had much more than a professional relationship. We were good friends. I loved both your parents—their deaths destroyed me... as I’m sure, they did you.”
I nod in agreement, unable to speak around the huge lump that’s formed in my throat.
Alfred’s gaze turns to the wide window overlooking Century City. “I remember when you were born. Your father couldn’t have been happier if he’d won a Grammy and an Oscar in the same year.” Now his gaze is back on me, anchoring me in my chair with its intensity. “They loved you very much, Vancia. Your parents were good people. I miss them.”
My response is a whisper. “Thank you. So do I.”
“If there’s ever a time you’d like to... discuss them...” He stands abruptly and walks around to the other side of his desk. “Well, I suppose you’d better be on your way. I have an appointment in two minutes. Here are your contracts.” He shoves some documents at me. “You may sign them and leave them with Rowena or take them with you and look them over first. You know how to reach me.”
Thoroughly baffled by our exchange and its sudden end, I take the papers and walk toward the door, turning his words over in my mind as I cross the expanse of carpet. Just as I reach the door, I have a fresh burst of daring. It’s now or never.
I spin back to face Alfred. “You represent Nox Knight and The Hidden, right?”
He looks up from his desktop. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“No reason, really. When I was out with Ava and the girls last night, I saw their poster in the club. Nox looked familiar to me.”
Alfred’s eyes narrow, making them gleam even from across the room. “Yes, he reminds me of someone, too—another old friend of mine—very musical as well. Unfortunately, he’s no longer with us. I’ve lost too many friends.” After a pause, he adds, “One would think Nox comes from a very long line of musical glamour, but when I asked about his family, I didn’t recognize the names he gave me. Not that I would, I suppose. He hails from Mississippi—has recently graduated high school there.”
“Mississippi? Really? That’s... interesting.”
Everyone in the Fae world knows Mississippi is the territory of the Light Elves, and the seat of their political and royal power, Altum. But Nox Knight couldn’t be a Light Elf—they don’t mix with humans, much less perform in front of them.
“It is, isn’t it?” Alfred says.
“So then, I guess he doesn’t live in Los Angeles.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice entirely.
“Oh, no. He does have a home here—in Malibu right on the beach, in fact. Have you seen Malibu?” Alfred lifts a brow in an expression that seems significant somehow. “The area just west of Zuma along Broad Beach Road is so lovely. I’m especially fond of the Spanish tiled roofs some of the homes have there. You should make a point of visiting the area before you leave town. You might find it... an enlightening sight.”
Is he telling me where Nox’s house is?
It seems that way. Either that or he’s suddenly feeling chatty and dispensing tourism advice. But why would he tell me where to find Nox? Unless... unless he wants me to see him and help determine his identity, to confirm or dispel his own suspicions.
Even if that’s what’s going on, and a bigger “if”—if Nox Knight and Nox Jerrik are one and the same—I’m not sure I’d share my discovery with Alfred Frey. My whole life I’ve heard of him as a friend of Pappa’s, and this change of demeanor is a little too much for me to swallow.
And if Nox is alive—and didn’t die in that plane crash with his parents—I’m not sure Pappa is a friend of his.