if i had a tail [kate]

She was pretty sure this was the first time she’d seen him smile at all tonight, and his smile was quite striking, if she was being honest with herself. He was definitely older, though. Older than Charlie. Kate had no intention of like, dating him but she liked being around him well enough(so far) and maybe he’d prove to her that interactions with guys she’d only just met didn’t have to be horrific or fall as flat as a can of soda left open too long.

Apparently, her reaction to the concept of trying an oyster was funny enough to make him laugh, and Kate felt a strange sense of accomplishment in so doing as she laughed along with him. That was why she loved making Charlie smile and laugh so much; she knew he didn’t do it as often around other people as he did with her. Perhaps that was selfish--she should want to share that with others--but Kate, on second thought, didn’t want to feel bad about memories that were hers.

She felt comfortable enough to smile at him again when he informed her that he was only joking. Of course, she’d known there wasn’t a real policy; it would have been startling and weird if there was. “I know. I was just, you know. Being dry back. That’s kind of your thing, right?” People could have multiple things, of course, but a deadpan sense of humor seemed to be one of his. At least he had a sense of humor. Or, well, she thought he probably did.

Kate’s eyebrows raised, involuntarily, when Harlan mentioned going out the back. “Oh,” The pitch of her voice climbed as well, and Kate had to make a conscious effort to swallow the nerves that were crawling up the back of her throat. “That kind of party, huh?”

Then of course, him telling her that he wasn’t going to kill her should have raised some red flags, but it actually softened her and made her more comfortable. Acknowledging that was a creepy thing to say in a sketchy situation with someone he’d just met somehow made things markedly less creepy, and Kate burst out with another laugh. “Ah, yeah, okay. Guess we’ll find out. You only live once, right?”

She stood up from her stool and concentrated as hard as she could not to wobble, impressed with her success. What was the positive word for stubbornness? Tenacity. She’d shown major tenacity not wobbling around on her heels after that much to drink.

“Umm, do I need to…. Like. Change? Or…” Kate looked down at her dress with a critical eye and hoped the answer would be no, just because finagling a trip home in between this venue and the next would have been awkward, but she kind of wished she’d brought an extra pair of shoes. She couldn’t well be tacky like some of the people she’d seen out clubbing and take her heels off. Unfortunately, due to her upbringing and--stubbornness or tenacity, whichever you wanted to call it--she’d have to suffer through it.

His gaze lifted from over his shoulder, to Kate. That kind of party, she said. Was she fucking with him? Harlan had done what he could to avoid it but the inevitable smirk appeared without fail, an eyebrow only subtly quirked in thought as if to ask that very question. Either she really was that naive or there was more to this one. That whole Californian-blasé thing could only last so long. 

Harlan was glad that his dark sense of humor hadn't rubbed the wrong way, yet, her high pitched laugh cutting through the noise of the crowd. He surveyed the immediate area, looking for someone— anyone who might have been paying too close attention— he was on edge as it pertained to the public eye. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be otherwise occupied by whatever shitty chart-topping band had taken the stage.

Poor taste, Audrey, but thank you.

"Umm..." Harlan couldn't help but mimic her accent, stopping short of like. "Yeah, no," He half-chuckled, his eyes drifting over her dress, down to her legs—

Bad idea.

"Just there," He ran his hands over the fabric of his suit pants before pointing to the door over her shoulder. With one last cursory glance to be certain they were in the clear, he followed Kate, keeping a safe distance for good measure. The outside air was warm— the heat of Summer threatening to rain— and Harlan drank it in. Somehow it was still less stuffy when compared to where they had only just been.

"Ahh, Alexei—" Harlan pushed his hair from his forehead that was grown out-between the Griffins and the English team seasons, clapping his hand to the back of the mountain of a man stood beside the dumpster in the alley they found themselves in. The man gave him a kiss on either cheek, roughly, only casually perusing who he was with. He knew better than to react, pushing open the old door that revealed a set of stairs leading underground.

Inside it was dark. French house music pumped through the speakers over the sound of the people already there. It was another Universe, just below the real world. Now, this was a bit of Audrey. "Alright?" He spoke over the music, looking back to Kate. Harlan nodded thanks to the man that accosted them upon their descent— a tray of drinks in hand, costume mask on face— before grabbing two glasses of champagne. This was his world, his family's world, but he was all too aware of how unusual it was.

Kate was pleasantly shocked when Harlan mocked her accent and made sure to tell him so, if nonverbally, with her mouth ajar and a little scoff. She didn’t feel offended when he’d done it, like she did with so many other people that lived in this place, because she knew there was no malintent. Accusing her of shoplifting or whatever other crazy thing she’d been berated for while living in London was a different story, but this was all in good fun.

The alcohol gave Kate a rush and made her feel bold enough to reach out and give the man’s shoulder a decent shove, and she monitored his expression rather closely afterward to decide whether or not she should’ve regretted it. He’d just invited her to an afterparty as a semi-illegal plus-one, after all, so she felt like they were on good enough terms for a playful nudge.

The band that was ragging on in the background left a lot to be desired, and while the pretentious party was only just getting started here, in the venue, Kate was more than pleased to be leaving for something more interesting. She hoped it would be, anyway--there’d be no real confirmation until they got there.

Kate didn’t wait for Harlan to make for the door. She didn’t want to look like a hovering little… accessory of a person, so she walked as confidently as a person could when they were as drunk as Kate was.

She was vaguely worried that there was a dumpster next to the door of the club they were supposed to be entering, and even more troubled that the person standing next to it looked like he was literally half troll. Maybe ogre. Something mythical. Apparently this man-troll’s name was Alexei, and he even gave Harlan some smooches on both of his cheeks--Harlan didn’t appear to be insecure about his masculinity--and the two of them were ushered toward a long staircase down without another word.

Kate stepped embarrassingly slowly down each stair, both feet on the step before descending to the next, and willed herself not to topple down them. The environment and vibe of this club reminded her of one of her favorite television shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Kate hoped there weren’t any real vampires here tonight, even though it might’ve saved her quite a bit of trouble if there were.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay,” Kate offered her companion a half-genuine smile, attempting to be reassuring, but it disappeared within seconds. “I’m not gonna get in trouble for being here, right?” Her grin this time was sheepish, but considerably more real than her last attempt, and Kate happily took the champagne flute from his fingers to take a big swig.

Where Kate had led the way out of the event, Harlan took the lead when it came to descending the stairs to the basement Audrey (better, someone on Audrey's team) had scouted for the real party— he noticed the look of aprehension on her face when she saw the entrance. He hadn't noticed until he turned over his shoulder at the bottom just how much she was taking her time on the way down. Paired with whatever attempt that was at a smile, he wondered if he had made a mistake here, in inviting her.

"Trouble?" His brow furrowed, he leaned  forward to cut through the music but kept his distance. Earlier, he would have been worried about who might have seen them but now was he more concerned about whatever obligation she was feeling, to be here. In this place, though, his family would have made sure, there was no one who could have leaked something to the press.  "How do you mean? He could have guessed it had something to do with Audrey.

Speaking of...

Steel eyes caught her gaze across the room, deep in conversation with a group of people, though she raised her glass, and as did he in return. Despite whatever her feelings toward Kate were, it was clear that they were the least of her concerns now. Harlan turned back to the aforementioned brunette as she took half the glass of champagne in her mouth, and though he tried to not be impressed, he finally said," You don't have to be here, you know" He tried to be gentle but that wasn't in his nature. "I won't be offended..." He couldn't help but grin over the lip of his own drink before taking a sip.

After his drink, he couldn't help but survey Kate again. She seemed so nice, almost innocent, but then again, that dress. How she had gotten so wrapped up in all that she had seemed inconceivable, but he knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

“I just mean like,” Kate continued when she was asked, trying not to let her trepidation seep through into her tone too much, “is there a… quota? Maybe I’m just. Worried about bad press right now?” She frowned. That was probably true, especially now, even if it had been true always. Kate had known exactly what she was signing up for when entering a relationship with her ex, but it was still startling that her privacy being invaded occurred at that level on a regular basis. More than it used to, she’d be willing to bet. The magazines, papers, whatever publication could get their hands on a good story--thrived on drama.

You don’t have to be here, he offered, and Kate visibly softened. “Oh, I. I would have told you if I didn’t want to be. I’m getting better at turning people down,” She smiled and played it off like a joke, even though it was actually relatively true that she was learning--much too late--to stick up for herself. Stand her ground, all that feminist stuff.

“And it’s not. Really you I’m worried about,” She added quickly, and took another slow drink of her champagne, remembering somewhere in her sane mind that champagne was hangover guaranteed and sipping carefully was much advised. “This champagne is very good,” Kate acknowledged after she realized this was true, and wet her lips to remove the rest of the sticky residue of her gloss.

“I’m, uh. Sorry I shoved you back there.” A lighter topic, she thought. That would break the ice more, right? Kate smiled, small and timid at first, and then lit up into a larger grin, nervous that if there was a blacklight in here, her teeth would glow like creepy little Chiclets. “I was just kidding. I kind of make weird jokes, like. I’m not that funny.”

Kate had certainly met a truckload of funnier people than her own self in her life, and even in her own family. She could claim the gold star of weirdness, most likely, but probably not of humor.

As much as he'd heard it, Harlan couldn't quite wrap his mind around an American accent— all of the nuances that came with it were so uniquely of their own. With Kate, it seemed that every other word was like. And in the same way that people from the North of England used it, it wasn't quite as grating, but it still left him feeling off-kilter. "You're alright," He turned back to her after nodding to his sister who hadn't shown any visible signs of disdain— a good sign given this was her event.

Bad press, he could relate to, but it was too early in the night to get into that. And it wasn't something they needed to worry about here.

"Well, isn't that a relief," Harlan rolled the thought over his tongue, sarcastically, yet full of meaning. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he preened at the idea of it, her concerns not being of him, but did little to show of it. Steel colored eyes, darkened now, followed her gaze to the glass of effervescent champagne with a grin. "Just wait until you've got an oyster with it," He scanned the room for what he was promised.

It took a moment for Harlan to register what Kate was apologizing for— shoving him? "You know, that's my dominant arm, too?" He feigned some kind of pain, rubbing the place where his shoulder met the socket. His left arm, the one used for hitting the shit of bludgers. "Might've cost me my next championship..." He clicked his tongue in jest before absently touching her side, briefly, the fabric of her dress taught against her ribs.

"Do you want to sit?" It was less a question and more of a statement because he led the way to a one-sided booth that faced the floor of people. On the way he caught the arm of a server and asked about his oysters. She had to get the full experience.

Well, she wasn’t going to get out of the oyster-slurping, that was becoming increasingly evident. Harlan seemed focused on Kate trying one, and she still felt the same amount of disgust toward the entire principle, but she’d tried other objectively gross things, for sure. Eel, squid, octopus, whatever else was in sushi--and she loved it, so maybe she’d change her mind.

She narrowed her eyes, and a tentative smile played around the corners of her mouth, while he (assumedly) joked about her shove. If she stood in front of Harlan, nobody would even be able to see her. Kate was sure of that, quite literally, so he had to be joking. “Good thing I have. Terrible aim and zero upper body strength,” She nodded curtly, and resisted the urge to skitter when his fingers touched her side. Her skin buzzed for a second where he’d made contact. She hadn’t been touched anywhere by another person since the last time she’d seen Charlie, really, and that was… shortlived. And depressing.

Sitting sounded good. Sounded prudent more than good, actually, and Kate followed him like a lost puppy--in stilettos--over to the booth he selected. Kate smoothed her dress under her backside and sat down next to him, being careful not to sit too close--but she felt their legs touch, only for a second, as she adjusted into a comfortable position. She found herself grinning the whole time he addressed the waiter about the oysters. Jesus, she thought, if he was this determined about an oyster, she wondered how much more he could be in the other areas of his life. She cautiously thought she might like to find out.

“So,” Kate cleared her throat and set her champagne down on the table, willing herself to take a break from her oral-fixation-sipping for a minute. “You seem pretty passionate about this oyster thing. Are you like this about anything else? Besides, you know. I assume your job.”

Harlan wasn't sure if the waiter was privy to the agreement his sister had made with him (a bribe some might say), but he promised to be right back with the half-dozen oysters, raw, as requested. Was there any other way to eat them? He sat back after an appreciative nod, handshake, and tried not to pay attention to how close they had to sit together in the booth, her leg against his for a moment before they resituated— when the fuck had he become this person?

Thankfully, Kate cleared the air before he could think too much about what he was going to do next, his hands decidedly safe on his knee and on his drink.

That was all he needed to do, just keep his hands to himself.

Immediately, his mind went to quidditch, but just as soon she ruled that out. Then, his mind went somewhere else, somewhere that was not proper "dinner conversation" with someone who he'd only just really met. Then again, it wasn't dinner, and it wasn't that, was it? He'd only "just met" plenty of women, but with Kate, for some reason, he was cautious. The better part of him knew it was because of their shared connections, but he'd long pushed that thought aside in favor of something else.

"You think that was determined?" Harlan referenced his aforementioned plight to indulge her in trying something new but now opted for the sarcastic route. In truth, that was nothing. He was nothing if not annoyingly passionate when it came to going after what he wanted. Quirking an eyebrow, he sat back and took a sip of his drink, glancing sideways at her. "And are you always so skeptical?" A bit more seriously now.

Kate pressed her lips together and turned in her seat, knees angled, to look at him more directly in the face as he talked. Did every man get feistier when he drank? Her carefully-plucked eyebrow rose, slowly, and she pressed her lips together to hold in a giggle. She’d thought he was being quite determined, yes. She didn’t think it was so far fetched, considering he’d mentioned the oysters three or four times now and made sure the first thing he did was grab a waiter to ask for them. If that wasn’t determination, Kate wasn’t positive what better a name that behavior could have.

“Uh, yeah, kind of,” She told him matter-of-factly with a small smile, nodding for extra emphasis. “What would you consider to be determination, if not that?” His sarcasm made her feel bolder; he made her feel more like it was okay to step out on a limb when he didn’t speak to her politely or cautiously. Kate wasn’t really sure whether she liked it or not, but she certainly enjoyed the spontaneous way it made her feel on the receiving end. She almost felt compelled to respond to him.

The noise she made right after his follow up question was a mixture of a scoff and a laugh. Kate wasn’t offended by his question at all, moreso surprised that he had the gumption to ask someone he’d only barely just met about their skepticism. Generally, she thought skepticism or pessimism were directly related to a person’s views about the world, so it was a bold inquiry to make so soon.

Men who were rich and handsome had nothing to lose, though, which gave them the ability to ask blunt questions, do bold things, and act without fear of the future. She had to remind herself of this. Nothing that Harlan did with her or without her (or any other rich, famous man) would tarnish his reputation--even if he was wrong about it. These things would only affect her in the long run, and she had to remember to be safe and protect herself.

“Um. No, not really? Maybe only lately,” Kate mused, and caught her pinky finger along the fabric of his pants while she was fidgeting around with her own dress. “Why would you think I’m skeptical?”

Harlan considered her question— what did he deem as determination if not asking for the oysters as promised— well, frankly, quite-a-fucking-lot. His face said as much as well, the smirk all but masked across his face despite his best efforts at nonchalance. At one point, he even ran his hand over his mouth, his lips, but it only made matters worse, his grin more prominent. Off the top of his head, he could think of a handful of things in his day to day life that he was more driven to get, another few outside of that (the more interesting) that he pushed aside as he met her eye briefly.

"Few things..." He opted to not go into detail and was thankful Kate spoke again soon after as to not sit with his lack of response for too long. After letting out a breath, he opened his mouth again. "Have got to take the small wins, with things like this," He gestured broadly to the room, each stranger looking impossibly more aloof than the next, though he knew better than to believe that it was nothing more than a front, the casual coolness. They were all playing some kind of fucked up game, even here, where the was no publicity. "Not exactly my kind of event..." He admitted.

The back of her finger as it moved down the side of his thigh caught Harlan off guard. He shifted in the booth. If she hadn't asked the question as she'd done it, he might have believed that she was being innocent in it all, but the more experienced part of him knew better. So maybe she wasn't as naive as he thought? He raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose you did follow me down into a basement, having known me all of half an hour..." He commented.

"So maybe I'm the skeptical one, then?" He was willing to admit it as well, for whatever reason, willing to drink champagne— fuck. Just then the half-dozen oysters arrived, atop a bed of crushed ice, lemons, and few sauces in the middle. Harlan thanked the waiter, pulling the tray toward them. "The moment of truth..." He nudged Kate, leaning into her only just, stopping short of wrapping a hand over her leg. "You strike me as a hot sauce woman?" He lingered over the options— soy, mignonette, hot sauce, raw shallots— before landing on it, intending on preparing hers first once confirmed.

Harlan seemed to struggle for a minute as he weighed her question, and the longer he was silent, the further Kate was convinced he wasn’t actually going to answer her. Few things, he answered, and confirmed her suspicion not a second later. It was endearing he was trying to hide his smile, as though admitting he’d found her question (or his mental answer to it) too embarrassing to be smiling at. She didn’t peg him the type of man to be so clinged-on to his masculinity that he couldn’t bear to smile in public. More just the… unnervingly introverted type. Those ones seemed to draw right to her.

Along those same lines, Kate wondered whether or not there was an event at all that was ‘his’ type of event. She didn’t foresee him being bothered by her present or future probing questions, but he’d become a master deflector during his years of fame, from what she’d observed in the last few minutes.

Her heart beat a little faster under the fabric of her dress when she felt him move, and she was arrogant enough to assume he was responding to her accidental touch in so doing. It had been at least half accidental, but there was no way for him to know such a thing except by assumption, and she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up verbally.

“Followed you!” Kate exclaimed, feeling like a petulant child being called out on her behavior, “I didn’t. You invited me, remember?” Her palm curled around his arm (what it could cover of his arm) to give it another shove. “I might be good enough at the shoving thing by the end of tonight to really jeopardize your season, you know--” and she was cut off, thankfully, by the waiter’s presence with oysters. Incredibly unappealing-looking, slimy, god-knows-what-else oysters.

She couldn’t stay in whatever mood she’d been in before the food had gotten here because, if Harlan was nothing else, he certainly seemed observant. “I am… yep. Definitely a hot sauce woman.”

Kate was smiling again, despite herself, and she waited for him to finish dumping the sauce all over the sad little creature before she cleared her throat and piped back up. “Um. What am I supposed to… do? With it. Like just… like a shot, or?”

Harlan mimicked her reaction in feigned disbelief, the grin at either corner of his mouth enough to indicate that he was nothing but serious. "And... then you followed me," He repeated the phrase again as though he was unsure what point she was trying to make. Even despite the joke, it was true, he thought— she had no obligation to be here.

Kate's hand, wrapped over his upper arm was delicate, small, but strong. Her bold proclamation was just that—bold— but he had to admit he was surprised by her tenacity. Until then, she struck him as a bit of a deer in headlights. Like, him, maybe she just needed a bit of time to open up. "Ahh, so that was the plan, then?" Harlan pretended to see the events of the night clicking together. "Sent here to seduce and destroy me—" The seduce was unintentional. He briefly cleared his throat. "—let me guess, the French?" The two national teams had a longstanding rivalry so it wasn't a stretch— though obviously not the case.

At her confirmation, Harlan dabbed a few drops of deep red hot sauce onto the oyster, catching her eye as he popped the wooden top back on but stopping himself before saying that he knew that was going to be the case. A bit of mignonette for his own, minimal, he turned to face her. "Well, ideally, eat it," Harlan let out a laugh, a real one this time, taking both half-shells and handing hers over with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Few bites then swallow," He shrugged, unaware that this kind of food was so foreign to some people given he'd grown up with it. He threw his own back and relished in the saltiness, the taste of the mollusk. Harlan gauged her reaction, ready for what he imagined was going to be entertaining.

“Destroy you?” Kate asked, with the timbre of her voice lilting much more softly than before, and crossed her arms over her chest for a brief moment. She left the other verb out, and she didn’t miss the way he hem-hemed to clear his throat right after it left his mouth.

“Definitely not destroy you. If the mention of France has anything to do with Quidditch, I won’t understand the reference, I’m afraid,” She grinned slowly, teeth glinting like perfectly-straight diamonds in the low light, because the only sports they ever paid attention to at home had been the ones Charlie liked to watch on television and she found her ineptness humorous. Maybe he wouldn’t--men got touchy about things like that, but on the other hand, she suspected her not knowing a play-by-play of his life and times might be refreshing. “But. I can confirm that French people are pretty well-trained in the whole… seducing thing. Paris is pretty romantic.”

He was cinched up well and tight(even in the way he sat), but he certainly wasn’t boring. Kate wasn’t a stranger to dealing with men that were aptly disguised as clams in conversation, but he was even further away than almost anyone she’d ever met. She was too drunk to care that their lives would probably never be compatible--she wasn’t looking to date, just to be distracted, and if this was a fun distraction, that was fine, right?

Of course she’d regretted her decision in sleeping with Alec when she had--bad timing--but this was different. She’d had time (an hour) to think about it, and if it went there, who was she to deny herself based on some stupid principle that had been thrust upon her without her permission? Her therapist probably wouldn’t approve of the rash decisionmaking, but she could cross that bridge when she came to it. Kate didn’t want to go through life afraid she was going to break every single eggshell underneath her feet.

“Oh, yeah. So simple. Eat it.” She teased good-naturedly, gingerly cradling the raggedy little shell between her fingers. Kate was unsure how to go about such a thing gracefully--so, she didn’t. She slid the oyster into her mouth, glopped it, really, and chewed a few times before swallowing the entire thing. It felt like she’d accidentally swallowed her tongue and some nasty--kind of--juice right after it. “Blugh,” She stuck her actual tongue out and grimaced deeply, feeling a genuine shudder crawl its way down her spine, and shook her head. “Mm-mm. Best part of that was the hot sauce.”

Kate made it clear, whether she wanted to or not, that she knew very little about the world of professional Quidditch and while he hated to play into the cliche of it all, he was glad that she didn't. With any luck, she would know just as little about him. But that seemed less likely, with his face splashed across the pages of something or other every week. He smiled, briefly, nodding in agreement with her assessment of the French. Half his family (the lesser prominent of the sides) was French, so he understood. He, though, much preferred something a bit more exotic— a South American with an accent, dark hair, less of the faux-subdued confidence.

Harlan watched with interest as she threw the oyster back and was not surprised by her colorful reaction, tongue out and all. "You're joking?" The nuances of his accent juxtaposed her own American one. "You didn't like it?" He discarded his shell on the little tray underneath where the oysters were on their pedestal, sat back in disbelief, hands now clasped together in his lap.

He really thought he might have altered Kate's perception there, with the hot sauce and all.

His shoulders shrugged, only slightly. "Maybe you should try it with something else?" Harlan propositioned but saw the look on her face that indicated perhaps another wasn't the best idea. Well, more for him then. Without asking, two fresh glasses of champagne were brought to the table and he pulled a face as soon the server had stepped away. "How you feel about oysters is how I feel about champagne..." Nonetheless, he took a drink, pausing to look sideways at Kate again before throwing another oyster back, this time as it was. If she wasn't going to eat them...

How the fuck had they ended up here?

"So how does it feel, then, miss 'top in the music management industry'?" Harlan wasn't sure if that was even the title she'd been awarded, but he turned into her at his question, knee now pressed into the side of her thigh, his hands he had better mind to keep to himself. The loud music had drowned out the rest of the room and the lights around them danced across the floor, the people. No one was really looking at anyone, he noticed.

“It was… interesting,” Kate offered, unwilling to be quite so impolite as to be truthful and say she’d thoroughly not enjoyed her oyster-consuming experience. It wasn’t often that Kate was the picky eater instead of the man she was eating with, but the men she ate with didn’t really fit the usual human garbage can trope that many women she knew attributed to them. Well. Not in the being able to eat mass quantities of food of any quality, anyway.

He didn’t like champagne, though. That didn’t particularly shock her--bubbly drinks, and sweeter ones, the way this exact champagne tasted, weren’t extremely popular with men, as far as Kate was concerned. She remembered something about women being predisposed to like sweet things, but according to society, women were predisposed to do a lot of things. Like be sectioned off to their own awards ceremonies, instead of being legitimately considered enough to end up in the men’s ones.

She was bewildered when he spoke next, both because his knee was pressing into her leg (she pressed back) and because he seemed to have read her mind. Eerie coincidence she’d just been thinking about the award before he’d chimed in with a question about it. Kate noticed coincidence and parallels in everything, though, almost to the point of paranoia, so she supposed that counting this tiny thing a spiritual experience might be slightly insane.

“Feels weird,” Kate said honestly, tinkling her fingernails against the glass she was holding again, despite trying to distract herself with oysters and conversation, as she spoke. “I figured I shouldn’t tell them that I stopped managing bands after my divorce. Might’ve gotten me knocked off the honoree list,” She raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed with that notion. “You won’t tell, right?” Her foot tucked under his ankle.