One Night With The Wrong Brother

The champagne bottle was empty. Kylie was flushed and loud.

"This place is dying down," Kylie announced, clapping her hands. "We should go to Nightingale Plaza. I know the promoter."

Gus leaned back, spinning his gold lighter on the table. "I'm tired."

"Oh, come on, Gus!" Kylie whined. She grabbed his arm. "Don't be a grandpa. Besides..." She turned her gaze to Katherine, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Kat can sing for us. Did you know she sings? She's terrible at acting, but she has a voice."

Katherine's head snapped up. "Kylie, no."

"Why not?" Kylie laughed. "Gus hasn't heard you. Maybe he can put you in his movie if you impress him. Sing something, Kat. Right now."

"We are in a restaurant," Katherine hissed. "I am not a circus animal."

"Oh, don't be such a prude," Kylie sneered. "Just a few bars. Sing that song you're always humming in the shower."

The table fell silent. People at nearby tables were looking. Katherine felt like she was shrinking, disappearing. She felt naked.

"Sing," Kylie commanded.

Katherine looked at Gus. She pleaded with her eyes. Help me.

Gus looked at her. He saw the panic. He saw the humiliation.

His hand slammed down on the lighter.

BANG.

The sound was startlingly loud. Kylie jumped.

"I have no interest," Gus said, his voice cold and hard as steel, "in listening to an amateur performance."

Kylie blinked. "I was just-"

"It's pathetic," Gus said. He didn't look at Kylie. He looked straight at Katherine. "Begging for attention in a restaurant. Have some self-respect."

The words were a slap in the face. He had stopped Kylie, yes. But he had done it by crushing Katherine.

A wave of nausea rolled over Katherine. It started in her stomach and rose to her throat-acidic and hot. It was the same sickness she had felt that morning in the Hamptons.

She stood up so fast her chair screeched against the floor.

"Excuse me," she choked out. "Restroom."

She grabbed her purse and ran. She didn't look back.

If she had, she would have seen Gus watching her go. She would have seen his hand clenched into a fist on the table, the knuckles white.

"She's so dramatic," Kylie huffed, reaching for her glass. "She has zero thick skin."

Gus turned his head slowly to look at Kylie. His eyes were dark, terrifying voids.

"Check," he barked at a passing waiter.

He threw a black American Express card onto the tray. He didn't wait for the bill.

"We're leaving," Gus said.

"But Nightingale..." Kylie started.

"Now," Gus said. The tone of his voice brooked no argument. It was the voice of a man hanging onto his control by a thread.