A week later, Miranda Baxter made sure I understood exactly what that choice would cost me.
It started with a label party.
Apparently Walker’s company was hosting some giant spring showcase in the hills.
New artists.
Industry executives.
Managers.
Influencers.
People with names I recognized and net worths I didn’t even want to think about.
And because the Baxters never did anything quietly, the event was less “party” and more “carefully curated public spectacle.”
When Landon asked me to go, I hesitated.
“Do I have to wear… rich?” I asked from the edge of his bed while Jasmine and Alexis sat on FaceTime helping me panic.
Landon, sprawled on his stomach with a notebook in front of him, looked up.
“You always wear rich.”
I stared at him.
He grinned. “You just don’t know it.”
Th
