“What was she drawing?” Sawyer asks, deep voice almost lazy. Because to make things cherry-on-top unpleasant, Nolan Sawyer and his manager— a sharp- looking redhead in her thirties— are part of this conversation. He stands tall, arms crossed on his chest, black blazer over a white button- down open at the collar. Stupidly attractive, an unwelcome, inopportune voice inside me blathers.
