With a serious expression, Whitney approached him once more, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, her voice cool and clinical. “You’re not even warm.”
She shot him a knowing glance, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “Klein, you were never sick, were you?”
In that moment, Klein felt a pang of guilt wash over him. ‘Shoot, she totally caught me,’ he thought, realizing he had been less than honest.
“No fever?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him.
Klein, still attempting to play the sick role, touched his forehead dramatically. “Then why is my head still kinda aching?”
Whitney felt utterly played, her frustration bubbling to the surface. She grabbed the thermos, turning to leave. “If you’re not sick, I’m outta here.”
“Wait,” Klein said, catching her wrist gently, his voice softening. “I’m not messing with you. Maybe your soup really did the trick, and I’m feeling better now.”
“Did you forget I got into a car accident yesterday?” he added, adopting a pitiful expression that tugged at her heartstrings.
Whitney felt her resolve begin to waver.
‘Yeah, he even posted about the car accident on WhatsApp yesterday,’ she thought, her mind racing with conflicting emotions.
‘There’s no way he’d fake that, right?’ she questioned herself, feeling a mix of confusion and concern.
‘Besides, what’s he even trying to get out of this? A bowl of soup?’ she mused, still perplexed.
With a soft hum, Whitney replied, “Still, you can’t just lie there half-naked.”
“I’m not exactly naked,” Klein countered playfully, his voice laced with charm. “Whit, you’re the one who got my shirt dirty, remember?”
“Anyway, it’s getting late. You should head home. Thanks for today and sorry for the trouble,” Klein said, suddenly shifting to a more polite demeanor, leaving Whitney feeling off-balance.
She wasn’t accustomed to this side of him. “Well… you’re welcome,” she muttered, still feeling the awkwardness hanging in the air.
But deep down, she recognized it was time to make her exit.
“Bye,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she turned to leave.
As Whitney hurried out, Klein watched her go, his expression darkening with a hint of regret.
‘Guess I was a bit too eager. Look at her. She’s so freaked out, and her face is totally pale,’ he thought, a twinge of guilt gnawing at him.
He glanced down at his perfectly sculpted abs, a smirk creeping onto his face. ‘Seriously, not even a little tempted?’ he mused, unable to shake the playful thoughts that lingered.
*****
Whitney sat in her car, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions.
The events that had just unfolded at Klein’s villa had shattered the boundaries she thought were firmly in place between them.
‘How did I end up bawling on his shoulder?’ she questioned, still grappling with the confusion of the moment.
‘And how did he end up stripping right in front of me?’ she thought, her mind racing with disbelief.
‘Everything’s spiraling out of control,’ Whitney reflected, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
“Remember, he’s Uncle Klein, your best friend’s uncle. He’s just someone you’re supposed to be leveraging,” she whispered to herself, trying to ground her thoughts.
It was a warning, a reminder not to let her emotions run wild. If she allowed herself to fall too deeply, she might find it impossible to walk away.
*****
The following morning, Whitney was back to her sharp, composed self, ready to tackle the day.
As she stepped into the law firm, her phone rang with an unexpected call that caught her off guard.
“Did you just get in?” Joanne’s voice chimed through the receiver, bright and cheerful.
It was precisely 9 a.m., the prime time for clocking in.
“Hey Joanne! I just got in. What’s up?” Whitney replied, her curiosity piqued.
They hadn’t seen each other since that fateful day, and Whitney was eager to catch up.
Even though Joanne had mentioned grabbing a bite, Whitney knew that Joanne was a celebrity in her own right.
Whether she was A-list or just scraping by, she was always in the spotlight.
Besides, Joanne was currently busy shooting a drama, which made Whitney wonder what had prompted her to call.
If Joanne had simply sent a message on WhatsApp, Whitney would have assumed it was just casual chit-chat.
But a phone call? That signaled something significant was afoot.
“You always catch on quick,” Joanne laughed lightly. “Whit, I have a friend who wants to sue someone. Mind if I refer him to you?”
“Of course not! I’d be more than happy to help! What’s the case about?” Whitney asked, her excitement bubbling over.
“It’s an infringement case. Someone ripped off his song,” Joanne explained, her tone serious.
Later that afternoon, Whitney met with Joanne’s friend, Jay Lockson, a musician with a story to tell.
“Ms. Moore, I’m not sure if Joanne told you everything,” Jay began, his voice tinged with frustration. “I wrote a single three years ago, and a new artist totally copied it.”
“She mentioned the basics, but I’d rather hear the details from you. Can you play both tracks for me?” Whitney asked, her professional demeanor shining through.
Jay nodded eagerly, pulling out his phone. “Sure, this one’s called ‘Fourteen Bridges.’ I wrote and composed it myself at the end of 2022. Honestly, I’m kind of a has-been now, so the song never really got popular.”
The melody he played was rich with traditional folk influences, a niche sound that resonated with Whitney.
“That’s a beautiful song,” she remarked, genuinely impressed by the artistry.
“Thanks,” Jay said, a hint of pride in his voice.
He scrolled through his phone and played the other track, performed by a female artist.
Whitney listened intently, her analytical mind picking up on the similarities in the verses, chorus, and even the interludes.
Yet, she knew that proving plagiarism in music was notoriously difficult.
“I listened to both, and there are definitely some similar parts. Who’s the singer of the second track?” Whitney inquired, her curiosity piqued.
Jay replied slowly, “I think it’s a newcomer named Emily Miller. Starwave Entertainment has been really pushing her lately!”
As Whitney absorbed the information, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the case ahead of her….
Whitney’s curiosity was immediately ignited, her brow arching as she turned to Jay for confirmation.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, her voice laced with disbelief. “You’re saying that the artist behind ‘Fate’, Emily Miller, is the one who has taken your work and passed it off as her own?”
“Exactly,” Jay replied, a tinge of frustration evident in his tone. “I just found out she returned from an overseas trip and has some serious connections with the higher-ups at Starwave Entertainment. She’s got a powerful support system behind her.”
Whitney nodded, absorbing the information. “And her album ‘Fresh’ was produced by a top-tier team that Starwave assembled for her debut solo venture. You know, these days, many major artists tend to release singles first instead of full albums. It’s all about gauging public interest.”
“But Emily Miller’s team seems indifferent to the financial implications. Honestly, that’s not my concern. What really irks me is her audacity to assert that ‘Fate’ is an original composition of hers,” Jay added, his voice rising slightly with indignation.
Whitney understood the gravity of the situation.
Of course, Starwave wouldn’t bat an eye at the cost of producing Emily Miller’s album. After all, she was on the fast track to becoming the boss’s wife at Starwave, right?
A thought flickered through Whitney’s mind: ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this album is riddled with more than just one instance of plagiarism.’
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.