When you're a rock god, fame and fortune are your two best
friends, but they can be fickle bed mates. It seems everyone wants
a piece of me. I'm being sued, pressured to sign contracts, and
fending off rabid women who want to steal my virtue. Just kidding
on that one. We all know I don't have much virtue left.
That's why I need Emma Peterson. The sharp-as-a-tack and
sexy-as-sin lawyer saved my ass before and I know she can do it
again. The only problem is that sweet, prim and totally
straight-laced Emma doesn't want anything to do with me. Not
professionally, and certainly not personally.
But c'mon. Everyone wants me, and even though it would take a
crow bar of epic proportions to get her to spread those sexy legs for
me, all I want is her mind. I swear. Her beautiful, brilliant mind to
make sense of my crazy world. Good thing I have something up my
sleeve to get her to say "yes". Some might call it blackmail. I call it
something else.
Looks like Emma Peterson just became my biggest defender. If
only I can resist wanting to screw my attorney six ways to Sunday.

Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll
By
Sawyer Bennett

CHAPTER 1
Evan
Boom... Boom... Boom...
My eyes slowly peel open and immediately squint back shut against the
harsh morning light. I can't tell if the loud, banging-type sound is inside
my head or not, but if the way my tongue is glued to the top of my
mouth is any indication, I'm going to guess I'm hungover.
Not a shocker. I had a killer party last night to celebrate the finish of my
second album, Core Deviance, and I was hitting the Jack pretty hard to
blow off all the steam and stress that comes from the recording process.
I didn't drink so much, however, that I don't know why there's a naked,
soft body pressed up against me. I open my eyes again and swivel my
head to the right, take in the sleeping redhead beside me. Yeah... totally
remember fucking her last night... twice.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Now that right there... that's the sound of someone beating on my
bedroom door, and is most definitely not the pounding headache I first
suspected. In fact, my head actually feels pretty good. There isn't any
telltale queasiness that would indicate I over-imbibed last night.
"Evan," Tyler Hannity calls out from the other side of the door. Boom...
Boom... Boom... "You awake in there?"
"Yeah, just a minute," I call back with a froggy voice and push the
woman away from me, which isn't all that easy as she's complete dead
weight as she sleeps. I put a hand to her shoulder and give her a slight
shake.
She moans and opens her eyes to stare at me blearily. "Wazzup?"
"You gotta go," I tell her bluntly, and then roll in the opposite direction
away from her. Right across the expanse of my king mattress and onto
the floor where my jeans lay. I pull them on, buttoning the fly as I
round the bed toward the door. When I look back over at her one

more time, see her eyes closed again, I yell, "Hey... you gotta go. Get
your ass up and get out."
Her head pops up from the pillow and she glares at me, so she's not as
"sleepy" as she was putting on. "Seriously... you're just kicking me out
after what we shared last night?"
I snag my t-shirt hanging off the end of the bed and pull it over my
head. It hides the roll of my eyes and when my head pops through, I
say, "We fucked. We both got off. Couple of orgasms is all we shared.
Now get up and get dressed. I can have someone drive you home if you
need."
I know that sounds harsh, but it's necessary. I've been stung one too
many times by women who only wanted my fame and fortune. I was
taken advantage of a few times before I wised the fuck up.
Now, I pretty much just party hard, fuck nameless women, and then
kick them out in the morning. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
It's not the life I'd envisioned for myself, but I guess fame changes
things. Sure, it's the cliché of what everyone thinks a rock star does, but
it's really not what I wanted. Pathetic thing is, though, this life is not
conducive to serious relationships.
I know.
I' ve tried.
It hasn't worked.
The redhead curses something at me, but I don't pay attention. I reach
out and pull my bedroom door open.
Tyler stands there, a somber expression on his face. His blond hair is a
mess, sticking up all over the place, and I'm guessing he must have
passed out on a couch or in one of the spare bedrooms last night. His
eyes flick to the redhead and stay pinned on her a minute. I turn my
head to look over my shoulder and see her prancing around naked
while she collects her clothes, tits swaying back and forth as she bends
over and retrieves shit off the floor.
I turn back to look at Tyler with a slight grin, as I know he's probably
thinking. "lucky fucker." Instead, his eyes come back to me, his
expression not changing. He's my manager and closest friend in the
world, and he looks like someone just died.
"Oh, fuck. did someone die?" I ask, my heart immediately

sinking down into my stomach. My thoughts first go to Midge,
because, let's face it—she's the most important person in my life, even
more so than my own parents.
Tyler gives a quick shake of his head, but my immediate relief is
quashed when he says in a low voice, "The police are here to see you."
"For what?" I ask, completely flummoxed. When I woke up, I saw by
the bedside clock that it was fucking nine-thirty in the morning. The
party's long been over, and there's no need for the police to be here.
Tyler shrugs as he takes a step back, but his voice is tense when he
says, "They wouldn't say. Just that they needed to talk to you about
something."
Midge.
Fuck. what if something happened to her?
I'm done questioning Tyler when he clearly doesn't have answers. I
push past him and practically run down the curved staircase that leads
to the first floor, my heart thundering with fear. He follows behind me
and murmurs, "They're in the kitchen waiting for you. I'll go hang out
in the living room."
"No," I say curtly as I hit the marble foyer, which feels ice cold against
my bare feet. "I want you in there."
I have no fucking clue why the police would be at my house early on a
Wednesday morning, but whatever the reason, it's going to have an
impact in the media. Tyler is going to have to handle that—which sucks
because he's bad with publicity—so he needs to know what's going on.
I hope to fucking God it's not Midge.
Please be about anything but Midge, and I won't ever ask for another
thing again as long as I live.
Empty beer bottles, solo cups, bags of chips. there's trash scattered
everywhere I look as I turn right off the staircase and head toward the
kitchen. Just another weeknight at Evan Scott's house. Normally, Tyler
would have someone on standby ready to clean this shit up, but I' m
thinking plans changed a bit with the arrival of the police.
I glance into the living room, seeing a few people sleeping on the floor.
I recognize them all. casual friends, not close. But trusted enough that I
don't care they crashed here. Tyler would have ensured anyone

unknown to me personally left before the doors were closed and locked
once the party was over. I have no clue what time that was because I
know I was balls-deep inside the redhead for the first time around
midnight.
When I turn into the kitchen, I' m immediately caught off guard by the
two men standing there. When Tyler said police, I expected they'd be
officers wearing the dark blue uniforms of the Raleigh Police
Department. Instead, these men are wearing civilian clothes. One has
on khaki pants and a pink button-down shirt with a police badge
hooked at his belt. The other is wearing a dark gray suit with a white
shirt, no tie. I don' t see a visible badge, but as if he could read my mind,
he reaches into his interior breast pocket and pulls it out.
He flips it open, leaning toward me while holding it out for my
inspection. "Mr. Scott... I'm Detective Simon Turnbull. That's my
partner, Detective Grady Kasick."
I let my gaze flip to his badge briefly before saying, "What can I help
you with?"
Detective Turnbull looks behind me, and I know Tyler must be
standing there. "We need to talk in private."
"Whatever you need from me can be said in front of Tyler. He's my
manager," I tell him firmly. "He's privy to everything."
Turnbull turns to look at his partner and something silent passes
between them, but I don't like the slight smirk Kasick's wearing.
Turnbull turns back to me and with a short sigh, says, "Mr. Scott. Keith
Carina was found dead late last night."
Tyler's breath hisses out in disbelief, but I can't even make a sound
because the air is clogged in my lungs. Surprisingly, my first internal
reaction is one of deep grief mixed with stunned surprise.
"What happened?" Tyler manages to ask.
"He was shot," Kasick replies bluntly. "Execution style in the back of
the head."
"Jesus fuck," I finally manage on a ragged exhale.
"Can you tell us where you were last night between roughly midnight
and four AM this morning?" Turnbull asks coolly. My gaze snaps to
his, my stomach flipping over and then dropping at the hardness

in his eyes.
"I was in my bedroom," I mutter, my voice sounding shaky. And fuck.
will they think that means I' m guilty?
"Alone?" Turnbull prompts.
I shake my head. "No, there was a woman with me."
"The entire night?" Kasick asks with interest.
"From about midnight, she was. In fact, she's in my bedroom now," I
say, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. "Before that, I was here at
my house. There were a couple of hundred people who can attest
to that."
"I'll go get her," Tyler says quickly, but Turnbull says, "Hold up... let
Detective Kasick go up with you."
This thoroughly rattles me because that must mean they think Tyler
would try to feed her a story or something to bolster an alibi. My
fingers curl inward, pressing into my palms, and I take a deep breath as
Tyler and the other cop leave the kitchen.
"Nice place you have here," Turnbull says conversationally, his gaze
roaming the gourmet kitchen with custom cabinetry, Viking
appliances, and Italian tile. It looks like it belongs in a Tuscan villa and
so not me, but what the fuck did I care? I have a lot of money now and
wanted a nice house. Didn't give a fuck what the kitchen looked like.
"Thanks," I mutter and walk over to the Keurig sitting beside the sink. I
pull a cup out of the cupboard. Out of a politeness I am most definitely
not feeling, but also knowing I can't be antagonistic, I offer to the other
man, "Want a cup of coffee?"
"I'm good," he says, and I don't bother responding. Instead, I put the
pod in the machine and watch as the coffee starts to steam into the cup.
"You been living here. what. about nine months now?" Detective
Turnbull asks.
"About that," I say without offering anything more.
"You've had quite the rise to fame," he says, and my back tightens. I
don' t like discussing how I got to where I am today. It was through a lot
of hard work, busting my ass, and then just a whole lot of luck. A lot of
times people focus on that luck and don't seem to give credence to my

talent or perseverance. I have no clue what category this dude falls in,
so I don't bother engaging.
"Shunned by all the major recording labels," Turnbull says, sounding
as if he's reciting a book report. "Decided to produce your own LP and
released it on iTunes. Did some creative marketing, including a
YouTube video of your debut single, which garnered over nine million
views in under a week, and shot your album up to the top of the
Billboard charts. Now you've got all the majors clamoring to get you
signed, and you're gracing the cover of Rolling Stone."
I can't fucking stand it. The shock of being told Keith is dead and that I
might be a person of interest, as well as having this cop recite my crazy
but meteoric rise in the music industry as if it's almost a fluke, has me
getting punchy.
"Well, congratulations, Officer," I say in what will go down in history
as my most sarcastic voice ever. "You know how to read
Wikipedia."
He's unfazed and merely chuckles before saying, "It's detective. Not
officer. Patrolmen do not ordinarily investigate homicides."
I cringe. His message is pointed and hits me direct center. I might be in
some serious fucking trouble.
And as if things couldn't get any worse, Kasick walks back into the
kitchen with Tyler right behind him. Tyler looks at me with wild eyes.
"No girl up there," Kasick says.
"She must have jetted out of here fast," Tyler says apologetically while
looking at me.
No clue why he should be sorry. I'm the one who practically pushed her
out of the bed and demanded she leave.
So much for my alibi.
"I think it's best if you come on down to the station with us," Turnbull
says, trying to sound as if this is just an ordinary day. "We'll stop and
get some coffee and donuts on the way. We want you to be comfortable
while we talk."
I let out a pained sigh and scrub my hands through my hair. It's long and
messy on top, hanging in tangled layers down to my ears. I look up at
Turnbull. "Can I grab a shower first?"

"I'd rather you not," he replies with almost a taunt. "We're going to ask
you to let us take some swabs for DNA comparison and check your
hands for gun residue. Can't have you washing away evidence now, can
we?"
A surge of nausea wells within me as the shit is starting to get real. Of
course they won't find anything on me that will link me to Keith's
murder, because I didn't fucking do it, but I've seen enough shit through
Midge to know that the police will fabricate evidence, particularly in a
high-profile case.
I turn to Tyler. "Call Midge. I' m going to try to call her on the way
there, but tell her what's going on and to meet me down at the police
station."
Tyler nods at me, his own face green with fear. I try to remind myself I
have nothing to worry about because I didn't do anything wrong. I
didn't kill anyone and the truth shall prevail.
At least I hope that's how it works in the criminal justice system.

CHAPTER 2
Emma
The Pit is buzzing with energy this morning. One of our best civil
litigation attorneys, Leary Michaels, left for the courthouse about an
hour ago where she'll be giving closing arguments in a wrongful death
lawsuit. This particular case has captured the hearts of almost everyone
here at Knight & Payne, as Leary represents the estate of a
four-year-old little girl who was killed by a drunk driver.
Who happens to be the mayor of our city.
Well, former mayor actually. He' d been indicted on a host of criminal
charges, including bribery, and was awaiting trial when he tied on one
too many at a local bar one night and made the terrible and stupid
mistake of trying to drive home. He blew through a red light and hit the
car being driven by sweet little Caroline Allen's mom.
Mom made it out with a broken femur. Caroline died in her car
seat.
Last I heard, the former mayor's insurance company had offered seven
million last night at the close of court, and Leary told them to go to hell.
She's got some serious lady balls, which while I admire her tenacity,
sometimes I think she could tone down the way in which she does
things. Telling them to go to hell? Well, that's not seemly... or
professional. or how an attorney should act.
At least, that's my opinion, but I know it's not one shared by probably
anyone else in this firm other than me. Not even my dad would have
my back on this one.
I look across The Pit to my dad's office. He's a partner here at Knight &
Payne and rates one of the coveted perimeter offices made of glass. I
can see the charismatic Cary Peterson sitting behind his desk, leaning
back in his chair and talking on the phone with his hands moving
animatedly. I have this job for no other reason than my dad is a partner,
and I wasn't offered a job anywhere else after I passed the bar exam.

This is a fact that has gotten me a bit down, as when you get rejection
after rejection, you start to doubt your abilities. But my dad assures me
the market is flooded and there are plenty of new attorneys who aren't
getting offers, and that perhaps I should just give Knight & Payne an
honest try since no other options are presenting.
My dad's a great attorney and a wonderful father. It's no wonder I
wanted to follow in his footsteps to become a lawyer, but I didn't
exactly want to be the type of lawyer he is. No, I get my passion for
legal prose, research, and a knack for reading the fine print of contracts
from my mother. She was an attorney too, but a much different type of
attorney than my dad.
My dad is filled with this fiery need to work with people. He likes
being in the middle of a scrappy fight, and he defends the common man
with a vengeance that's almost surreal. He's a free spirit, a bit
kooky—just like this firm—and is a huge risk taker.
My mom was his exact opposite, and yet they loved each other deeply.
I had a special bond with my mom, definitely deeper than what I had
with my dad, and that only strengthened as I got older and started really
paying attention to what my parents did for a living. Early on, I was
fascinated by the law. whatever type of law. I listened to both my
parents tell their own personal war stories. But as I got older, through
college and finally law school, I realized my passion was identical to
my mom's. We had an appreciation for the written legal word. We had
a knack for interpreting it. We had a special ability to wade through
lines and lines of legalese and be able to make sense of it all.
I shared that with her throughout almost my entire time in law school.
I'd call her up after having read a particularly difficult case, and I'd pick
her brain. She'd give me advice, and then we'd argue some of the finer
points, just to be sure I understood everything. We did that several
times a week, and that was my most special time with her.
She died almost a year and a half ago, just a few months before I
finished law school. She didn't get to see me graduate. She didn't get to
see me pass the bar.
She didn't see me land a job that I just don't like. I can't talk to her about
the fact I' m completely unhappy with my career at this point. I

really can't talk to my dad about it either, because he loves it here at
Knight & Payne and thinks I should too.
My gaze travels around The Pit, which is a classic example of how very
different I am from the core being of this law firm. Knight & Payne is
probably the most watched law firm in the state of North Carolina.
Currently up to sixty-eight lawyers, the tagline "Come any poor soul
needing help" pretty much says it all. This is a firm that gets down in
the trenches and helps the common man.
I find that to be very brave, very inspiring and it's what I respect most
about this firm.
But in taking that stance, Midge Payne, the only surviving original
partner, decided that her firm would be as unique as her open arms
policy. The firm takes up the twenty-seventh and twenty-eight floors of
the Watts Building, also owned in its entirety by Midge. I'm on the
twenty-seventh floor in the civil division, and I work in what's called
The Pit. It's a large open area taking up the very center of the floor with
nothing but rows of desks grouped in sections of four with no dividing
panels or cubicles. This is a collaborative design, with the intent to
foster discussion and promote teamwork. Lawyers work right
alongside secretaries, with nothing to distinguish the two from each
other except the educational degrees earned. You certainly wouldn't be
able to tell people apart by the state of their dress because Midge Payne
has no dress code. People are allowed to wear whatever they want,
which means most people dress uber casual.
I look down at my own crisply tailored Anne Klein black crepe suit
with silk stockings and sensible black pumps. This is what an attorney
should wear in my opinion.
To my right, Krystal Nichols, who is an attorney, is wearing a pair of
green camouflage spandex pants with bright red heels and a gauzy,
cream-colored top. It screams redneck tramp. She's currently talking on
the phone to an insurance adjuster and threatening to eat his balls for
lunch. She graduated at the top of her law school class from Duke.
To my left is Fletch Stiles. He's a big, burly dude who has been a
secretary here at the firm for the past fifteen years. He's probably in his
mid-forties and does bodybuilding competitions. His fashion sense is
still

stuck in the 80s as evidenced by the acid-washed jeans he's wearing
that barely fit over his bulging thighs. His Led Zeppelin t-shirt is
equally stretched over biceps that are roughly the size of hams. Fletch
is snarky and slightly abusive, even to the attorneys who work here,
and he intimidates the hell out of me. Thank God he doesn't do any
work for me.
In the seven months I've been here at Knight & Payne, I've not been
able to get used to this work environment. It's noisy and I can't
concentrate. I don't like people being able to listen in on my
conversations, and I can't stand the laughing and joking that goes on
throughout the day. It's not how I envisioned the way I would practice
law.
I thought I'd have my own office like my mom did, complete with
wood-paneled walls, a lustrous mahogany desk, and shelves lined with
law books just begging me to read them. I imagined I'd work hours
upon hours poring over legal documents and trying to figure out
loopholes so I could impress my clients. I'd have fancy lunches in the
Capital Club with my peers, and we'd discuss the law and politics. I'd
call my mom up at night, so we could argue and debate. I'd be looked
upon with respect and eventually, I'd meet a nice man with similar
interests and ambitions, we'd get married and have three kids, and
maybe a dog.
At least, that was the game plan.
Instead, I accepted a job here at my father's law firm because I wasn't
given an offer anywhere else. Instead of pursuing corporate law, I'm
doing grunt work for Leary, who's always off crusading to save some
poor schmuck's dignity.
Not to say there's anything wrong with her practice of law. It's
admirable, no doubt.
It' s just not what I wanted.
I look around The Pit again.
I don't want any of this, and I'm biding my time until a better
opportunity comes along.
My phone chimes on my desk, jolting me out of my thoughts. I look
around guiltily to see if anyone noticed I'd been daydreaming a bit, but
everyone's busy with either their own work or discussing cases.

While Midge gives a ton of personal freedom to the people who work
for her, no one ever takes advantage of it. I will have to say this is the
hardest-working group of people I've ever encountered in my life.
I reach out and pick up my phone. Pulling the receiver to my ear, I say,
"Emma Peterson."
"Emma." At the silky smooth woman's voice coming through, I
immediately go on hyper alert. While I don't get much interaction with
her, I would recognize Midge Payne's voice anywhere. I'm stunned
because she doesn't ever deal with the associate attorneys, and my heart
starts an erratic beat.
"Um. yes, Miss Payne. what can I do for you?" I ask, my voice
trembling.
"It's Midge," she says curtly but not unkindly, a quick reminder we are
all on a first-name basis here. This is another example of how this law
firm is not meshing with my ideals of what a law practice should look
like.
For example, Fletch should call me Miss Peterson, not Squirt, which is
apparently the nickname he'd pinned on me due to my diminutive size.
I dare not correct him.
"Yes, of course, Midge," I stumble in apology. "How can I help
you?"
"I need to see you," she says. "In my office. Now." And then she hangs
up.
I stare dumbfounded at my phone for about three seconds, then lift my
head so my gaze focuses on Midge's office door in the eastern corner of
the twenty-seventh floor. Probably at least twenty Pit desks are lined up
between Midge and me right now, yet I feel I need more protection for
some reason.
The massive wooden door swings open slowly, revealing the reclusive
yet beautiful woman known as Midge Payne. She's the only attorney in
this firm who rates an actual office with real walls that give her
complete privacy. All other offices are bordered by glass walls. She
stares at me directly with the silent message of, "Get your ass up and
get in my office."
I' m surprised my legs can even hold my weight as I slowly stand

up from my desk and walk her way. Past the other Pit desks, the noise
of people talking and laughing and debating. Past her
cool-as-a-cucumber secretary who looks like she stepped out of the
pages of Vogue and I realize I have no clue what her name is.
Midge steps backward into her office, motions me inside, and closes
the door behind me.
It' s an ominous sound, and I wipe my sweaty hands on the crepe
material of my skirt.
Without a word to me, Midge walks around her desk and takes a seat in
a feminine high-backed, executive chair done in cream leather and
cherry wood. I take one of the guest chairs opposite her, thankful for
the desk separating us. I can't remember ever being this intimidated
before, and that even includes Professor Loughlin standing me up in
Contracts class my first year of law school and grilling me for three
days straight on a case.
She stares at me now, her blue eyes not unfriendly but still on the cool
side. I've always thought Midge Payne was a beautiful woman. I have
no clue her age, probably in her mid-sixties, but you'd never guess that.
I swear she looks like she could pass for late forties. This is only the
second time I've talked to her—the first being at the firm's Christmas
party a few months ago. She wished me Merry Christmas as she handed
me a bonus check.
"I have a case for you," she says.
Her voice cracking the silence startles me so much, I practically jump
in my chair. I wipe my sweaty hands again.
"Um. sure," I say, my voice almost squeaking with unease. To my
knowledge, Midge Payne has never handed a case down to a lowly
first-year associate. To my knowledge, Midge Payne has never even
talked to a lowly first-year associate outside of handing out Christmas
bonuses.
I know most young attorneys would be thrilled to catch the eye of the
senior partner of their law firm, but all I can think at this moment is
she's going to give me something I can't handle. I don't fit in with this
group of forward thinking, radicalized, and eclectic attorneys who push
the boundaries of the law and wear shredded jeans while doing it.

I don' t fit in.
Maybe I'm not even worthy to fit in, and that's something that's actually
been weighing my conscience down.
"I need you to get over to the Raleigh Police Station. They're bringing
in Evan Scott for questioning in an alleged homicide case," she says,
tone matter of fact.
My jaw drops.
Evan Scott?
Homicide?
I can't help it. My head swivels slowly around, my body shifting
slightly until I can see behind me. I have to make sure she's not talking
to someone else.
Another attorney.
Someone better than me. Someone with more experience, which would
be just about any attorney out there in The Pit. Someone who likes
people better than lengthy contracts.
Even better than that, she should choose someone in one of the outer
offices. Like my dad, for Pete's sake. He's an amazing attorney, and this
is Evan Scott we're talking about.
Sexy indie rocker with a voice that hypnotizes.
Not that it's ever happened to me before.
But he's like a really big deal and has risen to mega-star fame this past
year. I have his first and only album and I'm dying for the next one.
"I don't understand," I say, my voice so clogged it comes out in a rasp. I
give a cough to clear it. "Why me? This case is way too big for
someone like me."
Midge merely cocks her eyebrow at me, leans back in her chair, and
crosses her arms over her chest. "Emma... I don't allow anyone to work
here who can't handle any case thrown at them."
"I work here because my dad's a partner here," I point out softly.
Because it's true... he got me the job.
"No, you work here because I gave the okay to hire you," she counters.
"I wouldn't have done that if I didn't think you could cut it."
For the first time since I started here, I feel a tiny measure of belonging.
Granted, it's minute... almost infinitesimal. I have a hard

time believing it as I look at this stunning woman in designer jeans with
the body of a Victoria's Secret model and the face of one as well, who is
so brilliant and fierce that she has personally shaped many of the
current laws in our state.
There's no way.
But Midge appears to think otherwise. She uncrosses her arms, stands
up from her desk, and says, "You need to head over there now. He's
probably already there and the longer they have him alone, the more
chance he'll talk."
"But wait," I blurt out as I stand up, completely wigged out by the
prospect of this case. I even hold my hands out to her in a defensive
posture. "I don't know what to do. I've never even handled a criminal
case before."
"Did you take Criminal Law in school?" she asks.
"Yes, but—"
"Criminal Practice and Procedure?"
"Yes, but—"
"Do you have immediate access to some of the best legal minds in this
state if you were to call back here with questions?" "Well, of course—"
"Then what's the problem?" she asks in exasperation.
"It's just... Evan Scott... I mean, this is huge. The media repercussions
alone."
"I understand that," she says, and I almost detect a hint of empathy, but
not an ounce of reluctance to send me. "But what's the first rule of
thumb in any criminal case when a suspect is being interrogated by the
police?"
"Don't talk without an attorney," I say automatically.
"Exactly," she praises as she walks around her desk toward me. "And
would you ever let a client talk to the police?"
"Not until I found out what happened from the client," I say.
"Well, there you go," she says with a nod. "Get over there and talk to
Evan. Find out what happened. Find out what the police have in the
way of evidence. If you feel confident to let him talk, do so, but be
prepared to jump in if anything sounds fishy. I'm quite sure they have

nothing at this point to make an arrest, so he should be walking out with
you."
I nod, my head spinning with her advice and also a strange tingling low
in my belly that is either nerves, indigestion, or perhaps it's the prospect
of meeting Evan Scott.
I'm actually going over to the police station where I'll be given an
officious visitor's badge and sit in an interrogation room with an
observation window that looks like a mirror, but every suspect and
attorney knows it's see through so they can watch and judge body
language.
Midge gives a subtle nod toward the door, my cue that I need to get
going. I turn away from her, but she stops me. "Oh, and Emma." I turn
to look at her with raised eyebrows.
"I' m also going to make you point of contact for all media inquiries. I
expect there will be a circus if he gets arrested," she tells me.
"But."
"No 'buts'," she admonishes and turns her back on me as she walks to
her chair. "When you get done today, have Evan call me."
"Call you?" I ask, confused as to why she would ever request such a
thing.
She reaches her chair, turns, and sits down, leveling me a grim smile.
"He's my nephew. I want to talk to him and make sure he's okay."
"Your nephew?" I ask—okay, practically screech.
She chuckles, and wow... she's even more beautiful when she laughs.
"Yes, my nephew. My very dear nephew who I'm exceptionally close
to."
Is that a warning not to fuck this up?
That tingling in my stomach turns to nausea. "But. why aren't you
representing him? You're like the best attorney in the state."
"At this point, I believe you can handle this," she says calmly, and then
picks up a file from the corner of her desk. I watch as she lays it before
her, opens it and starts reading a document.
She doesn't say anything else to me either.
In essence, I've been dismissed.

CHAPTER 3
Evan
It's actually cliché.
Small room with a lone square table in the middle. Two chairs, one on
each side. Fluorescent light above that flickers periodically. Obvious
darkened mirror-glass cut into the wall that reflects the stark interior to
me, but clearly lets them watch me unobtrusively. Although they
probably aren't watching me, as I'm doing nothing more than staring at
my clasped hands on the tabletop.
They led me in here about fifteen minutes ago, asked me if I wanted
anything to drink, which I declined because I've seen enough Law &
Order during my poor, struggling years as a musician to know they'd
steal my DNA from the cup when I was done.
I haven't seen them since. I'm thinking the fact I called my aunt Midge
from the backseat of their unmarked car on the way to the station has
something to do with that.
I didn' t have to admit to her on the phone that I was a little wigged out.
She could hear it in my voice and reassured me, "It'll be fine. I'll handle
everything."
After I hung up, I told the two detectives I wouldn't be giving a
statement until my attorney arrived. Turnbull was driving and Kasick
turned to look at me over his shoulder. "Who's your attorney?"
"Midge Payne," I said and wasn't surprised when Kasick's eyes flared
wide.
"Guess a music star deserves a hot-shot attorney, huh?" he said to
Turnbull as he turned back to face the front.
"She's my aunt," I muttered, but they didn't say anything in response.
And other than the offer of something to drink, I haven't heard a peep.
Perhaps Midge was out there right now waving some magic
jurisprudence around that would make this all go away.

I hear the door behind me open and I turn slightly in my chair to look,
expecting either one of the detectives or Midge to be walking through.
Instead, a short, petite woman dressed in a prim black suit walks in
carrying a slim briefcase. I immediately peg her as an attorney,
although for the life of me, I have no clue why she's in this room with
me as she's most definitely not my attorney.
She is hot though, I'll give her that.
Glossy blond hair that's on the warm, golden side, but worn in a sleek
bob that sits above her shoulders and is parted on the side. Her eyes are
a light brown and framed with dark lashes, which appear to be
unadorned with makeup of any kind. In fact, I don't see any eyeshadow
or blush. Just a clear face with remarkably soft-looking skin, a slight
smattering of freckles across her nose, and that's it.
Beautiful. in a wholesome kind of way. Clearly buttoned up and looks
to be wound tight. I bet it would take a crowbar to wrench those legs
apart.
"Mr. Scott," she says, and she can't hide the soft, southern twang of a
North Carolina girl. I know this because I have the counterpart accent,
having been born and raised in this state as well. "I'm Emma Peterson
and I'm from Knight & Payne."
She walks boldly into the room, shutting the door behind her, before
leaning over and sticking her hand out for me to shake. I notice her
hand is delicate with slender fingers. She wears a thin gold ring on her
middle right finger with an amethyst stone, but that's the only jewelry
other than tiny gold studs in her ears. All very sedate and in line with
the way a traditional lawyer would look, which is not typical of a
Knight & Payne attorney. In fact, I know no attorney there that dresses
that way.
"You're not with Knight & Payne," I tell her assuredly as I ignore her
outstretched hand.
"I most certainly am," she says with indignation and reaches efficiently
into the side of her briefcase, pulling out a card. She hands it to me, and
I reluctantly take it.
Emma Peterson, Associate Attorney
It looks official enough with the firm logo and tagline below it. I

throw it on the desk and ask her, "Where's Midge?"
"At the office," she says and walks past me to the chair on the opposite
side of the table. "She asked me to handle this."
She sits down, places her briefcase on the floor beside her chair, and
leans over for a moment. When she straightens back up, she has a
yellow legal pad in her hand and a generic black pen. Placing the pad
before her on the table, she sits ramrod straight as she looks at me. I can
just imagine those prim little legs crossed at the ankles and clamped
tight under the desk.
"Mr. Scott... I'd like for you to—"
"It's just Evan," I say with a sigh, her rigid professionalism starting to
grate on my nerves from the start. It makes me nervous to be honest.
She blinks a few times, seems at a loss, but eventually nods in
acquiescence. "Okay... Evan... I'd like for you to tell me everything that
happened this morning when the detectives showed up at your house."
I drum my fingers on the tabletop, playing a beat. I do this when I' m
nervous. "They showed up and told me my former bandmate, Keith
Carina, was dead. Asked me where I'd been last night, then asked me to
come in and give a statement. That's pretty much it."
Emma scribbles some quick notes before looking back up at me and
asking, "You said Keith Carina was a former bandmate? Was that when
you were with the band Kickback?"
So my attorney knows my music.
Interesting.
"Yes," I tell her, and then add on in case she doesn't know all the facts.
"We broke up about a year and a half ago, and I went solo."
"Was there bad blood between you and the other band members?" she
asks, her head now bowed over the yellow pad as she scribbles.
This question irritates me because she's focusing on a potential motive I
might have to kill Keith. I try to maintain my calm though and tell her
vaguely, "They weren't happy I went solo."
She nods in understanding but doesn't look at me, still writing her
notes. "Did the detectives give you any details at all as to what
happened? Like what time? Where?"
I shake my head. "Only that Keith was shot in the head and they

asked me where I was between midnight and four AM?"
Emma' s head bobs up and down. She jots some words on the
yellow-lined paper and asks, "Who were you with last night? He or
she's a potential alibi."
"It was a she. And I have no clue who she is."
Emma' s head snaps up, and she looks at me with her mouth parted in
surprise. "You don't know who she is?"
I smirk at her, because it's fucking adorable this buttoned-up little
attorney doesn't understand the concept of an anonymous one-night
stand. "Absolutely no clue. Don't even remember her first name. She
had red hair and fantastic tits though, so I'm sure I could identify her
from a lineup, although she'd have to be naked for me to be absolutely
sure."
She makes a noise deep in her throat. possibly disgust, not sure, but her
nose also wrinkles up in distaste. Makes me stare at her freckles there a
little harder, as they lend a youthful, carefree sort of look about her.
That's clearly not the case though as she looks down that little
judgmental nose at me.
"This isn't a game, Mr. Scott," she says primly.
"It's Evan," I growl at her as I lean forward in my chair, slapping my
palms on the table. "And I don't need your holier-than-thou attitude. I'm
a little stressed over what's going on here."
Her lips press together and she swallows hard. Inclining her head, she
looks at me with apology. "I'm sorry... Evan. You're right, and I know
this is difficult for you. But I' m here to help, I promise."
She seems sincere and the supercilious look is gone, so I nod in
acceptance although I still feel totally guarded with her.
"How about you walk me through the entire evening, giving me time
frames? It will help for you to be able to account for all of your time
and if you were with anyone who can be a potential witness, as well as
if there were periods of time you were alone."
"Aren't you going to ask me if I did it?"
"No, I'm not," she says firmly. "It doesn't matter to me if you did or
didn't. My job is to ensure you get fair treatment through this process."
"Well, I didn't," I snap at her, her rigid adherence to the law and

fundamental principles of representation pissing me the fuck off.
"If you say so," she says, smoothing her fingers along the top bound
edge of the yellow pad without meeting my gaze.
"Get out," I say in a low voice, which rumbles with barely contained
fury.
Her eyes snap up, round with surprise. "Excuse me?"
"Get. Out," I repeat each word succinctly.
"But I' m your attorney—"
"No, you are not," I cut her off. "Now get the fuck out and send Midge
over, or hell... send anyone else in your firm. I'd be happy with the
janitor, but you are not representing me."
"I don't understand," she says. For the first time since she walked in that
door, gone is the cool, collected voice of a professional. Instead, she
sounds hesitant. almost childlike.
I lean forward across the table, clasp my hands together, and rest my
elbows there. I gain a little measure of control now that I see her
knocked off her pedestal a bit, and then I proceed to enlighten her about
everything I find to be egregiously wrong with her as an attorney.
"I have no clue why you decided to become a criminal defense
attorney, but I can assure you, in the five minutes since I've met you,
you don't have what it takes. You certainly don't have what it takes to
be working in a firm like Knight & Payne, who employs only the
brightest, most passionate lawyers in this state. Now, you may be
intelligent, but you don't have an ounce of fucking compassion in your
prim little body. An attorney should have understanding and empathy,
particularly when their client stands wrongfully accused of one of the
most heinous acts there are, and you can't even fucking meet my eyes
when I'm telling you I'm innocent? So, I'll say this one more time... Get.
The. Fuck. Out."
I' m generally an easy-going kind of dude. It takes a lot to get me mad,
but right now, I'm so furious I'm afraid I might stroke out. The only
thing that I think will ease my distress is if I can make this girl cry. I
need her to feel bad so I feel good, which is fucked up for sure, and—
Hey... that would actually be a great song lyric.
I commit it to memory.
I need her to feel bad so Ifeel good.

"Mr. Scott," the goody-goody woman on the other side of the table
snaps at me with narrowed eyes. "I would ask that you treat me with a
little more respect and not cuss at me as I'm the only one who can help
you—"
I smirk at her at her prissy little attitude. "Fuck. Off."
And wow. her brown eyes darken so deeply, they appear to be black. "I
had no idea what a conceited, egotistical jerk you are—"
"Better than a prissy, straight-laced wanna-be lawyer—"
She screeches as she shoots out of the chair and stands there glaring at
me with her tiny hands curled into fists. "You asshole."
I' m fascinated by the transformation. Gone is the prim, cool
professional who, while extremely pretty, was about as appealing as a
piece of dry toast. Instead, I find myself looking at a woman just
brimming with fiery passion. Her sleek hair that she has tucked behind
her ears has fallen loose and frames her face. Cheeks are tinged bright
pink and her chest is rising and falling deeply.
And those eyes. now still dark as sin but I swear I can see flames
dancing in them.
She's magnificent, and it makes me wonder what else she's hiding
under that little shell of goody-two-shoes armor she wears. And for
some fucking weird reason, I like the fact I'm the one who's got her
panties in a twist.
"Sweetheart," I murmur, more with condescension than any
endearment, but my mouth snaps shut when she grabs her yellow pad
from the desk. I had intended to try to rile her up some more, just to see
how fired up I could get her, but I'm stunned when she leans over, grabs
her briefcase, and shoves the pad inside.
"I don't need a job at Knight & Payne," she mutters. "No job is worth
this."
There's something in her voice that strikes a chord within me... perhaps
resonance of the same exact feeling I've had on occasion as I struggled
to determine if I was supposed to be a musician or not. Emma turns
quickly away from her chair and cracks her knee against the leg, but
barely winces before she lurches to the side of the table with her
briefcase in hand.

"I' m sorry," she mutters again, her voice cracking this time. Her head
down, she practically stumbles past me as she rounds the table and
before I even know what I' m doing, my hand shoots out and locks
around her wrist.
"Wait," I say softly.
She stops dead in her tracks, but doesn't look at me, instead resolutely
staring at the floor. Her wrist is so small in my grasp, and I can feel the
mad fluttering of her pulse there.
"Emma," I say firmly as I tug on her, forcing her to turn.
She does, and her eyes lift slowly. There are no tears, which I half
expected since she had pointedly lowered her face, but they are filled
with confusion coupled with a low-boiling anger.
I feel sorry for her.
Still pissed at her, for sure, and I'm completely baffled as to why Midge
sent her here—or shit. why she even employs her at all—but I can't
seem to stop myself when I say, "Sit down. I'll tell you everything I can
remember about last night and then you can tell me whether to give a
statement or not."
Her eyes flick back and forth between my own, trying to ascertain how
much I really mean with this sudden change of heart and confidence in
her abilities. I look at her without flinching, because I totally don't have
any confidence in her, but for some reason, I don't want her to go
running out this door because I pretty much said she sucked at her job.
I nod at the other chair and release her wrist. "Sit. Get your notepad
out."
Emma takes a deep breath and gives me a curt nod. The hand I just
released drops down and she nervously swipes her hand against the
black material of her demure skirt. Her spine is stiff as she walks back
to the chair and gets her materials out again.
Gone is the woman that just had fire in her eyes. Now I have back the
prim, uber professional attorney.
When she's ready, I start from when the first partier arrived at my house
and talk for a solid twenty minutes, going through all the details as best
I can remember them. For the most part, I was with someone all
evening who could account for my actions. Even though I had quite a
bit

to drink, I can remember everything, which means I also clearly
remembered about thirty minutes where I was utterly alone. I went into
my music room, which is basically a large, empty room that has a
piano, my guitars and a desk with a laptop. It's where I write my lyrics
and bang out the initial chords. I went in there because as I was talking
to some friends I went to high school with and who have suddenly
become very "close" friends since I became famous—and yes, that's
sarcasm—I was struck with inspiration for a new song idea about how
to tell the fake from the true. And anytime inspiration hits me, I have to
get it down before I forget it.
"So for about thirty minutes between roughly quarter after eleven and
quarter 'til twelve, you were alone," Emma asks me.
"Yeah. roughly that time period," I confirm with a nod. "When I came
out of the music room, the um. red head chick was there waiting for me.
Was with her the rest of the time."
I'm relieved that I don't see that same judgment on her face that was
there before, and it seems the conversation flows without any unease
between us.
"And you don't know who she is?" Emma asks again. "Remember
anything that could help us find her?"
"Sorry," I mutter, and I truly am sorry. Turns out this anonymous fuck
could be my saving grace, and I feel like I'm learning a very valuable
lesson here.
"We'll get our investigator on interviewing all the witnesses you can
identify," she says encouragingly. "I'm sure we can find her."
Emma caps her pen and lays it on the tablet. She folds her hands and
looks at me with unwavering intensity. "I'm sorry. For earlier. This is
my first criminal case, and I have no clue why Midge asked me to
handle this. I was nervous and falling back on my law school training,
which is all about the book sense and not about common sense. For
what it's worth... I do believe you didn't do it and I'll do whatever I can
to help you."
I' m not sure why, but for the first time since those cops showed up this
morning, the knot of fear in my stomach eases up a tiny bit. The first
person who's heard my story believes me.

"Okay. Thanks," I say softly. "Now what do we do?"
"Well... I don't think there's any harm in you giving a statement with
me by your side. I might not let you answer everything, but we can at
least help to establish your alibi with them. Then you can get out of
here."
I sigh in relief. For the first time since she walked in this room, I
actually have a small measure of confidence in her. So I nod my head
and agree to give a statement, then mentally calculate how much shit
I'm going to give Midge for sending this woman over in the first place.
Knowing Midge. I' m sure she had a very good reason.

CHAPTER 4
Emma
Five weeks later...
I enter The Pit and the sound of all those voices jabbering at once grates
on my nerves.
Same as it does every day.
And just like I do every day I walk into work, I look across The Pit to
my dad's office, where he's been since probably seven AM. My dad, the
lawyer, who I' m nothing like. A man who relishes in the fact he can
wear jeans to work and engage in almost a bare-knuckle brawling type
of legal theatrics. He'd much rather be in a courtroom and go toe to toe
with scrappy lawyers, and for cases that really don't matter that much in
the grand scheme of how the world works. I mean, they're important to
the people he's representing, but his work doesn't shape and mold the
course of the law. It's more about individual justice versus a service to
the sanctity of the law as a whole.
Lowering my gaze, I look down at my sensible shoes with a low block
heel—brown today to match my taupe suit—and make my way to my
desk.
To another day grinding away at a job I just feel no affinity for. My
entire legal career—that has only been in existence for less than a year
now—has been nothing but one long, boring grind.
Unless you count that day many weeks ago when I got Evan Scott out
of jail.
Well, I didn't get him out of jail-jail, but I did an adequate job of
walking out with him. I sat with him through a brief interrogation by
the police, even managing to lodge some well-placed objections to
some of their questions. They didn't seem too bent out of shape about it,
especially when they realized Evan could account for his whereabouts
for the most part. And that brief period of time in my legal career was
exciting and invigorating, even as much as it was terrifying.

Thinking back on that day, I can't really say it was the case itself that
got me fired up. I still want nothing more than to work in a nice, quiet
office researching the law, reviewing contracts where no one bothers
me or crafting appellate arguments. I want that so much that I've got job
applications out all over Raleigh and even some of the surrounding
cities. I'm not built for the stress of criminal practice or civil litigation,
and nothing about what I did as a lawyer that day is what got my blood
pumping.
No, it was the man Evan Scott who got me so riled up. I lost control of
all my senses. He pissed me off so badly, I shrieked at him like a
banshee and actually cursed at him. I was so worked up, I made to leave
my client behind to rot in jail, a move that would have surely gotten me
fired the minute I walked back into Knight & Payne, and that isn't
something I can afford right now. I have bills and law school debt, and
as much as I loathe my current job, I need it until I can find something
better.
So yes... he got me fired up in a way I've never been before. I won't
admit it to anyone, much less myself, that when Evan grabbed my
wrist... when he halted my rapid exit, it was the touch of his hand on me
that really caused my blood pressure to spike.
It was Evan Scott that made that day memorable, and I'm ashamed to
say I think about it more often than not.
My most exciting moment as an attorney, and it had everything to do
with the hot mega-star musician who was a douche to me, but
ultimately saved my hide by insisting I stay in that room and do my job.
When I reach my desk, I sit down in my swivel chair and tuck my purse
into the empty bottom drawer. I boot my computer up and immediately
log onto my personal email account to see if I've gotten any responses
to my job applications.
Sadly, my inbox is empty.
Just like my legal career.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out and try to think pleasant thoughts. I
mean. Leary did just assign a huge research project to me rather than
one of the paralegals, and that is the type of work that definitely is more
my speed.

I busy myself with pulling up the email Leary had sent to me with the
assignment and start to review her instructions. But annoyingly, and as
happens at least a gazillion times a day, the conversations around me
start to interfere with my concentration.
"I swear to God it was him," Krystal says in an excited voice from her
desk to the right of me. I glance at her and see she's talking to another
female attorney named Liz. She's one of the more "sedately" dressed
folks in The Pit, preferring to wear chic casual attire. Today's ensemble
includes a pair of navy wide-legged pants with four-inch heels, and a
form-fitting crepe blouse in a pattern of red, blue, and gold chain links.
"How long has he been in there?" Liz asks, and I note she glances at
Midge's office across The Pit.
"About half an hour," Krystal says.
I immediately tune them back out again, because I don't give a fig
who's in Midge's office. She's had a slew of high-profile clients in and
out over the months I've been here, and it doesn't impress me.
After I read over Leary's instructions, I log onto Lexis-Nexis, the legal
research library the firm subscribes too. I'd much rather go over to one
of the local law schools in the area and do my research the
old-fashioned way, but Knight & Payne is all about convenience and
expediency, so online research it is.
I punch in some search terms, review the synopses that appear on my
screen, and start making note of the cases that interest me. Then I pull
the first one up and start to read.
I' m about halfway through the third paragraph when I suddenly
become aware that The Pit has gone almost silent. This is unheard of
and is so startling to my senses that I raise my head up to make sure I
haven't lost track of time and perhaps everyone left for lunch or
something.
Nope. everyone is still here, but no one seems to be speaking a
word.
Instead, all faces are turned toward Midge's office and the minute I look
that way, my stomach pitches as I recognize Evan Scott standing there
talking to his aunt.
And good gracious. no man should ever be that good looking. I

mean, the threat to women's ovaries exploding just by looking at him is
a real and serious threat to the human race.
He wears his brown hair in a shaggy mess on top. From across the large
expanse of The Pit, I can see he sports his trademark five o'clock
shadow. And he totally rocks the musician look with faded jeans, a pair
of black Chucks, and a ratty t-shirt. He has what looks to be several
braided leather bands around one wrist, and a large, silver-looking ring
on the middle finger of his other hand.
Evan's looking at Midge as she says something to him, so I can't see his
eyes, but I can imagine them. I looked at them long and hard that day
many weeks ago, the hazel so damn mesmerizing against the fringe of
dark lashes.
I glance around the room. Every single female from lowly secretary
right on up to even the senior associate attorney who is happily married
and has three children is ogling Evan as he stands there and talks to
Midge. I might be doing the same.
And then. almost as if in slow motion, Midge turns slightly and levels
her gaze right at me. She raises an elegant arm and points an even more
elegant finger across The Pit straight at me.
Evan turns, following her direction, and his gaze locks tight with
mine.
I hear a collective gasp from the women sitting around me, and my face
flushes hot.
With an almost feral smile leveled straight at me, Evan says something
to Midge without even looking at her, and she chuckles in response.
Then he starts walking my way.
No. stalking my way.
A nervous, energetic vibe seems to sweep through The Pit. As Evan
winds his way through the desks—each woman he passes leaning in
her chair a bit to get a good look at his backside—he never once lets his
gaze drop from mine.
My pulse starts an erratic flutter as he gets closer. When he stops on the
other side of my desk, those hazel eyes pinning me in place, I actually
get a little dizzy.

"I need to talk to you," he says, and God. his voice sounds even better
than I remember it.
I glance nervously to my right and see Krystal with her mouth hanging
wide open, her tongue in danger of falling out. Pushing my hair behind
my ear in a nervous gesture, I take in a ragged breath before I
ask, "About what?"
"It's private," he says softly. "Can we go into one of the conference
rooms or something?"
"Um, sure," I say as I stand from my chair, thankful to have broken eye
contact with him. I lead him through The Pit to the closest empty
conference room, noting that the chatter starts back up. Even though I
can't distinguish any particular conversation, I can tell by the excited
hum to it that everyone's talking about Evan and me.
I enter the conference room and stand by the door, closing it once Evan
comes in. I glance out at The Pit through the floor-to-ceiling glass
walls, and note almost every face staring back at us. My nerves start
going into overdrive to be the subject of so much attention, and my
hand slaps at the button on the wall beside the light switch. This
immediately fills the double-paned glass with a dark gray smoke,
completely obscuring us from everyone's view.
Turning, I find Evan watching me like a hawk, those hazel eyes
swirling with greens, and golds, and browns, and.
Shaking my head, I nod toward a chair and mumble, "Have a seat."
I take the chair at the very end of the table closest to the door, and Evan
takes the one to my left. I sit straight as an arrow, my fingers nervously
clutched together and my knees pressed tight to one another so they
don't start shaking. Evan, on the other hand, pushes the rolling chair
slightly away from the table and slouches down in a relaxed pose with
one foot resting on the opposite knee.
And he just stares at me without saying a word.
He stares for a very awkward moment, before his gaze slides down to
my legs locked tight, and his lips curve upward in a slight smirk.
Compelled to fill the silence and get his eyes back up where they
belong, I ask in a slightly perky voice that doesn't belong to me and is a
desperate attempt to hide my nerves, "So what do you want to talk

about?"
His lips curve higher as his eyes come to mine, and I'm pretty sure he' s
amused by my overt attempt to mask my anxiety. "I wanted to thank
you again for your help."
I give a wave of my hand in dismissal. "That was just my job."
And let's face it... I didn 't do much.
I walked out of the police station with Evan Scott and while our
investigator was easily able to locate the redhead he was with but didn't
know her name—a thought that is quite distasteful to me—this
information was ultimately not even needed as they'd made an arrest in
the case already. From what I've read, it looks like a drug deal gone
bad.
"I want to hire you," he says and my body actually jumps in surprise.
"Excuse me?"
"I want to hire you," he repeats simply.
"For what?" I ask, still astonished to the point I don't think I'm
following along as well as I should.
"For a variety of reasons," he says casually and with a careless shrug.
"Midge agrees you'd be perfect for the job."
I honestly can offer no intelligent response, so I just stare at him with
my mouth hanging open.
He finds this humorous, and I know this because he chuckles. Then he
sits up in his chair, rolls it a little closer to the table and leans in toward
me. "So will you, Emma? Work for me?"
I give a swift shake of my head back and forth a few times, not as a
negative response, but to clear the mud my brain seems to be mired in.
"I'm sorry... but I don't understand. What could I possibly do for you?"
Another chuckle, which actually sort of annoys me because he's
enjoying my discomfort, before he says, "There's a few things going
on. My former bandmates are suing me over the rights and royalties to
some of my songs."
Geez Louise... I don't know anything about copyright infringement
law—
"And on top of that, I've got three major deal offers from record labels,
and I need help navigating through the contracts to make sure I'm

protected, if I decide to accept one of them."
"Evan," I say firmly. "I can't handle all of that."
"And that's not really all," he barrels forward. "I need a publicist...
someone who can fend off all the media questions regarding all of these
legal issues as we battle them out, particularly because, while there's
been an arrest in Keith's death, he would have been involved in the suit
for my song rights. That's going to be brought up. I don't have time for
it, and frankly, I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing. I don't want to
jeopardize my ability to fight that lawsuit."
"Evan," I say even more firmly, and then I pause to make sure he
doesn't throw anything else at me. "I'm not qualified to handle all of
that."
"Midge says you are," he counters.
"She's wrong," I say with steel in my voice. "Not only can I not do it,
but even if I could, I'm not interested. It's not the type of law I want to
practice."
"That would be contract law," Evan says with a knowing look.
"Right?"
My jaw drops wide open again. "How did you know that?"
He runs his gaze over my outfit and then cocks an eyebrow at me.
"Come on, Emma. You positively scream isolationist. I'm guessing
you're most at home in a cavernous library, flipping through musty
books. It's not that difficult to figure out, and that's one of the reasons
you'd be great at helping me navigate those record label deals."
"Try again," I say with narrowed eyes and a sneaking suspicion starting
to sink in. "How do you know I want to do that type of law?"
He smirks this time, and without any apology in his voice, he says,
"Midge knows you've applied to several firms around this area for a
position where you can keep your nose buried in a book."
An equal mixture of anger and embarrassment fills me. Anger that
Midge knows of my job search, which means she must have been
reading my emails somehow, and embarrassment that she's busted me
looking for another job on the sly.
"And before you even think that Midge is snooping in your business,
let me tell you that a few of the firms contacted her when they

received your resume," Evan adds on with a knowing grin. "They were
surprised someone from the great Knight & Payne would be making a
break and they wanted to know why."
"Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath. Am I going to be stuck at
this job forever with no way out?
Then an equally disturbing thought crosses my mind. "Darn it all to
hell," I mutter again. "She's probably going to fire me since I've been
looking for another job."
"I don't think so," Evan supplies, but I ignore him, my mind now
working overtime.
"It's just as well," I say more to myself for reassurance as I look down at
the glossy cherry table. "I wasn't cut out for this and wasn't happy here
anyway."
"She's not going to fire you," Evan says, but I ignore this too.
Instead, I raise my gaze back up to his and say, "Unless there's anything
else you want to talk about, I should get back to my desk. Well,
assuming I have a desk when I walk out of here."
"Emma," Evan says sharply to get my attention. "She's not going to fire
you, and in fact, has approved you to work just on my stuff."
I blink at Evan and shake my head again, because surely he can't still be
harping on wanting to hire me.
"I' m not qualified," I snap back at him, still feeling completely out of
sorts by all of this. "So in case I'm not making myself clear, I'm not
interested."
"And if Midge insists?" he asks me slyly.
A wave of furious heat washes through me, and I grit my teeth. "You're
seriously going to pull the aunt card on me... just to get what you
want?"
His answering smile is mischievous and knowing. "I might have
something else to offer you."
"Like what?" I ask suspiciously, and then want to kick myself in the
butt for even asking.
"A job at one of the firm's you've applied to," he says straightforwardly.
I jerk in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says slowly and as if he's talking to a third grader, "you
work for me on these issues and help me get past them. Then Midge
pulls strings and gets you your dream job."
My mind whirls with the possibilities.
I could get out of here?
I could work somewhere that gives me fulfillment and makes me feel
like a productive member of the legal community. I could achieve my
dreams.
I' m on the verge of jumping on his offer when something inside of me
causes me to ask, "Wait a minute. why do you want me to work for you
so badly? I passed the bar exam less than a year ago. I've told you I' m
not qualified."
"Midge seems to think you are," Evan says dismissively. "Not to
mention you have all the available resources here at Knight & Payne, as
well as Midge's assurances she can help you if you run into a jam on
any of the issues you're unsure about."
"But—"
"Think about it, Emma," Evan says softly. almost suggestively. "A few
months of work on all my legal issues, some of which involves nice,
long, boring contracts with I' m sure a shit pot full of fine-print details,
and then a lifetime of working in your dream job."
Oh, God.
This could be it. What I've desired ever since I first started law school.
My eyes bore deep into his and I ask just to make sure, "You promise.
I help you out and then I get a new job."
"Promise," he says clearly and confidently, and I trust that he means it.
I also trust Midge has the power to put me where I want to go if I do this
for her nephew.
"Okay," I say quickly before I can change my own mind. "I'll do
it."
Evan gives me a slow smile, and there's something wolfish about it. But
I don't let that plague my thoughts too much.
And it's long after he's gone, promising we would meet soon to go over
the legal issues, that I realize he never did tell me why he wanted

me for this job.
In fact, the more I think about it, I think he purposely steered me away
from that.

CHAPTER 5
Evan
I pull up to the curb that sits adjacent to Emma's house. I told her we'd
get together soon to go over all the things she'll be doing for me, but I'm
pretty sure she didn't take that to mean the very next day.
On a Saturday.
At her house.
I get out of my car, which is a nondescript Nissan Maxima. I can afford
much better but honestly, I haven't figured out what type of sweet ride I
should get, so I'm still driving the same vehicle I had when fame hit me
suddenly just over a year ago.
After clicking the button to lock the doors, which causes the horn to
give a short chirp of acknowledgment, I pocket my keys and cut across
her lawn to the front porch.
Her house is cute. Very small, very tidy, but also very cute, just like
Emma. It looks to be well cared for on the outside with fresh paint and
a doormat that says "Beware of Dog" on it with the right lower corner
missing a big chunk to simulate a dog bite.
I don' t see a doorbell, so I give a sharp knock on the door, and
immediately hear the booming bark of a dog that is sporting a sizable
pair of lungs by the sound of it. The noise gets louder as the dog
approaches from the other side, and then I hear Emma clearly say, "Get
back, Sirius."
There's a scuffling sound on the other side of the door—perhaps the
sound of dog claws against hardwood floors—and then an exasperated
growl—from Emma, not the dog—followed by, "For Pete's sake,
Sirius. Can't you just once obey me?"
I can't help the grin that pops on my face, because the little bit I've
learned about Emma Peterson is that she likes a very ordered world and
a disobedient dog has got to give her absolute heartburn.
This is a reminder to myself that I don't know this woman hardly at

all, yet I've finagled her to be my attorney—for the next few months at
least—and it should give me a moment's pause over the craziness of
what I' m doing.
Yet, I can't find it within me to listen to those warning bells.
Something happened in that police station with Emma Peterson and I'
m acting on a gut instinct here. I can actually pinpoint the moment. It's
where she lost control and, in a sudden burst of anger, yelled at me.
Then called me names.
Then decided to leave my ass behind, even if it meant losing her
job.
In that moment, she transformed from a woman of no consequence to
me, to one who intrigued me very much. While I thought her beautiful
in an understated way when I first saw her, she turned into an absolute
temptress when she was riled up.
And God fuck my soul... that turned me on in a way I don't recall ever
having felt before.
I haven't been this intrigued by a woman in a very long time. In my line
of work, it's hard to find genuine people. They all want something from
you, and they tell you want you want to hear.
I don't need "yes" people in my life. I need people to tell me the
truth.
And I need people to believe in me, and there is one thing that struck
me about that day. Emma Peterson believed my story and that sort of
sealed her fate where I was concerned.
I bided my time for weeks, waiting to see what would happen with the
investigation into Keith's death. To say that I was beyond stressed is an
understatement. While I would not have said Keith was a friend at the
time of his death, because our band's breakup had left some seriously
bad feelings on both sides, I was immensely saddened he was dead, and
perhaps even regretful that we parted on bad terms. I went to his funeral
and kept to the back of the church so none of the former band or their
family and friends would see me. I slipped out just as covertly, as I
didn' t want them upset by my presence.
But I paid my respects to Keith, I grieved for him alone, and that was
all I could do.

As for the investigation into his death, if the focus came back on me, I
knew Midge would step in with all of her legal brawn and prowess, but
I would have insisted Emma help her with the case. And Midge, that
crazy aunt of mine, would have gladly agreed.
After a few weeks, an arrest was made, and I knew I'd have to figure
out another way to get close to Emma so I could figure out what this
unusual attraction to her was.
And it is unusual. She's not my type normally. I like my women a little
more forward, to dress a lot sexier, and to have a little more outgoing of
a personality. Emma wasn't anything like that, and still probably isn't.
But I know she's got it lurking deep inside, and I have to say... there's a
good bet that I'm doing this because she's presenting a challenge to me,
because let's face it... the women in my life lately have all thrown
themselves at me. There's not much mystery there.
Finally, I hear her say on the other side of the door, "Good boy. Now
stay."
Then the snick of her door unlocking. The door swings open and I get
just the barest glimpse of Emma—pressed khaki Bermuda shorts with a
white button-up top—before a huge, furry black beast shoots toward
me.
I also get just a glimpse of the dog—rolling eyes, lolling tongue—and I
immediately realize it's a puppy. A motherfucking huge puppy.
I brace, inherently knowing I'm not about to be attacked, and hold my
ground while the dog jumps up on me. Paws go to my shoulders and a
slobbering tongue slaps at my face.
"Sirius!" Emma exclaims, her hands going to his collar to pull him off
me. I help by giving him a gentle shove, and she manages to drag him
backward a few feet. I use that opportunity to wipe my face on my
sleeve, invite myself in, and shut her front door behind me.
I watch in amusement as Emma wrestles with the dog as it tries to lunge
back at me in all its puppy glory, and with a few grunts and deep sighs,
she manages to pull him further into her living room where she has a
large, wired kennel for him.

With a massive amount of struggle, she pushes him into the kennel,
latches it behind him, and turns to face me with a flushed face and her
hair in a mess all around her face.
Reminds me of how she looked when she was directing her fury at me
in the police station, and fuck. why do I like that shit so much?
"What are you doing here?" she asks breathlessly as she tries to smooth
her hair down. I want to tell her to leave it rumpled as it's far sexier, but
I withstand the impulse.
"Told you we'd get together soon to go over things," I tell her
nonchalantly as I walk into her living room and carefully study some
photos she has sitting on a table.
"Well, I assumed you meant you'd make an appointment at the office to
see me perhaps next week," she says in exasperation.
"Don't have time for that," I say as I pick up one of the framed photos. I
hold it out to her and ask, "Your mom?"
Her eyes flick to the photo and the annoyance melts, which is quickly
replaced by a mixture of fondness and pain. "Yes. She died a little over
a year ago."
I actually knew this, as Midge had filled me in on a little bit about
Emma' s background to appease my curiosity. Of course, Midge
thought my interest in her adorable, and I, of course, think it's adorable
that Midge finds it adorable, because I know damn well she sent Emma
Peterson over to that jailhouse because she figured I'd be interested in
her. Not many would know Midge is an old romantic at heart, but I
know her better than most.
"I' m sorry," I tell her softly.
She nods with a slight smile of thanks, but then her eyes turn
business-hard again. "What do you mean we don't have time to meet
next week?"
I turn to face her fully and jam my hands down into the pockets of my
jeans. I give her my most charming smile, which I've been told has the
power to incinerate panties, and tell her, "We leave tomorrow evening
for my tour. Thought I'd give you some basic background today,
especially since your publicist duties will start the minute you step foot
on that bus with me."

Emma's face actually blanches. She sucks in a rasping breath through
parted lips before practically choking out in a near-hysterical voice,
"Tomorrow? You want me to leave with you on tour tomorrow?"
"Yup," I say simply. "So you might want to get your laundry done."
"I can't just go with you on tour tomorrow," she hisses at me. "I have a
job you know."
"Your job is to work for me full time on my issues," I tell her. "Surely
Midge made that clear."
"Yes," she says in confusion. "But I just assumed she meant from the
comfort of my desk."
"No can do, pretty lady," I say with a grin, and then I take a seat on her
couch, laying an arm over the back. "I need you with me to field
reporters, and we also need to get cracking on those legal issues.
Responses are due soon, so I'm going to need you with me so we can
get this knocked out as efficiently as possible."
"That's ridiculous," she stammers, and her voice starts to rise again. "I
have bills to pay. I have freaking animals to take care of. You cannot
expect me to just leave this all behind without any notice or planning."
"I'm giving you notice now," I tell her with a shrug. "I'll have your bills
covered, and you can board your animals or something, and speaking
of which. what else do you have besides that hell beast in the cage
there?"
I glance over at the puppy, which has long, shaggy hair with the cutest
poof on top that looks slightly like Tina Turner's hair.
"I have a cat too," she mutters, and then starts to nibble on a fingernail.
I can practically see the gears in her brain whirring.
"So find a kennel to take them, get your laundry done—although I' ll be
the first to tell you that those prim little business suits are not allowed
on a rocker's bus—and you'll be all set."
"You are a certifiable nut job," she grits out at me. "And I am not
boarding my animals, nor am I leaving them for God knows how long."
"The tour is three months," I provide helpfully.
Emma growls at me under her breath, then squares her shoulders.

Her eyes are blazing with anger and resolve. "I am not going on tour
with you. I have a life and that wasn't part of the deal."
"Your life isn't going to fall apart if you leave for a bit," I chastise her.
"This is the twenty-first century. The world is flat. We're a mobile
generation. You can run your household from your smartphone,
Emma."
She knows this is true, so she changes tactics. "I'm not leaving my
animals in a strange kennel for months. It's cruel."
"I have to say," I begin with thoughtful contemplation, kicking my legs
up onto her couch although I politely let my Chucks dangle over the
edge, "I didn't take you as an animal person."
She blinks at me. "Why not?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Just a feeling."
Which isn't true. What I'd like to tell her is that she seems like the type
of woman who's happiest with her face pressed close to a book, where
she can play with words and written nuances, and not have to deal with
people. That sort of applies to animals, I guess.
"Well, I am an animal person. I love mine, and Sirius is just a puppy
and we're bonding so I'm not leaving him," she says adamantly.
My gaze cuts over to Sirius. He takes up most of the big kennel, his
tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as if he's grinning at me.
"What kind of dog is that?"
"A Newfoundland," she replies, her voice still filled with annoyance.
"He's awful big," I note.
"He'll get bigger," she says. "Probably a hundred and fifty pounds or
so."
I give a whistle through my teeth as I look back to her. "That's a lot
of dog."
"That I refuse to leave," she enunciates very clearly to make her point
with arms crossed over her chest.
I glance back to Sirius, then back to Emma, and make a command
decision. "He can come with us."
Emma' s eyes round in surprise and her head sort of hangs forward as
her jaw drops. "Bring him on tour with you?"
"Well, with you," I clarify. "He's your dog and you have to take

care of him."
I can see those gears starting to whirl in her head again as she tries to
figure out another excuse to lob my way, so I cut her off before she can
think of something, "Come on, Emma. Remember your dream job
awaits you at the end of this little odyssey you're getting ready to take.
How about be adventurous for once, get this job over for me, and then
you can come back and play around with contracts and other boring
shit for the rest of your life?"
"It's not boring," she snaps at me. "It takes a keen intelligence and
ability to interpret—"
"Fine, it's not boring," I rush to reassure her. "And it can all be waiting
for you once you fulfill this tiny little obligation to me."
"I want a time limit and I want it in writing," she says sternly. "I'll agree
to one month only with you on the tour. That should be plenty of time
to field the initial media interest in the lawsuit and plenty of time for me
to review those label contracts and give you advice. Then I want to
come back home and I can do any remaining work from Raleigh."
"Fine," I say quickly, because the time doesn't matter. I'll either have
her figured out and my attraction to her well fulfilled by then—because
fuck if I'm going to wait thirty days to get in her pants—or I'll be gladly
sending her back to Raleigh because the attraction I was imagining was
really nothing to begin with.
"I can't believe I'm even entertaining this notion, but what about my
cat?" she adds on. "I'm not leaving her either."
I haven't seen this cat yet, and frankly, I don't want to. "No can do on
that. I' m allergic to cats."
"It's what they make Zyrtec for," she throws at me stubbornly.
"Seriously, Emma," I tell her truthfully. "I can't be around cats. They
get within five feet of me, and my eyes swell shut and my throat closes
off. Do you want me to die on that tour bus?"
I' m disappointed to see a bit of light shine in her eyes at the prospect,
but she finally says, "Fine. I'm sure my dad will watch her."
"Perfect," I say enthusiastically as I swing my legs off the couch and
plant my feet on the floor. "We'll be by to pick you up tomorrow around
six PM."

Emma' s face pinches with stress over the prospect. "You mean. you're
just going to pull a big bus up to my house to get me?"
I chuckle, pleased she's a little off balance right now because she needs
a little disruption in her orderly little life.
"It's a bit more than just a bus," I tell her vaguely. "Just be ready to go
by then."
She nods but doesn't say anything, turning away from me to stare at her
dog's kennel in contemplation. I've already been dismissed from her
mind, and she's trying to figure out how to deal with everything she
needs to handle before tomorrow afternoon.
I head toward her front door, intent on letting myself out. But when I
pull it open, I look back at Emma, still staring at her dog.
"Oh, and Emma?" I say, and she startles, turning to look at me with
wide eyes. "You might want to bring ear plugs. Lots of stuff goes on
while we' re traveling on the bus that you might not want to hear."
"Like what?" she asks with naivety, her brow furrowing with worry.
"You'll figure it out," I say slyly, and then I step out of her house,
shutting the door behind me.
I think Miss Emma Peterson's ordered little world is going to be shaken
up soon, and I can't wait to see how she handles it.

CHAPTER 6
Emma
There's a freaking huge bus parked in front of my house. Massive and
colored metallic brown with sweeps of light bronze and gold on the
diagonal with the name "Evan Scott" written in graffiti-style letters,
and under it in small letters "The Come Again Tour".
Pulling my blinds open just a bit more, I angle my head to the left to see
better, and I can't contain the gasp that comes out when I see the rest of
the spectacle lining the street.
"What?" my dad asks from behind.
"No words," I whisper, shaking my head. "There are just no words."
My dad gives a chuckle and comes to stand beside me. Instead of
surreptitiously peeking out the blinds like me, he grabs the cord on the
right and pulls on it, causing the blinds to shoot upward and exposing
us standing there.
With a shriek, I jump back from the window and then take several more
steps backward. My dad just stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and
takes it all in.
Not only is there the massive "Evan Scott" bus, but there's a matching
bus just behind it. Same colors, same announcement on the side, so
there's no doubt as to the fame of the person inside.
And behind the two buses... two tractor-trailers. These are non-descript
with full-length, white trailers behind them and I have no idea why
they're sitting there.
"Looks like he'll put on quite a show," my dad observes thoughtfully.
I don't answer, but instead look around my living room. I've got two
large suitcases filled with my clothes, a smaller rolling case with my
toiletries, and a separate duffel filled with necessities for Sirius. He's
currently lying beside it sleeping, as my dad wore him out about half an

hour ago playing a vicious game of tug of war.
Am I really doing this? Am I going to join that caravan of musicians
and God knows who else, and travel around the country?
I guess I am and still can't quite wrap my head around the prospect. I' ve
never done anything so spontaneous. so ill planned. So.
adventurous?
"You'll have an amazing time," my dad says softly, and my head snaps
toward him. He's looking at me with a keen paternal understanding.
"This will be good for you, Em. You need a little excitement in your
life."
"My life has plenty of excitement," I mutter, and then my eyes slide
back to the window as I see movement outside. The doors open on the
first bus, and Evan comes trotting down the steps.
I can't explain the light, fluttery feeling deep in my belly as he cuts
across my lawn. He's wearing a pair of faded khaki shorts that hang low
with frayed hems, a green Mountain Dew t-shirt, and a beat-up old
baseball cap done in light blue with UNC's mascot on the front. I
remember reading he actually went to Carolina for three years before
he dropped out to pursue music full time. It's a warm spring day and I
notice he's wearing flip-flops, just as I notice his legs are tanned and
muscled. Of course, that leads me to check out his arms, which are also
corded with lean muscle, and the fluttering in my belly picks up its
pace.
Within moments, Evan's knocking at my front door. My dad merely
takes a few steps to the side from my front window to let him in. Sirius
bolts up out of his sleep when he hears we have a visitor and he tries to
shoot past me. I lunge, grab onto his collar, and give him a stern, "Sit".
Miraculously, his butt hits the floor where his tail sweeps back and
forth along the hardwood with excitement.
"Evan," my dad says as he extends his hand out. "I'm Cary Peterson."
Evan shakes my dad's hand with a smile as he says, "It's good to meet
you, sir."
"Likewise," my dad says, and then he steps away from Evan toward
me, his hands coming to my shoulders. "Okay, honey. I' m going to
head out, but you have a great time on this trip."

"I'm working, Dad," I remind him primly. "It's not a vacation." "Well,
enjoy yourself anyway," he chides as he leans in to kiss me on the
cheek. When he pulls away, he looks at me somberly for a moment
before adding on, "I'm proud of you for doing this. Trying something
new."
"I' m doing this to get a new job," I remind him, because I had a long
talk with him yesterday after Evan left, told him about this "offer of
employment," and that Evan assured me that Midge would help me
secure a job in another firm when I completed my duties. He seemed
neither shocked nor disappointed by this proclamation, and I suspect
that's because my dad just wants me to be happy and he knows I'm not
with Knight & Payne.
"Okay, honey," my dad says softly and he releases my shoulders. "I
love you and we'll talk on the phone soon. Call me if you need anything
at all."
For a brief moment, I panic at the thought of him leaving. My life is
secure and safe and there aren't any surprises. My dad is my rock and
well... since mom died, he's become my best friend.
I have to physically bite down on my tongue so I don't inadvertently
call out for him that I've changed my mind and I watch as he bends over
to pick up Kiki's travel cage. She's a Maine Coon cat and huge, so the
cage is substantial. She gives out a long meow of surprise to be moving.
"Need some help with that?" Evan asks, still standing just inside my
doorway with his gaze dubiously pinned on Kiki's cage.
"I' m good," my dad tells him. Evan looks relieved, moving several
paces away from the door to give a wide berth. I guess he wasn't
kidding when he said he was allergic to cats.
My dad and I exchange "I love you's" one more time and then he's
gone, leaving Sirius and me alone with Evan. "You ready?" he asks me.
I don't answer him directly but instead say, "You didn't tell me you had
an entire convoy for this tour." "Does it matter?" he counters.
I merely shrug my shoulders as I let go of Sirius' collar. The puppy

immediately jets toward Evan who locks his body in anticipation of a
collision. There's a smirk on my face as I watch Sirius jump up on
Evan, paws going to his shoulders and I don't bother trying to retrieve
him.
"Oh-kay," Evan chuckles as he pushes Sirius off him, only to have him
leap back up again as he desperately tries to lick Evan's face. "Get
down, buddy."
Evan struggles. Sirius leaps. Drool flies. "Little help here," Evan calls
to me with a quick glance. "Push him down," I instruct calmly. "When
he tries to jump up again, raise your knee up to prevent it and tell him to
'sit'."
Evan immediately does as I suggest. He pushes Sirius down, who
immediately leaps back up. Evan raises his knee and hops on one foot
with his hands warding off Sirius, whose tongue is flopping about in a
mad attempt to lick Evan's face.
I have to cover my mouth with my hand to not bust out laughing, and
then almost pee my pants when Sirius—clearly bored with this new
game now—sits very briefly only to reach out and snag the flip-flop off
Evan's foot that's held in the air while his knee is still raised.
Quick as a flash, Sirius turns around and shoots out of the living room
and down the hallway, where I can hear him leap onto my bed.
"Son of a bitch," Evan mutters, and I can't even look at him. I'll lose it.
Instead, I call over my shoulder as I trot down my hallway, "I'll get
your shoe. Just hold on."
"Fucking mutt," he mutters. While I cringe at his casual use of the "F"
word, I can't contain the snicker that pops out of my mouth.
I find Sirius on my bed furiously working at something inside of his
mouth. When I look down to my mattress, I see the flip-flop with half
the heel gone and immediately hurry to the crazy puppy to pull it out of
his mouth.
"Bad dog," I say sternly, knowing my voice will carry down the hall to
Evan, but then I whisper to Sirius and ruffle the fur on his head,
"Good dog."
His tail thumps in abandon over my praise, and I have to say. while I' m
not looking forward to getting on that bus and traveling the

country, I am relishing just a bit how much Sirius will probably torment
Evan.
♦
There's more cursing by Evan after I hand him half a flip-flop, but it
doesn't last long. He pulls his other shoe off, grabs one of my large
suitcases, and walks out door. I take that as my cue to get moving, and I
work to get Sirius on his leash to bring him out to the bus. A big, burly
man who is bald on top but has a long, red beard walks into my house
and gives me a nod of his head, before walking over to my other
luggage. Correction... he's not big. He's massive. Tall and wide with a
bit of a gut hanging low and hands the size of dinner plates. He tucks
the duffel under one arm and takes the other large suitcase in one hand,
as well as my rolling case in the other, and walks back out my door.
Turning around once, I take a last look at my living room, and I have a
moment of sadness to be leaving. I love my house. My little sanctuary
where every spare wall is covered with bookcases, and filled with
books. I've got fiction and non-fiction. Poetry. Self-help books.
Romance. Thrillers. Law books.
I' m going to miss my books.
"Come on, Sirius," I say as I give a little tug on his leash. While he's a
hellion at almost all other times, the minute he's on a leash, he displays
perfect manners and for that, I'm grateful.
We leave my house and I lock up, at least secure in the fact my dad will
check on it frequently for me. My bills are all covered, as those were all
on auto draft and the only other thing to worry about was my mail, but
my neighbor's going to collect it for me and give it to my dad. He'll
handle any emergencies.
My life is zipped up tidily and now I' m free to go on this. well,
whatever this journey is. I still haven't quite figured it out, because I'm
just having an almost impossible time trying to accept that this massive
bus in front of me is not only my home for the next thirty days, but my
office as well.
Evan waits for me—barefooted—by the open bus doors. I can see the
red-bearded guy behind the wheel as I walk Sirius across the front

yard, with his nose to the ground sniffing. He pauses, squats, and
pees—only because he's still a puppy and hasn't figured out how to
raise his leg yet—and then we walk up to Evan.
He motions with his hand for us to walk up the steps and says, "Your
chariot awaits."
"It's a land yacht," I say out of the side of my mouth to him. "Not a
chariot."
Evan laughs as Sirius and I walk up the steps. At the top, the driver
looks at me and says in a low, rough rumble, "Name's Red."
"Emma," I say with a nervous smile. "And this is Sirius."
Red turns slightly away from me, reaching for something on the side of
his seat. When he turns back my way, I see he's holding a dog biscuit.
He holds it up for Sirius to see and says, "Can you sit, little man?"
Sirius' butt hits the rubberized mat we're standing on.
"Good boy," Red praises. I think he's smiling, but I can't really see his
mouth under all that hair on his face, but his eyes are crinkled so I think
so. He tosses the biscuit to Sirius, who catches it with flopping jowls
that throws a small thread of drool to the floor.
I grimace and say apologetically, "Sorry about that. I'll clean it
up."
"Leave it," Red growls, but in a nice way. "Dogs drool. It's not the end
of the world."
And this time, I level him with a big smile. Red clearly is a dog person,
and he's already taken to Sirius. His eyes crinkle more, and I definitely
take that to mean he's truly smiling back at me.
A slight cough behind me, and I realize Evan's waiting to come up the
steps.
"Sorry," I say as I turn left into the main area of the bus and then just
gape at what's before me. In almost a daze, I lean over and unclip the
leash from Sirius' collar. His nose drops to the floor to start
investigating the space.
The sumptuous, ridiculously posh space.
I' m staring at a living area with blond hardwood flooring, a cream
leather couch on the right, and two swivel leather chairs to my left. On

the other side of the chairs is a built in desk with a laptop, and beyond
that is a kitchen with tiled flooring and stainless steel appliances. I can
see an open doorway leading into a bedroom with plush cream
carpeting, as well as a bed decorated in expensive-looking linens.
Sirius takes off to the bedroom and makes a flying leap onto the
mattress, where he flops onto his back and starts wiggling around.
A warm, heavy hand on my hip causes me to jump, and then Evan' s
pushing past me into the living area. With a wave of his hand, he says,
"So this is it... the living area. There's a desk there for you to work.
Kitchen. Bathroom is on the other side of it, and then the bedroom in
the back. It's only a full-sized bed but plenty big enough."
A sizzling jolt of shock slams into me and I blurt out, "I'm not sleeping
in that bedroom with you."
Evan' s eyes flash and his lips curve upward. He takes a step toward me
and murmurs, "Your choices are that bedroom or you can stay on the
second bus behind us. That's where the band and a few of the road crew
ride. They sleep in bunks built into the wall."
"But. b u t . " I stammer, completely stunned by this news.
Then Evan bursts out laughing as he rests a hand on my shoulder.
"Relax, Emma. The bedroom is yours. This couch converts and I'll
sleep out here."
Amazingly, there' s a twinge of disappointment to know that Evan had
no intention of sleeping in the same bed as me, but the overwhelming
relief obliterates it. I'd simply die if I had to share a bed with such a
gorgeous specimen of a man, who is so far out of my league it's not
even funny, not to mention the fact I really don't like him all that much.
Liar.
"I can't take the bedroom," I say hastily. "You're the star. You deserve
the star treatment. So I'll sleep out here."
Evan grins at me a moment before he moves to the kitchen area. "You'll
take the bedroom. I'm a southern boy first and foremost and we have
our manners before we have anything. I'll be fine out here. Want
something to drink?"
I shake my head. "I' m good."

"We're taking off, folks," Red says from the front, and I hear the doors
hiss close. The bus rocks as he steps on the gas and I take a seat on the
leather couch, my head spinning. I hear Sirius jump out of the bed and
come barreling down the short hallway, through the kitchen, and right
past the living area where he flops down on the floor beside Red. I note
he absently puts a hand down to briefly scratch my puppy's head before
he returns it to the wheel.
Evan takes a seat on the other end of the couch and that grabs my
attention, so my head swings back his way. He stares at me, takes a sip
from a can of Diet Coke, and then just stares at me some more.
It' s awkward and before I start fidgeting under his heavy gaze, I try to
make desperate conversation. "I went over the tour schedule you
emailed me last night. I was sort of exhausted just reading it. Forty-two
shows over three months."
Evan nods. "Pretty much. We'll do a show, pack up, and drive to the
next venue although in the cities where we do two shows, we'll stay in a
hotel for some extra comfort."
"Is it normal to have this much. um. stuff and people?" I ask, stumbling
on the right words to even put a name to the convoy of buses and trucks
that are rolling along behind us as we drive through my neighborhood.
Atlanta is the kick off for this tour and it starts evening after next.
He bobs his head in acknowledgment. "Apparently. Although this is
my first concert tour, so I can't say for sure. Crazy, right?" "I' m still not
sure I understand it," I admit.
"Well, there are three musicians who will play with me, since I'm a solo
artist. I've only been with them for about a month, but they're really
cool. I'll introduce you when we stop. They sleep on the other bus,
along with my manager, Tyler Hannity, and the two bus drivers. Plus,
there are two permanent road crews that go to all shows who will do the
sound and lighting. The rest of the crew will be local hires at each
venue who help to build the stage and set everything up. The tour
production company handles hiring that out, as well as other local
talent like stylists."
"It's overwhelming," I tell him candidly. Because I'm feeling

completely out of place in this world already, and I've only been gone
from my house for five minutes.
"Hey," he says as he leans toward me a bit. "You gotta remember. this
is all new for me too. I only broke onto the scene last year, and I'd never
even opened for another band before. Stepping out on that stage in
Atlanta... we're going to be lucky if I don't have a stroke. I' m going to
be so nervous."
And that makes me feel all kinds of better, knowing that about Evan.
That perhaps both of us are stepping into this world together, and it
makes me feel slightly braver knowing he's overwhelmed by all this as
well.
"Now," he says dramatically as he stands from the couch. "How about
we get going on some of the legal mumbo-jumbo I hired you for, so
you can get up to speed? There will be reporters in Atlanta we'll have to
address."
My stomach drops, curdles, and threatens to expel the bagel I ate for a
hurried but late lunch today. I hate public speaking and the thought of
getting up in front of reporters to field questions about Evan's legal
issues makes me want to hurl my guts up.
But instead, I just put on a brave face and give him a nod, hoping this
next month goes by fast so I can get back to the sanctity of my real life
and a job that's much more suited to me.

CHAPTER 7
Evan
A cupboard opening, the rattle of a cup against granite counters, and I
come slowly awake. I assume we're in Atlanta at the venue, as the bus
is quiet and at a standstill. Morning sunlight is filtering through the
blinds on the bus window above me. I roll from my back to my side,
craning my neck so I can verify that Red is indeed not in the driver's
seat, before I look into the kitchen.
Emma' s standing at the counter, making a cup of coffee in the Keurig.
She's already dressed for the day, her hair sleek, shiny, and without a
stray strand to be seen. She's wearing what I've come to dub as her
"mom wear" of perfectly pressed Bermuda shorts and a prim little
blouse with lace around the collar. It's buttoned to her throat. I suppose
it was too much to hope she might come out in a see-through negligee
with nipples pushing outward and maybe a tiny silk thong underneath
that would show her bare ass through the material.
I have to stifle a groan, particularly as I realize I've got morning
wood—getting imminently woodier as I think about Emma in a
negligee—pressing against the loose cotton material of my sweatpants.
I rearrange the blanket over me, hoping to make the "tent" less obvious
before clearing my throat and saying, "Good morning."
"Good morning," she answers in a somewhat flat, professional voice.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"I'll get some in a minute," I say as I sit up and swing my legs over the
side of the couch, planting my bare feet on the floor. I didn't bother
pulling the couch out into a bed last night as I was too tired by the time
I was ready to go to sleep. Even worse, I couldn't get to sleep, my mind
plagued with a variety of worries.
What if I suck when I get up on that stage?
How am I going to deal with my former band and their ridiculous
lawsuit?

Let' s not even get into the stress I feel over having to decide if I want to
cut a deal with one of the record labels.
And the thing that repeatedly kept me from falling asleep was
wondering how I was going to deal with Emma. She thinks she's here to
work for me, and on its face. that' s true. But my motives are far more
selfish. She's here merely because she intrigues me. I've got the
leverage and privilege behind me that ensures she stays within my line
of sight so I can figure out how I want to play with her.
Last night, she read over the lawsuit brought by the members of my
former band, Kickback—sans Keith Carina, of course. It essentially
alleges that they jointly own the copyright of certain songs on my Core
Deviance album and they were entitled to a portion of the royalties.
That album went platinum in less than a year, and because I published
that as an indie artist, those royalties all came to me—less the
production costs Midge fronted. After I paid her back her investment
with interest—at my insistence—the resulting monies I pocketed has
me set for life.
Emma spent an hour grilling me on how those songs came to be, and I
told her I wrote the lyrics and composed the music for those songs, the
original intent to be played by Kickback. I showed them the songs, and
we played them together a few times. We made some minor chord
changes together as a band, but no changes were ever made to the
lyrics.
"I did some basic research earlier and there are two types of
copyrights," Emma explained. "The first is for the composition of the
song, and the second is for the recording of it."
"I composed those songs," I reminded her. "Every word and musical
note was my creation."
"But the band helped you make some changes," she pushed at me.
"Minor chord changes," I scoffed. "But those songs are my creation.
They're my art."
Emma nodded as if she understood me, but spent a few seconds
scribbling down some notes. Then she asked me, "Tell me about the
bad blood between you and the members of Kickback."
So I told her everything.
Keith Carina, Joel Paxton, and Neil Hartsough formed Kickback with
me during our freshman year together at Carolina. We'd all played

in bands while in high school, not together of course, but that was really
just fooling around.
Kickback was different though.
We were good.
I mean really good.
I was lead guitarist and vocals. Keith was on bass, Joel was drums, and
Neil was on keyboards. We started out just playing cover songs at
college hangouts, but we became really popular. All of us struggled
with school and studies, and the more gigs we booked, the more we all
blew off classes. We finally decided to go full time with our music
during our junior years, all dropping out with not even a backward
glance, a fact my parents are still pissed about despite my success now.
"What caused the band to breakup?" Emma had asked me point blank.
I gave it back to her as simple as I could make it. "Greed."
Her eyebrows raised in question, so I explained. "We were at a
crossroads with the band's future. I had all these great songs I'd created
that were just begging to be recorded. Around the same time, a very
minor record label had interest in us and made us an offer. The guys
wanted to take the offer, and I didn't. I wanted to either hold out for a
bigger deal with a larger label, or record the stuff ourselves. I had
Midge willing to front the production costs."
"Midge?" she asked with surprise.
"Well, yeah," I told her with a fond smile. "She believed in me. Hell,
she helped raise me, so I'm like a son to her. She had no qualms about
giving me the money to record and produce Core Deviance."
"So you split over whether or not to take that deal?" Emma surmised.
"Yes," I admitted with a flush of burning anger toward my former band.
For their short sightedness and greed for quick money. For the inability
to trust me and our talent—that we could be bigger than what that dinky
little label was offering us. And really fucking pissed that they're now
snapping at my heels, hoping for me to throw them some scraps from
my success without them.
Ultimately, Emma said she'd need to do some more research, but

that she would work on some responsive documents to their lawsuit.
And with that, she took the provided laptop from the desk and walked
back into the bedroom where she shut the door. It was after one AM the
last time I'd looked down the hallway and still saw light shining out
from underneath the door. Thereafter, I just stared at the ceiling until I
was able to finally fall asleep, using the sound of the bus's tires on the
pavement to help me along.
"I' m going to take Sirius for a short walk," Emma says, and I jolt out of
my memories. "Then I'll come back here and get to work."
"Sounds good," I say as I stretch my arms upward and roll my head to
loosen out some minor kinks. That couch wasn't all that comfortable.
My gaze slides to Emma and she's blatantly staring at me.
Well, at my naked chest.
She just stares, transfixed, and my dick gets infinitely harder. Lowering
my arms, I rub a hand across my chest as if I'm just casually scratching
it and watch as her eyes follow along. Just to see what she'll do, I give a
little tug on the silver ring through my right nipple.
Emma' s entire body literally jolts and her eyes snap to mine, filled with
complete mortification. Her cheeks are bright red and she starts to
stammer, "Um. um. u m . "
I grin at her, release the nipple ring, and stand up from the couch,
letting the blanket slide to the floor.
"Like what you see?" I ask her in a husky voice, seeing if I can get her
riled up like I did in the police station.
Her face lowers in embarrassment, but I know the minute she locks
eyes on my erection because her eyes fly back up to mine, cheeks the
color of a fire engine.
"Sorry about that," I say with a grin and a nod downward. "He's frisky
in the morning."
"Oh, God," Emma mutters and spins away from me, leaving her freshly
brewed cup of coffee on the counter. "I need to get Sirius and take him
for a walk."
She practically runs to the bedroom and slams the door shut.
Grinning, I decide to go ahead and knock out a quick shower. I get rid
of my hard-on the old-fashioned way—with a lot of soap, a quick

hand, and a few lewd thoughts of getting Emma out of those pressed
Bermuda shorts at some point in the very near future.
♦
It' s almost midnight by the time we all climb—rather noisily—onto my
bus. I immediately see the shut bedroom door with no light shining
through the slight gap at the bottom.
"Dude. tell me you have beer," Cap slurs as he stumbles in behind me,
then pushes past me to the fridge. He's my drummer for this tour and
looks like a slightly younger version of Tommy Lee.
"Shhh," I say way too loudly as I weave back and forth. "We don't want
to wake Emma."
At least I think that's what I said. My words are slurred too.
"Yes, we do," Jimmy yells as he barrels up the steps. He's the bass
player. He's twenty-one, but looks like he's about thirteen. I bet he has a
hard time getting laid. "It's our last night to party before we officially
start this tour tomorrow."
I wince because there's no way Emma just slept through that.
"Yeah, Emma," Cap calls out toward the back bedroom. "Come out and
play with us."
I stare hopefully at her door, because while I'm feeling guilty we're
being loud asses when she's trying to sleep, I would like to see her.
She's had her nose pressed up against the laptop all day, working right
up until dinnertime. I invited her to go out with us, but she primly
declined.
So primly I wanted to pull her away from that computer and kiss her so
hard that her "mom clothes" would magically fall off or something. I
mean, seriously. the woman has to only be twenty-five or so. She needs
to update that wardrobe.
But she was firm she wanted to continue working, and that she'd make
a sandwich later.
That was several hours ago, and many beers had been drunk by me and
my musicians tonight after dinner. We barhopped for a while and then
decided to come back here to continue the party. Well, I think everyone
was about ready to call it a night, but I foolishly invited everyone onto
my bus, thinking perhaps I'd get Emma to come out and

hang with us.
A crashing sound behind me has me wheeling around, almost falling
over, but I catch myself by throwing a hand out to the back of one of the
swivel chairs. I see Dilana careening off the driver's seat before she
rights herself. She's got a bottle of tequila in her hand and her red
lipstick is smeared as if she'd given all of us blow jobs.
Dilana is on keyboards. She has long, dark hair she's worked into long
dreadlocks over the years that are held back by a silver-threaded black
headband.
She hadn't given us all blow jobs, of course, but had been making out
with that tequila bottle because she apparently drinks like a fish. Dilana
is the wildest out of all of us, and I' m pretty sure her sleeping bunk is
going to be seeing a lot of action on this trip. I don't know how many
times tonight she mentioned she was horny.
"Let's play some strip poker," Dilana yells, and I truly do wince this
time. That was really loud, and as if on cue, Emma's bedroom door flies
open so hard it rebounds off the wall with a crack.
Sirius comes flying out, his puppy butt wagging hard at the prospect of
new people to play with. He reaches Cap first, who barely gets turned
around before Sirius launches at him. Cap's as drunk as all of us, and he
goes crashing to the floor with sixty pounds of furry dog on top of him,
licking his face. Jimmy starts laughing so hard he doubles over, then
falls back on the couch, and Dilana takes a huge swig of the tequila,
wipes her mouth, which smears more lipstick, and exclaims, "I said I
want to play strip poker."
My eyes slide to Emma, and I brace for her to go off on us. She stands
there in pajama pants done in gray and turquoise stripes and a loose
white t-shirt that has a modest V-neck.
With narrowed eyes, she glances down to Sirius slapping Cap's face
with his tongue, to Jimmy who is still laughing on the couch and
oblivious to the tiny woman glaring at him, and then finally over to
Dilana, who leers right back at Emma.
Slowly, she looks to me and in a very formal voice thinly laced with a
pinch of disgust, she says, "You are all being unbelievably rude. If you
intend on partying in this bus, I insist you put me up in a hotel so I

can get some sleep. Some of us have to work in the morning."
At this, Jimmy stops laughing, and Cap manages to push Sirius off him
so he can sit up. Dilana steps up to me, throws her arm around my
shoulder, and tells Emma, "Come on, girlfriend. We've got tequila and
strip poker. You should party with us."
Emma's nose wrinkles as she looks to Dilana, but she's very polite
when she says, "No, but thank you. I just want to sleep."
"Emma..." I start my apology off, hoping perhaps to convince her to
join us for a drink.
But she lifts her chin in the air and asks in a frustrated voice, "What's it
going to be, Evan? I ' m really tired and would like to get some sleep."
With a sigh, I push my fingers through my hair and, staring straight at
Emma, I say, "Sorry gang... you heard the lady of the bus. There's not
going to be a party here."
Dilana is the first to respond by spinning on her heel and careening
back down the steps as she says, "Strip poker commencing in the other
bus. Come on, dudes."
Cap pushes up off the floor with amazing dexterity, but a little too fast
as he falls onto the couch right beside Jimmy. But then he pops right
back up and gives a little bow toward Emma. "Sorry for waking you
up."
He turns and slaps Jimmy upside the head. "Come on, man. Dilana
might be getting naked right this very moment."
Both men stagger their way out of the bus, leaving Emma and me
standing on opposite ends looking at each other.
"I' m really sorry that—"
"Sirius. come," Emma says sternly and the puppy jumps up and runs to
her. Without another word, she turns her back on me and goes back into
the bedroom, shutting it quietly behind them.
I stare at her door for a few minutes, still feeling slightly guilty but also
acknowledging the little sting of rejection. So she doesn't want to hang
with us.
Fine.
My new band seems like they're a ton of fun, and this is a night to
celebrate. Our last night of freedom before the tour starts, and I ' m not

nearly drunk enough to do that justice.
Grabbing a six-pack of beer from the fridge, I don't give Emma another
thought as I head out to join my musicians.

CHAPTER 8
Emma
There comes a time in life It's do or die Truth or lie
Depending on the time of day Don't let it pass you by.
I lean to the side, let my body fall forward, and bang my head lightly on
the desk beside the laptop. Seriously?
He has to sing in the shower with his smooth, rich voice that's pretty
much sex for the ears? And knowing he wrote the song and the music to
it, and that he'll be singing it on stage tonight to thousands of adoring
women who would want to—
Ugh.
I'm having eargasms listening and can't concentrate on my work. This
annoys me even more than I already am with him after his drunken
stunt last night. Coming onto the bus and bringing other people, all
drunk, loud, and obnoxious. Waking me up from a sound sleep, and
then having the gall to think I'd be flattered they wanted me to party
with them.
Just no.
No. No. No.
Listen... I'm not a teetotaler by any means. In college, I went to

my share of parties, although truth be told, I didn't go to a lot. I had my
share of beer and got buzzed. Mostly, I was always with my college
sweetheart, Chris, who I met my freshman year at NC State but both of
us were pretty serious about our studies. We never went overboard with
the drinking and most certainly never did drugs, mostly because we had
our sights set on graduate school—med school for him and law school
for me. That was just more important to us.
These days, I'll enjoy a nice glass of wine with dinner.
Maybe two.
But to drink until my words are slurring and I'm stumbling all over like
Evan and his band of heathens last night? It' s just not my thing.
My hand reaches down to touch Sirius, who's taken to lying at my feet
under the small desk, but I absently remember he's out for a walk with
Red. Those two have hit it off, and Red claims he's got to lose a little
weight to get his blood pressure under control or, in his words, "The
missus will not be a happy woman if I die." So he's started getting
Sirius off the bus and walking as much as possible.
The water shuts off in the tiny bathroom that sits no more than four feet
from my desk, although Evan continues to sing. I can imagine him in
there, steam all swirling around while he dries off his body that. that...
is just unlike anything I've ever been privy to before. All sleek toned
muscles and just beyond my craziest of fantasies... nipple rings.
He has rings through his nipples, and apparently it doesn't hurt when he
tugs on them as I observed the day before yesterday.
Just as I'd observed his very clear, very long, and very hard erection
when he stood up from the couch.
Ugh.
Why me?
I have no clue if he had the same. um. affliction this morning as I
refused to look at him when I heard him stirring on the couch. I'd been
up for a good three hours, had already showered, walked Sirius, and fed
us by the time he woke up. Even though he didn't give me the same
courtesy last night, I made sure I was very quiet this morning as I
moved around the bus. Although, he probably didn't need it. I'm pretty
sure he

was passed out and not just sleeping.
The bathroom door opens. I raise my head up quickly from the desk
and put my hands on the laptop, blindly typing on what's nothing more
than a search engine I'd opened so I would look productive.
"Am I going to get the silent treatment all day?" I hear Evan say from
the doorway and I allow my gaze to slide over to him.
And merciful Jesus. Evan with damp skin and a towel wrapped around
his hips, so low I see that "V" of muscle pointing downward, should be
outlawed. It's making me feel muddled, and I can't continue struggling
against this. It's just not fair.
"It's the silent treatment then," he concludes as he rubs his fingers
through his wet hair, and making said conclusion because I still haven't
said anything. "Apparently, you're still pissed about last night."
I clear my throat. "I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I was just
focused on my work."
Evan leans his body to the right and looks at my laptop screen. My
cheeks flush red as he smirks, because all he sees is a search field with
a garbled mess of letters that I had frantically typed when the bathroom
door opened.
"Well, carry on then," he says with a slight bow and a sarcastic tone
before heading back into the bedroom. It's where Evan's clothes are
stored and where he's thankfully been changing, so I'm not exposed to
any more of his nakedness than necessary.
Before the bedroom door closes behind him, my cell phone rings. A
quick glance down shows it's my dad calling.
I answer with a forced smile. "Hey, Dad. How are you?"
"I' m good," he says cheerfully. "But more importantly, how are
you?"
My eyes cut to the bedroom door and I sigh, "I'm fine. Busy." "You
don't sound fine," he observes.
Another sigh. "It's just a little hard getting used to living on a bus and
sharing such a small space."
With a small chuckle, my dad teases me. "You mean sharing such a
small space with a famous and good-looking rocker."
Yeah, something like that.

I change the subject though. "Did you get the email I sent last
night?"
"I did," he says, and his tone changes to business. I'd sent him my
proposed response to the copyright lawsuit and wanted to make sure I
didn' t miss anything. "It looks really good. I made some minor
changes, and I' m sending back to you as soon as we hang up."
"So I'm okay to file it?" I ask, just to be sure. I'd done my research, felt
confident in the law, and I knew my legal writing skills were sharp. But
still... I'm in foreign territory and my confidence isn't at its best.
"You are," he says confidently, and I can feel my shoulders straighten
slightly from the praise. "Look over the changes I made, and then send
it back to me. We'll get it filed from this end so you don't have to try to
mail it while you're on the road."
"Okay. Thanks, Dad," I say, for the first time actually feeling like I can
do good work for Evan.
The bedroom door opens and Evan walks out wearing a pair of jeans
and nothing else. They hang low the way the towel did, that "V"
practically pulsing like a neon light. I refuse to look down, so I cut my
eyes quickly back to my laptop.
"I've got to go," I tell my dad and then tack on, "I love you. Talk soon."
"Love you too, kiddo," he says, all dad-like, and we disconnect.
"Secret lover?" Evan asks as he heads to the small kitchen right in front
of my desk to make some coffee.
"Pardon?" I ask, shocked over the word "lover" coming out of his
mouth. He said it with a low, husky tone just laced with thick innuendo.
Evan nods to my cell phone still clutched in my hand. "Was that your
lover on the phone?"
Again, my face turns hot, like it seems to do almost every time Evan
talks to me, and part of me thinks he does this on purpose. In fact, I'm
pretty sure he does it on purpose, and that's not acceptable.
So I try to turn the tables on him, completely ignoring his question to
me. "I' m kind of waiting on you to apologize for last night, to assure
me it won' t happen again."

Evan pushes a K-cup into the Keurig, shuts the top, and hits the brew
button before turning to me. "If you're waiting for me to apologize, you
can keep waiting."
I gasp over his rudeness, although his voice doesn't seem mean or
antagonistic.
Before I can even respond, he adds on, "Because I apologized to you
last night. I also would have assured you that it wouldn't happen again,
but you walked away from me back into the bedroom, which of course
prevented me from saying that."
My shoulders sag back into the original position they were in before
my dad called. "You're right," I mumble as I look at the laptop. "I
remember that."
"Emma?" Evan says in a low voice that sounds sympathetic.
I look back up at him.
"I'm sorry. I'll respect your space from now on, and no partying on this
bus. I promise."
"Okay," I say meekly. "Thank you for that."
"Sure," is all he says, and then pulls his coffee cup from the Keurig and
takes a small sip.
"So did you stay out late partying?" I can't help but ask. He apparently
came in very quietly as I didn't hear a thing after I fell back asleep. Still,
I will admit my mind has wandered, wondering what he and those other
people did after they left. I know that woman with them wanted to play
strip poker and the thought of Evan getting naked with her makes me
feel unsettled for some weird reason.
"Maybe another hour," he says casually, but doesn't elaborate, instead
walking over to the couch where he pushes his blanket to the side and
sits down gingerly so as not to spill his coffee.
Hmm. You could do a lot in an hour when you were inebriated.
Turning back to the laptop, I exit from the browser and pull up the first
record label contract that Evan had emailed to me. My goal today is to
read through all three of the offers made to him, and take copious notes
so I can compare them all against one another.
"Do you want to come to the show tonight?" Evan asks casually.
A tiny jolt of surprised pleasure pulses within me, but I push it

down hard. He's just being polite, nothing more.
"No thanks," I tell him as I lean closer to the laptop screen and focus on
the first line of the contract. "It's just not my thing."
"Concerts aren't your thing?" he asks conversationally.
I push back into my chair and swivel it halfway to face him. "Well,
yeah... I mean, I've gone to concerts with friends before, but it would be
weird sitting out there watching by myself."
"You can watch from backstage if you want," he offers, and then takes
another sip of coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup with those
swirling, magnetic hazel eyes that are only enhanced by dark, thick
lashes to the point—
I give my head a hard shake to clear it, and turn back to the laptop as I
hedge, "I'll think about it."
There's a knock on the bus door, and Evan gets up to see who the visitor
is. With a push to a button by the driver's seat, the doors open with a
hiss, and I hear Evan say, "What's up, man?"
"Just checking in," I hear in response.
I swivel my chair around to face the front of the bus. Evan is walking
back in, followed by a guy who looks to be roughly Evan's age, maybe
a few years older. I know from reading his biography that Evan's
twenty-seven and this guy could be late twenties, early thirties. He's got
cropped, sandy-blond hair and ice-blue eyes that look at me over
Evan's shoulder.
"Want some coffee?" Evan asks over his shoulder. "I' m good," the guy
responds.
Evan sits back down on the couch. With his empty hand, he waves
toward me. "Tyler Hannity. this is Emma Peterson."
Tyler moves past Evan and extends his hand out to me. I stand from my
chair and offer my hand back to him. He gives me a brisk shake and
says, "Nice to meet you. I'm Evan's manager."
"Nice to meet you too," I say.
When we release hands, Tyler takes a few steps back, plops down in
one of the swivel chairs, and addresses Evan. "They'll be ready for a
sound check and for you to walk the stage around three PM. I've got
dinner being delivered to you around six. You'll need to be over in the

dressing room by at least eight."
"Got it," Evan says, and even though his voice is firm and sure, I don't
miss the hard swallow after. I imagine he's got to be nervous.
Tyler then turns to me. "Emma... we've set up a small press gathering at
seven-thirty. Evan will do most of the talking, but any questions about
Keith's death or the copyright lawsuit will be taken by
you."
"By me?" I squeak, even though I knew this was part of the deal. I was
to act as a publicist for Evan as well, particularly regarding any sticky
questions that could impact him legally.
Tyler doesn't answer me but turns to Evan. "Is she qualified to talk to
the press?"
"Yup," is all Evan says in response, and that does nothing to boost my
confidence.
Tyler just stares at Evan a moment, trying to ascertain how truthful he' s
being about my abilities, but then he turns back to me. "Have you gone
over the label contracts yet?"
I shake my head. "I'm starting that today. I've been working on
responding to the copyright suit."
"My preference is the Phoenix deal," Tyler says in a clipped voice.
"They give him the best royalty rate."
"It's about more than money," Evan says to Tyler.
"But the money is an important aspect," Tyler counters as his gaze
swings back to Evan. "Stop letting your experience with Kickback
interfere with your current decision making."
"And stop trying to shove a record label down my throat," Evan retorts
with a slight growl, and now I feel incredibly awkward listening to this.
These two are clearly not seeing eye to eye.
Tyler puts his hands up in a show of capitulation and stands up from the
swivel chair. "How about you and I plan on sitting down to talk about
this after Emma goes through all the contracts and can boil down the
nuts and bolts for you?"
Evan gives a long sigh and nods. "Sure. We can do that."
"Alright," Tyler says, and he swings his gaze back to me. "Any idea
when you'll be finished?"

"A few days," I tell him, factoring in several reads, taking notes,
organizing a spreadsheet for easy comparison, and probably some legal
research.
This is apparently acceptable to Tyler as he gives me an agreeable
smile and says, "We'll be in Miami by then, and we've got a hotel
booked there since we're doing two shows. That will give me and Evan
some more room to spread out and go over everything you provide us."
"Okay," I say hesitantly, my gaze cutting over to Evan. "I'll have my
recommendations by then."
Evan gives me an encouraging smile, but then I'm surprised when Tyler
says, "We don't need your opinions, Emma. Just a breakdown of the
contracts."
"Um... okay. I'll have it ready for you."
"Good deal," he says and then heads for the exit. "I'll see you in the
arena for sound check, Evan."
"Later, dude," Evan says, and then pushes up from the couch as Tyler
leaves. He goes back to the kitchen and starts another cup of coffee
brewing.
Taking my seat at the computer again, I start to read the contract I' d
pulled up when Evan speaks in a low voice. "Emma. I most certainly
want your opinions, not just a breakdown."
My head snaps up and I look at him with surprise. "My opinions?"
"I'd like some unbiased thoughts," he explains. "Tyler's pushing hard
for a record deal, and I' m enjoying life as an indie artist. Your thoughts
would be appreciated."
"Well," I say slowly as my brain cycles through any potential hazards
here. When it comes up with none, I say, "Okay. sure. I'll give you my
thoughts. Don't know they'll mean much—"
"They'll mean plenty," Evan says as he picks up his coffee cup again.
And that right there. the fact he wants to hear what I have to say. well,
that just makes my shoulders snap back again and a wave of delight in
my job takes over my entire body, causing me to tingle from head to
toe.

CHAPTER 9
Evan
I meet Red coming off the bus with Sirius being extremely well
behaved on the leash. The humid Miami weather has the dog's hair
frizzed out and Red's bald head glistening with a sheen of sweat
already.
We' d pulled into Miami yesterday around lunchtime, and Red drove us
straight to our hotel. The tour had booked me a suite and I had a room
arranged for Emma. Even though I'd gotten some decent sleep on the
bus as Red drove us from Atlanta to Miami, I spent most of yesterday
afternoon napping, as I was exhausted from the Atlanta show, and then
had a quiet night to myself by ordering room service and watching
movies.
But that show in Atlanta.
It was fucking amazing. Never felt anything like that in my entire life.
Once I got past the nerves and was able to remind myself that I was a
good musician and people truly liked my work, I was able to revel in
the experience of it all. The crowd was fervent for me and their energy
became mine. I sang the best of my life with power, clarity, and ranges
I didn' t know I had within me.
It was a moment I'll never forget and while I still have nerves thinking
about tonight's show, I'm more than ready to take it on. I'm almost
craving that feeling again.
Emma and I came back to the venue a few hours ago since I 'd be doing
sound check soon, and she's been holed up in the bus ever since.
"She still in the same position?" I ask Red as I lift my chin to the
bus.
"Yup," he says in a rumbling voice. "Nose pressed up against that
computer. Works too damn much."
"Agreed," is all I say as I push past him and the dog. I'd reach down to
ruffle Sirius' fur, but both of my hands are loaded with shopping bags.

Turning sideways, lifting the bags so I don't trip, I climb the steps and
turn into the living area. As expected, Emma's at her desk, fingers
flying on the laptop. She doesn't even turn to acknowledge me, and I
know she heard me coming in.
I walk through the living area, and when I reach her desk, I don't slow
down, just say as I pass, "Come here."
I head straight to the bedroom where I throw all the bags on the bed,
turning to face Emma walking in behind me. Her eyes go down to the
parcels I just deposited, and then back to me. "What's all that?"
"New clothes for you," I say as I cross my arms over my chest. "You
need to try them on now, so anything that doesn't fit will get returned."
"New clothes for me?" she asks hesitantly. "You went shopping for
clothes for me?"
"The stylist here in Miami did," I tell her. "I snooped through your
suitcase and gave her your sizes."
At that admission, Emma's eyes narrow at me and she grits out, "You
went through my clothes?"
"Yup," is all I say, and I stare her down, daring her to argue with me
about any of this.
And I' m banking on an argument. My time having Emma on this tour
is limited. She didn't come to the Atlanta show, preferring to stay on the
bus, where she scurried to after the press conference she sat in on with
me. She didn't want to hang at the after-party, and she's refusing to
engage with me otherwise. She's all work, work, work and that is most
definitely interfering with my plans for her.
Ordinarily, I' m a patient guy and I could give her more time, but fuck
that. I decided since we were in Miami for a few days, I'd take the bull
by the horns and start insisting that my little employee start doing what
I want since I'm the one paying her.
"Just why in the world did you think I needed you to buy me clothes?"
she asks in short, clipped bursts of anger.
"Because you," I say as clearly as possible as I wave my hands toward
her, "dress like an Amish spinster. And while you did a good job
fielding reporters at the Atlanta show, you sounded a little rehearsed
and

you can do better. I' m not quite sure anyone really bought what you
were saying in your prim little business suit. You're a member of the
rock industry now, and you should look the part. Not like you should be
up there quoting the stock exchange."
"I was nervous," Emma practically growls at me. "And my clothes
don't have a damn thing to do with it."
"You represent the brand of Evan Scott," I say adamantly as I lean
toward her. "And you're going to act the part with one-hundred percent
devotion."
"I' m not wearing clothes you choose for me," she bites back
stubbornly, her little hands now clenched into fists.
"You most certainly are," I retort. To make my point, I start emptying
the bags out onto the bed. Clothes start piling up. jeans, sexy skirts,
skimpy shirts, high heels and boots, and—
"You bought me lingerie?" Emma screeches as she grabs up a bra done
in black lace with red satin trim.
"Technically, the stylist did," I tell her. To add fuel to the fire, I grin at
her. "But I would not be averse to you trying that on right now and
perhaps giving me a little fashion show."
"Oooh," Emma screeches in anger, taking the bra and throwing it at me,
where I catch it cleanly before it hits my face. "I am not trying on any of
this, and you cannot dictate how I dress."
And fuck me standing... she's goddamn hot as hell right now. Same
high color to her cheeks, eyes blazing, and hair seeming to fly all
around her face as if the torrent of anger coming at me is electrifying it.
"I am your employer," I tell her imperiously, folding my arms back
across my chest without letting go of the sexy bra. "I am an entertainer.
I have a brand. I can most definitely tell you how you should dress."
"Not down to my underwear," she hisses at me, her cheeks flaming
brighter as her eyes flick to the bra.
"You wear granny panties, Emma." I sneer at her in disgust, and yes.
real disgust because Emma is a passionate woman and should never be
wearing grandma underwear. "You act like you wear granny panties.
It's bad for my image."
If I thought she was mad before, her eyes practically blaze with

undisguised fury. She leans her upper body toward me, her fingers
flexing outward and clenching back into fists repetitively. Through
gritted teeth, she snarls, "You conceited, narcissistic barbarian. How
dare you think to judge me based on something as shallow as my
clothing?"
I cock an eyebrow at her and chide, "Come on, Emma. Granny panties.
You can do better than that."
"Aagh," she screams in frustration. I'm stunned when she bends over
the bed, gathers up an armful of clothing, and throws it at me. "You.
you. you asshole!"
And I' m a fucking goner.
My hands shoot out fast, grabbing her by the shoulders, and I pull her
into me so hard her head snaps backward. I get just a brief glimpse of
her eyes rounding in surprise before my mouth is crashing down onto
hers.
Emma whimpers, possibly in fear, and I have a moment where I go
shockingly still. But then Emma's hands grip onto my biceps and she
squeezes, and that's enough for me.
Curling an arm around her lower back, I pull her tight into my body so
she can feel every single hard inch of me.
And I mean hard.
It happened right around the time she called me an asshole and I
thought I saw fire leaping from her irises.
Emma gasps into my mouth when I press her belly against my cock,
and I use that slight opening to slide my tongue into her mouth.
Fucking amazing.
She tastes like mint, and her lips are soft, reserved, and orderly, but
prim little Emma gives her tongue right back to me. It swipes at mine
boldly, and her moan fills my mouth. causes my brain to go fuzzy from
the sheer, sweet pleasure of her taste.
I want to kiss her for hours.
No, days.
Kiss her for days and days.
But I want to fuck her too. As she squirms in my arms, seeking to get
closer, I want more than just a kiss. I want to bury my cock so deep in
her hot pussy that I almost come in my pants at the thought.

I loosen my arm around her back only to slip my fingers in past the
back waistband of her shorts.
Her cute, soccer mom Bermuda shorts that hide her legs from me.
Emma cries out when my fingers graze her skin, and then she moans
when I push them past the waistband of what I'm betting are indeed a
pair of granny panties. I didn't actually look at her underwear when I
was trying to get her sizes, but I'm taking an educated guess here.
Angling my head, I take the kiss deeper, and she practically melts in my
arms. I raise my other hand, bringing it right to her jaw, where I grab
ahold of it to hold her in place. She's so restless and squirmy and I don'
t want her trying to shy away from my mouth.
With a nip to her lower lip, I slide my hand further into the back of her
panties and push my index finger right down through the crack of her
ass, intending to go down as far as possible to maybe a touch of her
wetness.
But that move so thoroughly shocks my little nun that she rips herself
out of my arms and stares at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. And
Christ. she looks so fuckable right now. Skin glowing, hair messed up,
chest heaving up and down, and her nipples poking hard through her
bra and shirt.
I hold in an internal groan at the thought of my teeth on those nipples.
"What do you think you are doing?" Emma rasps out in between
panting breaths. She looks at me with unfiltered accusation.
"Seems to me I was kissing you," I toss back at her, holding myself in
check so I don't launch myself at that hot little body.
"You can't do that," she huffs, and then licks her lips.
Fuck.
Those lips. On my cock. I absolutely fucking need them there at some
point.
"Emma," I saw on a low rumble of need. "Come here."
She shakes her head, denying me. "We can't. It's not proper."
"I am not a proper type of guy," I warn her as I take a step toward
her.
She holds her hands out in a silent plea for me to come no closer.

"You're my boss. I'm your employee."
"Which means you have to do what I say," I tell her with an evil grin.
"And I say you should come here and let me kiss you again."
"Evan," she hisses at me in reproach. "I get you are a man, and that you
have physical needs... but that doesn't mean that you can just take me
because I'm convenient to you. And you may be my boss, but you don'
t have the right."
I can't help it. I burst out laughing, throwing my head back and closing
my eyes as they start to water. When I dare to look back at her, the
bewilderment clouding her face cracks me up again.
"Oh, God. Emma," I say between chortles. "Could you be any more
proper? Well... I guess if you were British you could be, but Christ
almighty, you' re fucking adorable."
She narrows her eyes at me. "I don't find this funny."
I sober instantly, my dick still achingly hard, and I tell her huskily, "No.
It certainly wasn't funny when your tongue was sliding against mine or
you were grinding on my cock."
"I... I... I didn't..." she stammers, and then gasps when my hand shoots
out and wraps around the back of her neck.
I pull her in a little closer, only so I can peer down at her. Her chest is
heaving again, and my cock thumps in my pants when her eyes cut
down to my lips in anticipation.
Yeah... she wants me, but she can't reconcile herself to it.
"Emma," I say softly, and then bend down just to kiss the tip of her
nose. I see the surprise in her eyes when I pull back. "You are neither
convenient or here just because I have needs. I've wanted to fuck you
since that day in the police station when we first met, and that has
nothing to do with the work you were hired for. You also have the right
to say no to me—"
Her eyes cut down to the clothes on the bed.
"Not on the clothes... you're going to accept them and wear them," I tell
her with no room for argument. "But if you don't want me... if you don'
t want to know what if feels like for me to be balls deep in you. you
only have to say no."
Emma let out a tiny moan right around the time I said the word

"balls", and while I am absolutely certain I could have her right now
with a little more persuasion, I release my hold on the back of her neck.
"However, until such time," I say as I step backward and turn to the
door, "I expect you to dress like you belong on this tour with me, and I
expect you to be at my shows. I'll have someone bring you a backstage
pass for tonight."
She doesn't say a word as I walk out of the bedroom, through the bus
and down the steps. I hope to God I don't run into anyone right away, as
I need a few minutes to get my dick back under control.
But outside of that tiny worry, I'm filled with victorious elation,
because I just learned that, without a doubt, prim little Emma Peterson
wants me as much as I want her.

CHAPTER 10
Emma
"He's amazing, isn't he?" Tyler says loudly as he leans over toward my
ear.
From my place backstage, I have the perfect view of Evan as he winds
down his last song of the night. It's an acoustic version of his most
famous song. the one he put free on YouTube, which made him a
household name.
It' s soulfully brilliant, telling the story of love and loss from the eyes of
a little boy who simply loves a little girl.
I may have listened to this song only about a thousand times since I first
heard it.
"So amazing," I agree, although I'm not sure Tyler hears me as he
simply nods and turns away.
I don't spare him another glance though, preferring to watch Evan as he
sits on a stool, one booted foot planted on the stage, the other on the
second rung. The acoustic version is a little slower than the recorded
one, and his voice is purer.
Definitely sexier.
And even that thought causes my heart to just skitter out of place.
What happened today in that bus is still beyond my comprehension.
One minute, we're fighting, and the next, we're engaged in the most
sensuously epic kiss of my life. It was no-holds barred. It was carnal.
It was so dirty.
Especially when his finger—
I can' t even think about it. I' m afraid people will take one look at me
and know what I' m thinking.
A man has never dared to touch me back there, and I honestly don't
know if I was turned on or appalled, although I am sure I was freaked
out, which is why I pulled away from him.
I realized as his finger came so close to my. um. well, that my

world was getting ready to change in a way that could alter my very
existence.
Frankly, it scared the crap out of me.
Evan scares the crap out of me.
And yet... I cannot stop thinking of kissing him.
I can't stop thinking of the dirty things he said to me, because it's unlike
anything I've heard before. I'm not a virgin, having lost that title my
junior year of college with Chris. He was my one and only sexual
relationship, and it was nothing like what I experienced in those few
minutes with Evan.
Chris was making love with the lights out and lots of cuddling and
sweet words.
Evan is... well, he'll never be that, and I don't know if I could survive
someone like him.
Crossing one arm over my belly, I nibble nervously on my thumbnail as
I watch Evan perform. My eyes cut out to the thousands of fans,
swaying back and forth and singing along with him. To the women
surrounding the stage, looking at him with adoration and promise if
he'll just look back at them.
But Evan doesn't, I notice. He's into his music, and it's the only thing
that matters to him in this moment.
For the first time since I've met Evan, I get something about him that I
didn't understand before.
He lives for this.
This is his breath and his life.
My head drops down and I look at my outfit.
To my surprise, this afternoon about two hours after "the kiss," Evan' s
Miami stylist came onto the bus and offered to show me how to put all
the outfits together. I hadn't touched the pile of clothes. They were still
scattered over the bed and on the floor where they landed after I threw
them at Evan.
I' d stewed for those two hours, telling myself I was not going to wear a
stitch of that clothing, and that he couldn't make me attend his shows.
That it was well outside of the purview of my job description.
I told myself that for two hours, and yet when the stylist showed

up, all I could think about was Evan perhaps kissing me again, and
would it be different if I were wearing something he liked.
It was maddening that I would even be thinking that, and yet I tried on
all those clothes.
Even the lingerie.
Tonight, I chose an outfit that I would never in a million years have
ever had the guts to try. It's a pair of tight black pants—not necessarily
leggings—that hug every inch of me from waist to ankle. They're
shimmery, almost a metallic shine. It's paired with a white silky
camisole that doesn't cut too low over my breasts, but doesn't quite
reach the waistband of the low-slung pant. Some of my stomach is
bared. Of course, I felt a little too naked wearing that, so the stylist gave
me a faded jean jacket to wear over the top. And after she advised me
on what to wear, she provided a small bag of makeup. I only took
advantage of a little eyeshadow and mascara, as I've never liked the
way that stuff feels all over my face.
I look back up to Evan as he sings the last few lines, the roar of the
crowd starting to peak as they know the end is nearing.
What in tarnation am I doing here? Wearing clothes he's bought
me—including a matching bra and panty set done in white lace.
Coming to a show that he commanded me to attend, despite it not
having anything to do with my job.
Is it because of that kiss?
Am I subconsciously putting myself out there. in his line of sight. to
tempt something more?
My entire body slumps with the realization that I might actually be
devolving into a tramp.
With the last strum against the guitar strings, Evan reaches a hand out
and wraps it around the mic perched on a stand. Placing his lips close,
he says, "Thank you all for coming. Good night, Miami."
The fans go crazy and the arena starts blazing with lit cell phones
waving furiously. The word "encore" floats around until it becomes a
loud chant that can be clearly heard above the cheering.
Evan smiles and steps off the stool, resting his guitar against it. He
starts walking my way, looking out over the crowd and waving to them

as he exits.
Then his head turns and he stares at me.
But only at my face for a moment before his gaze travels so very slowly
down my body, all the way down to the strappy black sandals I'd been
given to wear with this outfit, adding an extra four inches onto my
petite height. He continues walking straight at me as his eyes slide right
back up my body, and when they lock onto mine, I feel my entire body
tremble.
Blazing satisfaction is written all over his face, whether it's because I
wore his clothes or because I came to see his show, but he bears the
look of triumph.
Evan walks right up to me and without saying a word, grabs my hand. I
gasp as he pulls me off to the side and behind a curtain, which houses
another curtain right behind it. He draws me a few steps in until we are
completely out of sight and then his hands are on my face and his
mouth is molesting mine.
He holds or touches me in no way except with palms to the side of my
head and his lips and tongue battling with mine. I strain to press into
him, but he holds our bodies at a distance, letting this kiss occur with
only what God blessed us with from the neck up.
And because of that, I become acutely aware of every sensation
inherent in that kiss. The stubble on his chin as it grazes mine, the heat
of his mouth, and the strength of his tongue. His taste... warm
cinnamon.
Oh, God. I' m drowning.
My eyes flutter closed and a bubbling groan warbles out of me as my
hands wrap around his wrists to hold him in place.
And then. his mouth is gone and the cool air coats my lips.
I blink my eyes and look at him in the gloom of this area between two
curtains. I want to launch myself back at him, but he releases me with a
reluctant smile.
"I have to go back out. do an encore song," he explains softly.
"Oh," I say as my fingers come up and dazedly stroke over my lips,
which are still tingling from his kiss.
"You look amazing," he says softly. "So fucking sexy that if I didn't
have to do this encore, I'm quite sure we'd be looking for an

empty coat closet or something I could fuck you in."
My face flames, as only Evan can make it do, and for the first time
since he's tried to embarrass me, I'm not disgusted by his crude words.
Instead, I want to go look for a closet and have it at the ready for when
he comes back off that stage.
Oh, God Emma... you are so turning into a tramp.
"You're going to the after party, okay?" Evan asks as he pinches my
chin in between his thumb and forefinger.
I don't respond, because I'm still in somewhat of a daze, his ability to
render me speechless almost an art form.
"Okay, Emma?" he asks as he peers down at me.
"Okay," I whisper in agreement, completely caught up in this moment
with him.
"And then," he says in a low growl that sounds ominous as he releases
his hold on me. "We ll see what happens after that."
And for the first time in my life, something happens to my body just
from mere words hitting my ears. A low, throbbing cramp hits me
square between my legs, and I have the sudden urge to hump Evan s leg
or something.
Tramp.
I don't care, I tell my conscience. ♦
"You seriously do not have to do this," I say with a giggle as I wrap my
arms more securely around Evan s shoulders. My head is spinning and
I m not sure if it s from the alcohol or the fact that I m in Evan Scott s
arms as he walks across the parking lot toward our bus.
He gives me a squeeze as he mutters, "You would have broken your
neck walking across this lot in those heels. You re not the best in them."
"Too true," I say with a laugh and tilt my head back to look at the stars.
I feel fabulous, except for the fact I suck at walking in high heels when
I m tipsy.
Or drunk.
I may be drunk, but I m not sure.

Evan reaches the bus and gives the door a slight kick. In moments, Red
is there opening it up from the inside, his eyes taking in Evan standing
there holding me. Sirius sits calmly by his side, head tilted in curiosity.
Red s been working with him on manners, and he s done a far better job
than I have apparently.
"She's drunk," Evan says by way of explanation.
"Tipsy," I clarify. "And, apparently, I can't walk in high heels."
Red grins. Or at least I think he does as his eyes do that crinkle thing
and his beard shifts slightly in the vicinity of his mouth.
Evan makes a jerking motion with his head to Red, indicating he should
come out of the bus. Red issues a curt, "Stay" to Sirius and trots down,
giving me a nod as he passes by.
"Thanks for hanging with Sirius tonight," I call back at Red as Evan
starts mounting the steps.
"My pleasure," he mutters as he heads toward the other bus.
When we reach the top of the stairs and turn into the living area, I ask
Evan playfully, "I thought we were all staying at a hotel tonight since
you have another show in Miami?"
"We were," he says in a sexy purr as he looks down at me. "Until you
started driving me crazy at that after-party. Now I can t wait and so the
hotel is out."
I giggle again and lay my head on his shoulder. Evan and I had engaged
in some heavy duty flirting all night. While he had to mix and mingle
with guests and people with VIP passes, he kept his eyes on me most of
the night. Occasionally, he d come over to me and talk in low murmurs
with his lips near my ear.
It seems I was never without a glass of champagne in my hand, and as I
got more buzzed, I think I got a little too handsy with him. Each
conversation we had, my hand would be on his chest, or tugging
playfully on his belt loops. This made Evan s eyes get darker and
darker until almost all the green and gold were gone.
Finally, by about my third glass of champagne, when he complimented
me on my outfit again, I shamefully admitted to him that I was wearing
some of the lingerie he bought me.
Evan s eyes flashed in such a way that I felt it down between my

legs again, and before I knew it, he was dragging me out of the party.
Through the bowels of the arena.
And out into the warm Miami air where we had about a hundred yards
of parking lot to cross to the bus. He was pulling me so fast, I stumbled
in those heels, but then I was immediately in his strong arms and he
was practically running for the bus.
And privacy.
Evan takes me straight back to the bedroom. Without any ceremony,
buildup, or foreplay, he lays me on the mattress and covers my body
with his.
I'm tipsy and I like it, and like the drunken tramp that I am, I spread my
legs slightly so he can settle in between them. When his erection
presses up against me, I gasp and arch into him, my arms coming to
wrap around his neck.
"So fucking sexy," Evan growls before he starts to kiss me.
Then it s all hands and lips and teeth and tongue. My head spins, more
from Evan than the champagne, and I can t seem to stop my body from
undulating underneath him. Desperate for more contact.
I drop my arms, push my hands onto his lower back, and try to press
him further into me.
Evan growls and responds by putting a large hand over my breast. I
make this weird sort of mewling sound that embarrasses me with how
needy it comes out.
"Christ, Emma," Evan groans when he pulls his mouth from mine. "I
knew you had fire inside of you. Just knew it."
This pleases me.
This compliment.
No one has ever praised me for being a passionate person, and while I
never felt that was lacking in me, it feels quite heady knowing Evan
thinks it.
Bending his head down, Evan rises up slightly and looks down between
our bodies. With one hand, he deftly pops the button of my skinny
pants before looking back up at me.
His eyes so serious. intense.
He looks starved and I m the meal.

This makes me bold, so I ask coyly, "Are you going to make love to me,
Evan?"
Lips curl upward in a feral smile as his fingers pull the zipper down on
my pants. "No, Emma. I m not. But I am going to fuck you and trust
me. you ll prefer it that way."

CHAPTER 11
Evan
My hand shakes as I pull her zipper down and as if she s falling prey to
the thick, sexual vibe in this room, Emma s eyelids lower right along
with it.
"No, Emma. I m not. But I am going to fuck you and trust me. you ll
prefer it that way."
Her beautiful brown eyes go round and her nostrils flare over my dirty
words. It s not completely dark in the room as the glow from the arena
lights filters in, but I can imagine her cheeks are red.
They re always red when I tell her something dirty.
I shift to the side so my hip rests on the mattress and nudge Emma s
legs apart a bit further. To my surprise, they move easily and a crowbar
is most certainly not needed. I lean over, running my lips up her neck at
the same time I put my palm on her stomach with my fingertips right at
the edge of her panties.
When my mouth reaches her ear, I whisper to her, "Are you wet for me,
Emma?"
She moans in response and that makes my dick start to ache. I inch my
fingers into her underwear, brushing against the curls, and her hips arch
hungrily upward.
My tongue darts out, touching the shell of her ear briefly before I say,
"Let s find out, shall we?"
Pushing my hand down further, I find the top of her slit covered with
damp curls.
Emma moans again, twisting her hips, and she says in a throaty
whisper, "I m so glad I m drunk. I would have never had the guts to do
this otherwise."
I immediately go stock-still, my hand freezing in place. I push up onto
my elbow and lean over her face, taking in the glaze of her eyes in the
dim light. "Are you really drunk?"

She gives me a happy grin and nods. "I think so. Or just really tipsy."
My head drops in frustration, and I let out a long sigh as I start to pull
my hand out. I m surprised stupid when her own hand wraps around my
wrist with surprising strength as she cries out, "No. Don t stop what you
were doing."
I lift my eyes up and murmur to her, "Emma... you're drunk."
"Tipsy," she asserts.
"Regardless," I cut her off. "You said it yourself. you wouldn t be doing
this with me otherwise."
"I would," she says desperately, trying to push my hand back down to
her core, and I groan over the need in her plea. "I swear I would. Please.
you said you d fuck me."
I groan again, because hearing Emma drop an "F" bomb is sexy as hell
coming out of those sweet, holier-than-thou lips. "You re not making
this easy."
"Please," she begs, and my dick starts thumping with need. "I want this,
Evan. With you. I promise. Please show me."
"Emma." I try vainly to get her to see reason, even as my hand slips an
inch downward to where I can feel her wet curls again. "This is not a
good idea when you re like this. I am not looking forward to the guilt on
your face or the guilt I ll be feeling come morning."
"Evan," she says softly... plaintively. "I need you."
Fuck. Just... fuck.
My cock is aching, my balls are tingling, I have hot, sweet pussy
millimeters from my fingers, and my conscience is telling me to back
the fuck off.
"Not tonight," I say gently and lean down to brush my lips against
hers.
When I pull back, I see her eyes shimmering. If I were standing, she d
have knocked my legs out from under me when she says, "I need it,
Evan. I ve never needed it, but I need it now."
With a muttered curse, I have absolutely no control over my actions. I
slip my finger right into her, curling it hard before pulling it out to drag
over her clit.

Emma gives a startled cry of pleasure and thrusts her hips upward for
more. "Please," she begs.
"Shhh," I say before brushing my lips against hers again. "I m going to
give you what you need."
"Okay," she huffs out in appreciation.
"Pull your shirt up," I tell her gruffly. "And open up that bra. I want to
see your tits."
I know damn well that s making her blush, but she doesn t hesitate,
giving me what I want. The minute she bares those beautiful breasts to
me, I lean over and circle my tongue around a pert nipple. Emma s
hands come to the back of my head and she arches her back, offering
me more.
So I take it, drawing her nipple into my mouth to suck at the same time
my finger starts circling her clit.
I dip my finger in and out, gather more of her wetness, and massage her
in slow, gliding patterns. My teeth bite gently into her nipple before
laving my tongue softly over it.
All the while, Emma moans and gyrates her hips, her breath ragged and
uneven. I give her two fingers, pumping them in and out of her slick
channel, which is flooded, and move my mouth to her neck again. I kiss
and lick her, move upward to her ear, and then I tell her all the dirty
things I wish I could do to her tonight but won t.
"Your pussy is so hot," I murmur to her as I press against her clit. "Wet
and tight. It was built for my cock."
Emma moans in agreement and starts to chant, "Yes, yes, yes."
"When I finally fuck you, sweet Emma," I tell her slyly. "You're going
to come so hard. Come all over my dick."
"Yes," she breathes out before sucking in another labored breath.
"But right now, you re going to come on my fingers," I promise
her.
"Oh, God... yes."
I massage her harder and she starts to thrash. "Tell me that, Emma. Tell
me you re going to come all over my hand."
"I m. I m . " she stammers, and I d normally find her shyness
adorable, but right now, it s fucking sexy as hell.
"Say it, Emma," I tell her as I circle her clit. "Say it to me and I ll

let you come."
"I m. I m . "
I push three fingers into her up to my third knuckle, pull them out, and
press them down hard onto her, rubbing in tight, quick circles. "Say
it, baby."
"I m going to come on your fingers," she wails as she bares her neck to
me and her hips shoot off the bed. I shove a finger back in her, and holy
fuck, her pussy grips it so hard as she starts to orgasm, it sucks me in
deeper.
"Fuck, that s hot," I mutter in fascination as her hips push and circle
against me, drawing out every tremor of pleasure.
This prim, reserved, and oh-so-proper woman who blushes when she
hears curse words just fucked my hand like a fucking porn goddess.
Emma s body flops back down to the mattress and her channel relaxes
against my finger. I pull it gently out as I lean down and nuzzle my
cheek against her bare breast.
"That was amazing," she murmurs drunkenly.
I lift my head up and look down at her. Her eyes are bright and
sparkling in the ambient light, but she s shy when she hesitantly says,
"It s your turn now."
My head is shaking in denial even as my cock starts doing a happy
dance. "Not tonight."
I pull her zipper up and fasten her button before lying down on the
mattress beside her. Gathering Emma in my arms, I pull her into my
side, where she rolls into me, putting her head on my chest. Her arm
goes around my waist and she squeezes me.
"Why aren t you. you know. going t o . " she stammers. "I mean, I
thought you wanted me."
"I do," I assure her, angling my head slightly to press my lips onto her
soft hair. "But not when you re drunk."
"I m tipsy," she chirps, and although I can t see her face, I can clearly
hear her satiated smile in those words.
"You re going to be stone-cold sober when you take my cock, Emma,"
I tell her boldly. Because she will take it, and she ll take all of
it.

Soon.
She snuggles in deeper against me, and I have to admit, it feels nice. I
like cuddling. I like the intimacy of touch. Of murmured words and
promises of what's to come.
Haven t had it in a good long while, and I might have even forgotten
what it feels like, but this is super fucking nice I have to say.
My dick jumps a little, pouting that it s not getting any action tonight,
but it s had drier spells. It ll get over it.
"Evan," Emma whispers, and her breath feels amazing as it floats
across my throat.
"Yeah?"
"Why did you really want me to work for you?" she asks hesitantly.
Truth or lie?
"Because I wanted you," I tell her. "You intrigue me and you turn me
on, and I wanted you. Simple as that." No sense in lying.
"Oh," she says with a slight tinge of disappointment in her voice. I m
guessing no woman wants to be desired just for sex.
"I also did need an attorney, Emma," I assure her. "And you really
impressed me. You were a good choice to handle this stuff for me."
"Oh," she says again, this time with a little bit of pride in her voice.
We re silent for a moment, just lying there in each other s arms, and I m
wondering if I ll sleep in bed with her tonight. It s totally preferable
over the couch, but I m not sure I can take her body pressed up against
me all night.
"What s your story, Evan?" she asks, her sweet voice breaking the
silence.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean. here you are, sudden fame and fortune thrust upon you, people
vying to get a piece of you, and yet. I don t know. you still seem so
normal and untouched by all of it."
A feeling of elation sweeps through my body, and I realize Emma may
have just paid me the highest compliment I ve ever been given in my
life. I ve been handed thousands of accolades from fans and music

executives and women begging for my dick, but none of them really
see me for who I am.
I am always just going to be a normal man who happened to step into a
very abnormal kind of existence. But the one lesson Midge drilled into
me during my formative years is that you have to stay genuine.
Humility is one of the strongest character traits you can ever have and
will serve you far better than egoism.
"Thank you for saying that," I murmur.
"How do you do it?" she asks almost wondrously.
"Do what?"
"Stay so normal. so touchable," she clarifies. "Midge taught me
that."
"I know she s your aunt, but you two are really close," she observes, her
fingers skimming idly over my ribs. "Why s that?"
"My parents are kind of absent," I say with brutal honesty. "They re
wealthy and not really the parental types. They travel a lot, and early
on, Midge just sort of stepped in. She was the one who came to see my
soccer and football games, and encouraged me to play music. She was
the one I went to when I got my first broken heart—"
"Your heart has been broken?" Emma asks with pure sympathy as she
rises up to look down at me. Her eyes are awash with concern.
I chuckle and bring a hand to the back of her head, pushing her back
down on me. "Of course it has. That's life. Hasn't yours?"
Emma shakes her head and admits, "Not really. I dated someone for a
really long time, and it just sort of. I don t know. fizzled."
"Everyone needs their heart broken once," I tell her thoughtfully. "It
makes you appreciate the frailty of love."
With a deep sigh, Emma says, "That should be a song."
"Totally should be a song," I agree, and commit it to memory so I can
jot some notes down later. "At any rate, Midge is always the one that
kept me grounded. Would never let me forget who I am."
"Midge scares the hell out of me," Emma admits, and I chuckle in
response. Midge can be intimidating.
"She likes you," I tell her truthfully. I mean, Midge has never said those
exact words to me, but I can tell by the tone in which she talks

about Emma.
"Really?" She sounds wondrous and hopeful and that makes me smile.
"Really," I assure her.
"I m sleepy," Emma murmurs in a lazy voice, trying to burrow in closer
to me.
I take that as my cue to go. She needs to get out of that ridiculously
sexy outfit and into her pajamas. I need to go work on some lyrics and
hope this hard on dies down sometime before tomorrow.
Giving Emma another squeeze, I bring my hand to the back of her head
to pull her in so I can kiss the top of it. It brings my hand—the one that
was fucking her pussy—near my nose, and the scent causes a bolt of
pure lust to course through me. My dick aches again and with a
resigned sigh, I roll out of the bed and away from her.
"Get your pajamas on and go to sleep," I tell her gruffly as I walk for
the door, not daring to look back at her.
She's too much of a temptation and I'm afraid my dick might take
control of my senses if I do.

CHAPTER 12
Emma
I knock on Evan s hotel room door, and then give a nervous swipe of
one hand onto my skirt before switching my briefcase out and swiping
the other hand. Contrary to his instructions to me yesterday, I am not
wearing the clothes he bought me. It s not that I m necessarily against
them, it s just that this is a meeting with Evan and his manager, Tyler,
and I feel more appropriately dressed in a simple black skirt and white
blouse. My only nod to Evan s wishes to see me in something less
"matronly" is that I m wearing the same black, strappy sandals I had on
last night.
I m wearing them for a few reasons.
First, I m short and they make my legs look longer.
Second, they should appease Evan somewhat since I m wearing
business attire.
Third, they give me good memories, because it s these very heels that
caused him to sweep me up in his arms last night and carry me to the
bus.
Where. oh, God. I can t even think about the things that happened
without my face flaming red and my heart racing away from me.
When I woke up this morning, I was curled under the covers with Sirius
on my feet. My first thoughts were of Evan and what he did to me with
his hand. I had to press my legs together under those covers when I
thought of how unbelievably powerful that orgasm was, and how I d
never felt anything like it in my life.
I shyly opened my bedroom door, filled with both excitement and
dread to face the man who rocked my world last night.
Instead, I saw Red lounging on the couch reading a newspaper. Sirius
came out of the bedroom behind me and trotted up to Red, who
scratched his head.

"Morning," I said in a froggy voice.
"Evan stayed at the hotel last night," he told me right off the bat. He
must have seen it written all over my face that I was expecting to see
Evan there.
"Oh," I said... lamely.
"He s instructed me to bring you over there for the meeting with Tyler,"
Red added on. "He s got your room booked for the night so you ll be
staying there. Figured you could hop in the shower while I walk and
feed Sirius, then I ll take you on over."
I nodded in slight understanding. Evan has another show tomorrow
night here in Miami, and he had told me that about every three to four
shows, or when there are back-to-back shows, we d be put up in hotels
for some good rest.
I hear the click of the security bolt on the other side of the hotel room
door and my hands go moist again. I manage a quick swipe of one of
them before the door is opened and I m facing perhaps the most
beautiful man I ve ever known in my life. I m totally a tramp for
thinking he s ten times that this morning after what he did to me last
night.
"Good morning," he says neutrally as he stands back to let me enter. He
gives my outfit a cursory glance and his lip only curls slightly on one
side to let me know his distaste.
"Good morning," I say softly as I walk in past him.
Then I stop and stare openmouthed at the opulence surrounding me. It s
the largest hotel suite I have ever seen in my life, and the ones I d seen
had pretty much been on TV or the movies. The massive living area has
to be at least a thousand square feet and is filled with silk-covered
furniture, luxurious carpet, and crystal chandeliers. Through an open
doorway, I can see a massive bedroom done all in white silk with a
gilded headboard. There s a full gourmet kitchen on one side and an
outdoor balcony that overlooks the Atlantic, with a large hot tub taking
up one side.
"Did you sleep well?" Evan asks politely as he brushes past me and
heads over to a large, leather couch done in a buttery-looking taupe. He
sits down and doesn t even look at me, instead rifling around some

papers spread out on a coffee table before him. So. he wants to play it
like that.
Like nothing happened and that there are most certainly regrets on his
part this morning.
I can play that as well, even though my chest tightens when I think I
was apparently a disappointment last night.
"I slept gloriously well, thank you," I say sweetly as I walk to an
armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. I sit down, cross my
legs, and open up my briefcase. "Where s Tyler?"
Evan s head shoots up, his gaze first going to my crossed legs before
going back down again to look at his watch. "He should be here soon.
Here being this meeting that Tyler and Evan had planned to discuss the
three record labels that were making offers. I was stunned when Evan
had told me yesterday before the show that he wanted me there to go
over everything, even though I emailed him and Tyler my summary of
the offers along with my spreadsheets and my analysis of all the legal
ramifications to each.
"Did you have any questions about what I sent?" I ask, but before Evan
can answer, there s a knock on the door.
Evan stands from the couch as he says vaguely, "It all looked
good."
I fold my hands in my lap, unsure of his aloof demeanor. I try to tell
myself not to read anything into it, because we are, after all, here to
discuss business.
His career.
His livelihood.
I have no right having my head in the clouds, wondering if Evan is
thinking about me in the way that I m thinking about him after last
night.
Evan opens the door and admits Tyler. They give each other a light fist
bump, and it s plain just by looking at the two of them that they re close.
Evan had told me the other night while we were traveling from Atlanta
down to Miami that he and Tyler have known each other for years, all
the way back to middle school. Tyler went to Carolina with Evan, and
he had eventually sort of morphed into Kickback's manager,

being the one to secure all their gigs. While he went on to graduate with
a degree in mass communications, he always stayed involved with the
band.
When the band broke up, Tyler went with Evan, a move Evan assured
me was due mostly to friendship and not because he agreed with Evan s
decision to go solo and indie.
Tyler precedes Evan into the living room, and I m momentarily stunned
when his eyes come to me with a frostiness I didn t expect.
"Hi Tyler," I say hesitantly, a welcoming smile on my face.
He doesn t even respond, merely takes a seat on one end of the couch. I
shoot a look over at Evan, who walks back to his seat, completely
oblivious to Tyler s brush off.
"I m not quite sure why you invited Emma to this meeting," Tyler says
brusquely as he turns slightly to face Evan.
Evan s head shoots up and he looks at Tyler in confusion. "Excuse
me?"
"Why is she here?" Tyler asks, pointing a finger over at me yet refusing
to look my way.
With furrowed eyebrows, Evan says, "She s my attorney. She knows
these contracts better than we do. She needs to be here."
"She summarized them accurately," Tyler says dismissively. "You ve
read her analysis and so have I. Now the two of us need to decide which
deal to take."
"Or not to take any of them," Evan says pointedly. "Emma has pointed
out an equally feasible option."
Tyler s head jerks back in sort of a sneering bark of a laugh, and then
the reason for the cold shoulder becomes clear to me at once.
Tyler doesn t like the fact that in addition to laying out the pros and
cons of each record deal, I compared those to the pros and cons of
staying indie with his next album, including an analysis of the potential
monies to be earned.
Bottom line, if Evan has the same success as Core Deviance with his
next album, he will make much more money over the long run. I merely
pointed this out as a consideration for sustainability and long-term
revenue.

Clearly, Tyler is against that, and I m guessing it s because he s dazzled
by the upfront money being offered and the low risk of taking one of
the deals.
"She's staying," Evan says in a tone that brooks no argument.
"Fine," Tyler says as he reaches out and nabs one of the documents on
the table. I can see that Evan had printed everything I emailed to the
both of them, and I clearly recognize the summary sheet of the deal
from Phoenix. He waves it at Evan. "This is the one. You have to admit,
it s the best out of the three. Largest upfront payment and a slightly
larger residual royalty on the back end. Coupled with their assurances
you ll have creative decision making in the album cover and
merchandising, it s clear they want you. They re offering some serious
incentives."
Phoenix is absolutely making the best offer for all the reasons Tyler
just summarized. But the money is up front to him, and the label makes
it on the life of the music—which is forever. He doesn't get much on
the back end.
Evan s head turns my way, and I m frozen in place by the intensity of
his stare. "What do you think I should do, Emma?"
Tyler makes a scoffing noise and turns his head to look at the window.
I swallow hard, and try to weasel out of answering. "Oh, I don t know
much about the music industry. We re talking big money here, and my
opinion shouldn t play into this."
"Exactly," Tyler mutters, but Evan doesn t look his way. His gaze stays
focused on me.
"What are the things that are important to me?" Evan asks me, and he
knows I know the answer to this because we talked about it on the trip
to Miami.
"Control. Creativity. Autonomy. Quality," I recite, trying to remember
everything he told me when he was talking about the decision to leave
Kickback and go solo and without a label.
The one thing that was not on his list was money.
It was never about the money to Evan, although he s still very much a
businessman. This is how he makes his living and he knows it s a factor
to weigh.

"All the things that are in jeopardy if I go with a label," Evan says as his
head turns toward Tyler, enunciating the words more forcefully by the
time he makes eye contact with him. "You know I m not comfortable
going with a label, and yet you keep pushing it at me."
Tyler leans forward and says, "I m looking out for your business, Evan.
You re the artist. You get your head stuck in the music, and you aren t
considering the big picture. You need me to guide you on the correct
path, and I m telling you. Phoenix is the way to go."
Evan gives an exhausted sigh as he rubs his hands over his face and
slumps back onto the couch. "Let me think about it."
"Man. this is your big break," Tyler says as he stands up and looms
over Evan. "It doesn t get any better than this. You take this deal and
you re set for life."
"I said let me think about it," Evan barks at him as he launches off the
couch, his voice thundering with anger that had apparently been on the
verge of boiling over. It scares me so bad I come shooting out of my
chair.
Tyler takes an automatic step back, then another. He puts his hands out
and says in a soothing voice, "Okay. fine. We don t need to give them
an answer until after we meet with them during our California stops."
Evan doesn't look at Tyler but instead sort of jerks his head toward the
doorway. His voice is resigned when he says, "I ve heard what you
said, Tyler. I get it and I ll consider everything."
"Okay, Evan," Tyler says with conciliation. "I know you ll think about
it carefully. Just let me know if you want to hash anything else out. I
can get one of the execs on the phone if you've got questions that won't
hold until we get to California."
Evan nods, but he doesn t say anything to keep the conversation going.
Tyler takes his cue and lets himself out.
Turning to face me after the door closes, Evan lets out a gust of
frustrated air that blows his long bangs up briefly before they flutter
back down. "He drives me crazy with his shortsightedness."
"He's just giving you another perspective," I say neutrally.
A tired smile graces Evan s beautiful lips, and he nods. "I know.

And I ll listen to him. He s done so much for me over the years and
given me good counsel. He s always been there for me, and I owe him a
lot."
"But you don t owe him your career, Evan," I point out. As his attorney,
I feel someone needs to tell him that truth. "That is yours alone, and you
have to make the choice that feels best to you."
Tilting his head, Evan asks softly, "Seriously, Emma. what do you
think I should do?"
I hedge again, stammering, "Well. I m not sure I really understand all
the—"
"Emma," Evan says somewhat harshly. "Tell me your opinion. Tell me
the truth of it. There s so much lying in this industry, I just need
someone to give me the fucking truth."
My heart actually clenches in sorrow for this man, who is probably
pelted from multiple angles by everyone wanting a piece of him. I m
sure while Tyler is his friend, he s also looking at the size of his slice of
the pie as well. As Evan s attorney, I happen to know Tyler doesn t get
a royalty on the indie stuff. He makes his money via a salary for
managing things. Granted, it s a very hefty salary, but it just doesn t
compare to fifteen percent of a multi-million dollar offer.
Taking a deep breath, I give Evan a very carefully couched opinion.
"You have an amazing fan base, you have the money and the
production means to make another fantastic recording, and you d retain
all those things that are important to you by staying indie. The money
will be there, of course, but most importantly, it will be one-hundred
percent you. If those things are as important to you as you ve indicated,
you have to give that strong consideration."
It s not an exact opinion, but it s about all I feel comfortable giving him
because this decision needs to be his alone so he can live with it. I m not
telling him to take it, because I can t do that. But I m telling him to
focus on his most important needs.
Something shimmers in Evan's eyes and his face relaxes slightly in
relief. "Thank you for being truthful with me."
I smile at him briefly before bending down to pick up my briefcase.
"Okay, now that my work here is done, I m going to go work on some

Interrogatories to send to the other side in the copyright case."
As I turn to walk by the coffee table, Evan leans over and his hand
shoots out, grabbing me at the elbow. I stop in my tracks and turn my
head to look at him.
"Don t go," he says softly.
With confusion, I look around the living area, spying a desk along the
far wall. "Well, I suppose I could work here just as easy as my room."
"No," Evan says gruffly as his hand slides down my arm and takes my
hand. He gives it a tug, indicating for me to walk out from behind the
table, which I do. When I m standing directly in front of him, he
reaches out with his other hand and takes my briefcase. After he tosses
it on the couch, that hand then goes to the side of my head before his
fingers latch around the back of my neck. "Don t go. Don t work. Stay
here with me, and let me do all kinds of dirty things to you. Let me do
all the things I wanted to do last night but couldn t."
"Evan," I whisper, my entire body igniting with electrified desire. But
still, I try to maintain some sanity. "We shouldn t. You re my employer.
This isn t good business."
His grip on my neck tightens, and he gives me a little shake as his eyes
darken to an olive green. "Fuck that, Emma. For just once in your life,
do something daring. Do something crazy and impulsive, and do it
while you re sober and without champagne guiding your actions. Stay
here with me... let me have you... because you want to. Even though
you know you shouldn t, let your desires make the decision and do it
because you'll regret it forever if you don't take that chance."
They say when facing imminent death, your life flashes before your
eyes. Apparently, that happens when faced with imminent sex with a
rock god who stands before you asking you to let go of everything that
keeps you safe and secure.
My life does indeed flash before me. I think of my boring business suits
and my granny panties. My penchant for burying my nose in a book
versus socializing with people. I note with some disappointment in
myself that I eat the same thing for breakfast practically every day—a
bagel with low-fat cream cheese.

I admit to myself that my life is patently dull and I'm perhaps tired of
that.
My eyes bore into Evan's as I make my decision. "Okay. I'll stay."

CHAPTER 13
Evan
My legs almost buckle when Emma tells me the words I m dying to
hear.
She'll stay.
While I don t want her to change her mind, I do want to make sure she
knows what she s getting into with me. Leaning down so my face
hovers right over hers, I tell her, "I m going to do filthy things to you,
Emma. You re not going to know whether to beg me to stop or to keep
going."
Her pupils dilate and she licks her lips before swallowing hard. Her
voice quavers with what I think might be a bit of fear, but her words are
strong. "I can handle it."
And that s the real question.
Can she handle me?
"Let s test that out," I say gruffly, and her entire body trembles. I'm not
sure if that makes me a sick fuck or not, but it totally turns me on
knowing she's so far out of her comfort zone.
Emma s turns her head, pulling against my grip on her, and looks over
at the bedroom door as she chews on her lip. When she lets it pop free,
she suggests in a timid voice, "Um. should we go into the bedroom?"
"Now that s just plain boring," I tell her, and her head snaps back to me.
Her eyes are still dilated, needy. but I see something else in there.
Perhaps shame, maybe insecurity, because I ve certainly given her
enough reason to doubt her own sensuality. This is just icing on the
cake, telling her that her invitation to take me into my bedroom so we
can fuck is boring.
This causes a slight flash of guilt within me, so I amend, "If you re
going to take a risk, Emma. if you re going to take on the wild side.
you need to go big. There will be plenty of time for the bedroom later,

okay?"
She gives a tentative nod, and I can see my words have done nothing to
assuage her feelings or to lessen her doubts. So I show her instead.
Without letting go of my grip on her neck, I take my free hand and
circle it around one of her wrists. Gently tugging on it, I bring her hand
right to my crotch and press her palm up against my erection, which
had started its progression the minute she said she d stay.
Emma gasps as her face tilts so she can look down, and then her fingers
tighten around my length.
"See what you do to me?" I whisper. "See how hard you got me just by
telling me you d stay?"
Her eyes fly back up to mine, her touch tentative on me. Still so much
insecurity there.
I need to change that.
Releasing my hold on her neck, I also take her hand away from my dick
and lace my fingers with hers. I lead her around the back of the couch to
a dining table sitting adjacent to a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that
looks out over the ocean. The table seats eight and has a glass top with
an ornate wrought iron base.
Pulling a chair on the end out, I position Emma with her back to the
table and I sit down facing her. She looks down at me with so much
uncertainty that I don t have it in me to just take what I want. I need her
to believe in the passion I know is inside of her.
I place my hands on her hips as I look up at her and say, "Last night... it
was too dark in that bed. I didn't get to see all of you."
A puff of breath escapes from Emma s lips as she stares at me.
"Now I want to see you in the bright light of day," I tell her with a nod
of my head toward the windows. "I want to see what you look like
when you come."
"Here?" Emma manages to squeak out and even makes to pull away
from my hold on her hips. "Right in front of the windows?"
"Right in front of the windows," I say with a wicked grin. "Want you
bathed in sunlight so I can see every fucking detail of you."
"I can t, Evan," she says as her hands come to my shoulders in an

effort to push me back a little. "It s too much."
"It s just right," I correct her, and then I cajole. "Come on, Emma. What
do you have to lose. except perhaps the most exciting thrill of
your life?"
"People in the other buildings might see," she stammers. "They might,"
I agree. "But that's what makes it exciting." "But someone might—"
"Emma," I say softly but with enough force to get her mouth to snap
shut. "I doubt anyone can see into these windows. I m sure they re
reflective, but even if they did, no one would know who you are. No
one would run into you on the street and say, 'Hey... that's the girl who
got supremely fucked on a dining table in front of the windows the
other
day ."
Emma s face turns and she looks out the windows, her face pinched
with indecision. I take that moment to undo the button at her right hip
and quickly pull the zipper down. Her head swings back my way. She
watches as I pull the material of her skirt down her legs and it falls in a
pool on the floor around her feet clad in those sexy as fuck sandals.
I raise my hands and work the buttons of her white blouse, opening
them slowly and watching as the material falls apart. Beneath is a nude
bra done in silk and lace, so see-through I can see her nipples with
clarity. It s one I bought for her, and I m pleased she s wearing it.
With my fingers pinching the delicate material of her blouse, I pull it
apart so I can see more of her body. Her breasts are fucking fantastic in
the bright light of day, her stomach flat and her skin luminescent. My
gaze drags down and I see the matching nude silk and lace panties, also
so translucent there s nothing left to the imagination. My mouth
actually waters at what I m looking at and my dick gets even harder.
My hands go back to Emma s hips. I easily lift her up about a foot and
place her ass right on the edge of the glass table. She gasps and her
hands drop to the ledge for balance. I push back into the dining chair
and slouch down into a relaxed posture as I stare at her.
She looks like a deer in the headlights, and I half expect her to jet off
the table and flee out of my room. I can t give her too much time to

get inside her head, so I command her, "Spread your legs for me."
Her eyes flare with pure fear for a moment and she grips the edge of the
table so hard, her knuckles turn white.
"Emma," I tell her softly, holding my eyes on hers. "Open up those
pretty legs. Let me see what you ve got."
"Oh, God," she mutters and to my surprise and definitely to my delight,
those legs spread into a "V".
And Christ. she s fucking stunning. My eyes drag slowly down her.
White blouse gaped open so I can see just a peek of her tits and
stomach, covering the tops of her thighs, but as her legs spread, I get an
unimpeded view of her silk-covered pussy.
Staring at her hard right at the money spot, I tell her, "Going to have my
mouth there really soon."
Emma whimpers in response, and I don t dare look up at her as I know
the intensity of my look will probably freak her the fuck out. Instead, I
tell her, "Now lie back on the table. All the way back."
She hesitates only a moment before she does as I ask, and my cock
starts to ache against the confines of my jeans. Emma stares at the
ceiling, her hands coming to rest on her stomach, legs still spread wide
for me. There are a million different things I could do to her right now,
but only one thing I really want in this moment.
"Touch yourself, Emma," I say from my seated position on the
chair.
"What?" she whispers, her head coming off the table to look down her
body at me.
"Slip those little fingers down the front of your panties and touch
yourself," I tell her calmly, although I m feeling anything but calm.
"I. I. I can t," she exclaims, her eyes now wild with doubt.
I surge up out of my chair, take one step to the edge of the table, and
press my thighs against the edge of the glass, right where her pussy is
just a few inches away. I put one palm on the table and lean over her.
looming as I take one of her hands. I pull it down her stomach. She
gasps when I bring it right over her crotch. I press down. press her own
fingers over that silk covering her pussy, and I make her grind against
herself.

Emma cries out, her face completely flushed from the sensation of the
pressure to her clit.
I release her hand and instruct her again, "Slip your fingers into your
panties. Touch yourself. Show me."
I'm not sure if it's because she's now turned on and in the moment, or if
she just wants to get this over and done with, but Emma complies. I
about swallow my tongue as her fingers disappear under the silk, which
is so transparent I can see when the pad of her index finger finds her clit
as she starts to rub at it.
"You see, Emma," I say roughly as I watch her a moment, and then
raise my eyes up to hers. She s staring at me with glazed eyes. "You are
so goddamn sexy and you have no clue. No fucking idea that you are
every man s wet dream."
"I'm not," she says with a shake of her head. I smile at her as I pull her
hand out from between her legs. Lodging my fingers into the waistband
of her panties, I pull them down her legs as I tell her, "Well. you re
my wet dream and that s all that matters right now."
She watches me with dark eyes as I pull her underwear free and toss
them over my shoulder. I reach behind me, pull the chair up, and take a
seat close to the table so my face hovers over her pussy.
With my hands, I push her legs further apart, my eyes latched onto my
prize.
"Evan," Emma whispers. I look up her body to find her head raised
again and staring at me with wild eyes. "You haven t even kissed me
yet."
I grin at her. A full, wicked grin. "I know, baby. Getting ready to rectify
that right now." "No, I mean—"
"I know what you mean," I tell her, dropping my eyes back down to her
beautiful cunt just begging for my mouth. With my fingers, I peel her
apart, revealing her swollen clit.
As I drop my face down, my lips mere centimeters from tasting her, she
cries out, "I ve never done this before."
My eyes fly back up to her, and she looks at me pleadingly.

"Never?" I whisper, slightly astounded but unbelievably fucking turned
on that I m her first. She shakes her head.
I stick my tongue out, prodding her clit gently, and her hips buck
against the sweet but brief sensation. I look back up to her. "Never had
a man do that?"
Her head falls back down to the table with a slight "thunk" and she
mutters, "God no. but please do that again."
I smile but she can t see me. I smile because now Emma understands
there s a shit pot full of stuff she s been missing out on in her narrow
little world.
Dropping my chest, I work my shoulders under the backs of her thighs,
which spreads her a little wider. I hear a sharp intake of her breath, and
when I bring my mouth to her, it comes out in a low moan of abandon
and need.
And Christ... she tastes fucking delicious. Smells divine. Looks
stunning in the light. Sweet, sweet pussy that I could eat for hours and
then a day.
Gently I work my tongue in slow circles, barely touching the outer
edges of her clit. Emma is so damn responsive, her hips start to circle
and thrust, trying to put that little bundle of nerves in more direct
contact, but I evade.
I tease.
I poke and prod in tiny little strokes.
I make it a torturous game, building her up but keeping her orgasm just
out of reach, until she finally bucks her hips hard and demands, "Evan.
for Pete s sake. just. do something."
Opening my eyes, I look up her body again, find her breasts heaving in
those delicate silk cups and her face flushed. Her eyes beg me to finish
her off, and truth be told. I really, really want to see her fly for me.
I push a single finger into her, fascinated by the way her eyes roll into
the back of her head and the groan that tears out of her throat. Her
elbows go to the table and her neck arches as her hips start moving
again. silently demanding my mouth once more.

So goddamn sexy and without a single ounce of reserved, prim Emma
to be found.
I m a good guy, so I give her another finger, pumping them in and out
of her tight core, and then bring my mouth down onto her clit. I give her
exactly what she needs, where she needs it. With only a few hard lashes
of my tongue on her, and my fingers three knuckles deep into her
pussy, she lets out the most beautiful cry of release I ve ever heard. Her
hips shoot off the table, her back arches, and I bury my face hard into
her to help her ride it out.
Bringing my hands under her ass, I gentle her down with soft licks and
kisses, feeling the tiny quivers of her muscles as she continues to catch
all the tiny last sparks of her climax.
When she goes still, I lower her ass to the table and rest my chin on the
top of her mound so I can look up at her. Her head comes up, and she
looks at me with the most wondrous look I ve ever seen on a woman s
face. It s as if she s been given an epiphany or found the Holy Grail. She
looks completely satiated, utterly grateful, and best of all. there s a
gleam in her eye. A curious gleam that says to me, "What in the hell
else have I been missing?"
I cannot wait to fucking show her.

CHAPTER 14
Emma
My dream is nice.
In my dream, Evan spent an entire day and night filling my body up
over and over again. We christened almost every square inch of the
hotel suite. He put his mouth between my legs so many times that I lost
count. We had sex in every imaginable position, and some I d never
have the creativity to imagine. I honestly don t know how many
condoms we went through.
As I start to come awake in the early morning light, my mind tries to
replay many of those moments. The feel of him inside of me. So big,
thick, strong, and demanding. Slick flesh sliding, whispers and moans,
skin slapping, and grunts and groans. It was all so barbaric and base and
without a doubt the most amazing and wonderful thing I ve ever
experienced.
Even now, I can remember with absolute clarity how he felt inside of
me.
The best was when they were long, deliciously slow strokes so that
every single inch created a firestorm of lust within me. I can feel it now
and I let my body relax into it, willing myself to fall deeper into
slumber and enter into a stunningly vivid dream of Evan Scott and all
the ways in which he pleasured me.
I fall deeper, and I can actually feel it.
Feel him thick inside of me. Hot and wet.
A small pain bursts in my nipple and Evan whispers in my ear, "Can t
stop fucking you, Emma. Can t get enough." Oh, what a lovely dream.
Another pinch to my nipple, and Evan growls, "Come on, Emma.
Wake up. Want you to come with me." What?
My eyes fly open and realization that I m not dreaming slams into

me with such tremendous force, my entire body shudders from the
overload of pleasure.
I m on my side, my head resting on one of Evan s strong biceps. His
front is pressed to my back, and my outer leg is bent and then raised,
supported by his own thigh.
And he's inside of me.
His hand is on my breast, and he pinches my nipple again, causing me
to groan.
He s inside of me, pumping deeply and grinding against my ass. I can
feel the wetness seeping onto my inner thigh I m so turned on. I m
turned on as I realize Evan got me wet and ready, even though I was
sound asleep.
Evan s breathing is harsh and ruffles my hair with every ragged breath
he exhales.
"God, you feel so fucking good," he rasps in my ear.
I curl an arm back, put my palm to the back of his head, and arch into
him. "So do you."
"I m glad," he grunts as he pushes into me extra deep. "Because we are
going to be doing a whole lot of this from now on."
That pleases me and I don t know why. Maybe because I thought if we
had sex once, Evan would get his fill and move on. Isn t that what rock
stars did? Or maybe I even had some insecurity, thinking I wouldn t be
good enough to hold Evan s interest in bed. I mean, after all, how damn
good can I be when in all my active sexual life, I ve never had oral sex
before.
But Evan. for some reason I cannot seem to explain. seems to enjoy this
with me. No, he seems to get off mightily on it. He relishes it. He
savors. He rides the wave as hard and as high as he can.
He does it in the filthiest, dirtiest of ways, and he has his erotic words
down to a science.
Evan s hand moves from my breast, glides down my belly, and he
touches me in that spot. A place on my body that has been thoroughly
enslaved by his fingers and mouth.
It only takes the tiniest of touches and I start to tighten up all over.
"That s right," Evan praises me as he starts to rub my clit in rough

circles. His hips move faster against me, driving him deeper. "I love
how I can tell when you re close. Can feel it so clearly. I love how I can
play this body as easily as I can play my guitar. And you know what,
Emma love. the sounds you make when you come are as beautiful as
the music I make."
And that s all it takes.
I break apart with a relieved cry of release, my entire body falling.
Tremors of ecstasy rippling through my body, causing Evan to start
tunneling harder and faster into me.
Through gritted teeth, he gives me fair warning though it s not needed,
"I m going to come so fucking hard, baby."
I drop my arm, put my hand on his thigh, and dig my fingers down to
secure my body as he thrusts harder and harder into me. I can t see his
face, but I can imagine exactly what it looks like because I watched him
orgasm several times over the last twenty hours or so. I want him to
come so hard he loses the power of speech, and because I m pinned to
the mattress by his powerful body, I help him along the only way I can.
With words.
Totally uncharacteristic of me, I whisper into the morning sunlight my
first attempt at dirty talk. "Fuck me harder, Evan. Give it up to me."
Granted, I could have said dirtier, but it was indeed my first attempt.
However, dirtier was not needed because the minute I tell Evan to fuck
me harder, he plants himself in deep, places his mouth on my shoulder,
and bites down briefly before muttering against my skin, "Fuck.
Goddamn. I m coming. Oh, Emma. feels so fucking good, baby. So
fucking good."
My entire body seems to burst apart with elation over his words. The
reverence with which he praises what I do to him. The absolute
insatiability he has for me.
He makes me feel something I ve never felt before.
I feel wanted.
Evan holds me tight for a few moments as we both come down off the
high of some really amazing sex. But then he pulls out of me, a feeling
I do not like, and slides out of the bed. I roll to my back and

watch him peeling the condom off as he walks into the bathroom, and I
m still a bit amazed he woke up, put a condom on, and started having
sex with me while I was asleep.
That s so damn dirty.
I love it.
When Evan comes back out of the bathroom, I can t help but let my
eyes run over him. He s so beautiful. Tall with muscles but not bulky
like. He looks strong and vibrant. His face is a work of art.
I have no clue why he s with me, but that may be a question I don t need
answered. After all, when I walk out of this hotel suite, I might not ever
see his bed again. We haven t had a discussion as to what this means.
Evan climbs onto the bottom of the bed and crawls his way up over me.
He drops his face, presses a soft kiss on my lips, and says, "Good
morning."
I grin back at him. "That was a good morning." "Hope you don't mind I
helped myself," he says as he flops to my side and then pulls me into
his arms. And oh... that's nice.
"I don't mind," I whisper. Because what in the hell was there to mind
about that?
"Good," he says with a squeeze to my waist. "Because ever since you
stepped onto that bus, I ve woken up horny for you every morning."
"You have not," I exclaim in disbelief.
"I so have," he reassures me. "So prepare to get fucked every morning,
although I wouldn t mind a blow job either."
I giggle and feel a little hum of excitement over the prospect. I ve not
done a lot of oral work before. My college boyfriend, sure. but it was
mostly foreplay, and I think I might not have been very good at it since
he always pushed me off after a few minutes, then we'd have sex.
Which ugh. the sex I ve had before?
Boring.
Just like me.
"Evan," I ask hesitantly, needing to have some security despite very
much enjoying the adventure. "What is this going on between us?"

His hold on me loosens as he comes up on one elbow to hover over me.
His eyes are serious. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... I'm still your attorney, and you're still sort of my boss." I try
to explain my misgivings. "This is really pretty unethical what I m
doing, and I need to know what your expectations are?"
"Expectations?" he asks, and I might add, a little thickly.
"Yes," I say exasperated. "Like is this part of my job for you? Or was
this a one-night-only type of thing? Or were you just imparting a little
lesson to matronly little Emma?"
Evan blinks at me in surprise. "This is about me wanting you. And you
clearly want me. How do you not see that?"
"Okay, fine." I blow out a gust of frustrated air. "We want each other.
But... is this just like for sex? To get off on each other?"
"Is that wrong?" he throws back at me.
"Yes," I exclaim, and then immediately know that s not quite true. "No.
I mean. I don t know. I ve never had sex like that before, and I m a little
off balance, okay?"
He tilts his head at me and gives me a sly grin. "You mean you never
had such dirty, unadulterated sex before? Never came so many times?
Never had a man eat you out like that?"
Well, yes to all of that. But that's not what I mean.
"I ve never had sex with someone without having very deep feelings. I
ve never had hook-up sex. I ve never done one-night stands. You re a
professional at this, and I m an amateur. I just don t know what any of
this means."
The cocky grin slides off his face and he brings a hand to my jaw. His
fingers slide slowly down my neck, over my collarbone. He slides them
down the center of my chest, over my belly, and right down between
my legs, which part in complete obedience to him. Evan drags his
fingers through my lips, which feel wet and swollen with need even
though I just had an amazing orgasm not long ago.
"This," he says softly as he flicks my clit with his fingertip. "This isn t
just hook-up sex. And it s not a one-night stand as I expect you back in
this bed tonight after the show. I have no clue what this is either,
Emma, but I know I like this a whole fuck of a lot, and I m not about to

give it up."
"Do you even like me?" I ask him bluntly, despite the fact he s got a
finger resting against me that s a bit disconcerting. "Do I like you?" he
asks in surprise.
"Well, yeah. I mean, I like you," I tell him as honestly as I can. "I can t
have sex with someone I don t have some feelings for, but I think
maybe guys are a bit different. You didn t even remember that girl s
name you had sex with the night Keith was killed. So I m just trying to
establish some expectations. or maybe some boundaries."
Evan stares at me for what seems like an eternity, his face completely
blank. Then his eyes crinkle and he smiles at me. Leaning down, he
kisses my lips and says, "God, you re utterly fucking adorable. And
yes, Emma. I like you. And I could never forget your name. You re
absolutely unforgettable."
Pleasure such as I ve never known wells up inside of me as I realize...
I've thought of myself as unforgettable. Time and time again, I don t
think I ever felt that I was worth notice.
Maybe that's why I make myself not worthy of notice.
It s just easier than being let down.

CHAPTER 15
Evan
Four lines into my song Near Silence, and I m settled. At peace.
Completely in tune with myself and the crowd as they sing along with
me.
Five minutes ago, before I walked out onto this stage for my second
Miami concert, I was a bundle of writhing, screaming nerves. Felt like I
was going to puke. Had to remind myself over and over again while
looking into the mirror that I could actually sing. I had such an
exquisite case of stage fright for a few moments, I almost walked out of
my dressing room and instead of turning left for the stage, wanted to
turn right and walk the hell out.
Get in a cab.
Go to the airport.
Fly back home to Raleigh.
But I m okay now. It truly only took the first line of the song for my
nerves to be soothed and through to the fourth line for me to know that
part of my home will always be on a stage. I have to wonder if I will
always go through those moments of hell before a show, or if it will get
better. Maybe I ll ask someone who s been in the business a lot longer
than I have at the record label parties when we get to L.A.
It doesn t matter though right now. I m singing from my heart, and the
music from my guitar and my back-up musicians is flowing to near
perfection. I feel it through to the soles of my feet that tonight will be
another epic experience.
Epic experience.
My head tilts slightly to the right but not enough to displace my mouth
away from the microphone. I cut my eyes hard to the side of the stage,
and I see Emma standing there. Her hands are clasped together, held in
front of her, and she's singing along with me.

A burst of euphoria hits me hard in the center of my chest, and I give
her a quick wink before turning my gaze back out onto the audience.
Emma is a fan and that is something I like very much. Emma is
amazing in bed. And on the table. The shower. The couch. The
balcony. The carpet. She is amazing.
She fucking blossomed right before my eyes yesterday and kept
blooming last night and this morning, and well. I can t wait to see how
I can open her up again tonight.
And because of all of that, she s no longer a woman I can mock in any
way as being too prim or matronly. I can t even make silent fun of her
conservative clothes, because frankly, she d look sexy to me in a burlap
sack.
So sexy, in fact, I didn t want to do a damn thing all day except keep her
in my bed until sound rehearsal. While my stamina is pretty damn
good, I know it was unrealistic to think I d be fucking her the whole
time. Figured we could relax and chill. Talk. Get to know each other.
Of course, we d fuck in between, but yeah. I wanted that bad today.
Except Emma wasn t too keen on that idea. Apparently, she has some
sort of work ethic drilled in deep and insisted that she needed to work. I
tried to tell her I was the boss and I was giving her the day off. She
sniffed and briskly told me that wasn t acceptable, and that I had to
respect the work boundaries. Christ. she looked at me with
straight-laced eyes meaning serious business, and I wanted to rip her
clothes off and...
God, she s amazing.
So I capitulated because she is amazing and she wanted to work, and I
wanted to give her what she wanted. But I did insist she work in my
hotel suite, so I could at least look at her. Eat lunch with her. Talk to her
if I wanted.
In fact, I insisted on it.
I made her sit right down at that glass dining table so she could spread
out, and I fucking loved the way she blushed when she saw the

streaks left behind from the first time I ate her out. She merely jetted
over to the kitchen area and came back with some wet paper towels to
clean the surface.
Fucking adorable.
It was about two PM, and I was starting to get antsy about the show.
My nerves started misfiring and I was feeling jittery. I sat on the couch,
going over lyrics in my head, humming tunes and otherwise trying to
occupy my time. I d glance at Emma every once in a while, who was
focused with extreme intensity on her work. She d told me she was
working on the copyright case, and I had to admire her diligence in
representing me. She d gone to her hotel room to get showered and
changed, and because she was technically "at work," had returned with
another business outfit on. This time, it was a sleeveless dress of dark
gray that cut straight across the bottom of her collarbone, and while it
hugged her form nicely, it was quite sedate. She even had a lovely
string of pearls around her neck.
I'd watch her as she chewed on her pen when she was deep in thought,
and was fascinated the first time she d pulled out a pair of glasses from
her briefcase and put them on while she was working on the computer.
I asked her about them, and she admitted she needed them sometimes if
her eyes felt strained. She looked hot as hell in them.
Finally, I couldn t take it anymore, so I asked her, "Will you come
watch the show tonight?"
Her head popped up and she pulled the pen from her mouth. "Of
course."
I nodded. As her head started to turn back to the laptop, I asked, "Will
you come with me to the VIP party after?"
She lifted her head slowly this time and looked at me. With a soft smile,
she said, "Sure." I muttered, "Okay."
Emma looked at me another moment, and then turned back to her
work.
"Will you promise not to get tipsy so I can fuck you after without
worrying about regrets?" I asked slyly.

Her head shot back to me again, and she grinned. "Yes. I won't drink a
drop of alcohol."
"Cool," I said casually as I slouched back down on the couch, as if it
wasn t that big of a deal, but I was already doing a football touchdown
dance in my head.
"But what about Red?" she asked, and I craned my neck to look at her
over the back of the couch.
"What about Red?" I asked in puzzlement.
"Well, what will he think as he s driving tonight and you re in my
room?" she says hesitantly.
I shrug. "Why do you care?"
Her eyes lowered, and she chewed at her lip with worry.
"Emma?"
With the saddest little puppy dog look I ve ever seen, she looked back
to me and practically whined, "I don t want anyone to think I m a
floozy."
I almost snickered, but I caught myself and gave her a sympathetic
look. "Emma... Red adores you. He won't think badly about you. And if
you have a smile on your face in the morning, he ll be just fine with it,
I'm sure."
She blushed at the thought of Red knowing what a morning-after smile
would mean, and I had to restrain myself from leaping over the back of
the couch and tackling her to the floor.
I play my guitar. I follow the music. I sing my song.
I love it up here on this stage.
I really do.
But I kind of can t wait to get done so I can be with Emma. ♦
Obviously, this whole concert tour is new to me, but I know the
schedule fairly well. I worked with Tyler and the tour management
company to iron out details. After some shows, I ll have to attend fan
meet and greets. After other shows, there may actually be an
after-party, usually sponsored by some major corporation and with
some other celebrities in attendance who wanted to see my show.

That s still something I m having a hard time accepting.
Actual movie and sports stars wanting to see me perform.
So tonight is one of those parties, and it s being held up on the top floor
of the arena in a private club. There s no telling how long this party will
last, and we're not in a rush to leave out of here as we have two days to
make it to New Orleans for our next show. Regardless, I don t have any
real use for rubbing shoulders with famous people. While I know it s
expected and part of the game, I don t plan on staying long. I plan to
make my rounds and be sociable, then drag Emma back to the bus.
Right past Red s astonished face as I haul my prize back to the
bedroom.
Speaking of which, I can t help but smile as I look over the shoulder of
a TV actress whose name I can t quite place, but she s talking to me like
we're the best of friends. I see Emma on the far side of the room talking
to Cap and Dilana, and, as she promised, she s drinking bottled water.
Good girl.
Much to my surprise, Cap, Dilana, and Jimmy all made visits to the bus
and made sober apologies to Emma for waking her up the day after that
debacle. She hasn t hung out with them much, some polite exchanges
during rest stops and such, but right now, she s laughing at something
Dilana says and she looks in her element.
Absolutely gorgeous in a simple pair of dark skinny jeans, mile-high
pumps in black leather, and a loose black blouse that hangs low off one
smooth shoulder. As I ve figured out about Emma, she doesn't spend a
lot of time on making herself up. I can attest that her skin is soft as silk
so she must use lotion every day, and that her toenails are painted a
delicate pink, which is a definite nod to her femininity, but that s about
as far as she goes. Maybe some mascara on those long lashes, but her
hairstyle is simple and her face is usually clear of any enhancements.
She s one of those women who have a natural beauty, and frankly.
she has no fucking clue she has it.
That right there is what really makes her sexy.
The actress says a few more nice things about my performance, gives
me an air kiss on each cheek, and saunters off. Tyler immediately
replaces her at my side, looping an arm over my shoulder. "You were

fucking amazing tonight."
"Thanks, man," I say before taking a sip of my beer, my eyes lasering
onto Emma across the room. "It felt good out there."
"With every performance and the reviews you get, those label execs are
going to be chomping at the bit to get you," he says enthusiastically,
and then drains the last of his whiskey. I turn and take a good look at
Tyler, noticing his eyes are bloodshot, but that doesn t bother me. Tyler
likes to party.
Hell, I like to party. And why shouldn t we? We work hard and we earn
the down time.
"Want to do some shots?" Tyler asks as he turns to the bar right beside
us.
"Nah," I say as I turn back and look at Emma. No way am I going to
diminish my nerve receptors tonight. I want to feel absolutely
everything.
"Come on," Tyler cajoles as he nudges a shoulder against mine. "We
should be celebrating after every show. You deserve this, buddy."
"Yeah, I know," I say halfheartedly, then get positively entranced when
Emma starts laughing really hard at something Cap says to her. Dilana
adds something on that s apparently funnier, as Emma bends over at the
waist and has to hold her stomach she s laughing so hard.
And fuck. I want to know what s so funny over there so bad that I
actually take an involuntary step that way.
"What is up with you?" Tyler grumbles as he steps in front of me,
breaking my line of sight.
I blink, sad not to be staring at Emma, but then focus on my friend and
manager. "Sorry, dude. It s just. I m. u h . "
Christ, I can t even say it, but I do lean to the side and look past Tyler to
Emma again. I m fucking powerless it seems.
Tyler turns slowly and focuses in on Emma, Cap, and Dilana. He turns
back to me and in a low voice of disbelief, he says, "Are you fucking
kidding me? You re tagging that little plain-Jane?"
My head whips to face him, and I utter a low warning. "Watch it,
Tyler."
"Oh, my God," he says with a sarcastic laugh. "You actually got it

bad for the little bookworm attorney." "So fucking what?" I snarl at
him.
Tyler thinks this is hilarious, and he throws his arm back over my
shoulder. With an almost maniacal laugh, he says, "Jesus, Evan. if you
need to get laid, I can find you something a little spicier than—"
I spin on Tyler, knocking his arm loose, and ask, "What is your
problem with Emma? You ve been nothing but rude and dismissive of
her, and I get it. she s offering me options contrary to your wants, but
she s also doing the job that I m paying her to do. She s looking out for
me the way you are, and she stands to gain nothing but a measly
first-year attorney salary. So what is your fucking problem?"
I expect this to cow Tyler, who will usually back down when I m
pissed, but instead, I m dismayed to see a coldness filter in, although
his voice is heated. "I am your friend, Evan. I ve got your back better
than anyone, and particularly more than someone you've known for all
of five minutes. She might be great in the sack or whatever the fucking
reason you seem fixated on her, but you better keep your head out of
the clouds. You ve got some major decisions to make, and your head
better be on straight when you do. And I m sorry, man. but if that means
I might have to point out all the things that could be bad for you, I m
going to do
it."
"She s not bad for me," I mutter.
In fact, I have a feeling Emma can be very, very good for me.
Tyler doesn t respond but just gives me a nod and says, "I ll catch you
later. Got a few other people here I want to meet."
"Alright," I say, not feeling kindly to him and not wanting to engage
him further.
In fact, as Tyler turns away from me, I lean over, place my half-empty
beer on the bar, and make my way toward Emma.
I m done with this party. It s time to go.

CHAPTER 16
Emma
"Ninety-eight degrees and it's only the beginning of May," Red
grumbles as we walk back toward the arena parking lot and the tour
bus. His bald head is shiny with sweat, and he s huffing and puffing a
little.
"Well, we are in Phoenix, Captain Obvious," I point out to him.
"Your dog looks stupid," Red retorts.
Looking at Sirius as he walks in front of us on his leash, leading the
way with his nose to the ground, I have to admit. he does look stupid
with his feet and half his legs covered with white socks that I
"borrowed" from Evan. It s so hot outside that I didn t want Sirius pads
to get burned on the concrete, so I may have rummaged through Evan s
clothes for some of his socks to put on my dog.
Red and I just took Sirius on a little walk for our afternoon break. We're
coming up on the end of the second week of the tour having gone from
Miami, to New Orleans, to Houston, then Dallas, and finally into
Phoenix. After the show tonight, we head for Los Angeles, where he
has two shows scheduled and some pretty hoity-toity parties to attend
with the record labels.
We've gotten into a good routine these last several days. One of the
things Red convinced me to do was to join him on his afternoon walk
with Sirius because, in his words, "No one should sit at a desk for that
long and not take a break."
The tour is going amazingly well, and by that, I mean practically
everything associated with it. Evan is magic up on that stage. I m
getting extremely comfortable taking press questions about the legal
issues, but really, it s Evan who does most of the talking. And I m
actually getting some solid work done on the copyright case. I ve spent
most of my time researching the law, and I ve even reached out to a few
copyright attorneys to pick their brains. I m now spending time on
crafting all of my discovery questions to send to the other side, which
will help to

narrow down the issues.
The only thing that is causing me some heartburn is the fact that there
truly is no reason for me to be on this bus. For the Atlanta and Miami
concerts, there were quite a few questions about Keith s death—which
had nothing to do with Evan because an arrest had been made, but it
was sensational fodder the reporters were going to ask about. There
were also questions about the copyright case, but we were only in the
beginning stages and it would be months before we had something
solid to report. Since then, there are days where nothing is needed of
me except to work on the copyright case and, let s face it, I can do that
from back in Raleigh.
So the heartburn is because I m really not needed here, and I m sort of
thinking I should go back. I know I committed at least a month to Evan,
but surely, he can see I m not needed.
Okay... that may be the true heartburn.
That I m not needed by Evan on a personal level.
I ve got no real reason to think that. We ve been going hot and heavy
this past week and a half, and he can't seem to get enough of me. I
braved all the surprised looks I got when it became clear that Evan and
I were an item, and I came out no worse for the wear. Everyone seems
cool with it, except Tyler, but I ve figured out that he s just a natural
jerk so I shouldn t expect anything different.
"What time do you think Evan will want to pull out tonight?" Red asks
casually as we walk down a sunny sidewalk about three blocks from
the arena.
I shrug. "I m guessing pretty quickly. No after-party and those meet and
greets don t take that long."
Funny how Red comes to me with questions like this. Evan and Tyler
are pretty much who calls final shots on when we leave, but Red s
figured out that I have Evan s ear more than Tyler does lately so he
knows I'm a quick source of info.
"You re going to the show tonight, right?" he asks.
"Of course I am," I tell him as we stroll along. I ve shortened my pace
as Red seems to be slowing down. Despite his big bulk, I ve been
impressed with his commitment to walking with Sirius a few times a

day.
"Then I'll head over to the other bus when Evan gets back from sound
check and get some sleep," he says conversationally, although it's not
really something that needs to be discussed. That s pretty much the
routine. Red and the other bus driver get their sleep in before and
during the concert so they re fresh to drive us to our next destination.
So it makes me wonder...
"Is there something you want to talk about with me? " I ask hesitantly.
Red twists his head and looks at me briefly before giving a sigh and
looking away. "It s just. you re a really nice girl and this business isn t
so nice. I ve been around it for a long time, and well. I m just worried
about you is all."
My heart does a little flip-flop as I stop walking, reaching out to touch
Red s arm. He stops as well and Sirius, because Red s been working on
his manners, also stops and waits.
"That s really sweet of you, Red," I tell him with a smile. "But I m not
sure what you mean. Are you worried about something with Evan and
me?"
He gives a shake of his head. "Nah. he s a pretty cool dude since I ve
gotten to know him these past few weeks. Seems to have his head on
straight. But he s also new in this business and there are a lot of
demands and pressures that can be tough on a relationship. I m just
saying... keep yourself a little guarded, okay?"
"But not with Evan?" I ask for clarification, because I m still not sure
what type of point he's making.
Red leans in toward me, his expressive eyes filled with concern. "I m
not saying it about anyone in particular. Just you re a nice girl and this
industry can be not so nice. Evan seems to really like you, but that
doesn t mean everyone will. Doesn t mean he always will. And you
won t be on this tour the entire time, so you re looking at a
long-distance type of relationship. So just be careful and try to look at
things with a jaundiced eye. Okay?"
I nod in agreement, but I really don t know what I m agreeing to.
To be careful?

To not trust Evan?
Red s so cryptic, but I also get that we re talking about his employer. At
least I think we re talking about his employer, which would be Evan.
But his other warning that "not everyone will like me" wasn t as veiled
as he thought it was. I know he s talking about Tyler, who tries to avoid
me for the most part, but when he can t, he s not the nicest guy. He s
never overtly rude in Evan s presence, but if Evan s not there, he ll get
his little zingers in if he can. No clue what s up that dude s butt, but I
seriously don t like him.
Giving Red s arm a squeeze, I start walking again and he follows suit,
Sirius taking off ahead of us with his sniffer going hard and looking
completely ridiculous in his socks. "I appreciate it, Red. But honestly.
I'm not sure this is a long-term thing with Evan anyway. I mean... it
seems to be just. um. well, our interest right now is—"
"You re saying it s just physical and has an expiration date," he
suggests kindly.
And when he says it like that, God, it sounds awful. I don t want it to be
just physical, nor do I want an end date, but really, Evan s not led me to
believe it could be anything else. So I admit, "Yeah. that s all this is I
think."
"Well if you're unsure, you need to ask him," Red says simply.
He s probably right, but I just make a humming sound of agreement in
my throat.
We make it to the arena parking lot in comfortable silence, then show
our badges to the security guard working the fence that separates the
buses from the public parking. As we approach Evan s bus, I m
surprised to see him trotting off it. When he steps onto the concrete, he
looks toward the arena, then swings his head our way. His face is
impassive when he locks eyes with me.
"There you are," he says as we approach. "I was just looking for
you."
"We took Sirius for his afternoon walk," I explain, and Evan s eyes
drop down to the pup who is sitting down perfectly.
"Why s he wearing my socks?" Evan asks, his brows furrowed
together.

"To protect his feet," I say simply.
When he looks back up at me, he s shaking his head in amusement.
"You owe me new socks."
"You re a millionaire," I throw back at him. "You can afford to buy
more socks."
"That s true," Evan says, but then his smile slides off his face. He takes
Sirius leash from my hand, turns, and hands it to Red. "I need to talk to
Emma about something. Can you watch him a bit more?"
"Sure," Red says as he takes the leash.
Evan turns and looks at me somberly. My stomach pitches.
"What s up?" I say hesitantly, my head tilted to the side.
"Inside the bus," he says as he nods that way. By the tone of his voice,
this doesn t sound good.
"See you later, Red," I say and before I turn to the bus, his eyes look
back at me with worry.
I walk up the steps, Evan close behind me, and I start to worry in
earnest because he s so quiet.
When I reach the top landing, I turn around and ask, "What s wrong?
You re starting to freak me out."
Before I even know what s happening, Evan s slapping at the button on
the dashboard and the doors hiss closed. He lunges at me, drops his
shoulder, and before I know it, I m being lifted and thrown into a
fireman s carry.
I shriek in surprise, and Evan laughs as he turns back to the bus. "Fuck,
I missed you and totally wanted to spend some time with you before the
show."
"Evan," I say in exasperation as he carefully navigates the steps to his
bus. "I ve got work to do, and you should be resting before the show."
He doesn t respond but carries me down the length of the bus, to the
bedroom we ve shared every night since Miami, with the exception of
our stop in Dallas when we stayed in a hotel that evening since we had
an extra day to get to Phoenix.
Evan drops me on the bed and because the room is small enough to do
so, manages to kick the door shut with his foot from the same

position.
Before I can even open my mouth to chastise him for his controlling
ways, he peels his t-shirt over his head and I go absolutely mute. My
throat goes dry, my tongue curls in on itself, and that sweet spot
between my legs starts to throb just by looking at his chest and
stomach.
That line of hair that starts below his belly button and disappears into
the waistband of his cargo shorts. Knowing what lies just beneath that.
Evan s fingers pop the button on his shorts, and I go hot all over. "See
something you like?" Evan asks in a husky voice, and my eyes shoot up
to him, humiliated that I d been staring so blatantly.
" U m . "
"Or rather, see something you want?" His tone is devilish and his eyes
are sparkling with amusement.
It feels like flames are licking at my face, and I really need to stop
getting so embarrassed when he says things like that to me. Over the
last several days, Evan s told me so many dirty things, I should be used
to this by now. And what s worse is that I think he gets a kick out of it,
which is somewhat annoying.
In an attempt to save some face, I pluck up my courage and try to give
some of it back to him. My eyes fall back down to the front of his shorts
and to the large bulge pushing against the zipper. "I don t know, Evan.
what you got under there?"
A small growl rumbles out of Evan, and I look back up at him. His eyes
are dark and his jaw is locked hard, and for a very brief moment, I think
he might be mad.
Then, while holding me pinned in place with his eyes alone, I hear the
zipper go down as he murmurs, "I ll show you exactly what I ve got
under here."
Swallowing hard, I let my gaze fall as he ever so slowly unzips his
shorts and lets them fall to the ground. I m vaguely aware that he kicks
his shorts off along with his flip-flops, but more acutely aware he was
commando. I stare blatantly at him all thick, long, and flushed dark. My
breath catches in my lungs as he wraps a hand around himself and just

squeezes.
Oh, wow. now that s not only hot and dirty but actually quite beautiful.
It s taking me some time getting used to him being so free with nudity.
I m still embarrassed and tend to pull the sheet around me when we re
done with the sexy times. Evan doesn t think twice though about
flaunting his body, and why would he? It s damn near perfect.
"What s going on in that pretty head of yours?" Evan asks me, and it s
with great pain this time that I drag my eyes back up to his face.
Yes, my face is red.
Yes, it feels hot.
But I'm going to ignore it and try to push out of my comfort zone. I
come up onto my elbows, which I know thrusts my breasts out a bit,
and with a quick flick of my eyes down and then back up again, I tell
him the God s honest truth. "I m wondering what you taste like."
"Christ," Evan mutters as he crawls onto the bed and right over me. I
fall back down to the mattress, but he holds himself above me on his
hands and knees. He bends his head, peers at me closer. "You know I m
going to let you find out the answer to that question, right?"
I lick my lips. "God, I hope so."
Evan groans and then gives me a hard kiss. When his lips release mine,
he rolls to my side and settles into the mattress on his back. I roll
toward him, let my gaze roam down the hard planes of his body, down
to his erection, which is huge and laying on his belly.
"Do me a favor, Emma?" Evan whispers, and I tilt my head to look at
him.
"What s that?"
"Get naked before you put your mouth on me, okay?" he asks softly.
"Okay," I breathe out in a soft gust of desire to please him. So I get
naked and I do it without too much embarrassing shyness. Then I find
out what he tastes like, and. he s delicious.

CHAPTER 129
Evan
I mindlessly flip through the TV channels, not really looking for
anything in particular and doing nothing more than killing time while
Emma gets ready. The Phoenix record label is springing for my suite at
The Beverly Hills Hotel for the four nights we re here in Los Angeles.
This has made Tyler immeasurably happy because, by his reasoning, if
the label is willing to spend that type of money to put me up, that means
they're going to be willing to negotiate the terms of their offer.
Which is causing me indigestion when I think about it, and I hope that
it goes away soon, because I m taking Emma out to dinner tonight. It
will be our first real date as we ve not had time during the tour to do
anything because our timeline was so structured and packed tight. But
we ve got four nights here and nothing on the agenda for tonight, so I d
made up my mind I was going to take her out, regardless of the shitty
look I got from Tyler when I told him my plans.
We d had a brief meeting with the Phoenix execs at lunch today, where
they schmoozed Tyler, Emma, and me and we talked in generalities
about the offer. I didn t say much, but Emma and Tyler had plenty to
say on my behalf, and it was actually a little embarrassing the tack that
Tyler was taking. Emma had sound questions about the terms and
wording of clauses. Things an attorney would look for, and she
challenged them where appropriate. I was actually quite proud of her,
and I don t even think she realizes the strides she s made as an attorney
in the past few weeks. Yes, she still loves to bury her face in a nice
contract, but her ability to effectively advocate for me is amazing.
Tyler, on the other hand, spent time on the portions of the contract that
we knew were of great benefit to me, basically kissing ass in
appreciation for those things. It couldn t have been any clearer to the
execs in that room that Tyler wanted me to sign with Phoenix and that
Emma was taking a more middle-of-the road approach. As such, the

execs paid more attention to what Tyler was saying than what Emma
was saying, figuring he d have more of my ear than her given our
history together.
By the end of the lunch, Tyler was ready to jump at the offer, but I
made it clear to them I wanted to discuss this with Tyler and Emma and
that we would get back to them with a potential counter offer. I made it
extremely clear that I wasn t going to accept the contract as is, but they
didn t seem all that put out by it.
As we were walking out of the restaurant to the limo that was taking us
back to The Beverly Hills Hotel, Tyler was almost hopping around like
a puppy on amphetamines and frankly a little buzzed on the drinks he d
partaken of. When we got in the limo, things got a little uncomfortable.
"Dude," Tyler said as he settled back into the seat across from Emma
and me. His eyes were a little glassy. "You and I need to meet on this
tonight. We ll order room service or something; go over everything
again and decide how to go back at them."
Again, he was rudely excluding Emma from those discussions.
I was shaking my head before he even got all the words out. "Not
tonight. I m taking Emma out to dinner."
Of course, Emma s head snapped my way as this was news to her. I just
smiled back at her and shrugged my shoulders. "Taking you out on a
real date."
Her eyes sparkled and she gave me a huge smile, both of us completely
oblivious to the anger brewing across the way from us.
"You got to be fucking kidding me," Tyler said as he leaned forward
and glared at me. "We don t have time for that crap. This is way more
important than taking your current squeeze out."
My head turned slowly toward Tyler, and he shrank back from the
thunderous look on my face. I literally felt Emma almost shrink inward
over being referred to as my "current squeeze". My voice was low and
hard, but well controlled when I said, "I m going to assume that the
three vodka tonics you had at lunch is what s responsible for what you
just said, but in case it s not, and it s just because you re an asshole, I m
warning you... you better back the fuck off where she's concerned."

Yeah. the limo ride was uncomfortable after that. Emma wasn t sitting
that close to me, but she scooted even further away to look out the
window as we drove down Sunset Boulevard. Tyler didn t apologize
but he didn t say anything else, settling down into a sulk.
And I sat there and fumed over his behavior, disgusted with how badly
he wanted this deal with Phoenix. It appalled me and frankly, it hurt,
because he knows damn well it s not in line with what I want as an
artist. But he s letting money take over his reasoning and that s become
more important to him than my happiness. I imagine that might happen
with a lot of managers or agents, but it fucking grates since Tyler s my
friend first and foremost.
Or at least I thought.
I hear the bathroom door open, and Emma appears from the short
hallway that separates the living area of the suite from the master
bedroom. Just the sight of her and I let all of those nasty feelings go,
deciding there s no room for that shit tonight.
Tonight, it s about that woman right there.
I push up from the couch and walk to her. She stands there nervously
chewing on her lip as I approach, and while she s definitely come out of
her shell a lot, I still dig that part of her that s still a bit repressed and
unsure.
Taking her hands, I do a slow perusal down her body. She s wearing a
simple black, sleeveless dress that s cut low in the front and even lower
in the back. It hugs her body, comes just above her knees, and she s
paired it with those same strappy sandals I made her keep on her feet
that first time we fucked on that glass table. They re kind of sentimental
to me now.
"You look amazing," I tell her when my eyes come back up to meet
hers.
And she s just Emma.
She blushes and drops her gaze.
My hand goes to her chin, raises it up so she looks at me, and I ask her,
"You have no idea, do you?" "About what?" she whispers. "How
beautiful you are?"

"I'm not—"
"So fucking beautiful," I cut her off. "So goddamn sexy, and you
haven't a fucking clue, which makes you all the more sexy and
beautiful. You don t need makeup or fancy clothes. You just have this
thing going on that makes your type of beauty absolutely untouchable.
"Evan—" she breathes out shakily in almost an admonishing tone that I
d pay her such compliments.
So I kiss her to shut off whatever self-deprecating remark she was
getting ready to make. I kiss her long enough and slow enough that she
forgets whatever she was about to say to me.
♦
"You know, this is the first date I ve been on in a really, really long
time," I tell Emma as I push the dessert plate way from me. I m fucking
stuffed and mellow.
She grins at me as she toys with her crème brûlée. "That's because you
ve been only doing anonymous one-night stands, right?"
I laugh, because she's silly, but then tell her, "Emma... just because that
was my lifestyle doesn t mean it was the one I wanted. It s hard to find
a connection with someone when you re in this business. Everyone
wants something from you, and it s hard to find genuine people. So
sometimes, it s just easier to put that barrier up and not try to get to
know someone."
"Sounds lonely," she observes.
"Hasn t felt that way the last few weeks."
She blushes.
So Emma.
Her gaze drops to her dessert again, and she plays around with
punching the end of her spoon through the caramelized crust. Without
looking back up at me, she says, "This thing between us. I m not sure I
understand it."
"What do you mean?"
With a sigh, she puts her spoon down and looks across the table at me.
"This is just weird. I mean. you re this famous rock star, and I m this
nobody little attorney who really doesn t know what she s doing half

the time, and honestly, Evan. there is just no reason you should be
interested in someone like me. You need like a super model or
something on your arm."
"I like who I have on my arm just fine," I tell her.
She doesn t believe me. I can see it in her eyes. "But. it s just sex, right?
I mean, you saw a girl who I suppose you re attracted to and we re
sharing space together, and you got me to take a risk. And well. we had
sex, and it s just an adventure, right? That s what you told me that first
night. For me to do something crazy and impulsive, and well. I did.
And we re still doing it, and I m not sure what this is now."
God. she s adorable and pathetic at the same time, and I don t mean that
in a bad way. It s just that Emma can t quite seem to understand that she
s very intriguing just as she is, and any guy would be amazingly lucky
to have a crack at her. She also seems to forget. I m just a dude too. I
write and play rock music for a living, but that s not all there is to me.
"So, you know Midge has never been married, right?" I tell her in an
abrupt change of subject, but to something that is ultimately relevant.
She blinks at me in surprise and slowly says, "I think I heard that."
"Sad, really," I say with a nod. "She was in love with the founding
partner of Knight & Payne and they had a passionate affair, but he was
married and wouldn t leave his wife. When he died, she never again
found love."
Emma's eyes soften. "That's so sad."
"Totally sad," I agree with her. "And I grew up spending a great deal of
time with Midge. Weekends, summers, and holidays when my parents
were traveling. I got an up close and personal view of what a woman
looks like who has the capacity to love but doesn t have what she
wants."
Emma doesn t say anything, but she looks completely lost. So I
enlighten her.
"You remind me of Midge. Granted, you don t have the sad tale of a
doomed affair—at least I don't think you do from what I know—but
you re a woman who s actually built for a wild and passionate
relationship. You re about as genuine as it gets, and I m not quite sure

why you could even doubt that I would be interested in that. Why you
don t think I deserve that?"
"Evan—"
"I ve watched Midge pine after a man who was dead my entire life,
because she was afraid to take another risk," I continue. "And I think it
s because she honestly didn t think she was worth anything more. She
wasn t good enough for the man she loved to leave his wife. So she
buried herself in her work and behind books and behind a closed office
door to become a virtual recluse—and you know I m right about
that—because she didn t want to take the risk again. She was a very
lonely woman."
"But she—"
"So when I told you to take a risk and do something daring and
impulsive," I say, coming to my conclusion. "It wasn t just so I could
fuck you. That was going to happen one way or the other. But it was so
that you would open yourself up entirely to something you probably
deserve and would never have the guts to reach out for."
Emma stares at me a moment, her face inscrutable. I wait for her to
process, and for her to understand, that this isn t just sex to me.
She lowers her eyes to her wineglass, perhaps contemplates another
sip, but then gives a cough to her throat and looks back to me. "You
said you think I deserve something," she says hesitantly. "But I don t
have the guts to reach for it."
"That's right."
"And that something would be you?" she asks for clarification.
"I m a fucking phenomenal catch," I tell her with a grin.
"And this is more than just sex to you?" she adds on, because she s still
not quite ready to believe.
"Not going to lie," I tell her with a wink. "The sex is beyond amazing.
But yeah. it s a bit more than that for me."
Emma takes a deep breath and when she lets it out, she smiles at me.
"Okay, then. I ll reach for it."
"That would be me you re reaching for, right?" I tease her, but my lungs
sort of seize up as I realize just how important her answer is.
"It would be you," she says with a laugh, and suddenly, I can

breathe easy again.

CHAPTER 136
Emma
I stand in a corner and assume a wallflower position. I force myself to
sip patiently at my wine rather than gulp it down for fortification
because while I m starting to get the hang of really high heels, I m not
the best at them and I'm pretty sure I can't manage them if I'm drunk.
Taking a peek down at the brick-red pumps on my feet, I turn my leg
slightly and admire the five-inch heels. Crocodile Christian Louboutin
pointed-toe Pigalle pumps with stiletto heel, and did I mention they re
five-inches high? I resist the urge to slip my foot out and admire the
designer s signature above the word "Paris" on the inside leather sole,
and instead think back to this afternoon when Evan treated me to a few
hours of shopping on Rodeo Drive.
Of course, I protested at first, but then he kissed me and told me he
wanted to buy me pretty things, and pointed out that is what guys did
for their girls. So yeah... my heart sort of tripped over itself and it
totally lent credibility to Evan s claims of the night before that he
viewed me as something more than just sex. So I let him buy me this
kick-ass black dress that I wasn't so sure of but he talked me into, along
with the pumps and a matching brick red crocodile handbag.
The dress is by far the sexiest, most revealing thing I ve ever had on my
body, and that s even including the lingerie that Evan s given me. The
strapless top comes horizontally straight across my chest with
absolutely no plunge, which doesn t seem sexy at first. But when you
consider that there s a two-inch swath of material missing from the
dress that runs vertically right down the center of my chest to my belly
button, you think differently. The wide gap of missing material is held
together with big, gold buttons running down on each edge, with
leather ties stretched tightly across and wound around the buttons. This
causes my breasts to be pulled in and pushed up, creating rounded
swells inside that gap of material that actually is a bit lewd. The dress
then hugs every

curve of my body going down to just above my knees, but there s a long
slit up the back that sort of freaks me out. I'm terrified people can see
my panties it goes up so high.
But Evan fell in love with the dress when I tried it on, and confessed to
me in the limo as we went back to the hotel that he had a terrible time
resisting the urge to pull me into one of the dressing rooms and fucking
me from behind with the dress pulled up around my hips. I shudder
now even thinking about it, because while that did not occur, he
promised me it would happen when we left this party tonight.
So the party is being held at the president of Phoenix Record s house in
Beverly Hills, a massive stucco and red-tiled monstrosity that is as
large as a hotel. When we pulled up, my mouth was hanging open so
wide an owl could have flown in if one so desired.
I ve often wondered how this would all work if Evan and I were to
continue seeing each other. While I feel like I adjusted to the concert
tour quite nicely, I'm not sure I'm cut out for this type of lifestyle.
Everyone here is so stunningly beautiful and so obviously rich, it
makes me feel completely inadequate as a person. I mean, I had no clue
what a Christian Louboutin shoe was before today, and I about had a
heart attack when I saw the $1200 price tag on them. I look around the
large room, which has to be at least three thousand square feet, and
what I assume is sort of a ballroom, and I don t see one single person
who isn t stunningly gorgeous. The men all have tanned skin, rock-hard
jaws, and fit bodies. The women are all tall, thin, and have amazing
breasts variously revealed in their designer dresses. Eyebrows perfectly
plucked, lips full and glossed, and diamonds dripping everywhere.
It s hard to compete with that and is the reason why this wall is my best
friend. I lost sight of Evan about ten minutes ago when the president of
Phoenix came over and stole him. I got the old, "You don t mind if I
steal Evan away and introduce him to some people, do you?"
What was I going to say?
I'm sorry, but no... you can't have him. I'm terrified of everything about
this situation and I only feel adequate when he's by my side?
So I just nodded politely and luckily grabbed a glass of wine from a
passing waiter. I found my friend, the wall here, and we re having a

grand ol time watching everyone around us.
"I don t get it," I hear from beside me, and I turn to see Tyler standing
there. He s not even looking at me, but out over the crowd with his
signature vodka tonic in his hand.
For a brief moment, I think he might be warming up to me and is here
to make pleasant conversation. So I inquire, "Get what?"
Tyler takes a gulp of his drink and then tilts his face to look at me with
thinly veiled dislike. "What Evan sees in you."
My body jolts from the insult, and my initial instinct is to shrink
backward into the wall and become more invisible. I ve never had
someone have such overt antipathy for me, and I m not sure how to
handle it. I don t like confrontation, which is why I m the type of lawyer
who prefers reading and researching versus litigating.
Tyler doesn t miss the fact I ve started to curl inward, unable to defend
myself or my worth at this point in the face of his antagonism. I see a
gleam form in his eyes that I imagine would be the same as a lion s that
is ready to pounce on the gazelle. I brace for another insult, but he
throws me majorly off balance when he turns his attention across the
room and nods.
I turn my head and look, spotting Evan talking to three women. On its
face, he s doing nothing more than talking to them. They re all tall and
gorgeous with California sunny looks, blinding white teeth, and perfect
bodies. They could be runway models, and actually, they probably are.
They stand in a closed, intimate circle and Evan says something that
has all three of them laughing.
Tyler leans over and murmurs to me, "That s the life Evan loves. He s a
little infatuated with you now, but don t mistake it for anything long
lasting. I can guarantee you that if you weren t here with him, he d be
balls deep in all three of those girls before the sun came up tomorrow. I
mean. how could you ever compete with that?"
A wave of dark, gray depression sweeps through me as I compare
myself to what s in front of Evan right now, and for the first time, I m
thinking Tyler is being honest with me. And now that little circle of
people talking doesn t look quite so innocent to me. In fact, the two
women to the left and right of Evan are standing intimately close to
him.

He s got his attention on the woman in front of him as she says
something, and he s absolutely intrigued by whatever it is. His attention
is focused like a hawk's, and I'm wondering if perhaps she's making
him an offer that he doesn t want to refuse, but will have to because he
s here with me.
"You re not cut out for this, Emma," Tyler says, the surety in his voice
slicing through me. "I hope to hell you realize that or else you re in a
world of hurt when Evan finally has to break the news to you."
A low hum of dismay bubbles in my throat, but I refuse to let it out.
Instead, I turn to Tyler and hand him my wineglass. With as much
bravery as I can muster—which isn t much because I feel like
shattering—I tell him, "I think I ll be going now."
Tyler s lips curl into a satisfied, victorious smile as he nods. "Just ask
for Evan s limo when you get outside. It will get you back to the hotel.
It will even take you to the airport if you want to catch a red-eye out of
here."
Yes, that sounds like a good plan.
Without another word to Tyler, I walk carefully in my five-inch heels
across the marble floor. Out of the party. Out of that house I had no
business being in. Into the limo, and then back to the hotel.
Throughout this entire time, I don t even shed a single tear, because
what I ve come to realize is that Emma Peterson is far more pragmatic
than she is emotional. Even though I feel a hollow emptiness right in
the center of my chest, I absolutely refuse to give into it. I can t be mad
at Evan because he s not done a damn thing wrong. I can t be mad at
Tyler for telling me the truth and really just verifying what I maybe
already thought tonight.
That I don t belong in this world.
The only one I can be mad at is myself, for even daring to believe I
could have something with Evan. But even then, it s hard to be too mad.
I mean, for the past few weeks, I ve had the most amazing and
wondrous journey of my life. I ve experienced feelings and sensations I
ll probably never feel again, and I took a fucking major risk putting
myself out there.
I try to remember that. I should be proud.
I should be grateful for what I had for a short time.

And even as I say that, my eyes well up with tears. "Keep it together,
Emma," I mutter to myself as I stalk through the hotel suite and back to
the master bedroom.
My mind is spinning as I try to figure out what the hell I need to
do.
1. Get changed.
2. Get packed.
3. Get to the bus at the arena and grab Sirius.
4. Figure a way back to North Carolina. I can afford a plane ticket for
me, but I' m not sure how to handle Sirius. I' m assuming dogs can fly,
but I really have no idea. So...
5. Call my dad and get his advice.
I manage to get number one on my list completed, carefully taking off
the expensive dress and hanging it in the closet, as well as putting the
shoes back in the box they came in. Perhaps Evan can return them and
get his money back. I pull on a pair of jeans and a summery blouse,
along with a pair of flat sandals, and then turn my attention to number
two.
I manage to get my suitcase on the bed and opened before I hear the
suite door open with such ferocity it bangs off the wall, causing me to
jump.
"Emma," Evan calls out and he sounds pissed.
I furiously grab clothes out of a small dresser and turn to the suitcase by
the time he enters the bedroom. His face is thunderous as he takes in
what I m wearing and the fact that I m packing.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he grits out.
"Going back home," I say as I dump my clothes in the suitcase and start
to zip it. I think there s another drawer full, but I m prepared to leave
them behind.
"Why?" he clips out.

I absolutely refuse to look at him, but I manage to say in a semi-calm
voice, "Because you don t need me here anymore, and well. it s just the
right time."
His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, forcing me to turn and face him.
"Try again. I nearly lost my mind when I couldn t find you, and Tyler
said he hadn t seen you. When I realized the limo was gone, I grabbed a
cab and came here, and I find you packing to leave. And you probably
weren t even going to say good-bye. So try again, Emma and tell me
what the fuck is going on?"
I m not in the least surprised Tyler played stupid with Evan. I m sure he
wasn't about to admit it was his words that drove me out of there. And
now, I could easily throw him under the bus and tell Evan exactly what
happened at that party.
But I don t, and I don t because I m leaving and Evan will need Tyler. I
have to hope that Tyler truly does have his friend s best interests at
heart, even if he doesn t care about Evan s personal life. I ve got to hope
that he will at least look after Evan s business interests.
I also don t tell Evan the truth of what happened at that party because it
would be admitting that I m absolutely pathetic because I let Tyler
manipulate me. I fell prey to weakness.
So, I take a deep breath, let it out, and tell Evan at least part of the truth.
"I m not cut out for this. That party. it was awful. I hated it, and I hated
watching those women fawn all over you. I hated feeling insecure
while those women fawned all over you, and I hated that you would be
all over those women had I not been there."
"What in the hell are you talking about?" he growls at me, his arm
tightening just a tad.
"Those three women you were talking to," I snap back at him, feeling
the need to defend myself. "You know. big hair, tiny dresses, oozing
sex at you. And you, laughing with them and being all intrigued by
them."
"You re jealous?" he asks incredulously, his eyebrows knitted together.
"Yes, goddamn it," I shout at him. He actually jolts over my language,
because that was beyond foul for me. "And that will be your

life from now on, and I can t compete with that. I don t want to compete
with that."
"I was just talking to them," Evan says quietly as his shoulders sag.
"One of them was the daughter of the one of the Phoenix execs, and she
is in her second year at Duke. We were talking about the
Raleigh-Durham area. She has a boyfriend who s in med school there."
Well, crap. That makes me feel absolutely stupid.
So stupid, I can t even think what to say, so I lower my gaze and stare at
the carpet.
"Emma," Evan says softly, but I don t look at him. "You have to trust
me."
At that, my head flies up and my eyebrows draw together. "I do trust
you," I say flatly, because it s true. I never doubted Evan, specifically
tonight. So I get to the real issue. "I just don t trust myself."
"Come again?" he asks.
I huff another breath out and try to explain. "I don t trust myself to be
able to handle all of this. You re freaking Evan Scott. You have a legion
of adoring female fans. It s just so overwhelming to me, and I don t like
feeling badly about myself."
"I don't like you feeling badly about yourself either," Evan mutters as
he pulls me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head, and I can t help
but press into him tight. "And I don t want legions of adoring female
fans. I only want you, Emma. Why can t you see that? I don t get why
you can t trust that about me."
"I don't know," I say pitifully into his chest. "I'm just so out of my
element here. I m so unsure, and I m scared, and I absolutely hated it
when you left me alone tonight. Why would you want someone so
insecure? Someone who can't handle herself at a party?"
I feel a chuckle rumble through Evan, and he squeezes me. "Babe. if it
makes you feel any better, I hate that shit too. I hated getting pulled
away from you, because you re like a damn security blanket for me. I m
just as wigged out by these things as you are. I m trying to figure this
shit out too."
This surprises me, and I pull my head back to peer up at him. His
green-golden eyes are soft and beautiful as he gazes back down at me.

"Really?" I ask.
"Really," he tells me. "I mean... I love playing music, and recording it,
and I ve come to love being on that stage. But up there, I m still
removed from it all, you know what I mean? What I don t like is having
to play these games. Of having to politic with people, and figure out
who wants to take a chunk out of me and who doesn t. And the only
thing I know for sure is that you, Emma. you don t want to take a piece
of my fame. You just want me."
That s true.
So very, very true.
"That helps," I admit quietly. "To know you have some of the same
insecurities."
"This is all new to me," he says. "This business is new, and this
relationship is new. Both of which are unlike anything I ve ever
experienced before. But I m going to trust in this. I m going to trust that
it s all going to work out for both of us."
I let my head fall forward so it bumps into his chest, and I heave out a
sorrowful sigh. "I m so sorry. I handled this badly tonight."
"I kind of liked the jealousy though," Evan teases me.
"Liar," I tease back and look back up at him. "But I promise. I ll try to
be better at handling that."
He grins at me. "I m sure you will. Now can we have makeup
sex?"
"Absolutely," I say with a laugh, and then step into him for full-body
hug. "It s the only reason I left in the first place. For the makeup sex."
Evan gives a grunt of disbelief and picks me up. He turns and tosses me
onto the bed on the other side of my suitcase, then starts to crawl his
way over it toward me. "If you ever leave again without telling me, I m
going to tie you up and redden your backside."
A warm thrill of pleasure goes through me at the thought of that, and
whoa... I've never thought of being spanked as being sexy before.
Perhaps I need to be a little more disobedient in the future.

CHAPTER 144
Evan
I open my eyes, lift my head from the couch, and look past the sleeping
black dog at my feet.
Yup. Emma s still at her desk, face leaning toward the laptop, and
intently reading something.
With an internal sigh, I close my eyes again and try to take a nap. I ve
found that a quick twenty to thirty minutes of sleep the afternoon of a
show does wonders for my energy to keep me going. And while I ve
not found the couch on the bus to be any more comfortable than before,
and would probably be able to fall asleep if I just went back to the
bedroom, I don t want to miss an opportunity if Emma decides to take a
break from work.
If that is the case, then well. there is any number of things we could do.
Go for a walk. Drink a cup of coffee and talk. Or my preference. I could
take her back in the bedroom and fuck us both to an amazing orgasm.
But I ll take anything really.
After the last show tonight in L.A., we ll be moving on to San
Francisco, then off to Portland, then Denver, followed by Chicago.
While I m enjoying this concert tour immensely, I m really missing
Raleigh and a somewhat normal life. A life where perhaps Emma and I
can go on more dates. Where I can work on my music during the day
while she pours over contracts or some shit like that. At night, we could
cook dinner together, hang out, and watch TV, and well. of course, we
d fuck before going to sleep.
In the morning, I d cook her pancakes before work and send her dirty
texts during the day so she didn t get too buttoned up on me.
Fuck, I want those things a lot, and I didn t realize just how much that
lifestyle would appeal to me until Emma came into my life. I can even
see past that to perhaps marriage and children. Yeah. I can see a

lifetime with her for sure.
But for now, I'll settle for a bit of her time this afternoon, because I find
myself spending every moment together with her as an opportunity to
reassure her doubtful sensibilities. Emma trusts me, but I need her to
trust herself and what we have. So I need to continue to make sure she
sees what we have is the real deal.
"Evan," Emma says with excitement, and my eyes pop open to look at
her as my head rises up again.
She swivels the chair to face me and points back at her laptop. "We ve
got an offer to settle."
"The copyright case?" I ask as I push up to a sitting position, slightly
dislodging Sirius from my feet. The pup opens his sleepy eyes, yawns,
and then lays his head back down on his paws.
"Yes," she says as she throws a thumb over her shoulder at the laptop.
"The senior attorney just emailed me. He d received all of my
discovery requests I mailed last week and said that before he spent time
and his client s monies answering them, he wanted to make some effort
at settling."
"Did he say how much?"
She nods at me. "One hundred thousand."
"For each band member?" I ask to clarify.
She shakes her head. "Total. For all of them."
"Holy shit," I say in amazement. "You must have scared them shitless
with those questions you sent."
She grins at me, her cheeks flushed with excitement. For while a
hundred thousand dollars seems like a lot of money, it s really not. Not
compared to the millions I ve made off the songs in dispute. And Emma
and I have spent a lot of time talking about what I wanted to accomplish
with this lawsuit, and first and foremost was my integrity and that of
my music. I was never going to admit that they held the copyright with
me to the creation of the music.
But it didn t mean I wasn t willing to offer some money to make them
go away, with a confidentiality requirement demanding the suit be
dismissed with absolutely no discussion as to the terms of the
settlement or if there even was a settlement.

"What about the confidentiality clause?" I ask.
"They ve agreed to it," she says, her smile beaming brighter.
"You are fucking amazing," I say in awe, because no doubt they re
offering to settle because of Emma s well-crafted questions. She did so
much research and knew the elements they d need to prove their case so
well, she was able to hone in with incredible specificity on all the ways
in which they d fail to meet their burden. Their attorneys know when
they answer those questions, the case is going to collapse.
"Well, not really," she sort of mumbles with her gaze dropping down.
"You re fucking amazing," I reiterate firmly, and then I nod my head
toward her computer. "So jump on it. Write him back and tell him we ll
pay it."
"I think we should make a counter offer," Emma says as her head tilts
back up and she gets a little competitive gleam in her eyes. "I mean. if
one hundred thousand is their original offer, I m sure they d accept
less."
Pushing up from the couch, I walk over to Emma and pull her up from
her chair. Smiling down at her, I say, "Look at you. just itching for a
legal fight, aren t you?"
She gives me a sheepish smile. "It is kind of fun knowing they re on the
run."
Laughing, I tug on her hand and turn to the bedroom, leading her down
the short hallway. "We ll pay the offer to just be done with it."
She tugs back and I stop, looking over my shoulder at her. "Well. I
should email him back then."
I pull on her hand until she walks right into me. Wrapping my arms
around her waist, I bend my head to give her a quick kiss before saying,
"Let them stew a bit. And we'll go 'celebrate' this win in the bedroom."
I expect her to laugh, and for her eyes to sparkle with desire and
mischief, but she just looks back at me solemnly. "Once that case is
finished, you don t need me anymore."
And fuck. a pain stabs me in the center of my chest at the thought.
"Well, maybe we should hold off for a few days. Well, maybe for a few
weeks."

"A few weeks would be good," she says upon a soft breath, and it gets
me right in the goods—by that I mean my heart—that she wants to stay
with me on tour as much as I want her to. The woman who couldn t
wait to get back to Raleigh to take a new job doing contract law wants
to travel the country with a rock star.
It takes nothing but a few moments to get Emma into the bedroom, shut
the door on Sirius face before he can come in, and get her naked. She s
riding high on her achievement, feeling the burst of confidence that
comes with it, and looks like she could handle something a bit dirtier
than what we normally do.
This thought causes me to go achingly hard, and I make quick work of
getting her ready.
This means I instruct her to get on the bed on her hands and knees,
facing the top of the bed where a headboard would normally be. Of
course, there s not one, just the ledge to the large window in the back of
the bus.
I can actually see her body trembling with anticipation, perhaps a little
bit of unease, as she positions her naked body as I ask, and then looks
back at me over her shoulder.
Christ. I could bust a nut just at the way she looks right now.
So trusting but not without adventure in her look.
I take a moment and pull open the top drawer of a built-in dresser on
the adjacent wall, rummage around, and pull out two ties. Why I
brought them on tour with me isn t as nefarious as you might think. I
had no intention of using them for anything else other than to dress up a
suit in case the occasion called for me to wear one.
But now. they re going to get put to better use.
I walk up to the edge of the bed. "Give me your wrist."
Emma eyes the ties in my hand warily, but she immediately complies,
rising up to just her knees. I tie her wrist in one silk tie, and then secure
the other end of it to a lighted wall sconce to the left of the window. Her
eyes flare wide when she gives it a tug and finds some play in it but that
it does have a limit to how far she can move.
"Don t pull too hard," I warn her. "Those things aren t all that secure."

"Oh," she says as she lets her arm go lax.
I give her a wicked smile. "And trust me. what I m going to do to you.
you re going to want to pull hard."
Emma s face flushes and her nipples tighten.
Which makes me take the short route to get her other wrist secured. I
crawl across the bed behind Emma, pressing my clothed body up
against her naked one. She shivers and, without me even asking, offers
her other wrist. I chuckle and tie it up, murmuring, "There s my
adventurous girl."
Once it s secured to the other sconce, I take a moment to lean back and
examine my handiwork. Emma on her knees in the center of the bed
with her arms spread wide as if she s praying to the heavens.
I scoot in closer to her and bend my head, placing my lips on her
shoulder. I kiss her, then tell her softly, "So many things I can do to you
in this position."
Her body shudders violently and her head falls back to rest on my
shoulder. "Evan," she whispers as a plea in response.
"Spread your legs for me," I tell her as my hands go to her hips to give
her some stability.
She shuffles and does as I request, and now she s spread obscenely in
front of me.
"You look stunning," I praise her as I scuttle backward off the bed. Her
head turns to look at me, and I give her a salacious smile as I strip out of
my clothes.
When I m completely naked, cock harder than a rock, I grab a condom
from the dresser and roll it on. Turning back to Emma, I tell her, "Turn
your face forward."
A small huff comes out of her mouth, but she turns to look at the
window, which is covered by closed blinds. Her hands open and close
reflexively, and she squirms slightly on her knees.
I crawl back onto the bed toward her, and when I reach that perfectly
curved ass, I lie on the bed and turn over onto my back. Before Emma
can get her bearings, I scoot backward until my head goes in between
her legs, then I m staring up at her pussy and just beyond that, her
breasts. And just beyond that, Emma looks down at me with surprise

in her eyes.
"Thought I was going to fuck you from behind, didn t you?" I say with
a devilish grin. She nods quietly.
"Don t worry," I tell her as my hands slide up and over her ass. "I m
going to. But right now, I want you to lower down onto my face."
"Evan," she stammers in shock.
Curving my hands around, I take her by the hips and exert pressure
down. She resists me for a moment, so I cajole her in the best way I
know how. "Do it, Emma. Ride my face. You know you want to."
"Oh, God," she moans, still resisting.
"You got to know, baby," I tell her, my voice dipping very low. "I want
it too. Want to make you feel so good."
"Evan," she says again, this time in breathless capitulation, and then
she lowers herself toward me.
She's a good girl though, considerate of me, which I find adorable. She
hovers just over my mouth, making me lift my head so I can give her a
tiny lick. Emma cries out and her hips tilt involuntarily, even as she
rises upward.
"Get back down here," I growl at her, and just to keep her completely
off balance, I slip a finger into her. She s drenched and my dick leaps in
ferocious need to be inside of her.
Timidly, Emma lowers again, and I begin.
One hand on her hip to hold her tight, the other now with two fingers
inside of her, and my lips and tongue focused on her clit. If my fingers
weren t in the way, I d be jabbing my tongue deep inside of her, but as it
is, it s plenty busy working her to an orgasm.
Emma cries, and then she curses—which is so not Emma—and her
hips start moving so she rides my fingers. I growl in pleasure as her
taste overwhelms my senses, and she becomes more and more frantic
to get
off.
I love teasing Emma and building her up slowly, but frankly right now,
I need her to come fast, because I do indeed want to fuck her from
behind while she s tied up, and my dick wants it more.
"Evan. I m close," she moans.

I raise my head, pull my fingers out of her, and grab hold of her hips
tightly. Pulling her hard to my face, I clamp my lips onto her clit and
give her a repetitive, gentle suck.
By the third one, she s coming all over my face as she screams out her
release, and my lips let go so I can smile over my accomplishment.
And I don t gentle her down. I release her, scoot out from under her
body, and scramble to my knees behind her. Hands back to her hips, I
pull her back slightly so her ass is angled prettily. Fisting my cock, I
bring it to her pussy and press the tip into her with just a slight flex of
my hips.
"Ooh," Emma moans as I slowly slide into her. And fuck yeah... this
right here. So goddamn tight, wet, and hot, and this is going to be quick
and hard and rough. But she can take it.
I ve come to learn that Emma can handle pretty much anything that s
thrown at her, including my heart. ♦
"I should get back to work," Emma murmurs. I released her from the
ties over twenty minutes ago, took care of the condom, and then pulled
her into my arms. We ve been just lying here quietly, our breathing
back even and the sweat on our bodies dried off. I d half expected her to
fall asleep, but I m wired.
That was some intense shit we just did and rather than wear me out, it
invigorated me to know Emma still has all kinds of boundaries I can
push.
"You don t have any work to do," I remind her. "Once you send that
email ending the copyright case, there s nothing to do until I make a
decision about Phoenix or we have a press conference."
"Hmm," she agrees lazily, and then I grin silently when she says, "I
suppose we could have sex again."
I laugh because I ve created a monster. Turning to look at the clock on
the dresser, I observe, "We do have at least an hour before I have to be
over at sound check."
"Lots of stuff we can do in an hour," she ponders.

Yup. totally invigorated, and I think I m ready to go again. But before I
can roll over on top of her, my phone rings. I recognize Midge s ring
tone.
With a sigh, I roll away from Emma and grab my jeans off the floor,
fishing my phone out. When I connect, I say drily, "You have
impeccable timing, Aunt Midge."
I expect her to laugh and demand to know what I m talking about,
because we share the same wit. Hell, my wit is patterned off hers.
Instead, I go cold when she says, "Evan. I m calling about Emma s
father."
My eyes cut to Emma as she lies on the bed, smiling at me softly.
"What s wrong?" I ask, although I can tell by the tone of her voice that
I m going to need to get Emma on a flight back East as soon as possible.

CHAPTER 152
Emma
I take a deep breath as I look at the electronic sliding doors of Rex
Hospital s patient tower. I m exhausted, and I feel grungy from the long
flight across the country. It s almost eight AM, and I came straight here
from the airport via a taxi.
Releasing my hold on my small carry-on suitcase, I reach into my purse
and pull out my phone. I shoot a quick text off to Evan.
Made it. Getting ready to go into the hospital. Will update later.
I hit send and then drop the phone back into my purse, square my
shoulders, and grab the handle of my rolling case. Halfway through my
first confident stride to the doors, which cause them to open, my phone
rings.
Evan.
I once again release the handle of my suitcase so I can grab my phone.
Stabbing at the connect button, I take a step back from the doors so they
can slide closed.
"What are you doing awake?" is the first thing I say into the phone,
because it s only five AM in California and I know damn well Evan
probably just went to sleep a few hours ago.
"We pulled into San Francisco about an hour ago, and Red and I went
out for a very early breakfast," he says softly. "We couldn t sleep."
"I m sorry," I murmur back. I know he has to be exhausted.
"We re worried about you," he returns.
"Well, don t be," I assure him. "I called Dad as soon as I landed and he
sounds good. I m going to go up and hopefully talk to the doctor on
morning rounds, and I ll let you know what s going on."
"Okay. I miss you."
"Miss you too," I whisper back. "Now try to get some sleep." "Okay,
babe," he says, and I disconnect.
And God. how I miss him. Gone less than twelve hours and

already I m yearning to get back to Evan. To life on the road. With a
rock star. Law practice be damned.
What in the hell has happened to me?
With shoulders squared once more, I march into the hospital a woman
on a mission. To verify for myself that my dad is okay, figure out what
we need to do to get him back on his feet, and then figure out my life.
While I still technically had another week promised to Evan for our
original thirty-day agreement to tour with him, he asked me a very
important question just before I left.
He couldn t take me to the airport as he had a little thing called a
concert he had to give, but he had me wrapped up in a very tight hug as
a taxi idled nearby, one that Tyler had apparently arranged along with
my
flight.
"I want you to come back as soon as you can," he murmured against my
ear.
I didn't hesitate in the slightest. "Okay."
"And I want you to stay for the entire tour," he added on.
Again, no hesitation. My heart was making quick decisions for me.
"Okay."
So it seems I m going to be touring with Evan for the next few months,
and I have no clue in what capacity. I m assuming girlfriend, but
perhaps I ll still work for him. We ll have to iron out those details.
I make my way to the fourth floor—the cardiac unit—and start looking
for his room.
4005.
My dad assured me all was well and ordered that I was not to worry
about him when I talked to him last night while waiting for my flight to
board. Turns out, Dad went into work that morning and after about an
hour, started having some chest pain.
He ignored it.
It didn t go away.
He also started feeling a bit nauseated and the pain got worse. He
popped an aspirin, but ignored it a little longer. Only after he
mentioned the chest pain to Midge did he go to the emergency room. It
was at her insistence, and I owe her a huge debt of

gratitude for making him go.
Turns out, he had two blockages in his heart—which freaked me
out—but they were able to put stents in—which alleviated some of my
alarm, and it appears that s corrected the problem without the need for
bypass surgery.
It seems as if all is going to be well, and my dad sounded strong and
jovial when I talked to him a bit ago after I landed.
After a few turns down various corridors, I locate room 4005 and give a
soft knock to announce my presence just before I push the door open.
The first thing that greets me is the sound of feminine laughter, and as I
step in past the door, I immediately see Midge Payne sitting in a chair
next to the bed. With a brief glance, I note she s as beautiful as ever,
completely polished and regal looking even in faded jeans, a pair of
loafers with a low heel, and a mint-green sleeveless blouse that
showcases youthful looking arms despite her age.
My gaze slides left and my dad s there, beaming up at me. "There she
is," he exclaims exuberantly, and I have to admit. he looks damn good.
I can t believe he was on the verge of a heart attack just yesterday, but
his cheeks are colored and his eyes are bright.
"Welcome back, Emma," Midge says as she stands from her chair. In a
move so shocking I m actually dizzy for a moment, she takes two
strides over to me and gives me a hug. "I know you were really worried
about your dad and this has been really stressful on you the last several
hours."
I can do nothing but nod numbly as she releases me.
I watch as she steps back, cuts a glance to my dad that s warm and
caring, and I note my dad gives her the same look in return.
"Okay, what in the hell is going on here?" I ask with narrowed eyes on
my dad.
His head snaps my way and a look of guilt crosses his face. "What do
you mean?"
"I mean," I drawl with exaggeration, "what is going on between you
two?"
I m met with dead silence, but a quick glance to Midge shows me

there's not an ounce of guilt on her face, just slight amusement.
"I know there s something going on," I say stubbornly, looking directly
at my dad as I dare him to not give me the truth. "I mean. Midge came
with you to the hospital, and she s still here now, and you just gave each
other 'the look,' and I know something's going on."
"There s nothing—" my dad starts to say, but Midge cuts him off.
"Oh, just go ahead and tell her, Cary," Midge says with a wave of her
hand his way. "Emma s a smart girl and a tough cookie. She can handle
it."
"Handle what?" I grit out, slightly annoyed that Midge is even involved
in this conversation but not taking my eyes off my dad.
Finally, he lifts his chin with determination and admits, "Midge and I
are seeing each other."
My eyebrows shoot sky high, even though I suspected something like
this in the last few minutes after I saw 'the look'. "How long?"
"Just a few months," my dad says guardedly, and his tone of voice
makes my chest tighten. I realize he s afraid I ll be mad that he s dating.
That is totally not what annoys me. With a huff, I say, "Dad. it s totally
okay if you see someone. Mom s been gone almost a year and she
wouldn t want you to be alone."
"But you re pissed," he surmises.
"No," I say slowly. "I m annoyed you kept it from me. Seriously. I'm an
adult. I can handle stuff like this."
"Honey," my dad points out the obvious. "You were really close to
your mom."
I resist the temptation to say the word "duh" in return, and instead say,
"I was. But I love you too and I want you to be happy."
And maybe that s because I might be in love too, so I want everyone to
feel the same and be happy.
A warm, tingling feeling of contentment fills me and yeah. I might be
in love with Evan.
With a relieved smile, my dad holds his arms out to me and says, "Then
how about getting over here and giving your old man a hug."
A sideways glance at Midge, and I m surprised to see a gentle smile on
her face. I d never equate the word "gentle" and "Midge"

together, yet that s what I get.
I smile back at her, figuring I ll deal with what this all means—my dad
dating my boss who s probably a good fifteen years old than him—at a
later time.
Instead, I hurry to the bed and give my dad a long hug.
♦
"And oh my God... you should see the way they look at each other," I
say into the phone as I absently stir my coffee. "It s like they re all
googly-eyed at each other."
Evan laughs into the phone and damn. I miss that sound so much. It
doesn t sound nearly as nice over a phone as it does in person though.
"I should write a song about it," he says with a chuckle. "I ll call it The
Googly-Eyed Song."
Evan didn t seem all that surprised when I filled him in on my dad and
Midge. I d come down to the hospital cafeteria for some coffee to help
perk me up, and left my dad under the watchful but warm eye of Midge,
who didn t seem to have any desire to leave the hospital. After I d
settled into a booth, I d called Evan and updated him on everything.
"So did you know about them?" I ask with some slight suspicion as I
think back on the fact he didn t seem surprised.
"Not at all," he says firmly. "But honestly. it makes sense now."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, that Midge sent you over to the jail when I got called in for
questioning," he returns. "She knew you d intrigue me and the only
way she d know that was by knowing you. And Midge doesn t know
most of those attorneys in her firm. She s too reclusive, so that must
have been your dad talking about you all the time or something."
That does make sense. "I suppose," I hedge. But it is hard to accept that
Midge would do something like that for me. I mean. I was a nobody in
her firm.
And as if thinking about her causes her to materialize, I see her walking
across the cafeteria right for me, and my belly flips with nervousness.
"Oh shit," I whisper into the phone. "Midge is coming this way. I gotta
go."

Evan laughs into the phone. "Relax, babe. She s a pussy cat."
Uh, no. A tigress with very sharp claws, but I don t say that to him.
Instead, I mutter, "Talk later" before I hang up on him.
Midge s eyes are knowing when she slips into the booth across from
me, setting a cup of coffee down before her. "Talking to Evan?"
"Um. yeah," I say vaguely, because as far as I know. Midge doesn t
know anything about Evan and me.
"I can see how much you miss him," she says offhandedly, and I
realize. clearly she does know something.
"We get along very well," I say elusively.
"You care for him very much," she counters with a raised eyebrow.
With a huff, I say, "Fine. I care about him a lot." "As he does you," she
says, and my belly now flutters with happiness.
"He told you about us?" I ask her hesitantly.
She gives a shake of her head. "No. But I recognized that look on your
face just now, because it seems I have that same look when I think
about your father. And when I talked to Evan yesterday to let him know
about your father. well, the worry in his voice for you was a dead
giveaway."
"Oh," I say softly, thinking she s able to understand quite a bit just from
a brief glance at me and Evan's tone of voice to her.
"Do you have any questions?" she asks abruptly, and I jerk in surprise.
"Sorry?" I ask.
"About me and your dad," she provides. "I care about him a great
deal."
" U m . " I hesitate, because this is Midge Payne. My boss. And I am
not entitled to knowledge of her love life. But then I also think this is
my dad who lost his wife a year ago and is probably incredibly lonely. I
ve heard all the rumors about Midge floating around the firm that she s
cold hearted and sleeps with all the younger interns in the office
because she s only about the sex. "Actually. you ve never married.
Evan told me that. And well, I m afraid you might hurt my dad. It s my
understanding you ve never. um. well, you ve never—"

"—been in love since my first one died?" she provides helpfully. "Yes,
exactly," I murmur.
Midge places her forearms on the table and leans closer to me. "Not
once in the decades since I ve owned this law firm have I ever gone out
of my way to help one of my associate attorneys. I believe they should
earn every bit of advancement they get, and they need to struggle and
claw and scrape just the way I did."
I nod, because this is a known fact about Midge Payne.
"And yet," she says softly. "I see and hear and feel how much your
father loves you and wants you to be happy. And I also could see, hear,
and feel how much he was worried that perhaps you weren t. That
while you are clearly a very special woman, you seemed a little lost in
life. So I took it upon myself to give you a nudge. I sent you to that jail,
hoping you would see you have a lot in you. I also sent you to that jail
because I know my nephew and he is one of the most amazing,
talented, humble, and loving men I ve had the privilege of knowing,
and I thought he deserved something special too. I played matchmaker,
and I also played concerned senior partner for one of my associate
attorneys. And I did all of that, not really for you, but for your father.
So you see, Emma... I care about your dad a great deal. I d even go so
far as to say I might have found love again."
My entire being is reeling from her revelations, and I can only stare
stupidly at her with my jaw hanging low in complete and utter shock
she d share that with me.
Midge gives a little sniff of disapproval and says imperiously,
"Honestly, Emma. close your mouth before something flies into it."
My mouth snaps shut.
Midge gives me a mischievous smile.
And for the first time since I came to work for the all-powerful Midge
Payne. I don t feel intimidated by her. So I give her a hesitant smile
back.

CHAPTER 159
Evan
The doors of the bus hiss open, and I look up from the book I m
reading. My down time since Emma left sucks, and I m trying to fill it
with something to broaden my horizons. As such, I m just starting one
of her books she left behind called Marley & Me. It's about a dog and
that's all I know, although Emma told me it should give me greater
understanding into Sirius and his puppy antics.
My gaze goes briefly to the big, furry dog lying on my feet at the end of
the couch, and I begrudgingly admit he s growing on me even though
he ate the corner of the bedroom mattress yesterday.
I tilt my head far to the left to look over my shoulder and see Tyler
coming onto the bus. My body immediately goes tense with unease,
and I hate that I fucking feel this way in his presence now. Our
conversations are fairly limited, usually before each show, but
otherwise we stay out of each other s way, communicating by text if
necessary. Emma s been gone two days and this is the first time I ve
seen him.
"What's up?" I ask, trying to force civility into my tone. I think I
manage it because Tyler gives me a hesitant smile.
"Got time to talk?" he asks, pausing just at the top of the stairs.
"Sure," I say as I draw my legs out from under Sirius, who gives a grunt
and doesn t even wake up. I swing them to the side and sit upright on
the couch, giving a nod to one of the leather swivels across from me.
Turning the book upside to save my place, I watch as Tyler takes a seat.
He leans back, puts an ankle on his knees, and drums his fingers
nervously on the leather wrapped armrests.
"How s Emma s dad?" he asks, and I m slightly surprised by the
genuine tone in his question. Usually any question or comment about
Emma is short and clipped.
"He s doing very well," I tell him. "Got out of the hospital yesterday
and is taking a week or so off from work, but he s expected to

be just fine."
Tyler nods. "That's good. I'm glad."
There's a bit of an awkward silence, and we just stare at each other.
Tyler fidgets under my gaze for a moment, then seems to gather some
courage. He wraps his fingers around the edges of the armrests and
pulls himself up into an upright position. Leaning forward, he rests his
elbows on his knees and looks me right in the eye, a move that indicates
this is a serious conversation.
I brace.
"We need to clear the air," he says simply, and I tense even further.
"And in order to do that, I think I need to give you an apology."
A jolt of surprise causes me to sit up a little straighter. "Apology?"
"Yeah," he says, his gaze absolutely unwavering. "I ve obviously come
on too strong about the Phoenix deal, and because I was so focused on
it and excited, I think I may have taken out my aggressions on Emma.
So I need to apologize to you about that, and of course, to Emma when
she comes back. She is coming back, right?"
I nod, still a little off kilter by this abrupt turnabout in Tyler s attitude.
"Yeah. once she feels her dad s okay enough to be by himself."
I smile inside at that little joke, because her dad is not by himself. He s
got both Midge and Emma hovering over him, and I bet he s eating that
shit up.
Tyler leans backward, rubs his hand over his jaw. "While the apologies
are well warranted, I did want to talk a little bit more about the Phoenix
deal."
And just like that, I tense back up. Not because I think Tyler has a
nefarious intent at this point, as he does seem genuinely remorseful, but
because deep down into my soul, I don t think I really want to sign with
a label right now. Still, I think I need to give him this opportunity since
he s coming at me in the correct way right now.
"Alright," I say with a forced smile. "Let's talk."
"I think perhaps I forgot to remember what s important to you on a
personal level," Tyler begins right away, and instantly some of the
anxiety making my chest tight lessens. "I still believe the Phoenix deal
is

a good move for you, but maybe if we can come at it from the angle of
what can we do to make it better on a personal level, maybe we can find
some middle ground."
I wasn t sure about that, because my understanding is that these
contracts are pretty stringent and not overly negotiable. Still, I need to
give this some mature thought with Tyler, who seems to be in a more
objective frame of mind at this point.
So I try to make this as clear to my friend and manager as I possibly
can, and hope to fuck he can really understand it. "Tyler. not everyone
who gets that first taste of fame and fortune craves more. Sure, I
suppose most people always want to succeed and get better and bigger
at what they do, but not everyone feels that way."
"And you don t?" he asks with his head tilted and his eyebrows
furrowed, clearly perplexed.
Smiling, I shake my head. "I always want to get better, but I m not sure
about bigger. Or richer. Or more famous. Maybe. I just don t know, and
that s the problem. It s all so new to me I m having a hard time trying to
figure out what is the best for me on a personal level. But what I do
know is that I m not sure I want to be owned by a label. I m not sure I m
cut out for that type of life where I m at their beck and call, and I have
to be where they want and when they want it. I have to produce music
for them, and not for me. It seems a little plastic feeling to me, you
know?"
"You know your deal with Phoenix doesn t have to be typical," he
offers. "I mean, I m sure they are willing to give up some of that stuff.
With indie music on the rise, they know they have to move with the
change in the industry. They have to appease their artists a bit more."
"Maybe," is all I can say, because I m not sure I really trust that
sentiment.
"Maybe I should talk to Emma about this," Tyler muses thoughtfully. "I
mean. if I could get her to understand that if we approached Phoenix
more from the perspective of these things, she would feel better about
the deal."
"Wait a minute," I say as I now lean forward and put my hands on my
knees. I pin him with a direct look. "Emma isn t pushing me to stay

indie if that's what you're thinking."
"She s not?" Tyler asks, clearly surprised by this news.
"Fuck no," I assure him. "She s done nothing more than advise me
about the pros and cons of each. We ve talked about it a lot, but it s
basically her making sure I understand the legal implications. She won
t take a stand either way, despite me asking her to."
And that s the honest fucking truth. She s refused to tell me what she
thinks I should do, point blank insisting it s not for her to decide and she
doesn t want to sway me. I even tried a different tact with her one night
when we were talking about all of this, and asked her, "Well, if you
were in my shoes. if this was you with these choices, what would you
do?"
She just laughed at me, kissed me on my jaw softly, and said, "That s
the oldest trick in the book, Evan. And I m not falling for it." Minx.
Fuck, I miss her.
Tyler shifts in his chair. As I examine him, I note he looks perplexed.
"What s wrong?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just. I guess I just assumed Emma was
pushing you to stay indie."
"Not at all," I assure him. "She s only told me to trust my gut and follow
my instinct after being clear on all the facts."
"Huh," Tyler says, almost in an acknowledging grunt.
"Although honestly, man," I feel compelled to add on, "if she d actually
give me an opinion, I d take it seriously."
"Because she s your attorney?" he asks for clarification.
"Because she s that and more," I tell him firmly.
Tyler gives a nod of understanding, a thoughtful look on his face, but
it's not dismissive of my declaration about Emma. "Understood."
Things feel okay now although he s no more enlightened about what
my decision will be than when he came in. That s because I haven t
made my decision. I want to talk to Emma again, and I want it to be
face to face, so I'll wait until she gets here. I'm thinking of perhaps
pushing at Phoenix on a counter offer that gives me some more
autonomy and control, as well as to make some demands of things I
don't want to do, or

I don t want to do too frequently as it were. I know I m not going to get
away with completely removing myself from all the things that are
associated with a label marketing their star.
"Want to go out and grab some lunch?" Tyler asks me as he stands up
from the chair.
And you know what? That sounds good. We arrived in Portland from
San Francisco in the early morning hours, and I wouldn t mind seeing a
little bit of it before I have to start prepping this afternoon for tonight s
concert. "Yeah. I would actually. Let me grab a quick shower."
"Okay," Tyler says as he stands up and gives me a short but soft punch
on my shoulder. "Just come grab me on the other bus when you re
ready."
As soon as Tyler leaves and the doors close again, I grab my phone off
the side table at the end of the couch, ruffle Sirius head briefly, and then
call Emma as I head back to the bedroom to grab some clean clothes.
She answers on the second ring. "Hey stud," she says softly, and that
greeting goes straight to my dick. It s not dirty in the slightest, but it s
affectionate and speaks to Emma s ever-increasing ease in flirting with
me. While I still enjoy embarrassing the shit out of her, I'm equally
turned on by her unexpected endearments.
"Hey," I say back. "You ll never guess what?"
"Ed McMahon paid you a visit?" she guesses.
"Who?" I ask, befuddled.
"Never mind," she says. "So what s up?"
Shaking my head in amusement, I rifle through the top drawer for some
clean underwear. I have no idea how my clothes get cleaned but in
every city, Tyler has it arranged for it to occur. All we have to do is put
our dirty stuff in a bag and place it by Red s chair when we arrive in
each city. It comes back in a few hours all fresh and clean.
"Tyler was just in here and wanted to talk," I tell her as I nab a pair of
boxers.
"Really?" she asks, sounding surprised. She knows things have not
been good between us as she s heard me grumble about it often enough.

"Really," I assure her. "And he apologized, and said he was going to
apologize to you as well, so don t be surprised if he calls you. Or he
might wait until you get back to do it face to face, not sure."
"Well, that s nice," she says, and she sounds genuinely pleased. "So is
everything okay between you two?"
"I think so," I tell her as I head toward the bathroom, snagging my
towel that s hanging on the doorknob of the small bedroom closet that
sits across from the foot of the bed. "I mean, we had a legitimately calm
discussion about a label deal, and I think he gets where I m coming
from a bit better. He seems to think that maybe Phoenix could ease a
few of my misgivings, but it s something we can talk about when you
get back."
"Absolutely," she says brightly, and her confidence and excitement
makes me miss her even more.
"And when might that be?" I inquire hesitantly as I enter the bathroom,
because while I wish she were back like right now, I also want her to be
comfortable in leaving her dad. He s only been out of the hospital for
two days now.
"I m thinking next Tuesday for your second Chicago show," she says,
and fuck. that s like six days away. "It s a short, easy flight and that
gives me about another week here to make sure it s cool that I leave
and all."
I want to tell her that s unacceptable and that she needs to come now. I
know damn well her dad s in good hands because I ve talked to Midge a
few times and the woman s a freakin goner where Cary Peterson is
concerned. While my heart is overflowing with happiness for Midge, I
d also like to get back to my own happiness.
But instead, I play it cool so Emma doesn t feel pressured and say,
"That sounds like a great plan."
Not really, but I ll deal.
"Awesome," she says cheerfully, and then she lowers her voice a
little. "And Evan?" "Yeah?"
"I ve got a surprise for you when I get there," she says huskily. "What is
it?" I demand, pausing my reach to turn the shower on. She gives a
tinkling laugh and teases me, "I m not telling you, but I

might have bought it at Adam & Eve."
Jesus Fuck. She's killing me. Absolutely killing me. "Emma?" I rasp
out, my throat dry. "Yes?" she asks sweetly.
"I really, really miss you," I tell her truthfully. Painfully from the cock.
Deeply from right in the center of my chest.
"I miss you too," she says softly, and I know the next six days are going
to drag by.

CHAPTER 166
Emma
My dad moves the little top hat.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four spaces.
Right onto Park Place.
"Son of a bitch," my dad mutters.
"Yes," Midge hisses with a fist pump of victory. She s as big a mogul in
Monopoly as she is in the legal game. She s got two hotels on that space
and it s sure to bankrupt my dad.
"You seriously can t let the sick person win?" he grumbles at her as he
starts counting out money from his remaining pitiful stack.
"Oh, you're fine." Midge snickers as she holds her hand out across the
board but not before she shoots me a sly wink.
And this is just...
So freaking weird.
Playing Monopoly with the Midge Payne at my father's kitchen
table.
No, it s beyond weird. It s outlandishly bizarre.
And yet, I have to say it s been eye opening. I m now able to see Midge
as a real human being versus the recluse who was fabled to be able to
smite us mere mortals to dust with just a single narrowed gaze. I ve
found the woman is charming, funny, and most importantly, she s
really, really into my dad. With him, she s doting and affectionate, but
she doesn t let him get away with stuff. For example, she s insisted he
start a heart healthy diet and completely obliterated all of his junk food
from the house. Each day this week, she s come over and helped me
cook something for him that s nutritious and portion controlled, as I ve
insisted I stay at his house with him during the day. Not that my dad
had

a weight problem, because he exercised regularly, but he did love his
sweets.
Apparently, that s in the past now, and Midge assured him that she was
sweet enough to keep him satisfied. I didn t like the wicked gleam in
my dad s eye when she said that and I had to think of sick babies and
abused puppies so my mind would not think of my dad and Midge
having sex.
"I m finished," my dad says as he throws the rest of his money down. "I
don t have enough to pay this brutal landlord across the table from me,
and I don t feel like taking out a loan from her."
"Poor baby," Midge coos and then looks at me sitting to her left. "You
want to finish Emma?"
"No way," I tell her seriously. "Not about to have your beady little
slumlord eyes all on me. I stood a slight chance when you were
focusing on bankrupting my father."
Midge lets out a bark of a laugh, and I give her a smirk back.
See. so weird that we re sitting here joking with each other.
"Well, I m going to suggest an early movie," my dad says as he looks at
me. "But before we do, Midge and I wanted to talk to you about
something."
"Uh-oh," I say teasingly as I start to put my very small stack of
remaining money back in the appropriate trays. "This sounds like a
parental talk."
"It is," he says soberly, and that catches my attention so I turn to face
him. "We think you should head back to join the tour immediately."
I m shaking my head before he even gets the words out. "No way. A
few more days and then I'll go back."
"Emma," my dad says soothingly. "I m completely fine, feel fantastic,
and I ve Midge here to worry over me. But you, my dear daughter, are
restless. I know you want to get back to Evan, so you should just go."
"I do not want to get back to Evan," I say stubbornly, and I m not
surprised when both my dad and Midge snicker. They ve both made fun
of me the last week because every time Evan calls I act like a high
school girl tittering over her crush. And once Evan sent me a huge

bouquet of flowers and I had—according to Midge—the most adorably
goofy grin on my face for hours.
"It s time," Midge says, and I turn to look at her. She s not my parent
but she is my boss, and she goes on to prove it. "I m hereby officially
rescinding your family medical leave. Your dad doesn t need you
hovering and you need to get back to work, and since I still pay your
salary, you have to do what I say."
And that is definitely a snicker from my dad, so I shoot a glare his way.
He just shrugs at me innocently.
"Emma," Midge says softly. Kindly. Like a friend. "Go back to Evan.
He misses you and you miss him, and you re still his attorney and you
still have work to do with him. Your dad is fine and I ll take good care
of him, I promise you."
"Honey," my dad says just as softly. I turn to him, and his eyes are
warm and adoring. "Please go. You have a life to lead and I m pretty
sure the best part of it is waiting for you in Chicago."
It s true. Evan s there now and getting ready to go on stage in a few
hours for the first of two concerts being held in Chicago. He s probably
on the bus with Sirius, playing his guitar or just chilling with a beer. His
pre-show ritual is pretty basic and focused on relaxation. If I were
there, it would be spent in the bedroom with his hands stroking my skin
and his mouth on my.
"Alright," I proclaim as I stand up from the table. "I'll go."
My dad and Midge give me smug grins, and I give them a pass. In fact,
I give them so much of a pass that I lean over impulsively to hug Midge
before rounding the table to hug my dad.
"Love you, honey," he says as he squeezes me back.
"Love you too, Dad," I tell him as I pull away, and then with no
mistaking the excitement in my voice, I say, "I m going to go call Evan
right now."
I nab my phone from the table where it had been sitting and practically
skip my way back to the guest room I d been staying in. I m dialing
Evan as I shut the door and he picks up as I hop onto the bed and cross
my legs.
"Hello?" I hear on the other end, and I m so stunned that it s not

Evan answering, I actually pull my phone away from my ear to make
sure I dialed the right number.
I did, so I say, "Hello?"
"Emma?" I hear back, and then I recognize the voice. Tyler.
"Um. yeah," I say back hesitantly. "Is Evan there?"
Tyler gives a laugh and it s neither snide nor menacing as I would
expect. Instead, it sounds actually kind of warm and amused. "He s out
giving Sirius a walk. Has a lot of pent-up energy since you've been
gone, and I m talking about Evan and not your dog. He should be back
soon though, but then he ll be jumping in the shower and heading into
the arena."
"Oh," I say with disappointment. "Well. will you ask him if he has time
to give me a call when he gets back?"
"Sure," he says easily, and yeah. this is a different Tyler. And as if to
add confirmation onto that, he says, "Listen, Emma. I was going to wait
to do this when you got back but since I ve got you on the phone, I
wanted to tell you how sorry I am about the way I ve been treating you.
I really don t have any excuse except perhaps I was a little too
exuberant over this Phoenix deal. But I ve talked things out with Evan,
and I know he still has a decision to make, but at least we re talking
about this all reasonably and with a little more objectivity."
I knew this might be coming as Evan had given me the heads up, but
still. I m just a little surprised by the sincerity of his words. And
because I m not one to hold grudges, I give him quick assurances. "It s
really okay, Tyler. I know you re just looking out for him."
"You re really sweet to say that," he says good-naturedly.
And this is nice. Me having a conversation with Tyler on a friendly
basis. As if he's actually a friend.
Which gives me an idea. "The reason I was calling Evan was I m going
to fly into Chicago tomorrow morning on the earliest flight I can get.
He s not expecting me until the day after that, so now I m thinking.
maybe I should just surprise him. What do you think?"
Tyler doesn t even hesitate. "I think he d love that. Of course, you know
he ll still be zonked out when you get here so your surprise might

involve waking him up when you arrive."
Yes, that would be a very nice surprise indeed.
"Just grab a cab from the airport," Tyler continues. "I ll leave your
name with security unless you have your credentials with you."
"I don't. I left in such a hurry I didn't even think about it."
"No problem," he assures me. "Security will let you through. Just come
straight to the arena. I ll text you the address."
"Thanks, Tyler," I say with genuine appreciation. This is so much
better than I expected.
"You re welcome," he returns genially. "And when you get some time
once you get settled in, I d love to talk with you one on one about the
Phoenix deal. I think I m pretty clear on what Evan s main concerns are,
and I m thinking we can make a counter offer they ll accept, which will
alleviate a lot of those things. I d like to go over those with you, and I
figure if I can convince you, then you can convince Evan."
The smile that had been on my face just a moment before slides off and
my gut tightens just a bit. "Tyler. while I d be more than happy to spend
whatever time you want, even if I agree with you, I'm not going to push
Evan one way or the other. I ve told him I m staying out of the decision
making."
"Even if it's in his best interest?" Tyler asks quietly.
"I mean, of course, I ll make sure I highlight the things that are in his
best interest, but honestly. there s not a clear choice to me, so I don t
feel comfortable pushing him one way or the other."
Tyler s quiet for just a moment, and then he gives a somewhat pained
sigh before saying, "Okay. Fine."
"I m really sorry, Tyler," I feel the need to add on.
"It s good," he says briskly, and I can sense he s a bit peeved with
me.
"Well, okay then," I murmur. "I guess I ll see you sometime tomorrow.
If anything changes I need to know about, let me know. Otherwise, I ll
text you my flight details in a little bit."
"It s a plan," he says almost woodenly.
"So we re good?" I ask him to make sure. "And you think it s okay for
me to surprise Evan tomorrow?"

"It s fine, Emma," he says, and this time, he sounds sincere. "And don t
worry about what I just asked you to do. It was probably inappropriate
anyway. We ll all work this out together, okay?"
"Okay," I say in agreement, completely confused and having no clue if
Tyler s mad or now my new good friend. I guess I ll find out once I see
him, as I can read a lot more from facial expressions and body
language.
I exchange farewells with Tyler and then immediately pull out the
laptop Evan had given me to make flight reservations. I m pleased to
see a six AM flight that will get me in close to nine. Evan will no doubt
still be sleeping, because after a concert and whatever required meet
and greet or party that s being thrown, it s almost guaranteed Evan won
t get to sleep until probably two or three AM. And since we re often
traveling the morning after, he s developed a routine of sleeping in
pretty late, sometimes not rising until close to lunch.
Yes, I think it s going to be a very pleasant surprise for me to slip into
bed with him tomorrow morning and hopefully rock his world with
said surprise.

CHAPTER 172
Evan
"I cannot believe you guys are fucking here," I say for what may be the
tenth time in the last two hours. I've got my arm looped around Kenny s
neck, but my gaze flips to Frank and then to Rick. My very good
buddies from my UNC days. Back when playing in a band was a hobby
and not a real dream, and I was still taking school semi-seriously.
That didn t last long admittedly, but as I became more serious about
music, I never lost these particular college friends. They came to all my
local shows and they re actually three dudes I trust. They don t want
anything from me but friendship, and they re genuinely happy in my
success. Apparently, Tyler had arranged weeks ago to fly Kenny and
Rick to Chicago for the show. Frank already lives here as he came this
way after graduating, following his college sweetheart who was from
this area. They sadly didn t last, but Frank loves Chicago and
established roots.
Rick laughs, waves his beer in my direction, and says, "That look on
your face, man, was priceless when you looked down into the front row
and saw us there."
"You assholes," I say affectionately as I take my arm from around
Kenny s neck because it happens to be holding my beer. "I totally
forgot a line to my song I was so fucking shocked to see you."
Rick snickers but holds his beer out, and I tap mine against it. Before I
chug it back though, I look briefly at each one of them. "Seriously,
dudes... this is the highlight of this tour so far."
"I'm going to fucking cry." Frank harasses me for being overly
sentimental, and I don t respond because I suck my beer back. Tonight,
I m going to get drunk with my buds and celebrate our impromptu
reunion. I haven t seen these guys in years as everyone scattered to
normal lives after graduating from college, but we never lost contact.
There are plenty of calls, emails, and Facebook posts, but it doesn t beat

sitting down with your buds, drinking beers, and reminiscing about
good times.
The only down side is I wish Emma were here. She d love these guys,
and I know they d love her, although Rick is an absolute flirt and he d
lay it on thick with her. He s single and she s absolutely his type as he s
always been attracted to the smart chicks.
So maybe I m glad Emma isn t here. Not sure I d like watching my
friends flirt with her and make her laugh and blush. That s my job and I
take it seriously.
And Christ... I must already be on my way to getting drunk because
there s no other way to explain these emotional thoughts.
Snickering to myself, I polish my beer off and I m not in the least
surprised when a waitress nudges her way into our group with a tray
loaded with shots of bourbon.
"Christ," Kenny mutters. "I m going to be puking tomorrow."
"This is from Tyler," the waitress says, making doe eyes at me as we all
reach out and grab a shot glass.
I look around the club briefly and can t locate Tyler. After the concert,
we did a short meet and greet, and then Tyler had arranged for a limo to
take all of us out on the town. He d even arranged for VIP seating in the
club where we re currently hanging so we have some privacy. I d last
seen him about twenty minutes ago, talking up some chick who was
loitering around the roped-off section to the VIP lounge. If I know
Tyler, he s probably working his pick-up lines, which he s quite good at
admittedly, and he ll probably be banging her in the limo before long. I
make a mental note to check the seats before I get back in tonight.
"To friends," Kenny says as he raises a shot glass. "And to the best
damn indie rock star in the mother fucking universe," Rick yells out as
he holds up his shot. "Hear, hear," Frank agrees.
"Drink up, motherfuckers," is all I say, and we toss the liquor back. My
head swims the minute it hits my stomach, and I have a brief moment
where I already regret doing this because I m going to feel like shit
tomorrow.

Oh, well. you only live once and I see these fuckers only once in a blue
moon, so I can t regret it really.
And it s probably a very good thing Emma isn t here because she d
probably end up holding a garbage can under my head all night. I might
be a rock star, but I'm not that big of a drinker. At least not with liquor.
Yeah. tomorrow s going to suck.
But then, the day after that, Emma will be here to watch the second
Chicago show, and that thought causes a rush of euphoria to rise within
me.
A second waitress comes up and nudges her way into our group, and I
see Tyler right behind her. Now she s got a tray loaded with several
beers and we all reach out to grab one, replacing them with our empties.
Tyler has two drinks in his hands, each holding about three fingers of
an amber liquid on the rocks, and he s holding one out in front of my
face.
I eye it dubiously.
He tilts his hand side to side a little to entice me. "It s your favorite."
"I don t have a favorite liquor," I tell him. "You know I m a beer
drinker."
"Well, it s your favorite tonight," he says as he shoves the drink at me.
"I just laid out one hundred dollars for these two glasses of Michter s
Twenty-Year-Old Single Barrel Bourbon."
I take the glass reluctantly but politeness demands I do it. "What s the
special occasion?"
"This is the special occasion," he says as he waves his glass around the
group.
"Yeah, then how come you didn't splurge for us to get some of that
bourbon?" Frank demands.
Tyler laughs. "Because you re neither the rock star nor the devoted
manager."
"Asshole," Frank mumbles.
Tyler turns to me and holds his glass out. He grins at me big and says,
"Congrats, buddy, on a fucking phenomenal tour so far. You re
amazing and here's to another two months of the same success."

And man... that kind of gets me in the heart. It's the Tyler of old.
"Thanks, buddy," I say sincerely and tap my glass to his. "Cheers."
He lifts the glass to his mouth, watching me over the rim. I do the same
and take a tiny sip, and damn. that s fucking fantastic.
Tyler can read the look on my face because now he s laughing at me.
"Told you it was your favorite drink."
"This shit s amazing," I say as I hold the glass up. "Doesn t even burn
and feels smooth as water."
"Right?" he says, holding his glass up to his nose to take a sniff. "I ve
always wanted to order a really insanely expensive drink and tonight
seemed the night to do it."
"Let me have a taste," Frank asks as he sidles up toward Tyler.
"Fuck off," Tyler grumbles, but then he reluctantly hands his glass
over. Frank takes a sip, then passes it to Rick, who does the same.
Kenny is the last to try it before handing it back to Tyler.
We all agree. finest fucking whiskey in the world.
Or, well. at least that we ve drank so far.
"Okay, after we finish these drinks, the limo s on standby and is going
to take us to the finest strip club in Chicago," Tyler announces.
"Fuck yeah," Kenny yells, and because he s a true southern boy born
and raised in Alabama, it comes out as sort of a rebel yell.
My brows knit inward and I say, "Probably not a good idea, dude."
I m already feeling drunk, and I don t think it s good press for a famous
rock star to hang out in a strip club while inebriated.
"Come on, man," Tyler says as he nudges me. "Let s live a little. No
one s going to know it s you. We ll put a cap on your head and you can
wear sunglasses."
"Yeah," Frank agrees. "Let's do it."
"I m in," Rick adds on.
Kenny just lets out another, "Fuck yeah."
I'm shaking my head, which makes me a bit dizzy, but still I remain
adamant. "Not for me, guys. If you want to go, you can have the limo
all night and my credit card. But count me out."
"Fucking party pooper," Frank ribs me, but he s got a smile on his

face.
"Is this because of Emma?" Rick asks slyly, and my chest tightens a
little at the mention of her name. Because yeah. a good chunk of my
reluctance is because of Emma. Maybe it's all my reluctance actually.
"Leave him alone," Tyler says, coming to my rescue, although I could
swear the look on his face right now is sly rather than supportive. "Let s
just go back to the bus and party. We re all here to hang out as old
friends, not to spend all our money on strippers."
Well, that s an abrupt turn around. From suggesting the strip club to
immediately capitulating. Is this the old Tyler who understands me and
looks out for me? Or is this something else?
I shake my head, forcing myself to clear away the doubts that are
creeping in. Surely, that is the liquor talking.
"Sound like a plan?" Tyler asks as he brings a hand to my shoulder,
giving it a squeeze. I examine his face. I don t see anything but
brotherly affection for me, and maybe some vague amusement that I m
well on my way to getting shit faced and he s probably the one who s
going to make sure I don t puke on myself.
"Yeah, let's head back to the bus after we finish these drinks," I agree,
and my tongue feels pretty thick right now.
For a brief moment, I consider calling Emma really quick. I tried to call
her right after the show, but she didn t answer. I wasn t too bent out of
shape as it was late and I was sure she was asleep. She d texted me
around eight-thirty PM to wish me good luck for tonight s show, and I
sent her back a kissing emoji.
I think about calling her right now and telling her I m hanging out with
my buds, and I m getting drunk, so she could see I was devoted enough
to her that I adamantly refused to let my buddies take me to a strip club.
She d be so proud of me, and it would show her just how much I care.
But I d probably slur my words so badly she d know I m shit faced
already and would discount every damn thing I say. Plus, there s the
very real chance that I could get totally sappy on her and admit I ve
fallen in love with her, and I absolutely do not want to do that when I m
drunk.
I figure that should be done face to face at the very minimum, and

if I m really on my A-game, I ll write a song to her about it. That would
totally make her melt into a puddle of goo for me, and there s no way
she ll be able to hold back the same sentiment.
That s it.
Decision made.
I bring the drink to my lips and take another small sip.
Emma doesn t need to know these messy details about my drunken
night out with friends. I ll tell her all about it, of course, but she doesn t
need to deal with me the way I am right now.

CHAPTER 178
Emma
The drive from Chicago O Hare to the Allstate Arena in Rosemont is
only about five minutes, and yet it seems like it s taking at least an hour.
My cab driver is a nice enough guy, but he s just a bit too chatty for me
this morning. I'm totally wired from several cups of coffee since I had
to be up so early, and I m beyond excited yet nervous to see Evan. It s
been nine days since I ve seen him and while we ve talked every day by
phone, FaceTimed a few times, and texted several times, there s a part
of me that s shrunken back into my reserved shell. Nothing evidences
that more than the fact I went with a pair of high-waisted khaki pants, a
sky-blue blouse with a rounded collar, and a pair of white Keds on my
feet.
So damn lame, yet it was like a protective armor to me.
Perhaps subconsciously I was reasoning that if that spark isn t there. if
the chemistry has faltered, I can at least go down knowing I was being
true to myself and not an idealized version.
"Where do you want let off?" the driver asks as I see the arena come
into view.
"Around the back," I tell him. "There s a fenced area where the tour
buses will be."
"Are you a groupie or something?" he asks, his eyes flicking to me in
the rearview mirror.
I chuckle. "No. I'm an attorney and also a publicist."
That felt weird to say. The publicist part.
Of course, I'm not about to tell him I'm Evan Scott's girlfriend.
The cab driver navigates us to the rear of the building. Just as Tyler said
there would be, I see a six-foot chain link fence surrounding a portion
of the parking lot. Inside are the two buses as well as the tractor-trailers
that carry the equipment.
Also, as Tyler promised, there s a security guard standing at the

gate.
The cabbie pulls up to the gate and the guard comes through, clearly
expecting me. I open the door as I pull out my credit card to pay the
driver, and the guard asks as he leans in a little, "Miss Peterson?"
"That s me," I say, perhaps a little too brightly.
Damn nerves.
The cab driver gets my rolling case out of the trunk while I handle the
credit card transaction, then I show my ID to the guard, who gives it
only a brief glance, before he escorts me into the fenced enclosure.
"Mr. Hannity said you have the security code for Mr. Scott's bus," he
says.
"Yes," I assure him. "Thank you."
He gives a nod, and then I m walking across the worn pavement to
Evan s home on wheels. My stomach churns and I suddenly have to
pee, whether from an overload of coffee or near hysteria at seeing him
again, but I walk with my shoulders thrown back and my head held
high.
This is it.
Tiny internal squeal of excitement tinged with panic.
And then, the excitement wins out as I remember everything about
Evan that made me fall for him. His humor, his alpha ways, his sweet
side, and his dirty side. The fact that he believed in my abilities and
pushed me out of my comfort zone.
The look on his face and the caring tone in his voice when he told me
about my father after Midge called.
Yes, totally excited because I know this man and he s the one for
me.
My heart is racing as I key in the security code, and the doors give a
whooshing hiss as they slide open. I m greeted with silence from the
interior and there s no rushing puppy barreling at me, so I assume Sirius
is in the other bus with Red. Leaving my case on the pavement, I climb
the stairs quietly and turn into the living area.
It s a total mess and I m actually a bit stunned to see beer bottles all over
the place. Laying on the floor, stacked on the side tables, and one lying
on the couch. An empty bottle of bourbon is also on the couch, along
with two empty pizza boxes.

There s absolutely no way Evan caused all this destruction because he s
not a huge drinker, and I also happen to know he s not a big fan of
pizza. My money is resting right now on Dilana owning the empty
bottle of bourbon and Cap calling for the pizza.
With a grin, I stealthily make my way down the length of the bus,
wondering if Evan partied hard with his band last night. Chicago was a
big show and there d totally be reason to celebrate.
As I pass by the bathroom, I take a peek inside and my nose
automatically wrinkles as I see dried vomit all over the toilet seat along
with a crumpled towel on the floor. I m not sure who that belongs to,
but whoever is the culprit is going to have their butt over here this
morning to clean that up. That's my bathroom—along with
Evan's—and while I don t mind them partying here in my absence, I m
not going to clean their mess up either.
A little peeved, I step past the bathroom and to the door of the bedroom.
It s shut almost all the way except for a small gap, and my hand goes to
it to push it open.
My eyes land on the bed, expecting my heart to swell when I get a good
look at Evan as he sleeps. I love watching him like that as his face looks
so young and boyish... almost vulnerable.
Instead, I can barely process what I m taking in, except that my heart
isn t swelling with abandon. Instead, it feels like someone stuck a knife
right in the center and then sliced upward, ripping through the base of
my throat so I can't even utter a noise.
Evan is lying on his back, arms spread wide. He s naked from the waist
up and the top button of his jeans is undone. He s sleeping hard, his
mouth open and slack.
And curled into him—hell, partly on top of him—is a woman. My
chest constricts, squeezes so painfully that a tiny hiss of air comes out
of my mouth. She's sound asleep too.
Beautiful, long brown hair and a miniscule dress that s showing me the
fact she s got a red thong underneath it. Her head is resting on Evan s
chest, her arm across his belly.
In my mind, I know they re drunk and passed out. In my heart, I can t
help but see the intimacy of the way she s

laying on him. So possessive and intimately acquainted with that
beautiful chest that I ve often laid my own head upon.
A crushing weight presses down upon me, and I actually feel
disoriented from the slicing pain still evident in my chest. I stumble
backward, reaching a hand out to catch myself on the edge of the door,
but it slams backward into the wall and I almost fall to the ground.
Luckily, my butt hits the door when it becomes stable against the wall,
but the noise is enough to rouse Evan.
He jerks sort of slowly, and I almost vomit when I see his arm curl
around the woman to squeeze her in closer. An involuntary cry of pain
escapes my lips. I watch in horror as Evan s head rises from the pillow
and he looks straight at me with bleary eyes.
"Emma?" he says, his voice sounded clogged and scratchy.
His eyes look at me in confusion, and then his brows knit inward as his
head slowly turns to the woman beside him, who hasn t moved yet. He
stares at her a long moment, and then he actually jerks spastically as it
dawns on him that I ve caught him with another woman.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls as he pushes the woman
unceremoniously off his chest and scrambles backward off the bed. I
watch as he reels, almost falls over, and catches himself on the wall, his
other hand going to his head where his eyes squeeze shut in pain. He
gets his bearings and opens his eyes slowly to look at me with shame.
"You unbelievable asshole," I hiss at him. My eyes cut to the bed, and I
see the woman hasn t even stirred. She may be dead for all I know, but
that s not my problem.
"Emma," Evan groans as he stumbles my way, and it s clear he s
probably still drunk. "It s not what it looks like."
"Yeah?" I snarl at him as he tries to make his way around the bed
toward me, catches a shin on the edge, and then pitches forward to the
carpet. "Because to me, it looks like you replaced me pretty easily in
your bed."
"No," he yells at me, and then groans again as he lurches upward,
placing his palm on the mattress for leverage. "I have no clue who that
is. I have no clue what—"
"Save it, you fucking asshole," I screech at the top of my lungs, a

very anti-Emma reaction, but I m so beyond hurt and pissed at this
moment, I ve got no control over my actions.
The woman on the bed moans and mutters, "Shut the fuck up. My head
hurts."
She rolls over and passes out again.
And then, the tears make their appearance. My nose stings, gets wet,
and the tears well up. I spin away from Evan before he can see them,
and before they can fall. Stumbling past the door, I careen off the jamb,
righting myself as soon as I hit the hallway.
I can hear Evan scrambling after me, but I m sober and fueled by rage. I
take off at a swift run, my feet sure as I make my escape. I can hear
Evan crashing after me, cursing as he bangs into stuff.
Hitting the stairs, I jog down them and risk a quick look over my
shoulder to see Evan s already in the living area. My foot hits the
pavement just as I turn my head back around, but not quickly enough to
see my rolling case there and definitely not deftly enough to miss it.
I catch it with my shin, try to step over it, but catch it again with the toe
of my tennis shoe, and I go sprawling right over it. I crash to the
pavement, my hands coming out automatically to stop my fall, and then
get shredded on the pavement.
A cry of pain pops out of me and the tears that had been threatening to
fall turn into rivers over my cheeks. I hear Evan s feet hit the pavement
and his anguished voice say, "Oh, baby... Jesus, Emma..."
I pop back up to my feet, enraged again, and spin on him. He s walking
toward me, undaunted, but before he can even touch me, I snarl at him
as my palms smack against his chest to stop his progress. He goes
completely still, his face awash with sorrow and guilt and anguish and.
Fuck him!
My hands pull away, leaving spots of blood from my torn palms on his
skin, and I tell him, "You stay the fuck away from me."
He leans toward me. "Emma. for fuck s sake, I have no clue what the
fuck happened last night or who that is, but I swear I didn t do
anything."
My nose wrinkles and I take a step back from him. "God. you stink,
Evan."

"I think I threw up last night," he says, his voice sounding so lost. I
shake my head violently. "No, I mean you stink of her perfume." Evan
s face blanches and he reaches his hands out to me. I notice they re
shaking.
I take another step back.
"Emma," Evan pleads with me. "I seriously don t know what the fuck is
going on. I was out with some college buddies last night, and we were
at a club drinking. and honestly, I don t remember much after
that."
This enrages me, that he d be so irresponsible. "Save it, Evan. I don t
need to know a fucking thing about what happened last night, because I
already know."
Evan s eyes flash and he grits his teeth. "You know, do you?"
"Yeah, I know," I say nodding my head effusively. "Tyler told me all
about you at that Phoenix party. Said you were just infatuated with me,
but that I shouldn t take that to mean you wanted something permanent.
He told me that if I m not around, you d be balls deep in another
woman. Apparently, he was right."
"He s fucking wrong," Evan yells at me, his arms outstretched. "I don t
want anyone else. I want you."
This infuriates me so much that a red hazy film seems to descend over
my vision, and I scream at him. "You want me? You want me? Well,
tell you what, Evan. if you want me so bad, then why don t you walk
away from this? Walk away now and come live a sedate life back in
Raleigh with me. Choose your schoolmarm little girlfriend who wears
granny panties over this life?"
Evan just stares at me. speechless. I can see his throat working, but
nothing comes out.
"Exactly," I hiss at him as I lean in briefly. "You want your cake and
you want to eat it too, Evan. But guess what? This menu is closed."
I spin away from him and immediately come to a halt as I see Red
standing there with Sirius on his leash. His face is dark with worry as
his gaze cuts between Evan and me.
"Red," I call out to him, my voice cracking, and he takes one step
toward me. "Can you take—"

Evan grabs hold of my arm and turns me toward him. I go apeshit and
try to wrench free.
"Jesus, Emma," Evan says as he grips one of my wrists and turns my
hand up. "You re bleeding."
And then, I do the most unlike-Emma thing ever. I tear myself free of
him and kick him in the shin. Evan grunts and doubles over to rub his
leg while I scream at him like a banshee on an acid trip. "Don t you
fucking touch me ever again. I want my fucking dog back and I m
leaving, and you can go to hell, Evan."
Evan stands up straight, but his shoulders sag. His eyes are glassy and
moist as he looks at me with a pathetic amount of regret.
Too fucking bad.
Scrambling around Evan, I grab my rolling case and upright it, then,
with my head down, I brush right past him. He doesn t make a move
and I m grateful for it. I ve caused enough of a scene, but I m prepared
to go crazy on him again.
I walk right up to Red, who puts an arm around me. He shoots a
venomous look at Evan and turns me toward his bus as he murmurs.
"Let me get my wallet. I ll grab one of the security guys cars and we ll
get you out of here, okay?"
"I don t even know how to get Sirius home," I murmur, and then I give
out a little sob.
"We ll figure it out," he assures me.
"Okay," I say with a small voice, and I trust that Red will help to get my
dog and me back to Raleigh.

CHAPTER 185
Evan
My phone rings, but I ignore it. It s Midge and I don t want to talk to
her.
So I continue to stare at the wall of the bus, just across the way from me
where I sit slouched on the couch. I ve been here in this position for
almost forty-five minutes, and I have no intention of moving.
The phone stops ringing. My eyes don t leave the wall. The phone starts
ringing again. I ignore it.
This goes on for several minutes, but I know Midge will eventually
give up and stop calling. That s been her pattern for the last four days
since Emma left.
Correction. since she found me in a very compromising position, and
without giving me an ounce of credit, flaked the fuck out on me.
That burns me up, even though I can very logically understand how she
was beyond upset. Who wouldn t be?
But what I can t understand is her continually ignoring my repeated
attempts to contact her.
To explain that I finally figured out what occurred. I had watched that
day as Red led Emma onto his bus. I waited patiently, rooted to the
same spot in the middle of the parking lot, and watched as he came off
the bus with her. He saw me standing there, but Emma didn t look my
way. She led Sirius by the leash as Red carried her suitcase, loaded her
up in a late-model Ford Explorer I assumed belonged to the security
guard, and drove away. I stood in that position until I could no longer
see the SUV, and then I stalked—well, sort of stumbled as I was still
half drunk and well into a hangover—to the other bus. I hauled myself
into it and called for Tyler. His head popped out of the bunk he was
sleeping in, and I did nothing more than nod toward the

doorway to indicate he was to follow.
He came out a few moments later, looking none the worse for wear
after a hard night of partying with me.
"Why in the fuck is there a woman on my bus. in my bed?" I snarled at
him.
"I have no clue what you re talking about," he replied smoothly.
I ranted at him for a good two minutes, then took him to the bus and
showed him the girl passed out on the bed. He claimed absolutely no
knowledge of how she got there, assuring me that when he left me on
the bus, I was very much alone.
"Emma was here and found me in bed with her," I told him in a low
voice as we stared down at the drunken woman sprawled out on my
mattress.
Tyler appeared shocked. "What? She wasn t coming in until
tomorrow."
"Apparently, she thought to surprise me," I said acidly.
No doubt, I was fucking reeling. I sat my ass down on the couch and
stewed between bouts of nausea while Tyler somehow managed to get
the woman up off my bed and out of my bus. She gave me a saucy wink
as she stumbled by with Tyler s arm around her waist.
A few hours later and one sour confrontation with Red, I found out
Emma had insisted on renting a car and driving back to Raleigh
because she didn t want to subject Sirius to a plane ride, and that set me
off big time.
"Do you really think she was in the right frame of mind to make that
kind of trip by herself?" I shouted at the big, burly bus driver.
He didn t take kindly to that and got in my face. "Maybe if you weren t
such a royal fuck up, she wouldn t have been upset."
"You re fired," I yelled at him.
"Fuck off," he yelled back at me. "You don t employ me. The tour
company does."
Asshole, but he was right about that. I let it go though, because, deep
down, I m glad he was there to look out for Emma.
I figured Emma would eventually answer my phone calls. I tried every
ten minutes. She didn t answer, so I left panicked and pleading

voice mails. After about the fifth voice mail I d left, she d changed her
message to, "This is Emma. Please leave a message. Unless you re
Evan Scott. In that case, fuck off."
If I weren t so utterly fucking out of my mind with worry and fear, I
would have laughed at her new, sassy attitude. As it were, those words
sliced into me deep, as I was pretty sure she was lost to me forever.
I wasn t ready to give up though, and I was also completely wigged out
that I couldn t remember much of the night before Emma arrived. The
last clear memory I have is being in a club with Tyler, Frank, Rick, and
Kenny. I remember drinking beers, and then bourbon. A really
expensive bourbon.
And then I don t remember anything else, except a tiny sliver of a
memory.
Me huddled over the toilet and puking my guts up, I think even getting
it all over my shirt, but I m not sure as it s so hazy.
And then. Emma standing there at the foot of the bed, looking so
unbelievably heartbroken, I felt a corresponding pain deep in my chest.
I know without a fucking doubt I didn t do anything with that woman.
While I don t have any memories, I know it to my core. We were both
dressed, and I was so fucking drunk, I m quite sure I couldn t have
gotten it up. On top of that, the girl had dark red lipstick dried on her
lips, not an ounce of it smeared or out of place and not a fleck of it on
me anywhere.
There s just no fucking way.
That day Emma was here and saw me in that compromising situation
was possibly the worst day of my life. And I had a show to do that
night, and I did it because it s my job and I had to. But it fucking
sucked. I wasn t into the music. There wasn t a flicker of excitement
within me. The evening dragged on, and I couldn t wait for it to be
fucking over. I didn t give an encore.
Instead, I went back to my bus and I barked at Tyler to leave me the
fuck alone when he tried to come in, explaining I needed to attend the
after-party. He backed away and has stayed out of my way since. No
clue what he told people to explain my absence.
The following day, I couldn t stand the not knowing. I couldn t live

with the blank spots in that evening, wondering how in the fuck I ended
up with a woman in my bed when Tyler said he d left me alone.
Specifically, he said he d been there when I d puked, helped me get my
shirt off, and got me into bed.
So I called Frank to find out more details. I couldn t get him on the
phone, so I called Rick. He answered and I didn t pull any punches, told
him exactly what went down with Emma. Then I asked him what in the
fuck happened after that club.
And I was somewhat heartened.
"Man... I have no clue how you ended up with a woman," he said in
confusion. "All you talked about all night was Emma. At the club, it
was Emma. Tyler wanted to take us all to the strip club, but you
wouldn't... because of Emma. We got back to the bus, drank some
more, and ordered pizzas. And it was all Emma, Emma, Emma. We left
when you got sick. The limo took us to the hotel Tyler had arranged.
Dude. you were in no shape to entertain a woman, I swear to fucking
God."
Yes, that was some vindication, but I needed more. At some point, a
woman ended up on that bus with me.
I probably would have never figured it out if it weren't for Midge.
While I ve not talked to her by phone as I m in a brooding and ignoring
mood, she did text me not long after Emma arrived in Raleigh. I was
grateful for the news that she was safe, but not overly grateful at Midge
s text.
What in the hell happened, Evan Michael Scott?
I always knew she was pissed at me when she called me by my full
name. I was also pissed because Midge was my aunt and she needed to
be a little worried about her heartbroken nephew. Our text exchange
went a little like this.
Me: I'm not in the moodfor your dramatics.
Midge: Tough shit. Emma's in her dad's guest room crying her eyes
out.
Me: Well, maybe you should ask her.
I know it was a shitty thing to say, because none of this was Emma s
fault.
Midge: I did. She just said that it was clearly a bad idea to try to

surprise you.
Me: She has that right. And because I had to tell her the truth but I was
still prickly, I said, She found me in bed with another woman.
Midge: EVAN MICHAEL SCOTT! HOW COULD YOU?
Me: I didn' t do anything. It' s a complete fucking catastrophe, but I
swear I didn't do anything.
There was a long pause. Like a ten-minute pause and I was pretty sure
she d cut me from her life.
But then, she wrote: I don' t understand. Tyler knew she was coming in
to surprise you. How could he have let you get so drunk?
When that text chimed, I was relieved Midge hadn t disowned me, then
I became so overwhelmed with rage when I read her words that I
thought I was going to stroke out. My vision actually went hazy, and I
had an undeniable urge to murder Tyler.
That fucker knew Emma was coming in to surprise me?
And he let me get that way?
And whoa. wait a fucking New York minute. when I told him
Emma was here, he acted surprised. Like he didn t know. And that
fucker knew according to Midge.
I didn't respond to her text, but barreled right off the bus. We were at a
rest stop about an hour outside of Indianapolis, our next concert stop,
and my eyes lasered onto Tyler. He was standing outside of the other
bus, laughing with some of the road crew.
He didn t see me coming.
Not until the last second anyway.
His head turned to me, his face awash with a cheery smile, and all I
remember is it sliding off when he realized an enraged bull was
charging at him.
Then he was on the ground, and I was on top of him. I got in one solid
punch to his face, felt his nose crunch, and then Red was pulling me off
him. The road crew guys helped Tyler up, blood leaking from his left
nostril.
"What the fuck?" he yelled as he wiped at his nose with the back of his
hand.
Red had me held from behind but I raised a shaking hand at him.

"You goddamn motherfucker. You knew Emma was coming in to visit
me the next morning. You acted surprised when I told you, but you
knew. You lied to my fucking face about it, and I want to know why."
"I didn t," Tyler shot back at me, but his voice gave him away. His eyes
filled with guilt gave him away.
"You goddamned liar," I snarled at him. "You set me up, didn t you?
You were the last one to see me before Emma arrived. You knew she
was coming in a matter of hours. You put that girl in my bed to drive
Emma away, didn t you?"
"That s ridiculous," he sneered at me.
"You hated the fact I was into her," I shot out, continuing my
accusations. "You hated that she had my ear and held influence over
me, even though she never once tried to exert it. You couldn t stand not
getting your way, and so you tried to remove what you thought was the
obstacle."
"You can t prove it," Tyler shot right back, and I found it very telling he
didn t try to deny it. Merely said I couldn t prove it.
"Doesn t matter," I said as I pulled out of Red s grasp, but I didn t make
a move toward Tyler. I jerked my head over my shoulder at the bus.
"Get your shit off that bus. You're fired."
"You can t fire me," Tyler cried out. "You need me, Evan. We re
friends."
"Your brand of friendship sucks," I muttered as I started to walk
away.
"You can't—" I heard him call out again, but then I heard Red's voice.
"You heard the man. Get your shit off the bus."
"I m your boss," I heard Tyler sneer, but I didn t turn around to watch
the exchange. "You can t tell me what to do."
"Jesus Christ," Red muttered. "How many times do I have to say it.
the tour company hired me, not you, you little piss ant."
I smiled to myself, but the victory was not long lived. None of that
solved my dilemma with Emma. I may have figured out what
happened, but it didn t do a damn thing to help me because it was clear
Emma probably wasn t going to believe a damn thing I had to say as an
excuse.
My phone starts ringing again, and my eyes blink as I pull out of

the memories, but remain focused on the wall. Midge. Again.
With a sigh, I lean sideways on the couch and grab the phone from the
side table, answering it before the voice mail can pick up.
"It s about damn time you answered," Midge snaps at me as soon as the
phone gets to my ear.
"Hello to you too, Midge," I say dryly.
"It s a good thing you picked up as I was getting ready to hop a flight to
meet you in Detroit," she says.
I ignore that, because while I have no doubt she d do it, it s a moot point
since I answered. "What can I do for you?"
"Seriously, Evan," she says in exasperation. "You ve been radio silent
for four damn days, I m going out of my mind with worry about you,
and that s all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say?" I challenge her. "I lost the girl I love
because my so-called 'best friend' set me up, I haven't done a damn
thing wrong, and there s no way out of this. So what the fuck do you
want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me you ve got a plan figured out," she says in a
matter-of-fact tone. "Emma s completely shut down. She won t talk to
her father or me. The only one she ll talk to is that goddamned furry
beast of hers."
"She s still with Cary?" I ask curiously.
"No," Midge says in resignation. "She went back to her house
yesterday. Won t return our calls. Hasn t come into work."
"You need to go over there and make sure she s okay," I growl at
Midge.
"We have," she assures me. "She was polite, opened the door, and told
us to go away. That she just wanted some time alone."
"Fuck," I mutter as I scrub my hand through my hair.
"So what are you going to do?" she persists.
"I have no clue," I tell Midge with brutal honesty. "She won t answer
the phone or return any texts to me. But I did figure out what
happened."

"What?" she asks hesitantly.
So I tell her the whole gory truth. About what I d been able to piece
together about that night. Told her everything Rick recounted to me,
including my refusal to go to a strip club. How I got blind, stinking
drunk off bourbon that Tyler practically poured down my throat, and
how ultimately, I could do nothing but assume Tyler set me up since he
lied to my face about not knowing Emma was coming in to surprise me.
"He probably drugged you," Midge says speculatively.
"Don t think I haven t thought that," I tell her. "But I can t prove it, and
it doesn t matter. I fired him. He s long gone."
"Good," she says. "Now all you have to do is tell Emma all of this. I'm
sure she'll listen."
"Not if she won't answer my calls," I point out.
"I swear," Midge says with a sigh. "Sometimes, I wonder about that
brain in your skull. How about sending her an email? You know
she ll read it." Well, fuck.
I am apparently a dumb motherfucker.
"Gotta go," I tell Midge, and I don t even let her say another word. I
disconnect and then run to the bedroom where I keep my personal
laptop.

CHAPTER 193
Emma
The elevator doors slide silently open, and I step into the marbled foyer
of Knight & Payne. The front-desk receptionist, Amanda, looks up at
me with surprise.
"Welcome back, Emma," she says sweetly.
"Thanks," I say flatly. I don t want to be here, but I figured if my dad s
back at work, and he had a broken heart so to speak, then I could do the
same.
Amanda sniffs at my rebuff and turns her attention back to her
computer screen.
I, on the other hand, hitch my shoulders back and head into The Pit.
Rather than turning left to wind my way through the desks to get to my
own, I spare a brief glance to see my dad sitting behind his desk, and
then turn right. I follow the perimeter of the room, not looking
anywhere but the direction I m walking. When I reach the adjacent
wall, I turn left and walk straight toward Midge s office.
Her secretary looks up from her desk as I approach, a cool smile on her
face.
"Can I help you?" she asks pleasantly.
"Nope," I say and glide right past her. Taking the doorknob to Midge s
office firmly in hand, I turn it and push the door open while her
secretary scrambles up from her desk, saying in a frantic voice, "You
can t go in there without an invite."
Midge is at her desk and her head slowly rises to look at who would
dare intrude into her personal space. Her secretary comes in right
behind me and says, "I m so sorry. She just barged right in. Shall I call
security?"
I roll my eyes, but I don t spare her a glance. Instead, I walk right up to
one of Midge s guest chairs and plop down in one. I set my briefcase on
the floor and look at Midge expectantly.

Midge stares back at me for a thoughtful moment, her face exquisitely
blank. I brace for her to throw me out, but her gaze slides past me and
over my shoulder where she says to her secretary, "It s fine. You can
leave us."
When I hear the door close behind me, Midge finally looks back to me
and says, "Welcome back, Emma. It s about time."
"I m not here to stay," I say curtly and bend to the side to reach into the
side pocket of my briefcase. I pull a piece of paper out and hand it
across the desk to her. "This is where I want a job. I want you to handle
it for me as soon as possible."
Midge cocks an eyebrow at me but takes the paper. She unfolds it, and
her eyes do a quick scan of the printout. I d been doing some in-depth
searching and knew the exact place I wanted to go.
"Crowley and Padrick," she muses as she looks back up at me. "You ve
done your homework."
"You were classmates with Quentin Padrick," I recite like a robot.
"You did moot court together, served on law review, and graduated
numbers one and two respectively from your law school class. You ve
worked on several cases together over the years, and I remember seeing
him at the Christmas party."
"Well done," she praises me, but it doesn t ring genuine. "So you think
I have enough influence with him to land you a job there?"
"I think you have enough influence to do anything you set your mind
to," I offer praise back to her.
She gives a tinkling laugh of appreciation, but then her demeanor turns
shrewd. She leans forward, puts her elbows on the desk, and steeples
her fingers in front of her face as she looks at me. "That law firm is
about as far from Raleigh as you can get without crossing over into
Tennessee."
"It is," I agree.
"You re running far, far away, aren t you?" she taunts me.
"I consider it a necessary career change, and one that was promised to
me if I helped Evan out," I offer back.
"I get it," she says smoothly. "You know Evan will come back here
after the tour, and you re conceited enough to think he might come

looking for you."
My jaw drops as anger courses through me. "I have no such
thoughts—"
"Then why are you leaving?"
I m prepared for this, because I knew she and my dad would think I was
running away from Evan. "As it turns out, your nephew did have one
positive impact on me. He taught me that I could do so much more as
an attorney than I thought. So I chose Crowley and Padrick because
they have a heavy mergers and acquisitions practice. That s contract
heavy, but there is also a good deal of negotiations that occur. I
consider it an upward move for my career, and it lets me expand upon
my newfound confidence and skills."
Midge sits up straight as she gives an amused chuckle. She claps her
hands repeatedly and says, "Oh, very well done, Emma. I d say Evan
did quite a bit for you."
I don t respond because I ve already given him all the credit he s
due.
We engage in a bit of a staring war, and it s completely awkward and
uncomfortable. It s hard to do battle with the great Midge Payne. Just as
I feel my resolve weakening and I m ready to let my gaze drop, Midge
leans back in her chair and crosses one elegant leg over the other. "You
re making a bad decision, Emma."
"I don t think so," I rebuff her, not willing to let her get in my
head.
But she s undaunted. "Evan s the best thing that ever happened to
you—"
"—he was with another woman," I can t help but blurt out.
"—and you re going to let him get away if you don t wise the fuck up,"
she continues, unperturbed. "You know damn well he didn t do
anything to betray you."
"He was with another—"
"Emma," Midge snaps at me, and I jerk with surprise over the venom in
her voice. "I know damn well he wrote you an email that explained
what happened. Tyler set him up. Got him drunk, possibly drugged
him, and he arranged for that woman to be in his bed. He didn t

do a damn thing with her other than share a bed in a passed-out
condition. Even his friends verified that all he did was talk about you
all night. He had no intention of cheating on you, and perhaps the only
thing he's guilty of is trusting in the wrong person. So yeah... I know he
wrote you that email, and more importantly, I know damn well you
read it. In fact, I bet you couldn t help yourself. And I want to know
why you re being so damn stubborn about this."
I grit my teeth because I hate everything she just said.
I hate it because yes, I read his email, and perhaps Evan was telling me
the truth that nothing occurred and he had nothing to do with that
woman. But it s all coming from Evan, a man who I found in a very
compromising position.
I don t know what to believe.
I know I want to believe him, but I would do so wondering at the same
time how much of a fool I'd be if I did. Worse yet, if what he wrote in
that email is true, then I m a complete and utter bitch for not reacting to
his email. I m heartless for not reaching out to him to talk about it. He
sent me that email five days ago and it s gone unanswered, my cold
silence making it clear there s nothing left to say.
"It doesn t matter," I say softly, letting my gaze drop down to my hands
where they rest tightly clasped against my dull, boring brown skirt of
creped polyester. "I'm not cut out for that life anyway."
"You know he fired Tyler," Midge says offhandedly.
I nod without looking up. "He told me that in the email."
"He s going to take the deal with Phoenix," she goes on to say.
"Without an active manager and without someone to help him handle
an indie career, he thinks it s best to go ahead and go with a label."
At that, my head shoots up. "It's not what he really wants though."
"I see you do know my nephew," she says with a smile. "But
regardless, he doesn t feel he has any other options. I m looking over
the contract now, and we ll ask for a few changes, but it s pretty much a
done deal. They re pushing for a three-album deal."
She s baiting me, but I don t rise to it. It s not my problem what Evan
decides to do with his career, and it s certainly none of my concern.

"Are you going to get me that job at Crowley and Padrick?" I ask with
resolve.
"Maybe," she says evasively, then reaches over to the phone on her
desk. She picks up the receiver, hits one button, and says, "Cary.
darling. can you come into my office? Your wayward daughter is
sitting in here and perhaps you can talk some sense into her."
Now that s low.
I start to stand up from the chair, completely intent on walking out of
her office. She just points a finger at said chair and says, "Sit."
My butt drops faster than Sirius ever has in our training sessions.
Midge even says, "Good girl."
I fume as I glare at her, but, within less than thirty seconds, my father s
walking into her office.
"What s up, babe?" he asks, and I have to suppress an eye roll at their
easy and flirty banter in the face of these very important career
decisions I m trying to effectuate.
"Your daughter s asked me to get her a job at a law firm in the western
part of the state. She s being pigheaded and stubborn, and I figured you
should have a crack at her before I grant her wish."
My head tilts and I look to my left as my dad takes a seat in the chair
next to me. He angles his body my way and crosses one leg over the
other. He looks healthy and fully functional, so I suppose it s not going
to hurt his heart too bad for me to leave him.
"What s going on, Emma?" he asks in a very fatherly voice.
"I would like to make a career change," I say succinctly. "I want to try
mergers and acquisitions, and Crowley and Padrick is the best firm in
the state for that. It s a very good move for me professionally."
Midge snorts. "She s running because she knows she s fucked things up
with Evan, she knows she s wrong, and she doesn t have the guts to fix
it."
"Easy, Midge," my father says in a low, warning voice, and I doubt
anyone in Midge s life has ever talked to her like that. Her eyebrows
rise upward in surprise, then her eyes narrow on him.
"Cary," Midge says in exasperation. "Evan loves her, and she loves
Evan, and it's ridiculous that they—"

"Get her the job," my dad says, cutting Midge off mid-sentence.
"Pardon me?" she says in surprise.
"Get her the job," he says and stands up from the chair. "Let her make
her own mistakes. How will she ever learn otherwise?" Now I m
affronted.
"This is not a mistake," I snap at my dad.
"Prove me wrong," he says curtly and then turns to Midge. "We still on
for lunch?"
She gives him a gamine smile, her lips tipped upward appreciatively
over the way he just put me in my place all while giving me the noose
to hang myself. "Of course, darling. Maybe we can head to your house
for lunch."
At her suggestive tone, I gag internally but also turn my glare on her,
peeved she s enjoying my discomfort.
My dad turns to me and says, "Emma. let me know when you re
moving. I ll be glad to help with the expenses."
And with that, he turns around and leaves.
My head turns slowly back to Midge. She makes a shooing motion with
her hand and says, "Run along, Emma. Clear out your desk. I ll have the
job arranged by the end of the day."
I walk out of her office having received exactly what I came in for, and
yet I feel like I ve lost everything.
♦
Later that night, I sit on my bed and let my fingers rub absently over my
phone screen. It s dark as the phone is in sleep mode, and I ponder
everything that happened today in Midge s office. As promised, I
received an email from her at half past four, telling me I was to start at
Crowley and Padrick the following week.
It appeared I was moving across the state.
With a sigh, I turn the phone on and skim through my Contacts. With
an iron resolve, I choose my quarry and I dial.
Tyler answers on the second ring. "What do you want?"
"The truth," I say softly.
Tyler gives a dark laugh. In a voice filled with malice, he says,

"The truth is that Evan cheated on you. He found someone far more
beautiful and sexier than you, and he banged the fuck out of her in the
same bed he used—"
I hang up on him, my heart racing.
That s not what I expected.
Or what I wanted.
I wanted him to confirm for me all of Evan s suppositions, but instead,
he just shoved my greatest fears right down my throat.
At least, I think he did. That could have just been the fact he s an
asshole, lost his job, and is now taking his ire out on me. Can I really
expect him to give me the truth?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I flip over to my email and I scroll
through my inbox, looking for the one Evan sent me five days ago. I
don t bother reading it, instead hitting the reply button.
I quickly type out a message. Midge told me you were going to sign a
three-album deal with Phoenix. Don't do it. That's my opinion.
I hit send before I can second-guess my actions, and then I turn my
phone off so I don t see if he replies. I don t want to be tempted to
engage with him.
I m terrified if he does, it will be clear just how big of an idiot I might
actually be.
♦
The next morning, I turn my phone on and brace myself to see what
Evan had to say.
There s nothing in my inbox. He didn t respond.

CHAPTER 200
Evan
Two months later...
Midge strides through the restaurant looking like she s on the catwalk
in Milan. She s wearing a lavender sleeveless dress classically cut with
matching lavender pumps and a cream-color cardigan over her toned
shoulders. Many of the men, most way younger than her, turn their
heads to watch her strut by.
I stand up from my chair as she approaches, and she walks into my
arms for a long hug. She leans back, still holding on tight to my upper
arms, and lets her eyes roam all over my face. Finally, in a rare display
of emotional affection, she murmurs, "I've missed you, kiddo."
"Missed you too," I say gruffly.
She squeezes my arms and releases me before sitting elegantly in the
chair adjacent to mine. We re at a table that seats four, but it s tucked
away in the corner of this upscale, downtown steakhouse. I m vaguely
aware of the people chittering around us, as I was immediately
recognized when I walked in five minutes ago, and of course, Midge
always makes a grand entrance.
Our waiter appears practically out of thin air, and Midge and I order
drinks. A pineapple martini for her, a beer for me.
"Well," she says dramatically when the waiter leaves. "Tell me all
about it."
She s asking about my concert tour, of course. It s over and now I'm
back in Raleigh, getting my bearings and gearing up for the next
chapter in my musical career.
Smiling fondly, I tell her the simple truth. "It was amazing. I was
nervous as shit each time I went out on that stage, but then I always
settled, and it always felt. just so right. I can t wait to do it again."
She nods in agreement. "You were amazing in New York. Never been
more proud of you. I'm sure your parents are too."

Midge had flown there to see me perform. It wasn t a surprise, as she d
have liked, but without a manager to help arrange such surprises, she
felt it best to give me a head s-up she was coming. She watched from
backstage and her presence there felt really damn good.
I cock an eyebrow at her over the comment about my parents. They d
been invited to all my shows but hadn t attended one yet. "You really
want to go there, Aunt Midge?"
She gives me a sheepish grin. "Well, I'm sure they'd be if they ever
bothered to care about anyone but themselves."
This is not typical of Midge. She usually plays the peacemaker in the
tumultuous relationship I have with my parents. I rebelled a lot as a
younger kid, craving the attention of parents who just didn t have it in
them to give. When Midge stepped in and took over as the main role
model in my life, she did so with a determined effort for me to never
forget my mom and dad.
It was a valiant attempt by her, but over the years, I stopped caring.
They lived happy and fruitful lives and well, so have I. Midge gave me
everything I could ever need, and continues to do so.
"Let s get a little business out of the way," she says, her voice going
from doting proud aunt to shrewd legal shark. "The copyright lawsuit s
been dismissed and all the papers filed."
"Awesome," I say. Because it is. Midge took over the case since Emma
left, and she got my former bandmates to agree to a lump sum of
seventy-five thousand, which I assume they split three ways. They also
signed a confidentiality agreement and I am now free from that drama.
"I ve also gone over the breach-of-contract suit," she says briskly. "He
doesn t have a leg to stand on, but I m betting he s going to drag this out
all the way. He s looking for a quick payday and will probably jump at
any offer you make to him."
I grimace. The "him" she s referencing is Tyler. Two weeks ago, a
sheriff s deputy served me in Washington D.C. with a lawsuit Tyler
filed against me for breach of contract and wrongful termination.
Figures that fucker would still want to take a piece of me, which
infuriates me considering all I lost because of him.
"Don t offer him a fucking dime," I growl at her from across the

table. "Not one penny. Drag this out for years if you have to, and if you
want to make him suffer in the process, that would make me very, very
happy."
Midge chuckles. "That s definitely part of my DNA swimming in your
veins. Never one to back down from a fight."
"Damn skippy," I mutter. "Now let s move on to more pleasant things
to discuss."
We continue to chat, getting caught up on each other s lives. While we
talked frequently by phone while I was on tour, it wasn t the same as
just good old one-on-one time with a loved one. Midge spends a great
deal of time talking about Cary, and this is done with an unbreakable
smile on her face. It amazes me still how much she s changed since she
started seeing him. I swear, if it s possible, she actually looks even
younger because of it.
The waiter brings our drinks.
We order thick ribeye steaks with fried Brussel sprouts. We talk about
everything under the sun. Well, almost everything.
"So, Cary and I are thinking about taking a trip in the fall," Midge says
as she daintily cuts off a piece of steak.
"Oh, yeah?" I ask. "Where are you going to go?"
She shrugs as she holds the steak poised on the tip of her fork. "We re
batting around a few ideas. Maybe Europe."
"Sounds great," I say with a smile. She gives me a pensive look, puts
the steak in her mouth, and delicately chews as she stares at me.
After she swallows, she points the fork at me. "Want to come with us?
You could use a vacation."
I m shaking my head in the negative. "A romantic trip to Europe and
you drag your nephew along? No thanks. Not into being a third wheel."
Midge chuckles and puts her fork down. Picking up her second martini,
she rotates her wrist to swirl the liquid before taking a sip. When she
sets the glass down, she looks at me slyly. "You don t have to be a third
wheel. You could bring someone."
I thought that empty feeling would have diminished by now, but

every time I think of what could have been with Emma, my chest
cramps from a deep hollowness within.
While I had promised myself I was not going to ask Midge about
Emma, I find myself almost obsessively curious about her right now. I
ve purposefully refrained from bringing her up to Midge over the
course of the last few months as she has intimate knowledge about
Emma and what she s up to. While I refused to ask it didn t mean that I
wasn t always secretly hoping Midge would drop me a little nugget of
information that would appease my curiosity, but she never did. I think
she was trying to make me suffer for the fact that I refused to reach out
to Emma, particularly after she sent me that email telling me not to take
the Phoenix deal. I didn't know what to make of it, but ultimately... it
didn t matter. She clearly wasn t moving past the "incident" because
she didn t say a damn word about it. Didn t ask me how I was doing or
if I was lonely, or tell me she missed me.
Her message was blunt and to the point, and totally nothing more than
some legal advice, I m sure.
So I moved on.
Sort of.
Not really.
"So how s Emma doing?" I ask casually even though I swore to myself
a million times today that I wouldn t ask. I keep my gaze on my steak as
I cut a piece.
She doesn t answer me, and I m forced to look up. She s staring at me in
amusement. "It s about time you asked."
I shrug like it doesn t matter. "You don t have to tell me anything. I was
just making some conversation."
"Sure you were," she says with a chuckle. She doesn t say anything
else, and that totally grates on my nerves.
But because I'm a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'm not feeling up to
amusing her further, I change the subject. "I m thinking of selling my
house and getting something a little smaller."
"She s in Asheville," Midge says, finally answering my question, and
that causes a jolt of surprise to spear through me.
"What?" I ask, completely forgetting about my totally fake plans to

downsize just to make conversation.
"She moved to Asheville a few months ago," she says nonchalantly.
"Had me get her a job at an old law school buddy s firm, doing mergers
and acquisitions."
I stare at Midge, slack jawed as that sinks in. I realize with brutal clarity
I had some level of comfort being back in Raleigh, knowing Emma was
just miles away from me if I ever got the nerve to go see her. But she s
clear across the state now, and that couldn t be a clearer message to me.
Feels like I lost her all over again.
"Oh," is all I can say. I put my fork and knife down on my plate and
push it away, no longer feeling hungry.
"Totally a coward move," Midge adds on. "And frankly, I thought she
was a little conceited for doing so."
"Pardon?" I ask, completely off kilter now from the frosty tone of
Midge s voice.
Midge leans across the table a bit and says in a low, judgmental voice.
"It s clear, Evan. She thought you would return and try to woo her back,
and she knows how devastatingly charming you can be. So she made
the decision to cut and run, and she s probably betting you ll come
running after her. She wants to lead you on a merry chase across the
state."
I'm shaking my head. "She's not like that." "Of course she is," Midge
scoffs. "Conceited and self-centered if you ask my opinion. I mean, you
explained everything to her, and she didn t even give you the courtesy
of considering the truth. You re probably better off to be rid of her."
One of my eyebrows slowly rises upward and I give Midge a sardonic
smile. "Really? You re taking that tack with me?" She grins slyly
across the table. "Is it working?" "No, Midge," I tell her truthfully.
"You can t bait me into doing something about this whole fiasco. Ball s
in Emma s court."
She shrugs. "Fine. Sit around and wait until you get gray hair. You re
missing out on some happiness."
"Emma s made her choice," I remind her, sounding determined to

my own ears but knowing deep inside that I d do anything to get her
back.
"Whatever," she says dismissively. "So, back to our fall trip. Cary and I
are thinking of taking a month off, maybe more."
"That s great," I say half-heartedly, because while I didn t like anything
she just told me about Emma, I still enjoyed at least talking about her.
The hollowness returns with a vengeance.
"It is great," she agrees. "I m looking forward to it. No work. No stress.
No obligations."
"You deserve it."
"I m glad you think so," she says bluntly "Because you re going to have
to find another attorney to represent you against Tyler s lawsuit. I won t
have time, and the responsive pleadings will be due when I m gone."
My jaw drops. "You can t be serious?"
"Dead serious," she says. And oh yeah. that look in her eyes.
Absolutely serious.
"Assign another attorney in the firm," I challenge her.
"No can do, nephew," she says with a sweet smile. "They re all too
busy."
"You have almost seventy attorneys," I say in exasperation.
"And all of them are just so very busy," she coos at me.
"You re a pain in my ass," I mutter, but secretly inside. I m glad she s
cutting me off.
That means I have to find a new attorney to help me, and it appears I
know of one such other person who could be right for the job.

CHAPTER 206
Emma
My eyes skim over the paragraph entitled Interpretation and
Enforcement Notices. I blink hard to keep my vision from going hazy. I
yawn.
Completely and utterly bored with what I m doing. With a sigh, I push
the document away from me and slouch down in my chair.
I hate my job with a passion that creates a fiery burn in my belly. Hate
it. Hate it. Hate it.
Oh, the people here are nice enough. The firm is well respected, and
this is earning quite a feather in my cap. The city of Asheville is lovely
and progressive. The scenery is stunning. The food is good. The air
smells sweet.
And I hate it.
A timid knock on my door arouses me from my dark thoughts, and I
mutter, "Come in."
The door slides open and Ben Cambridge stands there, looking hesitant
but determined. "Hey. Got a minute?"
Not really.
"Sure," I say halfheartedly.
"So, there's a jazz festival this weekend and I was wondering if you d
like to go," he says hopefully.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from grimacing. To all
outward appearances, Ben is exactly the type of guy I always saw
myself settling down with. He s five years older than me, does quite
well for himself here at this firm, and he told me at lunch the other day
he wanted three kids and possibly a cat.
He s also been hinting around at wanting to ask me out, and I ve done
everything to discourage it. I ve been polite but businesslike with him,
trying to focus conversation on this case I m helping him with. I ve

refrained from asking him personal questions, and I ve brushed off his
compliments.
Apparently, he s not been taking the hint.
Another sigh, this time internal, but I give Ben a warm smile and tell
him the God s honest truth. "I m sorry, Ben. But I m fresh off a bad
break up, and I'm just not ready—"
"Well, we could go just as friends," he provides helpfully.
Shaking my head, I tell him, "That s a really nice offer, but I think I'm
going to go back to Raleigh and see my dad for the weekend."
I truly hadn t been considering doing that, because I know my dad will
take one look at my face and know I hate my job and my life here, and
I m not ready to have the "I told you so" speech.
Ben opens his mouth, to say what I don t know, but my phone chimes
and the receptionist says, "Miss Peterson. your two o clock is here to
see you."
I glance down at the day planner I keep on my desk. This law firm has a
very sophisticated digital calendaring system, which I do use, but I also
like my handwritten planner. It s old school, and that s still a very big
part of me deep down.
No clue what this appointment is about as the only thing I was provided
on my digital calendar, that I dutifully transferred to my handwritten
one, was that my client s name was Horace Wigglesworth and that he
owned a large construction company that was interested in buying up
several local companies.
This didn t intrigue me and the only thing that has my attention in the
slightest is the fact that this man had parents who apparently hated him
because that s the most God-awful name I d ever heard.
"I ll be right there," I tell the receptionist, then I hit the disconnect
button.
Standing from my chair, I give Ben another polite smile. "Again, thank
you for the offer, but it s just not a good time for me and besides. going
home this weekend and all."
"Sure," Ben says, giving me almost a tiny bow as he backs out of my
office, but there s no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes.
Smoothing down my skirt, I nab a yellow pad off my desk along

with a pen and make my way up to the reception area. This firm is only
about a quarter of the size of Knight & Payne, and it s decorated in a
more traditional style. The firm itself is in a converted historic home.
Heavy cherry furniture with brocade fabrics, emerald green carpeting
and dark paneled walls. It s exactly the type of environment I d once
longed for, and yet I find myself missing the noise of The Pit or the
rumble of the highway underneath a tour bus while I worked on my
laptop.
When I step out into the lobby, I immediately focus on the receptionist
as she hands me a clipboard with an informational sheet attached to the
top that Mr. Wigglesworth—internal giggle because seriously, so
stupid—filled out. I give it a brief scan, not really taking in any of the
background information.
Instead, I turn halfheartedly to my newest client as I say his name, "Mr.
Wigglesworth."
When my gaze lands on him, a surge of adrenaline washes through me
and my knees almost buckle as I see Evan sitting in a high-backed
Victorian chair done in gray, mauve, and green paisley silk. He
swamps the chair with his frame and looks completely out of place in
his classic rocker wear. Faded jeans with a hole in one knee, black
Chucks unlaced, and a dark gray V-necked t-shirt. He s got a
burgundy-colored beanie on his head under which his bangs are tucked,
exposing the smooth lines of his forehead and making me take stock of
his brilliantly expressive hazel eyes as they bore into me.
"What are you doing here?" I whisper.
"Having a consultation," he says as he pushes up out of the chair. "I m
in the market for a new lawyer."
My head snaps back to the receptionist, intent on glaring at her for
letting a man into this firm who s clearly not a Horace Wigglesworth,
but as I look at Gloria with her gray-bunned hair bent over her
computer and her old-fashioned reading glasses on, I realize she d have
no clue who Evan Scott was. As famous as he is, she s not exactly his
demographic of fan.
Taking two steps, I walk up to Evan. In a very low voice so Gloria can
t hear me, I tell him, "I m sorry. I m not taking new clients on, so if

you ll excuse me—"
Evan s hand shoots out and grabs my upper arm. His head drops down,
and he whispers back to me in a very threatening tone, "If you don t
meet with me about my case, I m going to toss you over my shoulder
and walk right out of here with you in tow. So to save yourself some
embarrassment, how about finding us a nice, quiet conference room or
something where we can talk civilly."
A pure thrill of excitement runs through me over his words, and I find
myself strangely not offended in the slightest. In fact, there s something
frankly wicked about the whole prospect of him doing such a thing.
I m sure the folks at Crowley and Padrick, a firm that s been around for
over eighty years, would be completely scandalized if Evan did such a
thing with me.
I would be completely scandalized. I d be mad, affronted, and
completely embarrassed. It wouldn t be appropriate, completely
unprofessional, and I wouldn t be able to look any of my peers in the
face for as long as I live if it happened.
So I square my shoulders, notch my chin up an inch, and glare at him. "I
have nothing to say to you, so I m going to ask you to leave."
Evan s eyes flash with challenge, and he emits a small growl of victory.
Then my world is spinning as his shoulder goes into my belly and I m
flipped practically upside down over his back. His hand goes to my butt
to hold me in place, and I can t help the small shriek of surprise—no,
happiness—that runs through me over his alpha ways.
I hear Gloria gasp in shock as Evan spins toward the door, and I raise
my head up to look at her. She has her hand covering her mouth and her
eyes are wide with surprised uncertainty. Her other hand hovers over
the phone, and I'm pretty sure she's thinking of dialing 911.
"It s fine, Gloria," I huff out since breathing is a bit difficult from this
position. "Mr. um... Wigglesworth is an old friend. I'll be back soon."
"Don t count on it," Evan mutters as he strides right out the door and
onto the sidewalk.
Without pausing, he turns sharply left and walks down the block

with me bouncing on his shoulder, causing unladylike grunts to come
out of me.
"For God s sake, Evan," I say as I slap at his back. "Put me down. I can
t breathe."
I expect him to ignore me, but, to my surprise, he lowers me down,
letting my feet touch the concrete gently. But then he s got my hand in
his and he s dragging me back down the sidewalk.
For a brief moment, I think to be affronted, but I can t bring myself to
do it. For the past two months, I ve kicked myself in the butt so many
times for not reaching out to Evan, so now I couldn t be any happier
that s he s here. I have no clue why he s here, but I m just so freaking
happy right now.
Evan turns left at the next intersection and marches me twenty yards to
a black car parallel parked. He opens the passenger door and
says, "Get in."
So I get in.
I watch as he walks around the front, holding my breath until he slides
into the driver s seat and closes his door. He then turns to face me. "So
will you take my case?"
I cock an eyebrow at him. "I don t know, Mr. Wigglesworth.
What s it about?"
Evan smirks at me, and God. I missed his smirk. How can I miss a
smirk?
"Tyler sued me for wrongful termination and breach of contract," he
replies.
"That asshole," I exclaim with indignation.
"I know," he says sagely. "And I refuse to pay him a dime. I ll fight this
to the death, and I need a really good attorney to handle this for me."
He wants me. Well, as his attorney.
My gaze drops to my lap. "Midge would handle it for you." "She
absolutely would," he agrees softly, and his hand comes out to rest over
mine, which are clenched together. I look up at him. "But I don t want
her."

"You don t?" I whisper.
"I want you," he says gently. "Like really bad."
"You do?" I ask in awe, because. how could he? He reached out to me
two months ago. Explained everything that happened. He had been
manipulated. Violated by his best friend. And I turned my back on
everything we had because my feelings had been hurt, and not even by
him.
"Yeah, Emma," he says gruffly. "I want you. Completely. In every way
a man could want a woman."
My gaze drops back down again, my cheeks heating. It s been so long
since he s made them warm, but this time it s not with embarrassment,
but with guilt aimed directly at myself. "I don t understand why. I didn't
give you the benefit of the doubt. I ignored you. I cut you off, even
when deep down, I knew you were telling me the truth of what
happened that day."
"You gave me your opinion," he tells me.
My head snaps his way. "I what?"
"You sent me an email and you told me not to take the Phoenix deal,"
he reminds me. "I d been after you for weeks to tell me what you
thought I should do, and you wouldn t. You always held back, afraid to
trust that I would value your opinion in something that would have a
very major impact on my life."
"It was just a thought—" I try to argue, but his hand squeezes mine to
cut me off.
"It was the moment you showed me that you trusted me enough that
you d risk giving your opinion," he says with surety. "You may not
have seen that for what it was, but I did."
"Then why didn t you respond to me?" I ask him, my eyes searching his
face for an answer that is very important to me.
"Because I think at that point, everything was still very raw for you," he
explains. "I mean. your message was very short and blunt. It gave me
no further encouragement to do anything, and frankly. I think you
needed to sort of figure these things out. So I waited for you to do that
and then reach out to me once you were sure."
"But I didn t reach out to you," I point out.

"Yeah, you did," he assures me. "You walked into Midge s office and
demanded a job on the other side of the state. You knew that would
provoke me."
"No, I didn t," I deny vehemently, but then I give him a small truth.
"But maybe deep down, I hoped it would."
Evan chuckles and he moves his hand from mine, bringing it to the
back of my neck where he grips me gently.
"Evan," I say with complete apology, "I should have reached out. I
should have told you I believed in you."
"It's okay," he offers me gallantly.
"No," I tell him with a shake of my head. "I was too afraid to make the
move. Every day that went by I didn t hear from you, or that I failed to
reach out to you, I convinced myself you d moved on. I just figured you
d given up, and that I would be totally humiliated and hurt all over
again if I contacted you. I convinced myself I d blown it, and I wasn t
brave enough to find out if that was true or not."
"Emma," Evan says as his fingers tighten on me to make a point. "It s
done. That s all in the past. I m here now. It s time to figure out what we
want to do with our future."
"Do you forgive me?" I ask, because I really need to know if I still have
some more groveling to do.
"Only if you forgive me for ever letting myself get put into that stupid
position," he says with a smile.
I shake my head and reach out, placing my hand on his chest. "No. That
was all Tyler. You trusted him and never would have thought he d
betray you that way."
Evan gives me a curt eye roll, and then silences any further protest by
pulling me into him and placing his mouth against mine. His kiss is all
at once savage and regretful, sweet and fulfilling.
I missed it so much.
When he pulls away from me, he leans his forehead against mine. "So
how soon can you move back to Raleigh?"
"I need to give two weeks notice," I say without hesitation.
"Then you ll go on my payroll," he tells me, and this causes me to pull
back so I can look at him.

"Your payroll?" I ask with my eyebrows knitted in confusion.
"I ll be hiring you to be my full-time attorney, publicist, and manager,"
he says adamantly. "Seems I have an opening, and because I didn t take
the Phoenix deal—"
"You didn t take it?" I exclaim in surprised delight.
He grins and shakes his head. "The only thing I took was your advice. I
find I like being an indie artist for now. So that means I need help, and
you re the most qualified. And besides that, I m not willing to go
another day without you in my bed."
"Then that means you re going to have to stay here with me in
Asheville for a few weeks," I tell him.
"My bags are packed and in the trunk," he assures me, and my heart
swells. Evan came here knowing it was all going to work out. He had
the confidence in us as a whole to know it was going to be okay.
I hope I can have that same confidence one day.
I think I can.
No, wait. I know I can. Evan s already helped me to grow in so many
ways, so it will be unavoidable.
"Evan?" I whisper as I look into his eyes.
"Yeah?"
I swallow hard, and I decide to trust in him. I decide to take a risk so he
doesn t have to be the only one today making a bold step for us. "I love
you. I loved you two months ago, which is why I think my heart was so
broken. And I still love you today. Not the same amount, but more."
"Now that would be a fantastic song lyric," he says with a chuckle.
Then he kisses me. No less savagely. None of the regret. Still
amazingly sweet, and more fulfilling than I could have ever hoped for.
"And I love you, too."

EPILOGUE
Evan
"Alright, one last song tonight," I say as I clasp one hand over the
microphone and balance my guitar over my knee. I just finished an
acoustic version of my latest hit, Crazy Good, a song I wrote last year
after Emma and I got back together. It s about her and how crazy
fucking good my life became with her in it.
Since then, I ve written a lot of songs about Emma, and you know
what? My fans fucking love it. I ve become like this modern-day
romance hero or some shit because I write about my feelings for her.
Apparently, that not only makes women s panties combust, but it also
makes their hearts swoon with rapture. It s nothing but a pure goddamn
joy that Emma is revered by my fans.
"This last one you all know," I say softly into the microphone, and then
tilt my head to the right. The cheering starts to build, reaching a
crescendo as they all know what s coming. My eyes land on her, and
she blows me a kiss. "This one is called... Emma."
And everyone goes fucking nuts.
And they should.
It s an awesome song, having spent seven weeks at #1 on the Billboard
Charts. It s my best work in my humble opinion.
I have to hide my smile widening as my gaze focuses in on Cary and
Midge standing a few feet behind Emma. She has no clue they came in
for the concert. They ve been in VIP seating but were led backstage per
my instructions a few moments ago.
The lights turn down low and a lone spotlight shines down on me. I
plug at the strings of my guitar, which ring clear and true with
absolutely no other music to accompany. Cap, Jimmy, and Dilana
exited the stage the minute the lights dimmed.
It s just me and my words about Emma now.
I close my eyes and I reach into my heart, immediately latching

onto the feeling and letting it lead the way.
The crowd sings along with me, because like me. they love Emma.
The song is beautiful and poignant. A constant reminder to me of how
lucky I am.
It speaks of love and joy, trust and acceptance. I share with my fans
how I love to lay in bed with her on rainy mornings. How she nags me
to put the dishes in the dishwasher. I m told it s especially swoon
worthy when my voice drops low, and I wonder what she d look like
pregnant with my child. I ve heard that men are getting laid left and
right by their women after I sing that she would never be more
beautiful.
It s the best song I ve ever written, and it will never be topped.
I m okay with that, because it s just a song and I have the real deal
standing right over there.
My eyes open and my head turns again, pinning her in place as I sing
the last lines.
She's mine for days, an eternity even... and yet that could never be
enough.
Because she's Emma.
The last notes of the song fade away and the crowd goes crazy. I turn
back to the mic and in a husky voice—because I always get emotional
at the end of that song—I tell the crowd, "Thank you all for coming. I
love you."
The noise is deafening and will ultimately result in an encore chant.
They know I ll be back.
But for now, I slip off the stool, rest my guitar against it, and walk off
the stage toward Emma.
She beams at me, pride etched all over her face even as she wipes tears
away. That song always gets her.
"You were wonderful," she says as I pull her in for a hard hug.
"Pretty much," I tease her, and she pinches me just below my ribs.
Chuckling, I pull back from her, put my hands on her shoulders, and
turn her 180 degrees around so she's facing her dad and Midge standing
there.
She goes still for just a moment, and then she shrieks in delight.

She hasn t seen her dad in almost four months, as we ve been out on the
West Coast recording a new album before we launched into this most
recent concert tour. I went ahead and signed a one-album deal with
Phoenix, as they kept after me. With some hard wheeling and dealing
by my fabulous attorney/manager/publicist, we were able to strike a
deal that not only made sense financially, but also made me
comfortable with how much of my personal life would belong to them,
which wasn t very much. I had to commit to some publicity
appearances, but it was all doable in my mind since Emma would
always be with me.
My life is almost at the pinnacle of perfection. My career is soaring,
Emma was so ferocious in how she dealt with Tyler and his attorneys
that they've slunk off into the darkness with their tails between their
legs, and I know in my heart there will come a day when I get
everything I wished for in that song I just sang.
Emma pulls away from me and launches herself at her dad, who wraps
her up in a hug and lifts her off her feet. Then he lets her go, and she
gives Midge an equally hard hug, and that right there warms my
fucking heart. Those two are as thick as thieves now, and I suppose
they both feel a little smug that Midge s machinations are what
eventually drove us back together again.
I just stand there watching, both my hands shoved down into my
pockets.
Where my fingers on my right hand toy with the little black velvet box
tucked inside.
She has no clue this is coming. Completely oblivious.
Cary and Midge obviously do, which is why I had them flown here for
this concert.
But Emma? No way.
I can t wait to see the look on her face when I pull that ring out and ask
her to give me more than an eternity.
She'll say yes, of course, and then my life will be complete. The End

If you enjoyed Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll as much as I enjoyed writing
it, it would mean a lot for you to give me a review on your favorite
retailer s website.
Connect with Sawyer online:
Website:

www.sawyerbennett.com

Twitter:

www.twitter

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com/bennettbooks Facebook:

www.facebook.com/bennettbooks

Other Books by Sawyer Bennett
The Off Series
Off Sides Off Limits Off The Record Off Course
Off Chance
Off Season
Off Duty
The Last Call Series
On The Rocks Make It A Double Sugar On The Edge
With A Twist
Shaken Not Stirred
Last Call Series Complete Boxed Set

The Legal Affairs Series
Legal Affairs Sneak Peek (FREE) Legal Affairs
Confessions of a Litigation God
Clash: A Legal Affairs Story (Book #1 of Cal and Macy's Story) Grind:
A Legal Affairs Story (Book #2 of Cal and Macy's Story) Yield: A
Legal Affairs Story (Book #3 of Cal and Macy's Story) Friction: A
Legal Affairs Novel
Stand Alone Titles
If I Return
Uncivilized
Love: Uncivilized
Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll
The Sugar Bowl Series
Sugar Daddy Sugar Rush

Sugar Free
The Cold Fury Hockey Series (Random House / Loveswept)
Alex Garrett Zack Ryker Hawke
Max (releasing 12/13/2016) Roman (releasing 2/21/2017) 4 Book
Bundle - Alex, Garrett, Zack, Ryker The Wicked Horse Series
Wicked Fall
Wicked Lust Wicked Need Wicked Ride Wicked Bond

About the Author
Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides,
in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released more than 30 books and
has been featured on both the USA Today and New York Times
bestseller lists on multiple occasions.
A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real life
experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of
readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer
writes something for just about everyone.
Sawyer likes her Bloody Mary s strong, her martinis dirty, and her
heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance
to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant
to a very active toddler, as well as full-time servant to two adorably
naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others, and that a bad day can
be cured with a great work-out, cake, or a combination of the two.