Perfect. Exactly what my self-control needs.
***
The lounge looks like the inside of a whiskey commercial. Exposed brick. Dark leather. Amber lights. A bar stocked like someone won a shopping spree.
Dex immediately gravitates toward a platter of miniature pies. Colby chats with a guitarist in the corner. The women gather near the bar.
I plant myself near the far wall and remind myself to focus.
This is work.
Professional work.
I am here to supervise Bryce’s public image, not to notice how good he looks laughing with the guys. Not to notice how the women backstage were just glancing at him like he’s the main act.
Not to notice how he keeps drifting closer to me.
“Annabelle,” Mia says gently, appearing by my arm. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know.”
“I am breathing.”
“In tiny, panicked sips,” she replies. “And you’re standing like someone who’s about to either faint or propose.”
I make a choking sound. “I am not proposing anything.”
“Good,” she says. “Because while Harper would plan a beautiful wedding, I think you should at least survive tonight first.”
I groan. “Please stop talking.”
Mia nudges me with her elbow. “Just admit he gets under your skin. It’s cute.”
“It is not cute,” I say. “It is unprofessional heartburn.”
She laughs. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”
I might actually like her.
A woman with a headset strides over. “Hey, Outlaws! Lola wants to meet you all before sound check.”
The group moves like a migrating herd toward a doorway draped with velvet curtains. I follow, heart tapping a frantic rhythm.
***
Lola McRae is beautiful in a way that feels unfair. Her hair is a waterfall of red curls, her dress sparkles under the lights, and she has the kind of stage presence that could probably convince a tree to clap.
“Y’all made it!” she says, arms thrown wide.
When she speaks to Eli and Mia, she’s warm. When she speaks to Dex, she’s playful.
But when her gaze lands on Bryce?
Oh no.
“Oh,” she purrs. “Well, aren’t you something?”
Bryce shifts, awkward but polite. “Good to meet you.”
“You too,” Lola says, looking him over like he’s a dessert menu. “I hear you’re trouble.”
