Aria giggles. “I don’t drink much of it either. It might come as a surprise, but the length of the sets I do onstage is like my own version of a football game. A dancing and singing marathon.”
“Oh, I believe it. Don’t forget I’ve been close to the action on two occasions recently.”
Aria nods. “I appreciate you playing along with this. I can’t see how it helps when you’re at the top of your football career, even if your publicist thinks it’s a good opportunity.”
He shrugs. “It’s all part of the gig. It’s funny—all of us go into it with a passion for something, but soon enough it starts to morph into something all its own.”
Aria nods. If only he knew how deeply she can relate. Back when she was a teenager with a decent voice and unruly curls, a cheap guitar, and a relentless work ethic, she was razor-focused on the craft of making music. She begged her parents for lessons and practiced as instructed as often as she could. She played for free—begged to get a set in front of a crowd. Sometimes when Aria looks back, she wonders if that’s the closest she’s ever been to the art of it all. Back before it became big business. Back before she was a household brand.
“It’s all about the ‘brand’ nowadays.”
Griffin cracks open a bottled water. “Don’t I know it.”
“Though I guess these are problems I’m grateful to have.”
It’s Aria’s canned follow-up comment whenever she mentions any of the downsides of fame. She is genuinely grateful for the opportunities she’s had, and she knows a line of aspiring musicians would gladly take her place. Aria never wants to come across as being ungrateful. It’s just that there are also real challenges to the fame, to becoming a brand. A brand that boxes you in.
“I hear you. It’s all right to acknowledge the bad parts too. I get it. It’s not all parties and fancy outfits. There’s real sacrifice that goes into it.”
Aria sucks in a breath, her reply already on the tip of her tongue. Griffin is right, and she has so much to add. But before she can get the words out, a knock comes at the door.
A woman wearing a headset peeks in, clipboard held before her at the ready. “Hi, there! Ms. Wilder and Mr. Hayes, we’re so thrilled you’re here, and we’re ready for your grand entrance.”
Griffin goes still behind the bar, his easy, down-to-earth demeanor evaporating. He tugs at his collar. “Yes, of course. What all is involved?”
“I’ll be there with you the whole way until you go onstage. And then just a natural and very brief exchange between the two of you—thank the guests, express your belief in the mission, and then we’ll roll the fundraising video on the big screen.”
The color leaks slowly from Griffin’s face as the woman describes the bit.
Aria reaches out and pats his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the lead. You follow?”
Griffin nods.
“I’ve been training for this my whole career.” Aria winks at him before getting to her feet and walking with purpose toward the woman in the headset. When Griffin doesn’t budge, she waves for him to follow her.
It’s actually sort of cute to see him freeze at the mere mention of an appearance.
The woman begins power walking, clipboard bobbing, and Griffin takes a few loping steps to catch up. When he arrives at Aria’s side in the hallway, a hint of cologne arrives with him.
“Thank you. For taking the lead,” he says. “You’re such a natural.”
Aria smiles to herself. “It’s my pleasure.”
Nothing feels quite as satisfying as using her natural talents for good.
Chapter 7
Griffin
The idea of a petite, curvy blonde coming to the rescue of a six-foot-four, 250-pound professional athlete is laughable to some, but to Griffin Hayes, it’s his reality in the moment he and Aria Wilder are nudged onstage. As their names are announced, the gathered crowd claps in a contained but enthusiastic manner appropriate for the formal affair.
Aria’s eyes glint in the lights, matching the sparkle on her gown, but Griffin looks away. Now is not the time for admiring her beauty. He’s about to be thrust into the spotlight and out of his comfort zone again.
Aria reaches out and squeezes his forearm. They lock eyes, and she winks. “Trust me, this crowd is child’s play. Just smile and it’ll be over before we know it.”
Griffin gulps. Didn’t Mike promise him that the engagements that would be part of this setup would be easy andlow-key? Granted, he wasn’t being asked to deliver a keynote speech, but Griffin would much prefer cleaning out the cat litter boxes at the shelter than this. Believe it or not, he’d take the pooper scooper over the tuxedo any day.
Aria accepts a microphone from the A/V tech and bursts through the small velvet curtain they’ve set up behind the stage. Griffin takes the matching microphone that’s been pressed into his hand and follows, smiling and waving. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck.
