“Miss Telfer.”
I turn to see Cross watching me from his doorway. He exudes strength, but in a different way than Jax. He’s older, for one. Tall and lean, with hair so dark it’s nearly black. The ends curl over his collar, but I can’t imagine it’s because he forgot to get a haircut.
His suit is crisply cut to follow the lines of his body. He was one of the men with all the gold statues in the picture yesterday. Yet on this floor, there are no pictures of him.
Weird.
He’s made millions—probably billions—in the music industry. Formed stars whose careers took off, flamed out. In the golden age of record executives, he’s one of the biggest.
I follow him into his black-and-white office, a continuation of the pristine carpet outside. It should look like something from an old movie, but it doesn’t. It’s modern.
A fluffy gray rug on the floor under a conversation set looks as if it used to walk.
I’m struck by the urge to run my fingers through it.
The photos gracing the walls here are black-and-white, but they’re not of musicians or awards receptions.
They’re fields and greenspace.
Err, gray space.
“Is that Ireland?” I blurt. “It looks beautiful.”
I turn to find his gaze on me. “It is. My father moved here when I was a child.”
I wait to see if he’ll offer me a seat, but he doesn’t. Nor does he take one as he rounds the black wood desk, resting his fingertips on the blotter.
“Miss Telfer, I understand you interfered with a studio recording session. And assaulted one of our biggest artists.”
My jaw drops. “I definitely did not assault him. He started it.”
I realize how childish it sounds. The memory of it has my skin shivering again, and I rub my hands over my arms. “Technically, he startled me. I was trying to defend myself. Every modern woman should have a knowledge of self-defense, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t nod, but he hasn’t kicked me out yet, so I keep going.
“I know I shouldn’t have walked in, but your tech had this ‘FML’ look I know from a mile away. I know the software. I use it in the campus music lab all the time. There’s a compatibility issue with the most recent update, and…” I trail off as he holds up a hand. “I wanted to fix it.”
Appraising eyes study me. “And did you?”
I realize Cross isn’t asking me about my outburst but what I’d done before that. “Yes. Yes, I think so.”
Cross’ lips twitch at the corner. “Jax Jamieson is heading out on the final leg of his U.S. tour, and we’re short on technical support. We could use someone with your problem-solving skills to back up our sound engineer.”
“You’re asking me if I want to go on a rock tour?” Disbelief reverberates through me.
“Of course not.” His smile thins. “I’m reassigning you to a rock tour.”
“He wants you to what?” Serena shrieks over the phone.
“Go on tour. Four weeks.” From the way I’m hyperventilating in the bathroom stall, I’m surprised the force of it doesn’t lift me clean off the linoleum. “Then I can choose to return to the studio and spend the rest of the summer making coffee. Or they’ll sign a letter saying my co-op term was completed because I’m working around the clock.”
“You have to do it.”
“First, I have no idea what it means to back up a sound engineer on tour. And second, spending twenty-four hours a day with other people sounds like a special kind of hell.” I yank a sheet of toilet paper from the roll and start the productive task of tearing it into tiny pieces. “I bet they all travel on a bus.”
“The horror.”
“It is!” I insist. “They probably sleep in a pile, and…” I hiccup, yanking at my waistband. “Dammit, this skirt is really tight.”
My fingers find the zipper, yanking it down enough that I can breathe while Serena laughs. “When does it leave?”
“This afternoon. I’m supposed to report to this address and see the tour manager.” I take a breath.
“You have to admit it’s kind of poetic,” she observes. “Plus, you’re out of options. The point of the co-operative education program is to put your training into practice. If you don’t have a job in the summer where you can practice, you’ll get kicked out.”
Which is the only reason I’m still here instead of halfway down the street.
“I’ve never had a real job before. I live behind a computer.” I slap my forehead. “And I was planning on a job where I’d have time to work on my program with Professor Carter.”
“Forget Carter. This is a sign. You’re going to fuck Jax Jamieson.”
This is the risk of being friends with Serena. She regularly makes statements that, although they may be entirely false, have the immediate effect of taking years off your life.
“Serena, it’s not a sign. It’s a mistake chased by a coincidence wrapped in a bad idea. Jax Jamieson isn’t someone you fuck. He’s someone you study and watch and learn from. He’s someone you worship.”
“Yeah, with your tongue.” Shivers run through me. “You go to college to learn and study. A guy like Jax Jamieson is exactly who you fuck. He probably has to lift an eyebrow and panties drop. He could blow on a girl, and she’d come. Hell, if he so much as brushes past you in the hallway? I bet you could live off the contact high for the rest of your life.”
“I interrupted his recording session.”
A loud bang has me holding the phone away from my ear. “Sorry, I dropped you. What the hell, Haley? You met a rock star and got invited on his tour. This is amazing. So… is he?”
“Is he what?” I whisper.
“So hot you’ll picture him every time you buzz yourself to oblivion.”
I picture his amber stare, and this time I do feel a shiver. It’s surprising but pleasant. It starts in my brain, trips down my spine, tingles lower.
“No?”
“You totally said that like it was a question.”