“Because no press is bad press?” Vince answers. It may have been years since we’ve last seen each other—almost seven to be exact—but I know the man standing before me well enough to see the shadow in his eyes hiding behind his flippant answer. There’s more to his reasoning.

  And I’ll be damned if I want to know what it is. Or even care what it is.

  “Exactly,” Xavier says. “Reinvention is the key to this business. Vince here did incredible with Bent. We’re here to ensure that he kicks ass as a front man. I mean, who knew the guy could belt out a tune like he does, right?” Xavier pats Vince on the shoulder. “And now McMann is going to help take him to the next level. Let the world see the man outside of the spotlight. Keep the aura of everything that is Vincent Jennings while making people feel that they know the real person beneath.”

  I nod, used to Xavier’s ego-stroking bullshit, but what am I missing? Why did Vince switch agencies? Why is he here? Why is McMann diversifying to musicians now? Why after why after why?

  “Sounds perfect,” Vince says but he doesn’t move, his eyes still locked on mine.

  I wondered if this day would ever come. I’ve rehearsed and imagined what I’d do and say. How I’d feel. If that visceral punch to the gut that seeing Vince has always made me feel would still be there.

  The answer is yes.

  It’s always been yes.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Vince asks.

  “Sure.” Gladly. I’m about to move out of the way so Vince and Xavier can talk when Vince reaches out and grabs my arm.

  “Not you,” he says to me before looking at Xavier and Kevin with raised eyebrows.

  “Oh.” Clearly miffed and confused, Xavier startles momentarily at being pushed aside. He narrows his eyes at me before looking at Vince. “Yes. Of course. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes. Give us the privacy I asked for,” Vince says, effectively dismissing them and making waves with my boss I’m not exactly thrilled with.

  With gritted teeth, I watch them walk away while trying to ignore the feeling of Vince’s hand on me. His touch . . . it always affected me differently than anyone else’s.

  Even now when I don’t want it to.

  Fear and confusion snake their way up my spine. The two emotions force a decision. They pressure me to react—to choose self-preservation after everything we’ve been through, or to just accept what’s always been between us and cave.

  But there is only one option this time.

  There is only one way to keep him at arm’s length and—preferably—out of my life.

  It’s fight or flight time and I choose fight.

  “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” I yank my arm from his grasp the minute we’re out of earshot.

  “Trouble? With who? That douchebag?”

  “That douchebag is your new representation and my boss. Why the hell did you even sign with him if you don’t like him?”

  “I needed a change. He’s supposedly one of the best.” His shrug tells me he’s not convinced of that yet.

  “You had CMG. They are of the same caliber and better suited to manage you properly.”

  “Things change.”

  “Exactly. They change.” I’ve changed. I cross my arms over my chest. “And that doesn’t explain why you’re here in my space, in my company, pushing my boss away, and putting a huge goddamn spotlight on me—and not the good kind. Don’t you smirk at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He holds his hands up, his face a mask of feigned innocence.

  “Like that.” I shove a finger in his direction. “The last thing I need is to get fired and—”

  “I’ll take care of him for you.”

  “I don’t want that, Vince. I don’t want you ‘taking care of him’ for me. Not with my boss . . . just not ever.”

  I know Vince hears my words, the conviction and determination behind them, because his smile fades and his eyes narrow. “You’re actually upset with me, aren’t you? It’s been years since I’ve seen you—”

  “Seven to be exact, but who’s counting?”

  “Clearly, you are,” he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side to study me. And in that brief moment of scrutiny, my insecurity rears its ugly head. There is Vince Jennings looking even better than the last time I saw him. Tall and tan and by the biceps straining the cuffs of his shirt, still as sculpted as my fingertips remember from running over them.

  And then there’s me, in desperate need of a good cut and color, the bare minimum of makeup, and a little softer around the edges than the last time he saw me.

  Seconds pass that feel like minutes as we wage a visual standoff.

  “I thought we were fine with how we left things the last time we saw each other. We agreed beforehand that—”

  “I know what we agreed on, thank you very much,” I snap at him and then hate that I do. But agreeing to no strings beforehand and then dealing with the emotional turmoil of the aftermath are two completely different things.

  But he doesn’t know that.

  He can’t know that.

  “Still snarky, I see.”

  “Still sarcastic, I see.” I lift my eyebrows in challenge as his eyes search mine.

  “You look incredible, but then again, you always do,” he says, knocking the proverbial wind from my sails.

  Wind that I needed to keep that wall of mine fortified . . . so he couldn’t knock it down like only he knows how to do.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a beat. Why can’t he see that he doesn’t get to say shit like that? Shit that makes it hard to be mad at him when that’s the only way I know how to be so I can keep him at a distance?

  “How have you been, Shug?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  He purses his lips and nods, but I’m under no impression that he’ll listen to me. Vince always played by his own rules, always got away with it, so it’s naïve of me to think he’s any different now.

  “Old habits die hard. Especially with our history.” His smile softens as does his stare and that familiar ache in my chest returns.

  “It’s just that. History. In the past where we belong,” I say harsher than I should as I try to find my footing. To try to not fall under the Vincent Jennings spell. We’ve had our chances to make things work. It didn’t. I’ve had years to accept it. Years to question what if? Years to learn to love the life I’ve made. The last thing I need now that I’m finally settled is for him to show up and blow my carefully crafted world to smithereens.

  “So much easier to say. So much harder to do,” he says and takes a step toward me that has me tensing and preparing myself for his touch that doesn’t come.

  It used to be so easy between the two of us. Effortless. Carefree. Real.

  Until it wasn’t.

  And that until it wasn’t part is what I hold tight to as I look at the man a part of me will always love in some way, shape, or form.

  “Don’t do this,” I whisper.

  “Do what?”

  “This,” I say emphatically.

  His chuckle is a low rumble. “What is this? Talk with an old friend? Ask her how she’s doing? Wonder why she’s a—whatever it is your position is here—instead of running this damn company like you should be?”

  Shame heats my cheeks. A million excuses for why I’m not where I should be in my career fill my head but remain silent on my lips.

  “You know what I’m doing here, Bristol, but you haven’t told me what it is that you’re doing here.”

  “Working.”

  It’s his turn to give an exasperated sigh, but he doesn’t get to waltz in here and play the I’m-a-god card and think I’m going to answer every question he asks me.

  I don’t owe him a thing.

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “Excuse the interruption, Mr. Jennings, but we’re ready for you.” We both look to our right at a woman we didn’t even realize was standing there. Her headset, clipboard, and no-nonsense expression tell me she’s the assistant director or first AD or second AD. Some position to that affect where stress is something she thrives off.

  “Of course.” He gives a polite nod. “Let’s get the show on the road. It’s going to be a long night. You ready?”

  “For what?” I ask, my mind so scattered that I’ve already forgotten how this conversation started.

  “To be my love interest in the video,” he says. The way his face lights up has me immediately shaking my head.

  “No. You’re crazy if you think—”

  “Fighting. Kissing. Making up.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “For old times’ sake.” He shrugs, his boyish grin in full heart-stealing mode. “We used to be really good at it.”

  I know. Believe me, I know. I chuckle and then take a deep breath to calm myself. This man is so damn frustrating. “It’s not part of my job description.” I take another step back. “And I sure don’t get paid enough to—”

  “It’s a moot point.” We both turn and look at the AD when she silences our banter. “Casting pulled through last minute. An actress showed. She’s the gorgeous blonde standing over there who fits the part.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder to highlight said woman. And when I look back to the AD, her eyebrows are raised in what I try not to take as judgment but do anyway. “See? You’re no longer needed.”

  Relief rushes through me followed by a slight streak of envy that I have absolutely no right to feel. Or want to feel.

  “Perfect,” I say with a flash of a smile that I’m more than certain doesn’t reach my eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “That’s it?” Vince asks, reaching out for my arm again but missing when I take a step to the side. He’s not used to women walking away from him. That much I know to be true. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s his forte.

  “That’s it.” My smile is tight. My shrug unapologetic. My heart thundering in my chest.

  Is his doing the same?

  He nods subtly, and I can’t quite read the look he gives me. “Good seeing you, then. Maybe I’ll see you around again while I’m in town, and we can have a drink to catch up on old times.”

  “Maybe.” It takes everything I have to turn my back and walk away when it should be the easiest steps of my life.

  One foot in front of the other, Bristol. Take the space. Create the distance. Don’t let him through your guard.

  But I only make it a few feet before I turn back around, conflicted and feeling like I need to say more to him. Out of guilt? Out of responsibility? Out of—never mind. It doesn’t matter because Vincent is already walking to where the rest of the room patiently awaits him to begin the long night.

  Statuesque blonde all but bouncing on her toes in excitement, included.

  I’m not sure why I expected him to be standing there still looking at me. Waiting for me. Wanting me.

  Isn’t that what I thought the last time we saw each other? That the connection between us would be so strong he’d still be there?

  I emit a nervous laugh, the taste of rejection I shouldn’t feel a bitter tang on my tongue. A tang I remind myself is necessary when dealing with Vince.

  An old friend.

  His label hits my ears again and makes me feel ridiculously stupid and soundly put in my place.

  Here I was thinking and worrying while he was staring at me, talking to me, that we’d fall right back into what we’ve always been. Connected by an undeniable chemistry we never could ignore. That I’d have to stand my ground and tell him I’m not interested.

  All that gusto for nothing.

  I’m just an old friend. Pfft.

  A woman among many to him who he had a little more history with.

  But didn’t I already know that’s where I stood? Wasn’t that what we agreed to the last time we were together? So why does emotion burn in the back of my throat?

  Because a small, foolish part of you held an iota of hope that maybe he thought of you as more. Seeing Vince again only reaffirmed that hope was as ridiculous as me thinking it.

  Besides, we live two completely different lives in two vastly different worlds. It would never work. We would never work.

  For reasons besides the obvious.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bristol

  Needing a moment to process the last ten minutes, I purposely blend into the shadows against the wall.

  It’s going to be okay.

  Vince will be in Los Angeles for a while. He’ll do his thing. He’ll leave and then go back to wherever he lives now.

  Plain. Simple. No need to intermingle our lives again. Problem solved.

  I think that yet when I look up, it’s clear that Vince has already charmed nearly everyone in this room. It’s impossible not to be drawn to him. There’s a charisma about him. A playfulness. An edge to him that draws you in and makes it impossible to look away.

  And it doesn’t hurt he’s more than easy on the eyes.

  During the next thirty minutes, I busy myself with anything and everything that is as far away from him as possible. I’ve never been more willing to do the meaningless tasks Kevin requests than I am right now. Fresh coffee. A message delivered to the AD. A dictated task list typed up on my phone for him. But like everybody else in the room, when Vince takes the mock stage and begins to sing to the camera, all tasks are forgotten. I stop. I take one step toward the stage, then another, and fall under the trance of his voice.

  Soft heart. Sharp knife.

  This love of ours has ruined me for life.

  Harsh words. Punched walls.

  This pain is raw but fuck was it worth the fall.

  Broken dreams. Scar lines.

  You’ll always own this heart of mine.

  For a moment, I let myself believe he’s singing to me. I allow myself the fleeting fantasy that this had all played out differently.

  But only for a second.

  Only so I can remind myself why it didn’t.

  And when I blink away the tears that have welled in my eyes, Vince has his hands shielding his eyes from the lights, and he’s looking straight at me.

  There’s no way he can see me where I’m blending in with the darkness of the room.

  There’s no way he could know . . .

  “Matthews.”

  I jolt from my trance at the sound of Xavier’s voice, and I’m instantly on alert. No doubt he’s coming to give me a lecture over earlier. Or fire me. I’ve seen him fire people for less. It just depends on the mood he’s in.

  Let’s hope he’s in a good one.

  “Yes, sir?” I ask with cheer I don’t feel infused in my tone.

  “What’s the deal with you and Jennings?”

  “There’s no deal, sir.”

  “Humor me with the fact that I wasn’t born yesterday. Clearly you know each other. Do I need to worry about anything here?” His eyes bore into mine demanding answers I’m not exactly comfortable giving.

  “We went to high school together.” While it’s true, it’s just not the whole truth.

  “So you do know him?”

  “I knew him, yes, but haven’t seen him in years.”

  Xavier chews the inside of his cheek as he stares at me with narrowed eyes and arms crossed over his chest. “He’s yours.”

  “What do you mean he’s mine?”

  “I’ve heard good stuff about your work. Your attitude. Your rapport with the talent. Our client list is overflowing, and while I’m thrilled to have Jennings on board after years of pursuit, it was all a little unexpected.”

  “Congratulations.” It’s a lame comment, but it’s all I can think to say because I’m dreading what I think he’s going to say next.

  “Congratulations indeed. He’s a great asset. A little unpredictable. A lot unscripted. Everything we as fans would hope for in a rock star, right?” He glances over his shoulder to where laughter rings out over something on set. “And that’s why I think it’s best I assign you to him.”

  “Assign me to him?”

  “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

  “No. It’s just—”

  “You’re going to turn down the opportunity every person in your position in this company would kill to have?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I swallow over the lump in my throat.

  “Good. I wasn’t asking you if you wanted this. I was telling you.” His smile is quick and unforgiving. “I’m under no pretenses that he’s going to be an easy client for us, but I think your familiarity with him will serve us both well. Thoughts?”

  I shake my head because Xavier doesn’t want my thoughts. He just wants to hear himself talk and that’s fine with me because my head is spinning from the events of the past two hours.

  Seeing Vince again.

  Getting the opportunity I’ve hoped for.

  Just my luck that I get my first real break in this job—that the Xavier McMann has actually noticed me—and he rewards me with an opportunity like this. He rewards me with Vince. The irony is so rich it’s not even worth summoning the laughter.

  “Perfect. I’ll make sure that Kevin gets with you soon on what I expect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Regardless of the situation, it’s your job to let the client think he’s always right even when he isn’t.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And it’s my name you’re representing. I expect professionalism at all times. This newfound position is temporary unless you show me otherwise.”

  “Thank you. I . . .” But he walks off, answering his ringing phone before I can say anything else.

  I stare after him for a beat, my adrenaline pumping and my head swimming with a myriad of emotions. Excitement. Confusion. Caution. Trepidation. Optimism. Worry.

  It shouldn’t be possible to feel all those things at once, but I do.