Bronson shows some offense, then shrugs in acceptance. It’s accurate.

  “So, that leaves Knox.” Jordan focuses on me again, locking our eyes as she slowly stalks toward me. “You love being the center of attention. And if you agree to this, there won’t be a single camera in the northern hemisphere not pointed at you for the next three months.”

  “I know you’re saying very specific phrases to manipulate me right now,” I say, my ego sufficiently stroked, “but go on.”

  She grins. “How would you like to have a girlfriend during the tour?”

  I frown. “What? No.”

  “Why not?” she asks, keeping an iron-tight grip on her smile.

  “Because I don’t take girlfriends on tour,” I say. “I don’t even have a girlfriend when I’m on tour. Touring is when I sow my oats.”

  My sister cringes in her seat.

  “Okay,” Jordan says, “but what if this time... you didn’t do that and instead... you had a girlfriend?”

  I glance at the others. They stare right back.

  “What are you talking about, Jordan?” Addison says.

  Jordan adjusts her glasses again. “The label has someone in mind...”

  “The label is going to give me a girlfriend?” I ask.

  “Not a real one,” she says. “But yes.”

  “They want me to give me a fake girlfriend?”

  “We’re the only ones who would know it’s fake. Everyone else would see you two having a whirlwind tour romance. People love that. Apparently,” she adds.

  “Who would agree to that?” Addison asks.

  “Someone who would find the arrangement mutually beneficial.”

  “Like who?” Katrina asks.

  “An up-and-comer they recently signed. She has a small but very devoted following. Rabid is the word they used. They didn’t say why, but they seem to think having her around will inspire a certain... spark.”

  “A spark?” Jonah asks.

  “Their word. Not mine.”

  Addison squints. “But who is she?”

  “They didn’t tell me! Okay? All they said was that they want to prop her up and put her out there in the spotlight.”

  “By sending her with us on our tour?” Jonah asks.

  “By coupling her up with Knox on your tour. Yes.”

  “Hey…” I say, seeing Jonah’s point. “That ain’t right. No one takes the spotlight from Criminal Records.”

  “She wouldn’t be taking it,” Jordan argues. “You’d be sharing it.”

  “Criminal Records don’t share!”

  Bronson nods while everyone audibly agrees.

  “Look...” Jordan sighs. “I know this seems weird on paper, but guys...” Her head tilts. “The label was clear. They want some spark to compete with Logan Shock and his Electrics and they want it now. This girl is their way of getting it.”

  I look at my band one-by-one, finding their eyes locked on me. I suppose my vote weighs a little more than theirs. I’m the one who has to fake date this mysterious up-and-comer for the next three months.

  But, hey. Might be fun.

  Addison sighs. “What’s her sound?”

  “Who cares what she sounds like?” I say. “Is she hot?”

  “I’m sure she’s very attractive,” Jordan bullshits.

  “Hold on,” Katrina says. “What exactly do they expect Knox to do? Like... do they have to kiss and stuff?”

  “Hug. Kiss. Whatever it takes to sell the relationship to the world, I’d guess.”

  “Do I gotta sleep with her?” I ask.

  “No!” everyone says.

  “Do not sleep with her, Knox,” Jordan says, whipping out her vice principal voice. “That violates our no drama on tour rule. Despite what the label wants, we still have our boundaries here.” She scans us. “Right?”

  They grunt in agreement. Even Bronson says it out loud.

  I chuckle. “I was only kidding, guys. Kinda. Anyway, I’d have to get a look at this girl first. I have an image to maintain.”

  “Great!” Jordan says. “She’ll be at the meeting today in San Francisco. You two can meet, exchange a few words, see if there’s some chemistry we can work with. How does that sound?”

  “I agree to nothing. But yeah. Sounds good.”

  Jordan winks. “Excellent.”

  The plane lands soon after and a town car meets us at the airport to take us to the record label. As much as we love San Francisco, none of us have any desire to drive through its traffic, so we’re happy to pile into the car while Stella happily goes her separate ways in her own private car.

  I spend the drive thinking while the others talk back and forth, wondering who my new fake girlfriend is.

  Also…

  Can I actually pull this off?

  I’ve had girlfriends, obviously. I’ve had even more flings and one-night stands, but I’ve never had to fake any of it before.

  I don’t do fake.

  I’m Knox Benton. I’m me and I’m annoyingly proud of it, so I’m not sure I even can fake something like this. How does one sit next to a girl, hold her hand, kiss her cheek, laugh with her... only for it all to be just a ruse?

  We reach Midnite Music shortly after noon. The building is just another tree in the concrete jungle in the heart of the Bay Area. The only thing setting it apart from others is the epic Criminal Records banner hanging from the roof.

  BREAK THE RULES TOUR.

  SOLD OUT.

  That’s us, baby.

  The one and only Criminal Records.

  I flash a wink at my three-story tall face as the six of us get out of the car and walk inside.

  A perky young woman in a tight white blouse and a dark grey pencil skirt greets us in the lobby as we walk inside. “Hello! I’m not sure if you remember me,” she says. “I’m Mr. Monroe’s personal assistant.”

  “Gertrude,” I say, extending my hand as she inhales sharply. “Of course I remember you. How could I forget?”

  She shakes my hand, blushing as Addison, Jordan, and my sister roll their eyes at me from behind her back.

  “I’m pleased that you do. I’m a huge fan.” Gertrude looks at Jonah and Bronson standing beside me, and her smile gets even wider. “Well, if you’ll all follow me, Mr. Monroe is on his way to the boardroom now.”

  “The head of the label is seeing us himself?” Jordan asks.

  Gertrude nods. “Mr. Monroe is highly invested in your upcoming tour,” she merely says before strolling toward the lobby elevator, her heels clacking along the floor as she goes.

  The six of us exchange a few curious glances before following her, Jordan leading the way with her clipboard.

  We pass a dozen framed posters along the hallway, legendary music acts of the past and present — including us, of course. Dade Connery. Cobraville. Absolute legends.

  The poster they chose for us was from our first tour. We were just babies back then. Hell, Katrina was barely legal. But there we were, taking over the world one song at a time.

  Now they want to put us out to pasture, and for what? Not enough clicks?

  I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

  Ten floors high, we step off the elevator into a hallway made of glass. We pass by two rooms with meetings in progress, as Gertrude leads us to the largest room at the end.

  Mr. Paul Monroe himself is visible through the window, looking very relaxed and laid back despite the stiff suit and coiffed salt and pepper hair.

  There’s someone else in the room, but the back of their chair is facing the door. A pair of crossed ankles pokes out beneath the table clad in a pair of bright pink high heels.

  Hello, there...

  “Mr. Monroe,” Gertrude says, holding the door open for us. “Criminal Records has arrived.”

  He stands with a grin. “Come on in, guys. And girls!” he adds for, you know, a whole fifty percent of our party. “There’s someone here I’d like for you to meet. Well...” He chuckles as he looks at them. Our tour tag-along, I assume. My new fake girlfriend. “I supposed you’ve already met, haven’t you?”

  The chair spins around, its occupant now on full display in front of us.

  My heart stops.

  Fit and petite.

  Long reddish-brown hair.

  Big eyes painted with glitter and gold.

  No.

  Harmony smiles, her pink lips colored to match her outfit. “Hey, guys,” she says as she pops her bubblegum, the sound as deafening as a gunshot in my ears. “Long time no see.”

  Not her.

  Anyone but her.

  I scream.

  3

  KNOX

  Harmony laughs, the sound so sweet.

  Mere moments after climax. Still locked together, our bodies twitching blissfully. Completely satisfied. I hear a song in my head — my muse already working her mojo on me. Only a few notes, but that’s sure to become something new and wonderful.

  It’s hot under these covers. Way too fucking hot.

  But love makes it so you don’t care.

  Love makes you feel alive. Love fills you with passion and the power of the cosmos.

  Love makes a man do a lot of things he wouldn’t normally do.

  Harmony kisses me, her soft lips curling with delight. “Knox,” she whispers.

  I kiss her, tasting my name on her tongue. “Yes?”

  Her sultry eyes lock on mine. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  I blink. “What?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks again, more serious now.

  “I don’t know what⁠—”

  She shoves me off. I blink, and suddenly I’m standing outside her front door.

  Oh, no.

  Not this again.

  Harmony stands at the door with her mother’s protective hand on her shoulder. “Go away,” she says. “Don’t come back.”

  “What?”

  She slaps me hard in the face.

  “Ouch,” I say.

  “Knox.”

  Another slap, the blow rattling my brain. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, the words echoing through my memory as I’m pulled backward, my hands cuffed behind me. “Wait, Harmony!”

  “Knox!”

  “Harmony!”

  A third slap and her beautiful, scary face loses focus before morphing into my sister’s.

  “He’s waking up,” Katrina says, her voice slightly ethereal. “Knox, you okay?”

  She slaps me. I cringe.

  “Please stop hitting me,” I mutter, my head throbbing.

  Jonah in his navy blue beanie appears next to Katrina’s shoulder. “Knox, buddy. You good?”

  “I think so,” I say. “Just give me a snooze. I’ll make it to the plane on time.”

  He and Katrina look at each other.

  “Where do you think we are right now, Knox?” she asks.

  “The Plaza,” I answer.

  “Uh-oh,” Jonah says.

  “Do you usually wake up on the floor at the Plaza?” Katrina asks.

  “Sometimes.” I chuckle, then wince. My head aches. “Oh, man. Jonah. We must have hit the bottle hard last night.”

  “You think so, bud?” he asks.

  “I was dreaming about Harmony again.”

  “How romantic.”

  I lurch up to sit, the sound of her voice triggering a full body spasm.

  Harmony smiles at me from the executive chair at the table. “Hey, Knox,” she says, her auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  My testicles retract deep into my body. “Hi, Harmony,” I say, then I look at Jonah. “What is she doing here?”

  He hesitates. “Uh...”

  “Why am I on the floor?”

  Katrina speaks slowly. “Well, Knox, you saw Harmony. And then you shrieked.”

  I nod, the memory returning.

  “You hopped backward into Addison,” she continues, pointing to the other side of the table.

  I look at Addison sitting there.

  She bobs her head. “Hey, man.”

  “She pushed you away.”

  “Sorry,” Addison whispers.

  “And you tripped over Bronson’s foot.”

  Bronson nods apologetically from the chair next to Addison.

  “And that’s how you bashed your head against the door frame.”

  “I knocked myself out?” I ask.

  “You hit the ground pretty hard, too.” Katrina rubs my arm. “They’re bringing a medic, so you probably shouldn’t move until they get here.”

  I ignore her warning, along with the nausea in my gut and the ache in my soul, to hoist myself off the floor, succumbing to the manly urge to not look weak in front of her. Her.

  My muse.

  My nightmare.

  “Why the fuck are you here?!” I say.

  Harmony doesn’t answer, but her smile deepens.

  A throat clears behind me. I turn a little too fast. Jonah slaps a hand on my shoulder to hold me steady.

  Jordan adjusts her glasses. “They’re coming back,” she says, her kindergarten teacher-like stare hinting that I need to clean up my language.

  “Who?” I ask.

  Harmony hops up. “Daddy!”

  “Daddy?”

  She passes by me as Paul Monroe returns with a medic.

  “Hey, honey,” he says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as she comes close. He gives her a kiss on the top of the head before he glances at me and smiles. “Ah, he’s up and moving! How are ya, Mr. Benton?”

  I glare at them.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  They laugh as she hugs him. “I guess it’s been a while since you two have seen each other,” Mr. Monroe says. “Harmony is my new stepdaughter.”

  “He and Mama got married this spring,” Harmony says.

  “Ah,” I say with a deadpan glare at her shining eyes. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks! Please, sit down, son,” he says, gesturing to the nearest chair. “Let Wally here check you out while we go over the proposal.”

  “Oh, no. Thanks, Wally. I’m good,” I say, waving the medic back as he steps forward. “What proposal?”

  “Knox.” Jordan takes my other arm and she and Jonah guide me to the chair. “The label wants to send Harmony on tour with us.”

  I plop down with a snort. “Why?”

  Jordan glances at Katrina.

  “He’s a little... fuzzy,” Katrina says.

  “We talked about it on the plane,” Jordan says. “Do you remember?”

  I think back over the events of my day so far. I woke up in my usual suite. I ordered room service. I took a shower. I flirted with the girl from the kitchen who delivered my eggs before packing up and⁠—

  “Knox?” Jordan asks.

  “I’m getting there!” I say. Wally leans in and shines a light in my eyes. “Stop that.”

  He shifts back a step and Mr. Monroe waves him off with a smile. He leaves, but his shape lingers in the hallway through the glass just in case.

  “Yes. I remember,” I say. “We flew to San Francisco from Vegas.”

  Jordan nods. “And we talked about...?”

  “Something about The Electrics out-buzzing our tour. Midnite Music wants to send some fake girlfriend with us to spark things up.”

  Jordan nods along with me, her eyes inching down the table toward...

  Harmony.

  “Oh, fuck that!” I say.

  She raises a hand, warning me to be professional. “Knox...”

  “No!” I look at Paul Monroe sitting in his executive chair with Harmony by his side. “Sorry, bro. But no. Been there. Done that.”

  Mr. Monroe chuckles. “Yes. Yes, I know all about your colorful history together — but so do your biggest fans! Having you two back together is exactly the kind of buzz this tour needs to stay on top.”

  Jonah leans forward in the chair next to mine. “Sir, if I may,” he says, tapping into a bit of that Botsford business persona he likes to pretend doesn’t pump through his veins. “While we understand the label’s concerns, I believe I speak for the entire band when I say that bringing Harmony into the mix is not the solution. We’ve taken Harmony on tour with us before and doing so cost this label thousands of dollars in damages. I highly doubt you want to repeat that mistake.”

  I glance at Harmony across the table. She winks the second we make eye contact. My groin jolts as if she just flicked it with a rubber band.

  “A small price to pay for publicity,” Mr. Monroe says, brushing it away with the wave of his palm. “And that was Harmony then. This… is Harmony now.”

  The lights dim in the room. A small projector on the table powers on, shining its light on the pure white wall across from it. Mr. Monroe fiddles with his phone for a second until an image pops up on the wall.

  We all wince as a song blares from the speaker a little too loudly. He doesn’t turn it down. He simply tilts back in his chair with a smile and watches.

  It’s a music video. The song starts slowly, then builds into a by-the-numbers teen pop record that’s been done a million times before.

  “Caught in the spell of stolen glances,

  Dancing close, taking chances,

  Fingers touch, electric heat,

  Forbidden love, a dangerous feat.”

  Harmony stands front and center with a line of backup dancers behind her. They perform a heavily choreographed dance together while Harmony lip-syncs a few rhyming lines right out of a fifth grader’s poetry book. Every other shot, there’s a costume change, and she shows off just a little bit more skin. And there’s pink.

  So much fucking pink.

  “Boom boom, our hearts entwine,

  In this moonlit night, we'll shine,

  Taking chances, breaking free,

  Stealing you away, just you and me.”

  Yeah. That’s my Harmony, all right.

  But it’s also very much not.

  I scoff. “What the hell is this crap, Harmony?” I ask her over the volume.

  “My first single,” she says.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “We’re very serious, Mr. Benton,” Mr. Monroe says. “By the end of the summer, my baby girl is going to be the worm in everyone’s ear, if I have any say at all. And I do,” he adds with a smug laugh.

  I glance at the video, Harmony’s siren-like voice drawing me back — but for all the wrong reasons. That voice. That beautiful voice... bastardized by auto-tune and synthesizers.