to do. As a for-hire writer, she knew the book wasn’t truly her own, even though she would place her personal stamp all over it.
“When did you know you wanted to be a singer?”
Max grinned, some of the tension releasing from his broad shoulders as he answered a question he’d no doubt been asked a thousand times before.
“I never wanted to be a singer,” he said. “I just wanted to play guitar.”
“Oh.” Her gaze dropped to the brace on his wrist.
“The band decided that out of all of us, my voice was the least offensive to the ear, so they made me sing.”
Least offensive? “You have a spectacular voice,” she said, knowing she was gushing, but anyone who listened to him knew that he’d been born to sing.
“Thank you,” he said, the fingers of his right hand toying with the brace on his left wrist.
“Will you ever be able to play guitar again?” she asked. She could practically feel the sense of loss in him. She’d always been very sensitive to the feelings of others, so much so that her empathy was sometimes crippling. At the moment, her eyes were prickling with threatening tears, and he hadn’t even told her how he felt about losing his ability to play. She just had to look at him to know he was struggling with it.
“I hope so,” he said. “Even if I never regain enough strength and mobility to return to the stage, I hope to at least be able to play for fun. I do miss the feel of the strings beneath my fingers.” He grinned. “I guess it’s a good thing my voice was the least offensive. If I couldn’t sing, I’d be entirely out of a job.”
“I thought they hired you to be a singer. At breakfast yesterday they said your voice got them all laid.”
Max laughed. “Their perception of that audition and my perception of it are a bit different.”
“How so?” she asked, riveted by his every word and recalling that he hadn’t weighed in much on that breakfast conversation.
“They were looking for a guitarist/potential singer. I was actually auditioning just to be their second guitarist. I only sang because it was required. Before that, Logan was singing for them.”
“No shit!” she blurted.
“He has a decent voice,” Max said. “It just didn’t have the unique grittiness they were looking for.”
Toni was going to ask Logan to sing for her the next chance she got. She wondered if he’d indulge her curiosity.
“Does it bother you that Reagan has taken over as guitarist for the tour?” Another question that was very personal. She wasn’t surprised when he paused for a long moment before answering.
“Reagan has a bright future,” he said. “If her personal life doesn’t destroy it.”
Now Toni was the one to pause as she contemplated his response. “Why would her personal life destroy it?” she asked when she couldn’t decide what he meant. She figured it had something to do with Trey Mills. Maybe. And her bodyguard. Likely.
Max shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I usually don’t talk this freely in interviews. Next question.”
Toni smiled. Did that mean he trusted her? She returned to her list. Maybe he wouldn’t notice she wasn’t following her scripted questions if she pretended. She could read a few from the list and then sneak in a few of her own.
She read the first question that Susan had insisted she ask each band member. “If you could spend a day with any musician—living or dead—who would it be and why?”
“I spend every day with musicians, so why would I want to hang out with another one?”
Surprised by his answer, she glanced up from her legal pad and found him grinning. “Are you teasing me, Mr. Richardson?”
“I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been puzzling over what Logan sees in you for days. You aren’t exactly his type, you know?”
She’d been puzzling over it as well, so Max’s criticism didn’t hurt her feelings. Much. “What’s his type?”
“Fast and superficial.”
Her face flamed. Well, she definitely fit in the “fast” category. She’d known Logan all of an hour before she’d succumbed to his charm and tumbled into his bed.
“There’s an uncommon warmth about you,” Max continued.
So he’d noticed her blush, had he?
“A recognizable depth. Thoughtfulness. You seem to care deeply about . . .”
She met his eyes, and his brows lifted.
“ . . .everything?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
He laughed cynically. “No, sweetheart. It’s rare in this dog-eat-dog world.” He leaned forward, his head cocked slightly as he appraised her. “So