His concerned expression morphs into surprise, then respect. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he clinks my glass with his again before taking a sip. “Smart girl. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m Colt Brasher. My brother’s Jonathan Brasher. I’m his assistant. I won’t use anything you tell me against you. I promise.” He holds up one hand in the Boy Scout pledge.
“You were a Boy Scout?”
He chuckles, dropping his hand. “No. But it usually works anyway. Besides, don’t I have a trustworthy face?” He gives me the most innocent expression he can muster, which makes me laugh.
I wag my finger at him. “You don’t fool me with your angelic expression. You work in the music business. No one’s innocent here.”
Losing the face, he chuckles. “You caught me. Seriously, though, I’m just curious. I’m not trying to dig for dirt to sell to the tabloids or something. I know what that kind of thing does to people. That’s not how I operate.”
Stirring my melting ice cubes, I ponder that. Brasher … my eyes grow wide when the pieces click into place. “You … you and your brothers. You had a band, right?” I grab his arm. “Oh my god. You guys had that one song that was everywhere for a while. Man … I remember it was always on the radio and my friends all got your songs before I did. I was so jealous.” My face dims, and I drop my hand from his arm as I remember why my parents didn’t prioritize getting me a copy of that album. That was when my parents were in the middle of their divorce. But my dad made it up to me, or he tried at least. He bought me an iPod Touch and filled it with all my favorite songs. I listened to those songs over and over and over in my bedroom. Memorized them. Learned half of them on the guitar a few years later when I started taking lessons, including Brash’s hit single.
Colt’s smile is a little stiff. “Yeah. We did. So now you know that I’m well aware of what it feels like to fall from grace. I’m only asking out of curiosity and based on what I know from working with my brother. If your agent really wants to rehab your reputation, having a steady relationship seems like a good way to accomplish that.”
I shrug, looking away again. “Right. Yeah. That’s true. But those kinds of things are organized when the pairing helps both people or the less desirable person’s team calls in a favor. No one owes my team that big of a favor, and I’d only bring someone down. So …” I shrug again, trailing off while he fills in the blanks.
“Oh,” he says. “Right.”
“Right,” I repeat.
And now I fully expect him to wander off. He’s solved the mystery of who I am, why I’m drinking Shirley Temples, and why I don’t have a date. I’ve also made it clear that he’s not getting into my pants, and despite my first impression, he hasn’t done anything to make me think that was actually his goal anyway. Talking to me won’t improve anyone’s career, and he’s scanning the crowd again, clearly looking for someone else to network with.
Sucking in a breath, I open my mouth to excuse myself, wanting to save us both the awkwardness and embarrassment of him trying to extricate himself from my company politely.
But before I can get the words out, he says, “What if you could find someone to go with you to everything? Would you want that?”
It’s my turn to jerk in surprise. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, as long as the guy in question weren’t an asshole. I don’t want to be shackled to a douche for six months or a year.” I force out a laugh. “Why? Do you know someone who’d be willing to help me out like that?”
When he meets my eyes, his are clear and steady. “Yeah. Me.”
Chapter Three
Colt
She blinks like she’s not sure she heard me right. Her eyes are a stunning turquoise, and I’ve made a concerted effort not to lose myself in them while we’ve talked. I’m pretty sure they’re contacts, but the effect is still arresting, and I hold her gaze to make sure she knows I’m serious.
“You’re serious.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I confirm anyway.
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrow, and she purses her lips. “What’s in it