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“No! Would you be less loud?” I was burning up from humiliation.

“Sure, I'll quiet down. I'm just itching for some info.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose didn't help my new headache. “It's not about money. I just like him.”

“He must like you, too. Every time I tried to get in touch with the guy, Farrah told me he was busy working in his studio. How many songs on your album, seven? That's a lot of hours to spend together.”

“I guess,” I whispered.

“Well, I for one can't wait to hear it properly. Violet showed me a snippet after I begged her on my knees. Real good stuff.” He dropped his elbows on to the ledge next to me, reclining comfortably. “I remembered, by the way.”

“Remembered what?”

“Where I know you from.”

Furrowing my eyebrows, I took a small sip from my drink. “From the gala.”

“Nah. Does the name Pickadillie Records ring a bell?”

All of the acid in my stomach bubbled up at once. I couldn’t respond, I just stared at him.

Roshio smiled wider, keeping his attention on my face, like he was trying to guess all of my reactions before they happened. “Eight years is a long time. I don’t blame you for not remembering me, I hadn’t really grasped my whole image yet. My agent at the time wasn’t one of the best, and he loved to remind me how lucky I was that Pickadillie Records was giving me the time of day. That label sucked. That’s why you left them, right?”

Wetness touched my wrist; my drink it was spilling from how hard I was trembling. “You’re mistaken,” I whispered.

He blinked a few times. “No, I never forget a pretty face. Your hair was longer back then. I dig this short thing you have going.”

“Whoever you’re thinking of, that wasn’t me. Beats and Blast is the first label I’ve ever worked with.”

Something dark and disturbing crossed his face. He was looking at me like I was a tasty snack he wanted to devour in one bite. “That’s interesting,” he said softly.

I scanned the room desperately, speaking as I started to move. “I have to go now, sorry.” I half-ran, like I thought he was going to chase after me. He didn’t, he just stayed there by the ledge. I shot him a final look as I merged into the crowd.

Roshio was still watching me.

Smiling.

“There you are,” Bach said, catching my wrist. I’d nearly blown past him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bach!” I went limp in relief. Crumbling in his arms, I welcomed his tight grip around my middle.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?”

Unable to answer... unsure if I even could... I buried my face into his chest. He hugged me until the noise of the party was overruled by the rumble of his heartbeat. Gently, he tilted my chin, so I had to look at him. “Sorry, everything is fine.”

“Everythingisn’tfine,” Bach said seriously.

I gawked at him as my pulse began to race. Could he read my mind? Did he know what had me so worried?

“Everything,” he went on, scooping my hands in his, “Is fucking fantastic.”

“What?”

“Amina, take a second to enjoy yourself. You’ve done what uncountable people have dreamed of. Leaving your friends, your home, everything behind to strike it out in Hollywood? Working yourself to the bone to create a debut album that will blow the charts into pieces? And being lucky enough to get the attention of a catch like me?”

His playfulness calmed me down. “You’re right. Everything is amazing.” Remembering the bartender, then Roshio, I asked, “What if no one cares about my music? What if everything still manages to fall apart?”

His lips searched for mine, sealing them with a long kiss. When he spoke again, his vowels and syllables and everything in between went down my throat. “Can you honestly say that right now, with me here, you believe anything could ruinthis?”

He was positive nothing could tear down the new, bright future we’d built. I didn’t trust my heart enough to believe the same. So instead, I took a leap... and I trusted him.

It was too bad he was wrong.