Page 19 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

19

ERICA

“ W hy? Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s just that… the more I think about us, the more I realize that I’m going to hurt you.”

It’s been two weeks and the ache in my chest hasn’t faded, no matter how much I tell myself I made the right choice. I left Sam because I had to. Because if I didn’t, I’d drag him into a darkness he doesn’t deserve. None of which means I’ve stopped wanting him.

The memory of his face when I walked out, stunned and wounded, haunts me. I tell myself it’s for the best. That he’ll move on, heal, and find someone who can give him everything I can’t. But I don’t believe it. Not really. My past won’t let me.

As I step into Michelle’s bar, the familiar scent of wood polish and coffee is the first comfort I’ve found in anything in days. It’s early, so the place is empty save for a handful of staff prepping for the evening shift. I nod to them and walk over to the Yamaha tucked in the corner, running my fingers over the smooth keys.

Music has always been my escape. My refuge. When the weight of memories threatens to drag me under, this is where I flee, to the steady rhythm, the predictable patterns, the control I can never seem to find anywhere else.

I sit down and press a single key, letting the note ring through the quiet space. Then another. And another. A melody takes shape beneath my fingertips, something slow and aching, the kind of song that expresses the words I can’t say.

I close my eyes and let myself get lost in it. Maybe, for a little while, I can forget the way Sam looked at me. The way I wanted to run back to him. Maybe, for a little while, I can pretend I made the right choice. Music is supposed to be an escape. A sanctuary.

My fingers glide over the Yamaha’s keys, coaxing out a melody that should soothe me, but it doesn’t. The notes feel hollow, the rhythm off, like my heart isn’t in it.

Because it isn’t.

I close my eyes, trying to lose myself, but all I see is Sam. The moment his truck disappeared over that cliff, the helplessness that swallowed me whole. The way his face twisted in confusion when I told him we were over.

I dig my thumbs into the keys, an unharmonious clash ringing through the empty bar. No. I can’t do this right now. I came here to forget, to drown in music, not memories.

Frustrated, I push back from the piano, my bench scraping against the wooden floor. I need a distraction. I look around the bar, needing something that can pull my attention out of my head.

Patricia is wiping down a table in the middle of the bar, her bronze hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Not far from her, Gina is mopping the floor in front of the counter, humming to herself. The normalcy of their routine pulls me out of my head. I take a breath and force a smile and then walk over.

“Morning, girls,” I greet them, rolling my shoulders as if I can shake off the tension. “It’s been a while since we last talked.”

Patricia’s eyes glint with something unreadable when she looks up. Her gaze flicks from me to a guy I hadn’t noticed waiting in a dark corner.

“We’re finishing up because that man is here for you,” she says, speaking softly. Then she flashes a bright smile. “And we want to hear the scoop when you’re done.”

My smile falters as I follow her gaze. He’s a graying man sitting with his back straight, hands folded neatly on the small table. His beige suit is expensive, the cut precise. Michelle’s is nice, but not that nice. It’s more than clear that he doesn’t belong here. Unease creeps along my spine.

“Thanks,” I murmur. “You don’t have to rush on my account.”

Whatever this is, better to face it and get it over with. I cross the bar to his table. He’s tall and thin, his face clean-shaven, his chin sharp. Everything about him is polished, professional. He gives a slight nod as I approach, his polite smile carefully measured.

“Ms. Connors,” he says, with a smooth, practiced sounding tone. “How are you this morning? Allow me to introduce myself.” He continues without waiting for my answer. My stomach flips as he reaches into his pocket and for a moment, I’m about to run, but then he pulls out a gold laminated business card and holds it out. “My name is Alfred Jenkins, here is my card.”

I take the card, the weight of it heavier than it should be. It’s embossed with the name of a law firm. Holden & Winchester. Dread coils in my stomach. Lawyers don’t show up out of nowhere without a reason. And right now, I can’t think of a single one that isn’t bad. I turn the card over and read the back. Alfred Jenkins. Talent Acquisition. Platinum Tunes.

I blink, the words blurring for a second before snapping back into focus. A talent scout. Here. For me. My pulse skips, but I keep my expression neutral as I set the card down on the counter.

“I was told you were looking for me. What is this about?”

“Business, dear,” he says, steepling his fingers.

The speed of his response, the way he leans in ever so slightly, all of it is calculated. He’s been doing this a long time.

“I’ve seen a couple of videos of you online,” he continues. “The comments below them speak for themselves. You have a gift, Ms. Connors. I’m here to help you take advantage of that gift.”

The words should thrill me. Instead, cold clenches around my heart. A week ago, I would have been ecstatic to hear those words. Now, all I can think about is Sam. The way he looked at me before I walked out of that hospital room. The way I saw his heart shattering in his eyes.

“Straight to the point. You don’t like to waste time, do you?”

“Actually, I hate it,” he says, his grin widening. “There’s nothing worse than wasting time in my book. Do I have your attention?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“Wonderful”,” he says. “The process is simple. You go through an audition. Sing four or five of your favorite songs and then you wait for us to call you. Don’t worry. That phone call is going to come very soon. As for the audition? It’s just a formality. Do what you do during your gigs here and you’ll do fantastically.”

“You’ll want me to sign a contract?” I ask.

“That is correct,” he says. “Terms vary accordingly. You will, of course, have a lawyer present at the signing. He’ll advise you on those terms. Also, to be clear, we will give you a one-hundred-fifty thousand-dollar signing bonus.”

I nod, but my stomach twists. I wanted this once. A way out. A real chance. Now, though? Now, I’m not so sure. Jenkins folds his hands on the counter, his expression cool, unreadable.

“One-hundred-fifty grand? Just like that?” I ask, trying to focus on the opportunity in front of me and not the hurt and confusions of the past week.

“One-hundred-fifty grand,” he says, like he’s dangling a rare gem in front of me. “And in your case, we’ll throw in an extra plane ticket to Los Angeles since that’s where we’re based.”

Los Angeles. My fingers twitch against the counter. The idea of getting out of this town, of chasing something bigger, should have lit me up inside and would have before, but now it feels hollow.

“Wait a minute.” I rub my temple, trying to process. “You’re telling me you flew all the way from L.A. to offer me a contract? Why? Couldn’t you have done that over the phone? Or sent an email?”

“Some things are worth doing in person,” Jenkins chuckles, low and smooth. His smile sharpens. “You’re one of them.”

The words should feel like a victory, but they don’t. Right now, they feel like a trap. The promise of money and possible fame the bait. If I take this, if I let myself hope, what happens when it all goes wrong? When I mess it up? When I let them down. When I let him down?

“That’s a big risk for someone you’ve never met,” I say, squaring my shoulders and forcing the hesitation out of my voice.

His expression doesn’t shift. If anything, his confidence only deepens.

“That’s the business, Ms. Connors. We find talent before someone else does.” His gaze flicks over me, assessing. Calculating. “And you? You’re something special.”

Special. The word digs into me, splintering through the fragile walls I’ve tried to rebuild. Sam thought I was special too. And I walked away from him.

“And if I say no?” I ask, swallowing and steadying my breathing.

Jenkins tilts his head, as if amused by the idea.

“Then, I’ll ask you why.”

A million conflicting thoughts crash around inside my head. This is it. The big dream, the fantasy come to life in an expensive tan suit, sitting right here in Michelle’s bar.

“And what about this audition? Do I have to fly to LA for that?”

“Oh, no,” he says with a laugh, though I don’t see what’s funny about it. “We can do that right here in New York. I’ll make sure the content reaches the right ears when I get back to the office. When would you be available?”

“Monday afternoon” I reply, a smile forming on my face.

“Excellent. Here,” he says, laying another business card on the counter. “Please, give me your phone number. I’ll call you with the details about your audition.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.” I say, jotting down my cell number. “I won’t let you down. That much I can promise you.”

“I know you won’t, Ms. Connors,” he says with a confident tone, rising. “I know you won’t.”

I stare at his card in my hand. Patricia rushes over while the moment is still sinking in. This is my chance. My ticket to fame. It’s taken hard work and dedication to get what I deserve, but I’ve had all the desire in the world to bust my butt for this.

I’ve been single-mindedly working towards it since I was a little girl. Giving it all I am. Now, all that effort is about to be rewarded…