“All right, we’ll talk next week,” Damon said, showing Austin Cole and his mom—who’d been wary and full of questions about the contract they offered—to the door of the suite. “And if you or your attorney have any questions I can address in the meantime, please give me a call.”

Brenna watched him shut the double doors, leaving the two of them alone again. She’d stayed mostly quiet through the meeting, during which they’d had lunch delivered. She’d listened to the way Damon answered the woman so thoroughly, always respecting her inquiries, even when they got repetitive and confusing. Brenna herself had only chimed in to let Austin know how much she loved his music and how much she wanted him on board at Blue Night.

Turned out, though, that only three days ago Austin had been approached by a scout from one of the majors—who was offering more money, of course.

“The upside,” Damon told Brenna now, crossing the tiled foyer, “is that we got to meet with them first.” The other label’s A&R rep had simply invited them to L.A. next week, rather than talking business here where Austin lived. “We got the opportunity to show Austin how much we want him, we got to let him know how much we’re going to respect his music and that he’s going to get the personal touch with us.”

“And the downside?” Brenna asked, still sitting at the table.

Damon sighed. “We just don’t have as much money as they do.”

“Then what hope do we have? Why would he go with us?”

“For the reasons I just said. He likes us, I could tell. And he’s a bright kid—I got the idea he’s done his homework on the business and that he understands the perks of going with a smaller label. He knows he’ll just be a little fish in a big pond with the other guy, but that if he goes with us, he’ll have all our attention.

“And it’s actually very smart of him and his mom not to rush into anything, to talk to a lawyer, to find out what both sides are offering before making a decision. Frankly, our job is to try to rush people into signing before somebody else discovers them, just like we did with Blush, but when a performer is wise enough not to leap on the first contract shoved under his nose, I have to respect that and work with him on it.”

Brenna had never thought about that—that despite asking lots of questions about their contract, the girls in Blush had signed without seeking any legal counsel, asking friends or family, anything. And it had been Damon’s goal—and was now hers—to make artists do that. It suddenly struck her as another part of this job she might not excel at—trying to push someone into doing something that might not be in his or her best interest.

“What’s wrong?” Damon asked. Her feelings must have shown on her face—something she really needed to work on if she was going to be a good A&R rep.

“Nothing,” she lied. She found it so easy to be honest with Damon when they were talking about sex or most other things—but the last few days, she’d found discussing her new job…less easy. The truth was—the more she learned about it, the more she began to wonder if she’d really be any good at it.

“Listen,” he said, “if we get Austin—and I plan to get Austin, even if I have to get down on my hands and knees and beg the kid—I want you to take him.”

“Huh?” She tilted her head.

“I want him to be your first official artist.”

She felt her jaw drop in shock. “You’re kidding.”

Yet he misread her reaction as worry. “Don’t panic, babe—I’ll be there every step of the way to guide you. And I think the kid’ll be big, and not too temperamental. He’ll give you a nice head start in the biz—he’ll be an act to hang your hat on, get your name out there.”

Brenna let out a huge breath. Was he really offering her this? “Damon, you don’t have to do that. I mean, it’s hardly fair. You’re the one who spent the time talking with him and his mom today, not me. You’re the one he likes—and surely the one he wants to work with. And…” She sighed, letting her voice soften as she ran out of steam, her eyes dropping to the table’s wood grain. “I really haven’t done anything to earn a gift like that.”

In response, Damon sat down in the chair next to her, turned her toward him, and took her hands in his. “Brenna, I have a lot of faith in you to make it in this business. But it’s not easy to get people to trust you with something as big as a music career, and it can be tough to get that first successful act. Start out with a promising one already under your belt and that’s half the battle. So I want to do this for you, okay? I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Brenna could barely breathe around the lump in her throat. It had gotten pretty easy to forget about the terrible truth she was keeping from Damon when they were flirting or kissing, eating dinner or listening to music, hitting clubs or having sex. But now, in this moment, she couldn’t forget. In fact, it was all she could think about.

She’d never been so stunned or touched—or so horribly guilt ridden—in her life.

“So that’s the way it is. We sign him, he’s yours. Okay?”

She still couldn’t answer. So instead she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him—with all the love in her heart and all the admiration in her soul. She kissed him until he pulled her over onto his lap, his hands on her ass as she straddled him in the wide chair.

Finally the kisses ended, and they simply sat there, silent, Damon leaning his forehead against hers in that sweet way she loved. And a slow, proprietary grin unfurled across his face as he said, “Now that’s the kind of answer I like.”