I remembered O’Dea taking me to the hospital. I even remembered getting back in his car once we were done. But that was it.

Where the hell was I?

My body ached all over, like I’d been in a car accident. I swung out of bed, relieved to see I was still in my jeans and T-shirt. The thought of O’Dea undressing me for bed was more than I could take.

As I stood, dizziness knocked me back on my ass again and I took a couple of seconds to gather myself. When I felt my head clear, I got back on my feet and slowly made my way toward the door. Stepping out of the bedroom, I found myself looking into a small but perfectly formed open-plan living space. The kitchen was modern with traditional influences—slate-gray, shaker-style cabinets, thick oak countertops, and glossy, lemon-yellow, brick-style tiles as a backsplash. It had a large range cooker with a fancy chimney cooker hood. There was also an island with more counter space, lemon-yellow stools, and beautiful drop ceiling lights with copper shades.

The sitting area had a soft gray corner sofa, a TV mounted on the wall, and a yellow button-back chair.

Beside the chair were French doors that led out onto a balcony. I immediately moved toward it, opening the doors and feeling the chilled wind whip through my hair as I stepped out in my bare feet.

We were on the River Clyde. I knew that from the walks I’d taken down there. On the opposite river bank was a huge rusty-red corrugated iron building that looked like a warehouse. There were more industrial-type units on either side of it. To the left of those was what looked like a couple of apartment buildings and next to that a church.

Stepping in out of the cold, I shut the doors and looked back around the beautiful little apartment. Where the hell was I?

As if on cue, a door slammed down the hall. Footsteps padded toward the living space and my heart started pounding.

I let out a shaky breath, not sure I felt relief or the opposite, as O’Dea appeared. He stopped short at the sight of me, drinking me in from head to foot. Finally, after I’d been subjected to his visual assessment, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I went a couple of rounds with a creepy Glaswegian kid.”

“I put your painkillers in the cupboard.” He headed into the kitchen and that’s when I noted the carrier bag in his hand.

“So . . . any chance you’re going to tell me where I am or are you enjoying discombobulating me?” I took one small step toward him.

Whatever he heard in my voice made him stop in his tracks. He frowned at me. “You don’t remember getting here?”

I shook my head.

He frowned harder. “I explained last night but you were pretty out of it. This,” he gestured around the room, “is a one-bed flat that belongs to the record label. We own a few flats in this building so we have places to put up our artists. The record label’s building is about a twenty-minute walk down the river bank from here.”

For some weird reason, I felt utter relief that I wasn’t in O’Dea’s apartment. It was bad enough that he pretty much blackmailed me in exchange for his help. I didn’t want his charity. He’d made it clear that this was only business between us and I’d prefer it to remain that way.

“Discombobulating.” He looked impressed. “Big word. Glad to see what’s left of your faculties are still intact.”

“What’s left of my faculties?”

“You’re a multimillionaire, Skylar, and you’ve been sleeping on the streets. That doesn’t exactly say you’re in possession of all your faculties. Now eat something before taking the painkillers,” he said as he reached into a cupboard and pulled out a little white bag I assumed my meds were in. Then he turned back to the carrier bag he’d put on the counter and began pulling out groceries, including milk and eggs. “Do you like omelet?”

I could try to kill him, or I could eat. Choices, choices.

I hadn’t had an omelet in a while and killing him would be messy. “Omelet’s fine. Although I take mine with a pinch less condescension.”

He shrugged out of the smart wool blazer he wore and threw it over the back of the couch. Gesturing toward it, he said, “Sit.”

I made a face but still light-headed, I sat. Watching him as he moved around the kitchen, I felt a begrudging gratefulness despite his patronizing aloofness. Even though this was just business, he had helped me out last night. And the bed I’d slept in must’ve been like a cloud because as far as I could remember, I hadn’t dreamt at all. I’d fallen into a deep sleep. For the first time in weeks I hadn’t been woken up by birdsong and bitter cold temperatures. I’d been warm and safe. Because of him.

“Thanks.”

O’Dea shot me a look as he pulled out a mixing bowl from a cupboard on the island. “Did you promise to audition for me?”

“I did.”

“When you made that promise, I didn’t know your wrist was broken.”

“Fractured. A hairline fracture.” I didn’t have to add, “Your point?” My tone did that for me.

He shrugged. “Same thing. The doctor says it could take up to a month, maybe more, until your cast can come off. That means it’s going to be weeks before you’re ready to play the guitar again.”

Watching as he poured cream cheese into the mixing bowl along with some herbs, annoyed that he hadn’t asked if I liked cream cheese, I tried to keep the disdain out of my voice. “And?”

“You’re going to audition today. Acapella. It might even be better this way. If you can impress me without actual music, then I know I’m onto something good.”

I was quiet a moment, trying to calm myself. Still, my words came out like they were soaked in battery acid. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

O’Dea didn’t flinch as he put butter on a hot pan and then proceeded to beat eggs into the herby, cheesy mixture. Not looking up at me, he replied blandly, “I’m a businessman, Skylar. This is business. I’m not giving you time to wallow over what happened to you or to overthink our agreement. We’ll get the audition out of the way and then we can go from there.”

“You’re not even going to give me a day to rest? I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack Truck and I’m pretty sure I look like it took the time to reverse and flatten me afterward.”

“I’m sure you do,” he responded in his annoyingly calm voice.

“You know your sympathy is truly overwhelming.”

“Are you always this sarcastic?”

“I’m not auditioning for you today.”

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten. And you are auditioning for me today.” He looked over at me with that familiar hardness etching his features. He didn’t deserve such beautiful eyes. They belonged to a man who was warm and charming. Not this cold ass. “There will be plenty of time for you to rest once we know where you and I stand. It’s better for everyone if we get this audition over with.”

“Better for you, you mean.”

“No.” He sighed. “Skylar, if I don’t want to sign you, you’ll need to go home. If I do want to sign you, we’ll need to discuss what happens from there. Better to come to an understanding quickly, considering your visa is about to expire.”

“I’m not going home.” I was horrified he’d even suggest it.

“Like I said, audition first.”

Butterflies woke in my belly as my mind whirled. What would I do? I had no money. Of course, I could get access to money but that would mean alerting Adam who would alert Gayle who would alert the band. They would come for me and I’d have to let them. There was absolutely no way I could go back to living on the streets. I suddenly believed it would eventually kill me.

I had wanted to hide. I didn’t want to die.

“Stop thinking so hard,” O’Dea said, pushing a plate over the counter toward one of the stools. My stomach grumbled and as if tethered to the plate of hot food, I had no other choice but to go to it.

O’Dea pushed a glass of fresh orange juice toward me too, and still standing began eating his own omelet.

It was delicious.

“I’d give you more but the doc suggested we increase your food intake incrementally. So we’re using Autumn’s omelet recipe.”