“Eventually people will notice you and Ms. Bell getting cozy.”

My steps slow. “Say what you’re going to say, Scottie.”

He stops and faces me. “You saw what happened with Rye and Brenna tonight.”

“Everyone saw. Your point?” My mellow is heading toward pissed off.

“The longer you draw this out, the worse it will be when people learn the truth.” He sets his hands low on his hips. Lecture stance. “There’s a saying: Shit or get off the pot.”

“That’s classy for you, Scottie.”

“You two want to be together, make it known. Brenna and I will find a way to deal with it.”

“We’re not a problem for you to deal with,” I snap, keeping my voice low.

“You are. And if you can’t see that, you’re being deliberately blind.”

For a second, I have to look away.

Scottie takes the moment to go in for the kill. “I want her, Killian.”

I reel back as if punched in the gut, and he rolls his eyes.

“To manage, you git.” For the first time, humor lights his expression.

I take a bit longer to calm. “Jesus, say it another way then. I already had to deal with Whip tonight, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’ve never seen you so territorial.” He’s quietly laughing at me. Ass.

“Get used to it.” I run my hand over my tight neck. I definitely need a soak now. “Seriously, though? You want to take Libby under your wing?” I know what that means. It’s something anyone who knows anything about the industry dreams of. Scottie is a legend.

He started off with us, convincing four eighteen-year-old punks to take a chance on him, never mind he was basically our age with absolutely no true experience at the time. We took that gamble and never looked back. As for Scottie, he’s picked up a select number of other clients along the way, all of them going platinum.

The man is a business and marketing genius with a killer instinct. If he says someone has It, the music industry listens.

“You were right to ask her on the tour,” he says. “She is exceptional. Brenna tells me she’s getting an increasing number of interview requests for Liberty, fan mail by the dozens. We haven’t said anything to her because we don’t want to overwhelm her at the moment.”

“Good plan.” Because Libby would freak. And not in a good way. “But why are you talking to me and not her?”

“I plan to discuss this with her. Perhaps suggest we start once the tour is over.” His eyes narrow as he studies my face. “I want to know how you’ll take it.”

And then I remember how it was in the beginning. I didn’t own a second of my life. She does this, and our time together will whittle down to nothing. Absently, I rub my abs, where my stomach squeezes in protest. Really not feeling mellow anymore.

“I don’t know how Libby will handle going full tilt,” I tell Scottie. “Or if she’ll even want to. But I won’t stand in her way.” I’d never do that, even if it means that, one day, she’s gone.

 

Libby

 

Scottie makes me nervous. I can admit that. I’m not attracted to him, but I won’t deny his effect. The combination of his stunning looks, hard eyes, and crisp voice acts like an avalanche on the nerves. You’re pinned in place, and even if you look away, he’s trapped you with his voice.

So when he approaches me during the sound check at the stadium, I tense, keeping my eyes on Killian singing as long as I can.

A low chuckle washes over me. “Avoiding eye contact won’t make me go away, Ms. Bell.”

Bracing myself, I turn. “Prolonging the inevitable is a thing with me, I guess.”

He’s not smiling—he rarely does. But his eyes are soft—well, for him. “Intelligent move. I want to discuss something with you. Have you a moment?” He inclines his dark head toward the right wing row of seats, just far enough away that we can hear each other while Kill John runs through an older song.

I’d rather stay here and not discuss anything. But I nod and lead the way.

He waits until I’m seated to fold himself into a nearby seat. And then he looks me over as if inspecting a bug. “You are not backup material.”

Instantly I tense, steel coming into my spine. “Seriously? Is this some fucking cliché shakedown? Because we can skip to the end right now where I tell you to fuck your mother.”

“Colorful,” Scottie murmurs, looking amused. “No, Ms. Bell, this is not a shakedown.” He peers at me. “You do have a vivid imagination, however. And I now see why you’re so compatible with Killian. Same descriptive vocabulary.” He leans in, resting his hands on his knees. “You are a headliner, Ms. Bell. Front and center stage.”

“I…ah… What?”

He keeps his tone even and patient, as if he’s talking to a distracted child. “Your sound, the quality of your voice, is unique. More importantly, when you get on stage, you are compelling. I want to represent you, Ms. Bell. Develop you.”

My ears ring faintly. “Hold on. First, please stop calling me Ms. Bell. It reminds me of being sent to the principal’s office.”

“Fair enough.” His expression says I’m insane.

“Second. I’m…well, I’m not an entertainer. I came for Killian.”

I glance in Killian’s direction, and our gazes clash. Even now, he’s aware of where I am. His dark eyes crinkle, as if he’s trying to encourage me, even as he sings and plays his guitar. I break eye contact and face Scottie again.

“I’m not a star.”

Scottie’s brows draw together. “There are many things you are not, Ms.—Liberty. But you are star material. More importantly, when you get on a stage, you come alive.” He gestures toward the band with his chin. “Just as they do. Tell me you do not feel that.”

“I do.” My insides being to tremble. “I love it, but…”

“The worst thing you can do in life is ignore an opportunity out of fear.”

“I’m not afraid.”

His dry expression makes a mockery out of that statement. I cringe. “Okay, a little. It’s just… I do love it. But the rest? The public side? No, thanks.”

Scottie sits back, resting his ankle on his bent knee in that way men have of crossing their legs. “I am afraid to fly,” he tells me.