“I certainly hope so,” Cade said, trying to keep his tone light and carefree. “So what do you do here? Are you on tour with Daph? One of her backup singers?”

Kylie shook her head. “I can’t sing as much as I croak,” she told him with a funny little smile. “I’m her makeup artist.” She gestured at the boxes and boxes of makeup, more than any sane person could wear in a lifetime. “She usually needs refreshing after getting off stage, and tonight she’s going to want to look extra-special for the press, so I’m trying to get ready in advance.” She gave him a nervous smile. “It gives me something to do, at least.”

She smoothed her hands down her dark capris, and he realized she was, in fact, nervous. “Want a drink? I can get you one from the bar,” he asked.

Kylie tilted her head at him and then gave a small shake of her blond mane with the little flecks of color. “I’m on the job, so I shouldn’t drink. But you can have one on my behalf.”

“Fair enough,” Cade said, and downed the rest of his bourbon. He wasn’t much of a drinker himself, but tonight felt . . . off and he wanted the liquid courage. “How long until the show’s over, do you think?”

She tilted her head, and he was struck again by how pretty she was. “Let’s see, she’s singing ‘Hopeless’ right now, so she has about three more songs until she’s done, then there’s the encore, and then she’ll pop back here so I can fix her up, and then she has press. Then meet and greets. After that, she should be free.”

He glanced at his watch. It was already past ten thirty at night. Not that he was going to go to bed early or anything, but it sounded as if Daphne was pretty much busy up until midnight. Why had she asked to see him?

But at least she had said she’d see him. Cade shook his head and took another drink of his bourbon. For the last eight months, she’d been giving him the runaround. If he got answers from her at three in the morning, he’d take them.

Kylie fiddled with the latch on one of her cases and then glanced over at him through thick lashes. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s nosy.”

He smiled, curious as to what she’d ask. Was she going to flirt with him more? Was it disturbing how much he liked that idea? “I don’t mind—ask away.”

“Is Daphne expecting you?”

That . . . wasn’t what he’d expected her to ask. “She is. She asked me to come tonight. Had her assistant send me tickets.”

“Ah.” Kylie shook her head as if to clear it. “Right. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

But she didn’t look convinced. In fact, it looked as if she were avoiding his gaze. Cade’s stomach clenched and he wanted to ask Kylie if Daphne was still having problems. But he also didn’t want to force Kylie to choose between her employer and him, so he simply drained his bourbon and went back to the bar for another.

And he waited for Daphne. He was already here, after all. Might as well see what shook out.

By the time the crowd roared and the lights flashed backstage to indicate that things were wrapping up outside, Cade had downed a few too many bourbons. It wasn’t like him, but anything involving Daphne made him lose all common sense. He shook his head and drained his glass again, then set it on the bar. No more.

He watched Kylie instead. He could watch her all night, really. She was lively and feminine and cheery all the time. She refused all drinks and offers of drugs with a polite smile, and didn’t seem bothered by the fact that they were around her and she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—partake.

Why couldn’t Daphne be more like her? Settled, content, and fun to be around? He was drawn to Kylie repeatedly throughout the night, but had to force himself not to continue bothering her when it was clear she was one of Daphne’s crew and on the job. But he liked her. Just her warm, friendly presence here soothed him, and he was definitely feeling a little rattled overall.

People began to flood through the back doors and Cade got to his feet, straightening his tie and then shoving his hands into the worn pockets of his sport jacket. He tried to catch a glimpse of Daphne amongst the crowd of sweaty people flooding into the room, dressed in wild stage costumes, but the colored wigs and towels being flung about made it hard for him to decipher who was who.

“Everyone out,” an assistant bellowed. “Everyone clear the room to let Miss Petty change! Go wait in the hall. Press, that includes you.”

Just like that, the crowd filed toward the door. Even the bartender got up from the bar and left. Cade moved forward to Kylie’s side, because he didn’t want to be shuffled out with the rest of the crew. He was a personal friend, damn it. Daphne’d invited him. He wasn’t part of the riffraff.