He nods, checking if anyone’s within earshot other than Colt, and then he leans forward to close the space between. “Of Men and Wolves are doing the Mac Records documentary.”

My jaw clenches as he goes on.

“You’ll tell the other guys you changed your mind. We worked out an agreement, minimal extra people on tour, no one allowed in during writing sessions.”

“If I don’t?” I ask.

“You will,” he counters. “Because this isn’t just you saying fuck off to the label. It’s taking money out of everyone’s pockets—including that chick from last night.”

Just the mention of Remi is equivalent to the lobby glare, and I squint as if I’d been blinded.

“She’s fucking good, Foster. And she’s hungry for this,” he adds. “You watch that video I sent you?”

I nod as Christian relaxes back in his chair. His demeanor even calms enough he eye-strips a woman sauntering past. His attention stays on her long enough Colton clears his throat, and our manager finally brings his focus back to me.

“Then you know she has the talent. Her style is the vibe I thought you, of all people, would want for this thing.” He rushes the last few words, looking up when the server stops at the side of the table.

The problem is he’s not wrong. Remi has the exact style I envisioned when I first heard about the possibility of a documentary. She’s perfect for it.

While Christian orders his five-star meal, my gaze lowers to my phone, partially obscured by the table. I tap the screen, bringing the video I was watching earlier back to life. Not the one Christian sent me, but one that cuts deeper than some kids at a skate park. This one’s personal. This one has a part of me tainting it.

The battle of the bands sign hangs behind the all-girls punk band on the stage, and then it cuts to the singer’s POV, the drums hitting behind her while she nails a riff on her guitar. She turns to the grinning bass guitarist, spinning off to the side. Then the video switches to a camera in the crowd, right in the middle of the excitement and pulse of the show. I swallow, knowing whose eyes I’m looking through at this exact moment.

I thought my mental well-being had finally taken the long-awaited swan dive last night when I looked offstage and saw her at the base of the stairs, watching me perform for a fucking arena full of people. The mic stand might as well have electrocuted me, my entire being in shock. Felix shouted at me, and I glanced away long enough for her to disappear.

It was so surreal. By the time I walked out of the shower, I’d convinced myself she was a full-body apparition. Until I saw her standing in the middle of the dressing room.

“Excuse me.”