“Before they sign off?” I ask.

When the label’s producer called last week, she made it sound like the deal was done. Mac Records just wanted to fly me to Prague to meet the band and answer any questions they might have about filming.

Christian lowers his phone, noticing my confusion. “We would never agree to someone coming on the road like this without meeting them first. You won’t be some roadie on tour they dodge while walking to the stage. You’ll be in their shit twenty-four-seven—witnessing God knows what between the bus and hotels. Don’t take it personally, doll, but they could very well tell you to fuck off in a few minutes.”

My cheeks heat as I realize this isn’t the “chill little meet and greet” I was promised. It’s a fucking interview.

“Let me guess, they told you this was in the bag?” Christian looks like a man who just regained control of his kingdom, giving me a wink. “No worries, beautiful. I can’t imagine anyone telling you no.”

Then he adjusts his posture. In a split second, he shifts from frat boy to intimidating and in charge, rolling down his sleeves and fastening the buttons at one of the cuffs as he walks away.

The guard straightens and tips his head to the side, waiting for me to follow Christian out of the room. “Honestly,” he says, once I reach the hallway, “that went better than I thought it would.”

“Yay for me,” I deadpan on my way by him.

The band’s dressing room is only a few down from the one they stashed me in. Christian grabs the knob, pausing before he turns it. “Let me brace them for the switch-up, and then let her in.”

“Aye aye, Commander Douche,” the guard says.

“Real fucking mature, Colton.” Christian slips inside.

The door bounces rather than latching behind him, leaving an inch-wide gap. My eyes stay locked on it, muffled voices leaking through but the words unclear. All of my anxiety exists in that tiny space until Colton clears his throat. When I look up, he props his shoulder against the wall.

“You’re an anomaly, you know?” He crosses his arms, and before I can ask how, he tells me, “You’re walking into the lions’ den without planning to lose your clothes.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but the comment takes some of the edge off. And with the half-smile he gives, I think he meant for it to.

He nods for me to go in, and I blow out a breath.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Colton.”

He smirks, pushing the door open for me. With my first step, Christian spins around, and two more sets of eyes shift to me. Felix Mills and Dev Ferris look up, the drummer and bassist with their legs spread wide on the couch.