‘Top Gun,’ I confess. ‘My parents were on me to learn the piano when I was little, but I found it really boring. Trying to get a kid with undiagnosed and untreated ADHD to practise his chords? Not happening. But when I saw Goose play this on Top Gun, I was like, that’s pretty fucking cool. I remember I marched out to the stables and told my dad that I’d learn the piano as long as I could only learn rock and roll songs. He agreed, and here we are.’

‘You must be great at parties,’ she says.

‘I’m great at parties, love.’ I brush the stray locks of blonde hair off her shoulder and stare at her bare skin. ‘But what you have is a very, very special talent. So what the fuck you’re doing being my assistant and taking fucking meeting notes, I have no idea. Why the hell didn’t you pursue a career in this?’

I glance up at her face, but she turns her head, gazing out the window.

‘It’s not an easy career. You’re very kind, but I had no guarantee I’d make it. And the lifestyle is hard—long hours, travelling, really unpredictable. Life got in the way, and my priorities changed, you know? So now it’s just a hobby.’ She looks down at the piano and smooths her fingers over the keys. ‘And it’s a very nice hobby when I get to play one of these.’

‘But you love it.’ It’s not a question.

Finally, she raises her eyes to meet mine. ‘I love it,’ she whispers.

‘Do you ever sing for other people?’

‘Just my d—’ She stops abruptly and blinks, her face going instantly red. What the fuck?

‘Your what?’

She stares at me as if she’s choking or something. It’s weird. ‘Just my dog,’ she says finally on a big exhale.

‘Tabby.’

‘Yeah. Exactly.’

‘Lucky dog.’

We’re silent for a moment, taking each other in. I’m no angel, but I’ve never found any woman as arresting as Marlowe. She’s the real deal: gorgeous and smart and wonderful, with more talent in her little finger than most people could dream of possessing.

What’s growing rapidly clear is that she has depths I haven’t begun to plumb.

I let my gaze drop to her mouth. I had plans for us to work through my diary for the rest of the month, but those will have to wait. ‘Can I kiss you?’ I ask her. My voice sounds gruff to my ears.