Once, he’d had honor. I had the sudden flash of a weight shattering the windshield of my dad’s prized car. The weight that I’d dropped while in the midst of taunting Tuck. And even so, he’d taken the blame so I wouldn’t bear my father’s wrath. He’d suffered both the humiliation and his dad’s anger—for me.

And all I’d given him was my first kiss.

Not that he knew that that was how I still thought of it.

His sacrifice had meant I was allowed to attend the music camp where I’d met a singing coach who’d changed my life’s trajectory. She’d seen my potential and taken me on as a client even though she was completely booked. She’d not only been vital in my growth as a singer, but she’d known a lot of the right people, and they had guided and mentored me, each one an integral stepping stone to my success.

And if not for Tuck…if not for that camp and everything that had occurred after that weekend… I might not be where I was today.

I sighed, removing my phone from my evening bag. There was a text from Charlie asking if I was okay and I sent a quick response that I’d be right out. As I walked toward the door, I composed a new text to my mother: Tell Tuck he has a job if he wants it. And before I could reconsider, I hit Send.

I’d only taken a handful of steps when my phone dinged with a response from my mother: You won’t regret it.

I snorted softly. Unlikely. But what was done, was done.

I pulled my shoulders back, plastered on my smile, and once again, pulled forth Nova.

chapter eight

Tuck

I squinted up at the steel-and-plexiglass monstrosity. Others probably considered it sleek, but I’d seen enough steel and plexiglass to last a lifetime.

But this was Emily—or, Nova’s—home, my new boss, so I better get used to it, even if most of my work hours would be spent at public events. Or so I assumed. Mrs. Swanson hadn’t given me many details, only that Emily had been thrilled by the offer of my services, and that she’d outline my position when I arrived.

I entered the open lobby, heading to the bank of elevators and pressing the button to the penthouse level. My black jeans, black boots, and gray T-shirt looked worn and overly casual for a job interview, but it was all I had. Plus, I’d already been hired for the job, and so it wasn’t as if this was an actual interview. I’d signed the tax forms Emily’s accountant had sent to her mother’s email address, and a nondisclosure agreement, promising not to leak any of Emily’s personal information.