The Awards show had been long, and his tolerance had tipped into grumpiness the longer it ran on. He’d been so deep into daydreaming about the food at the reception and the instrumental combo he was playing around with in his head that Dale had to whack him on the shoulder to let him know they’d won their first category. Keiran had been shocked—not because he didn’t believe their work was good, he knew it was. Their roster was full of artistes coming to them to produce their tracks and albums—but that meant he had to go up on stage.

“Do we have a speech?” he’d hissed at Dale. It hadn’t occurred to him to prepare anything.

“I got a lil’ something. We can wing the rest,” Dale had whispered back as he’d dragged him up on the stage amid the loud applause and some whistles.

Keiran couldn’t even remember what he’d said up there. He might have thanked his mom. He hoped he had; otherwise, he wouldn’t hear the end of it, especially since she was stuck home getting over the flu and would be glued to the live stream of the show. The second time they’d won an award hadn’t been any better. It had been a heart-pounding blur. Public speaking made him cold sweat. He preferred being in the studio, immersed in rhythm and bass, wrapped in the music.

Scott, Maxine, and Dale’s boyfriend, Worrel, had come as their guests. They’d basically abandoned them for food when Dale dragged Keiran to the dessert stations where Cherisse and her team were.

Her earlier stare had near-incinerated him where he stood. Had she been aware that she’d been throwing him all that heat? Probably. She had to know by now how to get a rise out of him—they’d butted heads enough times over the years—and this time, it appeared she’d switched tactics. That stare had said she wanted to do dirty things to him, and Keiran’s body had responded with yes, please.

“So much for being nice, huh?” He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance at the whole bad boy comment. No doubt Reba would’ve gotten that impression from Cherisse. Clearly, she bought into all those rumors and gossip.

Cherisse didn’t look concerned. “No idea what you’re talking about.” She glanced at Reba. “We should go mingle. Bye, Dale.”

He’d been dismissed. It was becoming an annoying habit of hers.

“Well, damn. I knew you two weren’t exactly friendly, but dude... That was...”

“Irritating.” He cut Dale off. It didn’t help that he was already on edge, having run into his father, who had several artistes nominated. The press had loved that, urging them to get some photo ops together. The father-son music dynamo—their words, not his.

“If that’s what we’re calling it these days.” Dale winked.

“Don’t you start in on that, too. We should find the others.” Before they could get on that, a woman in a tight white dress swooped down on them.

“Hey guys, congrats! I’m from ENT TT. Can I chat with you a bit?”