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Jackson's words, though not harsh, carried a subtle hint of disapproval. It was as if he expected me, of all people, to be privy to such information. I book the talent, not follow celebrity gossip.
I shot to my feet. "You two didn't know either," I blurted out, but I knew I'd messed up. As the club's marketing and entertainment director, I should've been in the loop on this kind of thing.
"Don't sweat it. I got this." I assure them with a confident smile. I quickly made my way out of the VIP room and headed straight for the dressing rooms.
Part of me is annoyed that I didn't foresee this situation, but I find that I’m also annoyed with Brandon Stanton, Andrea's agent. He signed the contract for this event without warning me that his client would have a problem with one of my opening acts.
Greed, it's always about the damn money, isn't it?
I storm down the dimly lit hallway. This business is cutthroat, but this is low even for the sharks I dealt with. I push open the door to the dressing room, my mind whirling with damage control strategies.
"Where's Drea Joy?" I ask the guard on duty. The door to her dressing room is ajar, and the room is empty.
Her band members stand talking nearby, turn to look at me, and immediately notice the angry expression that clouds my countenance.
They know I own the club and that I have a reputation that's best kept in check, so the rest of them shut up, starring.
The guard stands from his stool. "She left the dressing room as soon as she arrived."
"She always looks for a quiet place to run her warm-up vocals privately," one of her band members steps forward.
"Cool. I guess I've got a little mouse to find," I mutter, annoyed.
Without another word, I set off, wondering where this elusive woman is hiding. Luckily, it doesn't take me long to find her.
Almost instinctively, I head down a secondary corridor that leads away from the central area of the club, wondering which place I would choose if I wanted to get away from everything so I could be alone. And there is one place, in fact, that I tend to frequent when I find myself in this situation.
I climb the metal stairs and see the rooftop door open. As I move forward, a soft, sweet, slightly broken voice floats down to me.
She doesn't see me. Her back is turned away from the door. She gazes out over the towering city full of lights. Her hair is loose and flowing, dancing in the air as she hugs her knees. Except her waves aren't blonde but reddish-brown.
Her voice floats across the air to me like a siren's song. It instantly draws me in and makes me forget any other trace of worry.
I've heard her sing before. Her melodies, full of broken promises and painful emotions, are as well-known as her attractive face. In a very short amount of time, she has managed to establish herself as one of the best-selling artists of the moment.
"Found you, little mouse!"
Andrea jumps at the sound of my voice and turns to face me. Her huge aquamarine blue eyes watch me with a nervous expression, and her mouth opens in surprise.
Looking at her up close, I can tell that her attractiveness isn’t only due to her makeup, as it is with many other stars. In fact, her beauty is simple, but she radiates charm. Large, expressive eyes sit on a heart-shaped face, and a trail of freckles covers her cheeks and runs across the bridge of her nose.
The innocence in her image is almost enough to make an unconscious part of me want to protect her no matter what, but then I see it.
A deep, blue fire that radiates from her eyes. I understand then that she is not a little mouse.
She’s more like a cat who seeks solitude and silence, someone whose senses are always on alert, even when it looks like she has her guard down.
"Who are you?" she inquires in a delicate, slightly husky voice.
That tone, with its somewhat sexy demand, immediately gives me goosebumps.
Ignoring how upset she seems, I advance towards her. "That doesn't matter now. I came to get you for the show."
She looks at me for a moment, her brow furrowed. I can tell that she’s trying to read me.
Finally, she decides to climb down from the overhead. I hold my hand to help her, but she refuses it and nimbly hops down beside me.
"You're not allowed up here," I say to Andrea as she shakes out her clothes.
