Page 2 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

I patted the smooth leather of my satchel as I hitched it over my shoulder. Dad had gifted it to me with the explanation that if I wasn’t going to be a doctor, he wanted me to have the best bag for my little marketing career, as he called it. If he couldn’t choose my career for me, he had to at least control the bag I carried. The guy never gave up. For the meeting, I’d replaced my usual ratty backpack with this sleek number because, well...pretty.

A man and two women skirted around me to reach the open gate, their lithe forms and body-con outfits marking them as dancers. I couldn’t picture Conor using dancers on stage for any of his music, but I hadn’t listened to his stuff recently. For all I knew, he could’ve gone full disco.

Did he even have stuff? I knew about his judging stint on the music talent show, had even watched it a few times, but I couldn’t recall the last time he put out an album. I liked the direction of his solo music after Five2Go split up, but it had become painful for me to listen to it.

I don’t think I ever could’ve made it as a doctor—too emotional. Sorry, Dad.

The security guard at the gate tapped his clipboard, and I eyed it with appreciation—the clipboard, not the security guard, although he warranted a second look. Did Ashley’s pretty edict extend to security? This guy’s rippling muscles rivalled The Rock’s—and his head was shinier.

I waved. “Noelle Martine, 92 West Promotions.”

“I gotcha, Noelle.” He made a show of checking my name off his list with his green pen.

“Anyone ever tell you, you look like The Rock?”

“All. The. Time.” He rubbed his bald head. “That’s why they call me The Boulder.”

I tripped as I walked through the gate. “Are you fucking with me?”

His laugh boomed, and I could’ve sworn I saw his pecs bounce under his white tank top.

Waving his hand, he said, “Maybe.”

I straightened my spine and marched toward the clutch of people hovering around a table loaded with food and coffee machines—the fancy kind that steamed your milk and added a happy face. I gravitated toward Dina, decked out in a sleek pant suit and sky-high heels, waving her hands like she was directing traffic.

She nodded at my approach and then widened her eyes as she finished her conversation. Had I passed inspection or had she just flashed me a look of horror? I had jeans on instead of a suit and I didn’t have the confidence to prance around backstage in heels, but my Levi’s and Chucks passed the style standard, and I’d topped them off with an off-the-shoulder blouse that would make Mrs. Bieber proud.

When Dina finished talking, she nudged my arm with her elbow, jostling my coffee cup. “You look adorable. I’m glad you lost...” she flicked her fingers around her head.

“My hair? My face?” I puckered my lips and blew on the steam coming off my coffee. I preferred iced, but I wasn’t the one allowed to make demands here.

“Your glasses, silly. You have the prettiest brown eyes with those little flecks of gold.” She squinted at my eyes like she was the one who needed glasses. She probably did.

“Good mornin’ everybody!”

At the sound of his voice, I nearly spilled my coffee all over Dina’s Manolos. My head swiveled toward the cute Irish accent so fast, it almost detached from my body.

Conor waved to everyone, and a few people who must’ve known him from before ran up to him for a hug.

I knew him from before, but there was no way I was going in for a hug—a punch maybe, but definitely not a hug. I turned my back on him and slurped my coffee.

But Dina didn’t believe in anonymity. Her voice grated against my ears as she called out, “Conor!”

The crunch of his feet on the ground as he drew closer kept me pinned to my spot, my hand wrapped around my coffee cup in a death grip. I smelled him as he approached—that mixture of clean and fresh with a hint of woodsy spice. I could do a whole-ass commercial on Conor Flynn’s scent.

Dina continued, oblivious to the churning whirlwind in my head. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Dina Coletti, and this is my assistant, Noelle Martine, but you already know her.”

I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. I pivoted slowly, holding my cup like a tiny, useless shield.

As Conor shook Dina’s hand, his gaze darted to my face, and his eyebrows jumped to the lock of blond hair curling over his forehead. I’d never seen his hair so long before. Was he keeping it long for the concert tour? I could also do a commercial on Conor Flynn’s hair...his eyes...his lips...his...

“Noelle.” His smile lit up his face as he dropped Dina’s hand and attempted to give me an awkward one-armed hug around my coffee cup raised to my chest. “Good to see you. You’re working with 92 West now.”

It wasn’t a question because obviously I was working for 92 West, or I wouldn’t be here. But it was a non-question that required an answer. I couldn’t keep standing here swallowing all the words I wanted to blurt out while Dina tapped her toe beside me.

“Yes, I am.” Brilliant. “I’m so excited to be working this tour.” Liar.

Conor cocked his head, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. “The whole tour?”