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Like this girl, arguing for her own form of survival. I could hear it in the tight wire of her voice.
“Why can’t you just let me be?” she went on, that low voice edged in frustration. “I don’t need saving.”
I tugged down the sleeve of my shirt, smiling despite my precarious position outside their door. Damn straight.
We were of like minds. Was she as hot as her voice? I was a sucker for a strong woman with a voice to match. Another kind of music. How many times had I been led astray by a pretty voice only to find the chemistry with the woman herself wasn’t there? That was how I’d fallen into bed with that singer in Winchester. Gorgeous pipes, the rest not nearly as lovely. And I didn’t mean her looks.
“Who’s saving you?” The other woman didn’t sound nearly as intriguing. She was all business, no give whatsoever.
I’d heard that voice before. Somewhere.
“I’m just offering you a job taking photos,” she continued. “Something you dearly could use, since hello, this program you’re in won’t wait forever.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Her voice went shrill then evened. “But rockstars are your deal, not mine.”
Eyebrows raised, I slouched against the wall next to the door where the voices were coming from.
Says who, sweetheart? I’ll change your mind in under an hour.
Under half of that if she was easier to separate from her panties than she sounded. But that was okay. I enjoyed a challenge. The fruit tasted sweeter when it was harder to get.
Not that I’d come this far for a lay. Though I did admit a certain curiosity at finding out if the songs about California women were true. Since I appreciated all females without regard for location, I had my doubts, but I was always up for experimentation.
Literally, going by the state of my trousers.
Damn, that voice. That desperation layering under the stubbornness.
Passion. She had it in spades.
“I said the same once.” The other woman’s voice was as dry as a fine wine. “But I’m not talking pleasure, just business. Donovan pays handsomely for talent. Picking up one of our shows now and then could line your pockets with a minimal time investment. Leaving you plenty for all your artsy stuff.”
I straightened and hiked my knapsack higher on my shoulder. Taking photographs. Artsy.
Hmm. My pointer dog was about to get me in some fucking trouble.
Shit, I needed to see her face. All I needed was one look to find out if it matched that bedroom voice.
Just one to satisfy my curiosity.
My hand touched the doorknob as footsteps sounded behind me.
“Mr. Kagan?”
The usage of my name startled me enough that I shoved my hand into my pocket as I turned.
The cool brunette I’d noticed behind the desk in the reception area smiled at me, her gaze as warm as an ice chip. “Mr. Lewis doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting.”
“How do you know who I am?”
She smiled and tapped a mauve nail on the folder she grasped at her hip. I had a fucking folder? I wanted to sing, and they put together some kind of dossier on me?
Since I was a researcher as well, I couldn’t fault them. My shoulders relaxed. This was just business. Whatever the folder said, I didn’t care. I was here for one reason—to get to the next level.
At least as far as they knew.
In the meantime, I’d get my hands on that folder. Knowledge was king in every way. Jerry had beat that into my head a long time ago.
“Zoe, just one night. If you hate it, that’s all I’ll ask of you.”
