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“Hell if I know,” Mitzi said, shaking her head. “The subject line said Naughty, Naughty Husband. God only knows what kind of virus I’d get from opening an email like that.”
“Vance has no shame. Is he here?”
“No, the Luxes were very clear. They only wanted you.”
Not Harper?
He stared at the cross-stitch rendering of his wife’s face, and the vice gripping his heart clenched tighter.
They should be together. They were better together.
“There’ll be a crew from LookyLoo inside,” Mitzi said, hooking her arm with his as she gave him the rundown, and they headed toward the back entrance. “No other outside press was invited.”
He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at the sea of fans and felt…empty.
He’d loved the applause and attention when he’d shared the stage with his sister and Trey.
The same thing had happened with Harper by his side.
Why was that?
Stop!
Get out of your head and do your job. Be the heartthrob.
“Look who’s here. How are you doing, honey?” Donna asked in a soothing drawl. The woman was decked out in a café-colored jumpsuit shimmering with gold and brown sequins. She looked like Bonbon Barbie’s glitzy Vegas grandma.
“I’ve been better.”
That was an understatement.
Damien joined them, sporting the matching men’s version of the café-colored glitter costume. “We’ve seen the pictures of Harper,” he said, his green eyes awash with concern.
“It’s…complicated,” he replied, unsure what to say about their situation.
“You look like you’ve lost your best friend, honey. But I believe in fate,” Donna answered with a wink.
Damien nodded. “Sometimes, it requires a little facilitating.”
Fate? Facilitating?
He pegged the sparkly pair with his gaze. “What did you say?”
“You look like you need something to go your way,” Donna answered.
But that wasn’t what they’d just said.
“You said facilitator of fate. I know someone who also uses that term,” he answered and caught a glimpse of a flowing red scarf. He turned toward the flash of color, but all he saw was a group of cameramen and a woman carrying a large circular light reflector.
His gaze ping-ponged between the glittery hosts when a faint drumbeat peppered the air, followed by the strum of a guitar and then the lustrous vibration of a violin. He strained to listen as the trio played. The melody was almost there, but the instruments were competing, and the tempo was off. He glanced around. They were in the part of the building that housed the practice rooms. He and Harper had only glimpsed this area of the New Beats facility last time they were here, but he didn’t see any musicians using the rooms.
A woman with a clipboard walked up to them. “Good, everyone’s here. Today we’ll be filming spots about LookyLoo and Luxe Media and Entertainment supporting this local music program. With Luxe’s recent record label acquisition, Mr. and Mrs. Luxe tell us they’d like to highlight—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to focus on anything but the whispering melody, “you’ll have to excuse me.” He didn’t want to be rude, but he knew exactly what tweaks the song needed.
“Landon?” Mitzi said with a crease on her brow.
“Give me a second.” He tucked the pillow under his arm and followed the sound. Heading down a hallway, he snaked around the building until a pair of doors appeared and the sound intensified. He opened the door and slipped into the room.
