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“No, I don’t mind it, to be honest,” I say.
My idea of unwinding used to be curling up with a book, but knowing Kira—who lives and breathes sound on such a profound level—has made me realize that a little noise isn’t always such a bad thing.
And Dante finds music calming. He always had some rock band playing in the background when we spoke and classical music in the hotel room the few times he visited.
“So, do you not like to travel then?” Zedd’s heavy-lidded gaze sweeps over me slowly, taking in my baggy trousers, red Metallica T-shirt, and sneakers. Hardly lust-inducing attire, but the way Zedd looks at me, I might as well be naked.
“No, I’m good with traveling.” Except to Chicago.
“In that case,” he continues, leaning closer, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Would you be open to attending one of my shows in New York as my personal guest? You can bring Kira if you want,” he adds when he sees my less-than-excited expression.
His hand brushes against my arm, and I instinctively pull back. My response isn’t lost on him, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.
“That would be . . . nice. Thank you, Zedd.” My voice comes out flat and emotionless. I can’t even muster up the energy to pretend like I’m interested. And even if I were interested, I couldn’t flirt to save my life.
Unless it’s with a certain gray-eyed criminal, and then my mouth has a mind of its own. The things I’ve let that man do to me—things I’ve begged him to do to me—make me blush just thinking about it.
“That was a no, wasn’t it?” Zedd says ruefully.
I give him a genuine smile, glad that he caught the hint. “A little bit, yes.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long before shaking his head and retreating back into the throng of partygoers.
I release a pent-up breath as soon as he leaves. If I didn’t know better, I’d blame my abysmal afternoon for not being a little bit nicer to Zedd.
But I just don’t like being stared at by men.
As an only child, I used to look forward to Dad having his business partners and their children over for dinner.
When I turned thirteen, I started noticing the lingering looks from some of his business partners. And as I got older, it only got worse.
At first, I thought it was my limp drawing attention, so I trained myself to mask it.
When that didn’t work, I started dressing like a boy—baggy clothes, baseball caps, anything to deflect unwanted attention. At one point, I even considered cutting my hair, but I just couldn’t do it. My thick, wavy red hair is my one vanity.
“Addy?”
Kira’s voice, soft yet firm, startles me out of my thoughts. I turn to see her leaning against the sliding glass doors, a worried crease between her brows. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just getting some air.”
“You kinda spaced out there. Are you alright?” she adds, her tone laced with concern. Even with the music thumping behind her, Kira has an uncanny ability to sense when something’s off. Especially with me.
I manage a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“You don’t sound like it, Addy.”
“Just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Is it work? Your boss still blaming you for the lost sample?” Kira picks her steps carefully on the cobbled terrace and moves toward me.
Doug just wouldn’t let it go, always insisting that if I’d taken that earlier flight to Chicago like he ordered, I would have reached Ecolab before the fire.
“Everyone still blames me for that, but today’s debacle had more to do with the fact that I threw up on his shoes.”
“You what?” Kira gasps.
“It’s been a crazy day, believe me,” I say. “One minute I was trying to act like I had it all together, and the next I was decorating his shoes. Needless to say, he threw me out and gave me the next couple of days off to sort my shit out. Unpaid, of course.”
