Page 3 of Wild

She walks down the runway that extends into the middle of the crowd and, on the chorus, drops to her knees at the edge. Her wavy hair falls grazing her shoulders, and the girls in the front row lose their minds when she points a finger in their direction.

She's electric and magnetic—maybe that's one of the biggest reasons for her success: she draws in everyone around her and makes them fall for her with a single blink of her blue eyes.

When the song ends, she steps back and lifts her gaze to the upper tiers, holding still for a few seconds while she takes them in. The noise of the crowd raises goosebumps all along her skin, sending a shiver straight up her spine. Then Mia turns, walks back to the stage, and catches the guitarist's eye to signal the next song.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, she walks off stage feeling her entire body still shaking, though from the outside she moves like she's the calmest woman in the world. The hallway leading to backstage is narrow and jammed with cables and people who cross her path and look at her like they want to reach out and touch her but can't quite bring themselves to. She smiles and waves as she goes, until she finally reaches her dressing room and pulls out her earpieces before grabbing the towel laid out on the chair, pressing it to her face and neck to soak up the sweat.

"Eighteen thousand one hundred," Jude announces behind her, stepping through the door Mia left open knowing he'd follow right in.

"Great," Mia answers, making sure her change of clothes is ready for after her shower.

"That's five thousand more than San Francisco," Jude adds, not looking up from his phone.

Mia watches him out of the corner of her eye and drops into one of the chairs in the room, crossing her arms and legs, waiting with a bored expression for him to run through the same numbers he always does, because for Jude Harmon, everything that matters comes down to figures.

"And Friday it's Madison Square Garden—you ready for that?"

Jude looks up, and Mia can tell he seems more excited about it than she is. It's not that she isn't; it'll even be her first time playing there, but her manager radiates an energy that overwhelms her, and he's the last person she wants to see after a show.

"I guess so," she says.

Jude makes a face at her lack of enthusiasm and tucks his phone into his pocket just as Noah—Mia's best friend and personal assistant—walks in carrying a bowl and a bottle of water.

"Hey, Jude," Noah says, setting the food on the table.

"Noah," the manager replies. "Alright, I'll leave you to it."

The man turns to go, and Mia watches him leave, her eyes drifting between her friend and her manager. Jude is the kind of man who always wears a suit, cleanly shaved, trailing cologne so strongly that if you get too close it's almost too much. Noah is nothing like that, with his dark, wavy, perpetually tangled hair, a few days' worth of stubble, and a loose, slightly unkempt look that fills Mia with a deep, uncomplicated affection.

They met as teenagers and became inseparable, so when Mia's career took off and she was told she needed a personal assistant, she insisted it had to be Noah. Not because her friend needed the work, but because she needed him—because he's the only person who truly knows her, with all the fears and insecurities she hides behind a bold, provocative personality that makes her look like the most confident woman on the planet.

"Here, drink," Noah says, opening the water bottle before handing it to her.

While she takes several long, eager gulps, he opens the bowl he brought and unwraps the cutlery, arranging everything neatly on the table like a waiter at a restaurant.

"It's cold pasta—the kind you like—grilled chicken, a little bread, and some fruit."

"I'm not hungry right now, Noah," Mia says, and drinks again.

He makes a face, then nudges the fork slightly to line it up with the knife.

"You don't have to eat right now—shower first, and when you come out you eat it," he says, with a mildly bossy tone that pulls a grin out of her.

"You shouldn't be so soft, or women are going to walk all over you." Mia stands and tugs at her shirt to peel it from her skin.

"I like being walked all over," he jokes with a grin. "You were incredible up there, by the way—I had goosebumps the whole concert."

Noah runs a hand along his arm as if the hair is still standing up, but Mia barely notices that—what she sees is the tattoo with Danny's name, identical to the one she carries somewhere else on her own body.

"He would've had his breath taken away watching you up there," Noah murmurs.

She manages a small smile and squeezes her friend's arm, because remembering Danny always ties a knot in both their stomachs.

"How are you feeling?" her assistant asks as she gathers her clothes and the towel.

Mia turns to look at him and gives him a smile.

"Great, though my body is still shaking—you know the adrenaline always takes a while to come down."