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Chapter 1

Amanda

The private jet smells like champagne and money.

Which, frankly, is the only reason I agreed to this ridiculous trip in the first place.

Well, that and the six-figure performance fee.

I smooth my hand over the curve of my hip as I step down the narrow jet stairs into the warm California sunshine.

The late afternoon light glitters off the massive hangar windows, and somewhere nearby a helicopter thumps lazily overhead.

Hollywood, California.

Lord help me.

“Miss Perkins? Excuse me,” a woman—the big shot’s assistant, maybe—chirps beside me.

I turn to find a woman in a headset and beige power suit smiling like she just swallowed a lemon and decided to enjoy it.

“Yes?”

“Welcome to Los Angeles. Mr. Carter is thrilled you accepted the invitation to perform this weekend. I’m Debra Manfield, Mr. Carter’s personal assistant.”

I flash my best Broadway smile.

The one that wins over critics and donors, and cranky stage managers.

“I’m thrilled to be here.”

Which is mostly true.

Broadway may be my home, but a private performance for one of Hollywood’s richest producers is exactly the kind of exposure my career needs right now.

The assistant gestures toward a sleek black SUV waiting just beyond the hangar doors.

“We’ll take you directly to the estate. The stage is already set up, and the rehearsal space is yours whenever you're ready.”

Perfect.

Smooth.

Professional.

Exactly the kind of luxury arrangement I expected when the contract came through.

This kind of gig should be no problem. I’m used to performing on stage, although this audience is a lot smaller than the norm.

It should be fine.

I’ll be fine.

Then I see him.

At first, it’s just a shape leaning against the SUV.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark suit.