Page 9 of Sasha’s Secret

Sasha led the way into the studio. The building must have covered more ground than Rocco imagined, for it to accommodate the spacious live area—large enough for several musicians—and a separate area with a mixing desk that looked like the flight deck of a spaceship from some science fiction movie.

And it appeared they’d arrived in the middle of an artistic meltdown. Linzi’s raised voice came through loud and clear on the speakers in the control room. Rocco had a feeling they’d have heard her through the huge glass window even without the benefit of the sound system.

“So how was that, Trent?”

Impatience and more than a touch of aggressive sarcasm, unless Rocco was mistaken. He turned his attention to the man seated at the desk. Birling’s lips were pressed together, and the set of his shoulders radiated tension. Those same shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep, centering breath before speaking into the microphone.

“Linzi, you’re almost there.” He looked briefly at Sasha and raised his hand in acknowledgment, sparing only a fleeting glance for Rocco. “I need it one more time, to make sure.”

“Trent, I’m tired. I’ve already done it, like, forty-six times today.”

Rocco waited. A whine like that really deserved the accompaniment of a petulant stamp of the foot.

“Linzi, one more time. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” Trent’s hands moved over the desk as he manipulated the controls. “From the top, when you’re ready. You know what to do.”

The light touch of a hand on his forearm drew Rocco’s attention back to Sasha. When she took a seat on the long couch at the back of the booth, Rocco sat down beside her.

“It won’t be long now,” she whispered.

Rocco didn’t mind. His job often involved waiting around, so this was no different. Besides, this gave him the opportunity to size up Linzi’s producer.

The man was somewhere in his thirties, casually dressed in high-end designer labels, and probably as successful as those labels implied. His intense concentration was characteristic of someone who was consumed by their work to the point of obsession, so it was doubtful he’d do anything to jeopardize that. On balance, he was an unlikely candidate, but Rocco would still run a check on him.

The producer wasn’t the only subject of Rocco’s attention. As the music continued, he checked out the high-tech control room. Speakers, mounted flush in the walls, shared the space with large, ultra-high definition monitors. The displays were an incomprehensible representation of the sliders and dials on the desk, and each movement of Birling’s hands changed the configuration on the screens.

For all that she had the reputation of being a brat, Linzi was a good singer—not the kind Rocco preferred to listen to when the opportunity presented itself, but he could understand her appeal to her target audience, which was definitely not someone like him.

When it came to what he found appealing, Sasha Morgan took it to a whole other level. He stole another glance in her direction. She was stunning. Her profile was classical and elegant, and he could only too easily picture himself moving that heavy curtain of honey-blonde waves to one side, so he could kiss the delicate column of her neck. Her shirt would have to go, so he could kiss his way to her shoulder. Then he’d hook his finger under the narrow strap of her—

“That was great, Linzi. You’ve nailed it. Time to call it a day.”

Birling’s voice lobbed a grenade into the fantasy playing out in Rocco’s imagination. On the other side of the glass, Linzi signaled her agreement and removed her headphones. She tossed her hair back, and then bounded towards the door, bursting into the control room seconds later. Rocco automatically stood, as did Sasha, who sent a totally inscrutable look in his direction.

Linzi headed straight for the man at the desk. She opened her mouth to speak, but Birling headed her off before she could say a word.

“Great work, Linzi. Replicate that at the recording session, and you’ve got another hit on your hands.”

“Thank God, because I am so over that song.”

Birling laughed. “You’d better not be over it, because you’re going to be singing it everywhere.”

Linzi rolled her eyes and gave a melodramatic sigh as her shoulders plummeted downward. “Gross.”

“With the right mix, it’ll make a fortune, trust me.” Birling started gathering his belongings and putting them inside his aluminum attaché case.

“Linzi?”

“Oh. Hi, Sasha.” As if someone had flicked a switch, the demanding diva adopted an almost childlike persona. At the same time, she finally realized a stranger was in their midst and directed her next question at Rocco. “Who are you?”

“Linzi, this is Rocco Equizi. I told you he was coming to conduct a review of security?”

Interesting how Sasha referred to only one of the reasons for his presence. “Good afternoon, Ms. Suto.” He extended his hand in greeting, only for it to be ignored.

“Hey, you’re a Brit. Weird accent, but you’re kinda cute.” She looked him up and down as if he were a prime cut of meat.

Rocco’s internal alarm gave a warning peal. All of a sudden, he was very, very glad Linzi wasn’t due to go anywhere for the next few days. It meant he wouldn’t have to spend too much time in her company, and in the meantime, he could work on a strategy to keep her safe when the time came for her to venture beyond the estate boundaries.

And the sooner they got to the bottom of the threats the better, because the last thing he needed was to have his principal crushing on him. Sasha, on the other hand…