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I keep my eyes on Lyla as if I’m glued to her performance, when the reality is I’m much too terrified to watch his reaction.

But if he only knew how long Lyla had worked for this.

Marketing and design is her skill set.

Music is her soul.

For as long as I can remember, this has been her passion, and she’s never wavered. I’ve always admired her for that. For knowing what she wanted and passionately going after it, no holds barred. No matter what other people think. No matter what hardships come her way. Even on those terrible days when she showed up and sang for no one. She kept at it. I understand that. I empathize with that. I get that.

Will’s expression is stern as he gazes up at Lyla, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s playing the part of studious agent or because he’s about to tell us we’re both incredibly immature and don’t deserve to be representatives of Pennington Publishing.

And the longer he stares, the more formidable his expression feels.

It’s because he’s realizing there’s something wrong with us.

Her because she’s really trying to become a country star in this town and me, well . . . me because I spend my evenings in the back of bars, trying to lure agents into giving her a contract.

“Remarkable talent. Iconic beauty that sets her apart from the others. Do you think she’s written this song as well?”

I swivel back and, to my surprise, see Will gazing at Lyla as if entranced. He’s so convincing that for just a blink I think he might be serious.

“Yes!” I wave my hand out, much too enthusiastically. “Yes, she writes all her own songs!” I catch myself. “I recall she said so when she introduced one of them . . . at the beginning . . . at some point.”

“Well, then, let’s make haste,” Will says. “What are we waiting for?”

“Nothing!” I cry, and then catch myself. “And by nothing, I mean we can’t meet her yet. Because . . .” I stumble. What is my excuse now? He’s here, after all.

Will’s brows rise. “Because?” he says after a pause.

“Of course . . . we have to go outside first and call . . . Oswald! Oswald has to clear all decisions first as head of the agency.”

Will’s lips twitch. “Oswald,” he repeats. “Of course. With a lead like this, Oswald will have to approve. Well, then, let’s be off—” He ushers me with his hand. There’s a question in his eyes, as though he’s unsure if this is the next step in his role. “Right?”

“Right,” I say, nodding, and lead the way outside.

And sure enough, as we leave the room I glance back to see the man already off his seat, rushing like a darting, eager fawn for the stage.

The moment I burst onto the sidewalk, I’m laughing. I swivel around and see Will behind me, grinning as well.

Meanwhile, the two bouncers stand on either side of the door, looking decidedly unamused.

“Thank you,” I begin to say, just as he says, “What on earth was that?”

My laughter comes to its slow end and I grin up at him. For a moment, he looks entirely boy-like. Not like a boss by whom I’m intimidated much of the time, but like the boy next door. The one you grow up playing tricks with and throwing rocks across the creek with.

I hesitate and then go for it.

“Come with me, if you want. I’ll fill you in.”

And for just a moment, I feel the bubble I’m riding on drift downward as I see a crease form along his forehead.

I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, but it’s clear he’s hesitating. Why?

I feel a growing sense of panic.

Am I asking my boss out?

Does he think I’m asking him out?