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  The news anchor gave more information on Sean, a three-time Grammy-winning pop singer, and how lucky he was to keep his hands unscathed. With an upcoming tour, the solo star needed both to play his guitar.

  After the shock wore off, Emerson grabbed his laptop and googled Sean’s name. Thousands of news articles, interviews, videos, and pictures popped up. The man was a media darling. He’d attended the president’s State Dinner last month. His Twitter account had ten million followers. His songs were played on the radio, on commercials, on television shows.

  Curious, Emerson played one song—“Flyin’ High”—and realized he’d heard it before. It wasn’t bad. Not really his taste. But the vocals were amazing. While talking, Sean had a monotonous voice, with very little inflection, and was pitched a tad too high. But singing…it was like a dream. Deep and smooth, with one hell of a range. It was amazing.

  Looking at the pictures online, Emerson had a hard time connecting the beautiful singer to the bloodied man he’d met today. Sure, the outfits were the same—that posh model look—but the photos hadn’t caught his personality. His spark of boyish charm and whimsy.

  And the man had kissed Emerson.

  This is so unreal.

  He expected his parents, or his siblings, to call and beg for the gossip. But as the night wore on, and he ate dinner alone in front of the television, his phone didn’t ring. Well, he hadn’t been identified, so maybe all his relations had missed the news tonight.

  He brushed his teeth and dressed in his pajamas. As soon as he plugged in his phone to charge, it rang and vibrated in his palm. He answered it quickly, not even glancing at the caller ID. It had to be Mom.

  “Hey,” he answered cheerfully, getting ready to dish all he knew.

  “Hi, Emerson? This is Sean Stirling.”

  A long, unintelligible sound emerged from Emerson’s throat.

  “Hello?” Sean said.

  “H-hi, Sean? Hi, this is Emerson.”

  “Oh, thank God. You were harder to track down than I anticipated.”

  “Okay,” he replied stupidly.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Emerson gave himself a mental shake to get his mind working. This was an easy question, one he could answer without thought. “I’m sore. How about you?”

  “Better now that I’m home. Macie—my manager—made me sit through a meeting with my record label. Can you believe it? She doesn’t even treat me like I’m a person.”

  Emerson snorted. Then he realized that would sound rude. He rushed on to cover his blunder. “That sucks. But I’m glad you’re better now. How’s the head?”

  “The pain meds are doing the trick. I’m just sad I can’t wash it down with a beer. Macie’d kill me if I mixed drugs and booze.”

  “Not a good combination,” Emerson agreed.

  “So, did you see all the media coverage you got?”

  “Me? They didn’t say anything about me. But they gushed about you.”

  Sean laughed, a sound like bells. “I’ll set them straight on who my savior is, if you want. I’m sure they’d love a name to go with your beautiful face.”

  “No, thanks,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that this famous man was trying to flirt. This guy flirted with everyone. Emerson had to keep reminding himself. “I’m fine staying anonymous.”

  Sean didn’t press it. Instead, he said, “That video was amazing, though. I can’t believe how badass you looked, swooping in like superhero. God! It was so incredible to see.”

  “I’m just glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”

  “You’re a very kind man.”

  Emerson shut his eyes. The man is a manipulator. “Thanks.”

  “I was wondering if I could take you out for coffee tomorrow. As a way to express my thanks.”

  “Uh, I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  Sean made a noise similar to grunt, but coming from him is was so much flatter, almost like a dog bark. “I forgot about work. At Olympus Cruise Line, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered that. I was pretty sure you were in shock the whole time we spoke.” Some of the things the singer said had sounded like he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Sean laughed again. “I probably was. I probably still am. But what about before work? You go in at…what? Eight?”

  “Eight.”

  “So, coffee at seven? We can meet somewhere close to your office.”

  Emerson hesitated. What purpose could this celebrity have in meeting Emerson for coffee? Simply to say thanks? Rich, famous people didn’t give a fuck about poor saps like Emerson. So what was Sean’s real reason for wanting to meet?

  Was it worth finding out?

  It wouldn’t really harm anything. I mean, I’m the one who will get the perks out of having breakfast with a Grammy-winning pop star.

  “Yeah, I guess that works. There’s a coffee shop in my building on the ground floor. We can meet there, if you want.”

  “I’d love to. What’s the crossroads?”

  “I’m in the 461 Fifth Avenue building. It’s at—”

  “That’s right where I fell!”

  “Yeah, I just got off work. You’re lucky the elevator was full and I had to wait for the second one.”

  “Wow, talk about fate.”

  Emerson almost snorted again. He wasn’t one who believed in grandiose ideas like that. Work hard and life was rewarding. Fate didn’t play into it.

  “What were you even doing out in that outfit? You looked dressed for a runway.”

  “I actually was ditching a photoshoot. Some stagehand was being a fucking idiot and talking about my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Oh, Carl Flores.”

  Sean made a soft gasp. “So you do know who I am?”

  Heat touched Emerson’s cheeks and he was glad Sean couldn’t see him. “Actually, I googled you.”

  “Just don’t believe everything you read.”

  Grinning, Emerson said, “I read that you’re really talented and your past two albums have hit number one on Billboard’s pop charts.”

  “Well, that you can believe.”

  Emerson’s smile widened. He couldn’t believe he was actually flirting back with Sean Stirling. This was going to be a slippery slope.

  “Well,” Emerson said. “I better let you go, Sean. Some of us mortals need our beauty rest.”

  “You don’t need any. But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, have a good night.”

  Emerson ended the call and realized his heart wasn’t racing. Talking to Sean hadn’t been nerve wracking or scary. They’d fallen into easy banter and calm discussion. Emerson started out nervous, but it had left him. No knot formed in his stomach as he thought of coffee tomorrow.

  Probably because my mind doesn’t believe this is happening. Give it time to sink in.

  He plugged in his phone then lifted Ninotchka onto the lumpy mattress. He climbed in beside her and flipped off the light on his bedside table.

  “Goodnight,” he told her, giving her soft ears a quick stroke.

  She grunted in reply.

  Chapter 6

  Emerson’s ridiculously expensive and rundown apartment building was only a five-block walk from work. He paid a high price to have a home in Manhattan. Logically, he reasoned that the close proximity did save him on cab or subway fares. His grocery budget was low, and his money for impulse buying even lower, but he was making ends meet. He’d always wanted to live in the city, and he was fulfilling that dream.

  Of course, he got to the coffee shop early. Upon waking, the same sense of calm had filled him. But now as he approached the building, his heart sped up.

  Emerson entered the nearly-empty store and ordered a black coffee. He sat down at a table in the corner and sipped the hot, bitter beverage. His leg bounced. He should have ordered decaf. The caffeine wouldn’t help him keep his cool once Sean showed up.

  If Sean showed up. Even now, a tiny sliver of doubt wiggled in Emerson’s mind. This cou
ld just be a fucked-up joke. Surely not the cruelest thing ever done by a celebrity, but still pretty low. Setting up a poor guy’s hopes and dashing them down with traumatic finesse. Maybe it was a new reality show. Convince a schmuck they’d won a date with a pop star. They’d swarm in with cameras any minute.

  The door chime sounded like an emergency siren. Emerson’s eyes snapped that direction, anticipating a swarm of cameramen to descend on him. Instead, it was a single figure. Beyond that, Emerson couldn’t say much. The figure was in a long coat, a beanie covering every scrap of hair, sunglasses to conceal the top half of the face, and a scarf over the lower.

  The figure scanned the room then bee-lined for Emerson’s table.

  “Emerson!” the voice greeted, pushing thoughts of a crazy flasher from Emerson’s mind.

  “Sean?”

  The figure sat and pulled down the scarf just a bit, revealing Sean’s smiling lips. “Yeah.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I had to sneak out. Too many paparazzi swarming around my place when I left. It’s a good disguise, right?”

  “No, you look terrible! It’s more conspicuous than if you were just yourself.”

  The smile faded from Sean’s lips. “Really?” He pulled off the sunglasses and removed the huge overcoat. Beneath he wore skinny jeans and a cable knit sweater. “Better?”

  Emerson nodded. “Besides, there’s no one here to identify you. You can relax.”

  Sean sighed deeply. “You’re right. You just wouldn’t believe the night I had. Did you know that rumors circulated that I was dead? I mean, how morbid to automatically assume that. It was so bad I even got a call from one of my sisters. She was probably sad it wasn’t true since my demise would give her a lot of money.”

  Emerson hadn’t looked at it from that point of view. He’d seen it as a celebrity whisked to the hospital, seen to immediately, and discharged as quickly as possible. There had to be the other side of it: rumors, reactions from fans, gossip among the elite, even the prying of family. No wonder Sean really didn’t want to be spotted this morning.

  “What are you drinking?” Emerson asked. “I’ll get it for you.”

  Sean’s lips puckered. “I was going to treat you, but you’ve already bought one.”

  “Honestly, it was two dollars. Tell me what you want.”

  “How about a vanilla latte.”

  “Just sit and catch your breath.”

  Emerson went to the counter and ordered Sean’s drink. The barista didn’t even glance at the table. Sean’s identity was still secret.

  She brewed the latte and handed it over with a smile. Emerson slipped a few dollars into the tip jar.

  He returned to Sean with the hot cup in his hand.

  “Here you go.”

  Sean’s eyes light up. “Emerson, I can’t believe you just bought me a coffee. I wanted to treat you.”

  “You can buy next time.”

  A sparkle shown deep in Sean’s green eyes. “Next time? There’ll be a next time?”

  Emerson’s smile was slow. “Now there will be, since you owe me a coffee.”

  Sean’s laugh was so beautiful. It made his whole face bright, like fireworks. “Okay, I guess that’s true. But even if you would have let me get the coffees today, I still would have insisted on seeing you again.”

  Emerson’s smile slipped. “Why’s that?”

  “I like you. Can’t you tell?”

  “Uh…”

  Sean sipped on his coffee and sighed contentedly. When he met Emerson’s gaze again, the green of his irises was richer, darker, more mesmerizing.

  “It’s true,” Sean continued. “I really am amazed that you helped me without even knowing who I was. Then, when I was getting ready to have a panic attack, you were kind enough to accompany me to the hospital. Not too many people would go so far out of their way for a stranger.”

  “I didn’t realize you were that anxious about the hospital.”

  “I was. Anything dealing with blood makes me queasy. Always has.”

  “You didn’t seem panicked, other than the bump to your head which probably made you loopy.”

  “I’ve learned to be good at keeping my emotions inside. But the point is your presence helped sooth me. I really appreciate it. So, will you let me take you out to dinner?”

  “Sure. I mean, I don’t think I did anything to warrant it, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.” He felt like an idiot saying it like that. As if he were kindly gracing Sean with another date. That was the farthest thing from the truth.

  “Great! What day works for you?”

  “Well, I have off weekends, like normal.”

  “Sure. Normal. Well, I’ll look at my schedule and see what I’ve got free this weekend. I’m sure I can rearrange things if needed. Macie will bitch, but she does that anyway.”

  “So, you’ll pencil me in?”

  Sean guffawed, usually an attractive noise but it sounded lyrical from Sean’s lips. “I’m sorry. Is that what it sounded like? Pick a day, whatever day works for you, and I will make it work for me.”

  “Well, Saturday is probably best.”

  “Saturday it is. Seven o’clock?”

  “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up.”

  Emerson raised his eyebrow. “In the limo?”

  “No. Unless you want me to.”

  “No. That one time was enough for me.”

  “It’s not my usual ride. We’d just been doing that photoshoot, so it helps to arrive and depart in style, you know?”

  “Yes, I know all about the protocol of photoshoots.”

  Sean grinned. “You’re a smart ass. I like that, Emerson. Not too many people treat me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Normal. They’re all too busy kissing my ass, trying to say what I think they should say. It’s hard for me to form real connections.”

  “Maybe I’m not easily impressed.”

  “Then I’ll have to try harder.”

  Emerson shook his head. “No, you don’t. Really, I am impressed by you. I listened to a few of your songs last night. I’ve heard some on the radio, too. You’re very talented.”

  “You’re just saying that to get in my pants.”

  Emerson laughed, but diverted the conversation. Even if Sean was interesting, and Emerson had agreed to another date, thinking of the man naked was not a good idea.

  “What do you have planned for today?” Emerson asked instead. “More photos?”

  “No, we rescheduled that for next week. Goddamn that bastard, Landon. Today I have an interview with a magazine, then it’s working on the songs of my new album.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “It is. I’m still at the stage where I’m enjoying all the attention. I’ve heard that fades with time, but I love my life. More than anything, I love playing my guitar.” Sean took a sip of his coffee then made a sharp noise. “Didn’t you say you play, too? Or did I imagine that?”

  “I did. In college. I still have my guitar somewhere in the closet. I haven’t touched it in about three years.”

  “Oh wow. That’s a long time for her to sit abandoned in the closet. You should take her out.”

  “Nah, it was fun back in the day, but I’m sure I don’t remember any of the chords.”

  “It’s like riding a bike. You never forget. What kind is she?”

  “A Yamaha. I got it used at a shop by campus. I saw it and just fell in love. I played every day till I graduated.”

  “I’d love to hear you.”

  Emerson wrinkled his nose. “No way. I never played for anyone. Not even friends or family.”

  “Really? I can’t imagine not wanting to share music with everyone I know.”

  “Well, you’re obviously a natural showman.”

  “That’s true,” Sean allowed. “I love being up on stage. I’d perform for free. It’s so addicting to be in the lights, having your voice amplified, and t
he music swirling all around you. Nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Then his face pinched, eyebrows drawing down. “It’s all the other bullshit I don’t like. I mean, interviews are okay. It’s nice to open up and let fans see a bit of my personality. But it’s always the same questions. Always pointless nonsense. And these goddamned photoshoots. And social obligations with the record label. Do you know I’m contracted to attend those parties?”

  “God, I didn’t realize they were so precise.”

  Sean nodded. “They are. I just wish I could sing without all the other stuff. But, that’s life, I guess.”

  “I guess.”

  Emerson hadn’t really thought of the downside of being a performer. The long hours of practice, the constant invasion of people into your personal time, the niceties needed to keep the companies and partners happy. What a pain in the ass. Emerson liked that his job ended at five o’clock. He went home and didn’t give it another thought. He was free to do what he wanted.

  “Sorry to sound so bitchy,” Sean said. He gulped down the last of his drink and set the empty cup on the table. “I’m really not like this all the time. It’s been a rough few days.”

  “Of course. I understand, Sean. It’s odd seeing the flaws of show business. It always appears so glamorous.”

  “It is, most of the time. And like I said, I love what I do.”

  Emerson eyed Sean’s cup. “Need another?”

  “Nah, that will get me through the morning. Usually it’s protein shakes for breakfast, so I’m used to a liquid diet.” He patted his stomach. “Gotta keep in shape. My image sells just as much as my voice.”

  “Well, I’d say that the image is just as nice as the voice.”

  Sean leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  “I really don’t know why you’re interested in me.”

  “Truthfully? It’s your eyes. They’re very intense.”

  “That’s it?”

  He nodded and moved just a bit closer. “But I’m also interested in the rest of you. I want to hear more about this dog you had to rush home to.”