“Near, far, wherever… Fuck.”

I wasn’t sure if the elderly man in front of me shot me a dirty look because of the song or the curse. I’d caught myself humming that song all day yesterday, and I’d hoped it’d be out of my head by the time I got to work, but no such luck, apparently.

I slipped my earbuds in and turned the volume up almost loud enough to hurt. I didn’t have anything against Celine Dion, but classical, and other instrumental pieces were my preference. The sort of music that didn’t get much in the way of recognition.

By the time I got my Iced Caramel Macchiato, some Bach and Debussy had chased Dion out of my head. They also did wonders for calming my nerves, which was always important before I went to work. I hadn’t been lying when I told my mom that I enjoyed my job, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be stressful.

As the elevator doors opened, I took a slow breath, turned off my music, and focused on the job ahead. I was the youngest full-time associate at the public relations firm, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think that everyone believed I deserve the position I’d gotten. I didn’t actually care what people thought in the sense of needing their approval, but I’d be damned if I proved the doubters right.

I ignored the morning chatter as my co-workers swapped stories of the things they’d done over the weekend. Everyone had their own little group. The young singles who exchanged tales of dancing, drinking, and sex. The young marrieds who liked to talk about how wonderful their spouses were. The middle management men who were either trying to convince everyone that they were going to be moving up the corporate ladder soon, or that they were happy where they were because it gave them time to do all of the crazy things the twenty-somethings were doing. And then there were the women who either complained that they couldn’t get ahead because the men were sexist or insisted that any woman who did manage to get ahead was sleeping with someone higher up.

I had neither the time nor the patience for office gossip. I didn’t really care who was doing what with whom. I wasn’t there to make friends, and even if I had been, I hadn’t met anyone yet who I’d want to make an exception for. I wasn’t a people person.

“Paige!”

I kept my face blank as I moved a bit faster. My boss didn’t get a smile or a grimace. Depending on what mood she was in, either one could earn me a lecture. Sybil Feldt wasn’t the easiest person to work with, but she let me do a lot more than the others like me got to do. Plus, I didn’t have to put up with any of the sexual overtures that many of the other women dealt with.

“Good morning, Ms. Feldt,” I said as I handed over her Caffé Corretto.

“Did you finish the notes from last week’s meeting with Grover’s Peanut Brittle?” She barely even looked at me as she sipped her drink, but that wasn’t anything new. She wasn’t a friend or a mentor. She was my boss, and I appreciated her brusque way of doing things.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said as I logged into my computer. “I emailed you a copy and filed a hard copy.”

“Did you come up with anything new?” She tucked a strand of barley-colored hair behind her ear.

“I caught something Mr. Grover said in passing,” I replied. “A memory of his father coming home after working all day, exhausted, but still taking the time to sit with him and listen to him talk about his day. I think that could be the emotional hook. Nothing big and flashy, but simple and family-focused.”

To my surprise, she actually looked at me, hazel eyes shrewd. “That’s a great idea.”

“Do you want me to write up a proposal?” I kept my voice even. If I could get a proposal to even be considered for a major project like Grover’s, it would go a long way to getting me a client of my own. Not something like repackaging the image of an entire company. Something simple, but mine all the same.

“Yes, type that up first thing. Once you get it done, I’ll want to see you in my office.”

Something about her tone made me look up at her, but she’d already gone. I finished up the sentence I was typing, sent off the email, and then hurried after her.

As soon as I was inside, she started talking.

“You know music, don’t you?”

I stiffened, unable to stop myself. I didn’t talk about my personal life at work. No one here knew who my mother was, or the story behind who I was. My mom had been a groupie for several years, but it wasn’t like that was something she put on her résumé.

“Why would you think that?”

Sybil rolled her eyes. “You’re young. Don’t you keep music available like twenty-four seven?”

The hand squeezing my lungs eased, and I could breathe again. “I don’t tend to listen to much in the way of popular music.”

Again, a sideways look, this one with a raised eyebrow. “You might want to fix that.”

I paused so I could make sure my voice was calm. “Is there a particular reason why, ma’am?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” She tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash. “You’re getting your first assignment, and how well you do on it will determine where your career goes from here.”

I should have been thrilled. This was exactly what I’d wanted, what I’d been working my ass off for. Why I never questioned the fact that most of my job seemed to be doing Sybil’s work for her.

Except my excitement was tempered by a sinking feeling in my stomach. “What’s the assignment?”

“Ever hear of Reb Union?”

Shit.

“Yes, I have.”

And I knew exactly why he was hiring a PR firm. He was everything I detested about most musicians, especially rock artists. Pretending to be some upstanding guy until something finally led to the curtain being pulled away to reveal that he was exactly like all the rest, caring only about partying.

And my job would be to hide all that shit, so he came out like some repentant creative genius who’d never do anything like that again.