“You’ve decided to do what?” My mother blanches as if I’ve informed her I’m running away with the circus. In her mind there is no difference.

“Accept a position with one of Uncle Bedo’s bands.” It’s a strain to keep the smile off my face and the joy out of my voice. Ever since I convinced Bedo to take me on tour it’s all I can think about.

“Don’t call him that. The idiotic nickname. His name is Barrett. And this is completely unacceptable. You have been admitted to Julliard! That is where you will go. Not some . . . job. Harrison, tell him!”

My father doesn’t glance up from his newspaper. “Listen to your mother.”

He expects me to follow her orders. She expects it, too. Their self-assurance that I’ll fold pricks at every nerve in my body as anger replaces my joy. I’ve always given in. Done what’s expected. Well, it ends today. “There’s nothing either of you can do. I’ve already signed a contract.” It’s a white lie, but she’ll never know.

Mother raises an eyebrow and narrows her stare. “But what about Julliard? You cannot disregard your commitment!”

I take a sip of my coffee and push away my uneaten breakfast. I shouldn’t be surprised by their lack of support, but it irks me all the same. Pushing from my seat, I tap at the screen of my phone and request a ride before raising my chin to meet her stare. “I’ve already delayed my admission. I’m taking the year.”

“The year? You’re taking a year? Honestly!” My mother pushes her chair away from the table and redirects her glare to my father. “Harrison!”

Dad refolds his paper and places it on the table with a calm that balances out my mother’s outrage. “Is this really necessary, son?” He meets my stare and shakes his head before pointing at Mom. “Look how upset this has made your mother.”

“That’s why I have to go. I’m done living for you both. I’ve given you everything. Played the perfect son. But I won’t be your puppet. Not anymore.” I shake my head and drop my gaze to my phone. My Uber is almost here.

“Don’t be dramatic. We’ve given you everything!” Mom shouts. At my lack of reply, she sputters and flails her arms. “What am I supposed to tell everyone? The symphony board of directors? My friends?”

“Tell them . . .” I rein in my annoyance and force the practiced smile I’ve mastered from years of being polite. “I’m taking a year to rediscover my love of music.”

“Bullshit!” She slams her hand on the table and hits it with so much force Dad’s coffee sloshes out the sides of his mug. “It’s utter nonsense and I’ll do no such thing.”

“Fine. Tell them the truth.” I shrug.

My father’s lips pinch with disapproval that’s probably as much for my choice as it is for causing my mother grief.

She glares with a rage I’ve never witnessed before, but I must be broken or mad, because it literally does nothing more than assure my conscience I’ve made the right choice.

“Tell them I’ve run away and joined a rock band.” The real smile is back and I can’t help but bounce on my toes. I’m that excited.

“I am so disappointed in you.” Her glare doesn’t just cut. It’s murderous enough I’m glad I was too chicken shit to tell them any earlier.

My phone pings with the alert that my ride is here. I back away toward the door and give a brisk wave. “Yeah, well, right now the feeling’s mutual.”

The drive from Laguna to the studio of Off Track Records is enough time for me to second guess my decision about a thousand times. Am I being imprudent? Yes, I am. But the spontaneity of my choice only brings another shot of adrenaline. I feel alive. Really alive. Even if this is the most foolish thing I ever do, it’s worth it for that alone.

I pull my suitcase behind me and push open the front door to the studio. Inside, a receptionist greets me with a more than friendly smile. Her gaze lingers longer than it should—a familiar attention—and I use her attraction to my advantage.

“Hey, gorgeous.” I quirk my eyebrows and part my lips like I don’t know how fucking attractive I am to women. I’ve been blessed, not only with an aptitude to memorize every note I hear, but in the genetics department, too. The truth is, beautiful people garner more attention. It’s understandable; my devilishly handsome grin is hard to resist and I use it to my full advantage. Resting my hands on the front of her desk, I lean forward into her space and flex my arms so they’ll bulge against the short cotton sleeves of my shirt.

She blinks, several times, and her lips pull with a wide smile. “What can I do for you today?”

My gaze drops to her open cleavage and then to her lap where she crosses her legs and gives me an inappropriate eyeful of leg. She wants me. It’s almost too easy. Actually, it is. I let loose a chuckle and my amusement only grows with the visible shiver of her response. I wait until she glances back up from under her lashes. “I’m here to see Bedo Slade.”

“Bedo . . .” She repeats his name, her voice in a lull before she shakes her head. “Right. Oh, um . . . Do you have an appointment?”

“He’s expecting me.” I wink and hold her gaze until she drops it first.

“Right. Let me, uh . . . just . . . Hold on one sec.” She finally pushes a few buttons at the phone before speaking into her Bluetooth. “Mr. Slade. There’s someone here to see you.” Her face goes white and her eyes wide. “Right. Sorry. Yes, I know you don’t have any appointments until ten.” She stares at me with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. “Sorry, Mr. Slade. Yes, of course. I’m sure he has a name.”

Before my uncle chews her out any longer I lean over her desk, close enough so my uncle can hear. “Tell him his new drummer is here. And I don’t like to wait.”

Her face blushes, either at my uncle’s response or how close I am to her lips. “He says he’ll be out in a moment.”

I straighten my spine but I might as well entertain myself until he comes out. Propping my butt on the edge of her desk, I tinker with a container of paperclips before meeting her stare again. “Thank you . . .”

“Elizabeth, but everyone around here calls me Lizzy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lizzy.”

“Wait.” Her eyes bulge and jaw drops on a gasp. “Are you the new drummer for Three Ugly Guys?” The question tumbles from her mouth so speedily the words almost mesh together. She shakes her head and blushes again. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

But I don’t get the chance to answer.

“Leighton!” My uncle barks out my name and I lift my gaze to meet his hard stare. He’s not happy to see me.

“Gotta run.” I wink and push off the desk to strut over to Bedo.

His brows form a scowl so harsh they could probably sour milk, and his heel taps with impatience which only causes me to walk slower. “You’re a day early.”

“What can I say? I’m excited to practice with my band.” I waggle my brows and rub my hands together.

He scoffs, but a trace of a smile flints on his lips before he shakes his head. “Parents took the news well?”

“Something of that sort.” I chuckle remembering the abhorrence on my mother’s lips.

“Not surprising.” He nods for me to follow and doesn’t wait as he beelines for the stairs, taking them faster than most men half his age. “Might as well take advantage of the extra studio time. I think we’ve got one of them open today. Your band won’t be in until tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to talk to you privately.” He struts to the end of the hall and ushers me into his office.

“Nice digs.” Floor to ceiling glass, his window looks out on the street and the hills beyond. I saunter around the oversized room, a desk and chairs on one side, but on the other is a sitting area and wall full of awards, trophies, and photographs. I examine the pictures of my uncle, some current and others from when he was my age, all snapshots of him with executives or once-nobodies-now-famous artists and musicians.

He shuts the door with a slam and sits behind his desk. “Not so bad. Take a seat.” The request is an order and my guess is most people jump at his command.

My lips kick up in a grin and I glance over my shoulder, still perusing his display of accolades. “Maybe I’d rather stand.”

“So, it’s gonna be like that?” He rolls his eyes and points at the empty chair across from his desk. “Sit the fuck down or I call my sister.”

“Fine . . . Only ’cause I want to.” I draw out the words and strut over to the chair, sit, and lean back to stretch out my legs. My grin pisses him off and it only makes me smile wider.

He points his finger. “I pulled a lot of strings to get this for you.”

“And I’m eternally grateful.” I bring my hands together and steeple them over my heart.

He narrows his stare. “And eternally silent. If you tell anyone what you saw at your party . . .”

I shake my head. “I’ll be like the Go-Go’s. My lips are sealed.”

He holds my stare, a silent inquisition as if he’s waiting for me to break or give in. I don’t look away, and try to keep the grin from taking over my face.

“Good.” He nods, evidently satisfied, and reaches for his cell phone. Without looking up he taps on his screen with a practiced skill and enthusiasm that rivals any teenage girl. “And one other thing . . .” He only pauses to glance up a moment before going back to his texting. “Let’s not mention you’re my nephew.”

“Dearest Uncle? Don’t want to be associated with the likes of me? That really stings.” I make a show of pressing a hand to my chest.

“It’s not that, you little shit,” he mutters as his fingers now bounce between his phone and the keyboard on his laptop. “I have a reputation to uphold. If this arrangement goes south, I don’t want to be attached to the sinking ship.”

“Tell no one. Got it.” Ouch. I shrug it off and act as though it doesn’t bother me in the least. Not that I expect the gold star treatment, but the fact he has such little faith in my talent stings. “Even the band?”

His eyes flinch and he scowls. “Especially the band.”

“Speaking of which, when do I meet these Ugly Guys?”

Bedo’s gaze flicks with irritation and he gives a curt tip of his chin. “Not soon enough.” He grumbles and shakes his head. “I’ll get one of the techs to set you up in the studio to practice with recordings of the set list. That’ll have to do.”

Disbelief clouds the chuckle that escapes my lips. “Don’t we leave for the tour in two days?”

My uncle’s stare wavers for a second and if I weren’t watching him I would have missed it before his lips press into a hard line. “I know the goddamn schedule.” He swipes his phone off the desk, leans back into his chair, and just like that I’m dismissed.

Maybe I’m confused. Maybe this is how he runs things, but from my world the manager not only sets the schedule but also calls the shots. “Shouldn’t I practice with them?” I’m good, yeah, but he doesn’t expect me to jump on stage at the first show without one rehearsal? Or does he? “Wouldn’t they want to meet me first?”

His eyes snap up to meet mine and he levels me with a stare, the corners of his lips turning up with the hint of a smile. “You’re the fucking protégé. Figure it out.”