There is no reason I should be feeling bad for leaving. I have a job, an important job. One that is actually really important for his future too, as a matter of fact, so he has no right to make me feel like I'm making a mistake for hurrying away. This is business, after all. There's a reason you don't mix business with pleasure.

Pleasure.

Just the very word was enough to stop my rambling inner monologue in its tracks. I stumbled on the cracked pavement, feeling the heat rising to my face, and no matter how hard I tried to brush them away, the traces that last night's amazingness had left on my body demanded that I pay attention to them. No matter how fast I was rushed along the suddenly crowded sidewalks, there was no outrunning the gentle, insistent throb between my legs, the burning chafe of my licked and bitten nipples. There were twinges and aches and little bruised tender places all over me and each one of them insisted that I pause and remember exactly how they came about. They insisted that I slow down and remember how his face had looked as he peered down at me, the way he'd felt as he moved inside of me.

He'd sworn he was only interested in something that lasted, and for a moment I'd believed him. That is, until I came to my senses and remembered that it really didn't matter what he wanted because he could never actually give it. I of all people should know that. The contract in my bag right now pretty much guaranteed it. He and the rest of Wreckage were right at the very edge of everything. Once I filed this contact with legal, they would be plunged back into the world of rehearsing and recording and massive world tours. And it wasn't like I was going to go with him. I had a career I was building from the ground up, and his wasn't the only band I needed to worry about. Now that I'd signed them, my work with them was near done. It was time for me to start thinking about the next band, the next big thing.

But the raw scratch of my stubble-burned cheek insisted that I think about Ewan some more. That I think about Ewan....only.

He had been a dick this morning. There was no denying that. But before he'd been a dick, I'd been a cold fish. I'd pulled back, tried to pretend that what I'd felt last night had only been a fluke.

He owed me an apology, but I was pretty sure I owed him one too.

My mouth twitched and I let out a heavy sigh. I knew this wasn't going to be a long-term thing, how could it be? But that didn't mean I needed to make it a bad thing. In a few days, I could go to his show, patch things up, maybe give him one last kiss for good luck and then we could both move on.

Yes, that was the best thing to do. The most professional thing. To part on good terms and move on. But no matter how many times my brain tried to assert that fact, my body was still stuck on the idea of getting to kiss Ewan again. Just the idea had my heart racing and soon I was breathless and sweaty for reasons that had nothing to do with the relatively mild summer morning I'd walked through.

It was only when my hand was on the door handle, ready to push my way into the offices of Anthem, that I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the glass. In my rush to get away from Ewan, I hadn't bothered to check myself in a mirror. I was still wearing last night's grimy, wrinkled clothes. My hair was a tumbled-down mess of tangles and my cheeks were flushed and glowing with little rivulets of eye makeup still clinging to my lashes.

I looked like I'd spent the night getting fucked, and fucked well.

"Shit," I breathed and for a second I considered just bailing and running home to take a shower. Scrubbing my skin free of the memory of his touch so I'd stop feeling that unresolved ache between my legs.

But I needed to file this contract. Anthony was waiting and my reputation depended on it.

This early, things were still pretty quiet at Anthem. With how late live shows could run, most A&R reps didn't start rolling into the office until after ten. I could just dash in and scan this contract in, and then head home to change. Anthony would come in around 9:30 and see that it was filed first thing and be able to start passing along the info to the PR and recording departments while I got myself primped and primed to bask in the triumph of signing my first band.

I pushed open the door, eager to get started even if that triumph felt altogether hollow.

Just as I'd figured, the A&R floor was a ghost town. Grateful for the quiet, I dashed over to my computer. While it booted up, I turned on the desktop scanner which came to life in a series of grunts and beeps.

"You're in early."

I jumped, startled to see Matt Gracie peering over the wall of my cube. "Hey!" I squeaked, staring up at him. "Uh, yeah I am. I guess you are too, huh?"

He shrugged and sipped coffee from a plastic travel mug that advertised some long defunct band. "Easier to get my work done early."

I nodded, clicking through the various menus to get to PDF support. Matt watched me, making the most disgusting slurping noises as he sipped his coffee. "Got a contract, huh?" he asked as I pulled the document from my bag.

"That's right," I agreed, double checking if I needed to load it face up or face down.

"Is that for that band of yours?"

I glanced up at him. "Of mine?"

I didn't like the way his eyes were darting everywhere. Like he was memorizing everything and filing it away for future use. "Yeah, your band. Baggage."

"Wreckage?" I corrected, feeding the document in.

"Yeah, those guys. How's it going with them?"

I patted the contract in the scanner. "Pretty well, I'd say." And I wasn't lying, not really anyway. The way things were going with Ewan and me was not the same thing as how it was going with signing his band. That part was going, "Great, actually."

"That's good," he said, schlurrrrping his coffee again. "I'm glad." His gaze that was deeply unsettling, but I couldn't put my finger on why.

I shifted. There was an implication hanging in the air. I could feel it in the way he was watching me. He thought I was lying. Like I hadn't really done anything. Like I was just sitting here feeding an empty ream of paper into my document scanner just so I'd look like I knew what I was doing. "Yup!" I said, discomfort making my voice unnaturally loud in the empty office. Like I could shout him into believing me. "Things are going great! They actually have a two-night stint at the Sound Garden coming up soon, so that should be great for buzz, and like I know their manager wants to get them recording as soon as they finish writing the new material..."

"Great job, Cecelia." Matt sounded bored. "Anthony's gonna be thrilled we've got some new blood on our roster."

"Celia, actually."

"You know I never actually got your last name?" he said. "Sorry about that, you know? You just kind of...appeared one day." He took another sip of his coffee. "It was weird. Usually, they bring in new hires and introduce them around on the floor, but you just kind of showed up without anyone knowing."

"Yeah, well," I hedged.

"Matt Gracie," he said, sticking out his hand.

I hesitated before I reluctantly extended my hand. "Celia Gilbert," I said, allowing his hand to envelope mine. It was hot from the coffee and disquietingly damp.

"Gilbert, huh?" He nodded. "I'll remember that." He nodded again before wandering off, coffee cup in hand. As I sat back in my chair and watched the pages feed through my scanner one at a time, I wondered how he had made my fake name sound so much like a threat.