My heart thumped wildly in my chest. I took deep breaths to try and calm myself. It didn't work. I was going to miss my interview with Etude Entertainment. I was going to lose the best chance I had at getting my foot of the door in the music industry.

The building had too many twists and turns. The corridors all looked the same with their eggshell white walls and marble-tiled floors. Rushing around one more corner, I pushed my way through a set of double doors with shaky, clammy hands. I didn't know which way I was going, but I hoped if I continued on I'd at least find someone to ask.

Light strains of music hit my ears the moment the doors swung open. Piano music. Some of my rising anxiety eased. Maybe there was finally someone I could ask for directions.

Following the music down the hall, I found an open door. A quick peek inside showed me a man sitting at a piano. Broad shouldered, black hair, and tall. Even though he was sitting down I could tell when he stood he'd reveal an impressive height. No doubt much taller than me.

I was about to knock on the open doorframe when the man began to hum. Lithe fingers spidered across the keys, a soft, tinkling melody that complimented the humming. Every so often he would stop to make a notation on a piece of paper laid flat on the top of the piano's surface.

Even without words, the man's singing was lovely. Almost sweet and romantic, somehow. The music made my heart swell, touching something inside of me. Such a sad song, yet at the same time hopeful. There was a longing beneath the light humming.

My rapid heartbeat slowed, my frazzled nerves soothed by the music. Without meaning to, I lost myself in that melody. As a music student, I could appreciate the intricacies of each note. The song didn't sound quite finished. A rough draft, maybe. Still, I could tell the man was gifted.

Hunched over the piano, his shoulders tensed up. He pressed down hard on the keys, fingers now flying. The soft melody turned harsh and aggressive. Whatever loving sentiment the man had begun with, he'd lost it. The music became louder, unpleasant. I could hear unspoken rage in the smash of every key.

The longer the man played the more discordant the notes become, until he slammed his hands down one final time, the music resolving itself in a crash of noise. I jumped, my heart beating a pounding rhythm against my ribcage.

The man buried his hands in his hair, tugging at the strands. He hunched further over the keyboard. He cursed, a quiet, forlorn expletive. Moments later he shot up from his seat at the piano with a flurry, knocking off the papers full of music notes, sending them scattered to the floor.

I took a few steps back out into the hallway, nervous adrenaline racing through my veins.

The man stood in front of the piano, his back to me, chest heaving with every breath. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He took a slow breath in, then out. Running his hands down his face, he let out a soft, pained sound.

This man was clearly in the middle of an emotional breakdown. I didn't want to interrupt. I took a few more steps backwards, intending to leave before he noticed me.

He bent to pick up the music sheets from the floor. I saw his face for the first time.

All the air left my lungs.

This was a man I'd recognize anywhere.

Blinking once slowly to clear my eyes, I counted to three, making sure I wasn't imagining things. When I looked again, it was still him. Dressed all in black, from his open leather jacket, to his form fitting t-shirt to his tight jeans…

My stomach muscles clenched involuntarily, an instinctive reaction. A pulse of arousal spiked through my body, warming me from the inside.

My gaze followed his body down further to his heavy black combat boots.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

It really was him.

Noah.

Fucking.

Hart.

All my senses went on high alert.

Noah Hart, lead singer of my favorite rock band Darkest Days, a rock star god, a man I admired beyond all reason, stood mere feet away from me.

My eyes travelled over his body, taking in his long legs, broad shoulders, and messy dark hair. I gnawed on my lip as excitement ran through me. He looked even hotter in person than he did on stage or on TV.

Although I had to be honest, I was sort of disappointed he wasn't wearing leather pants and eyeliner.

Pure misery showed on his face, his expression alight with inner turmoil. I held still, not making a move, not making a sound. I didn't want to disturb him in what seemed to be a private moment.

I also didn't want to risk opening my mouth and freaking out in the presence of one of my music idols.

Noah scooped the papers up, gathering them into some semblance of order. His face was open and lined with pain. The emotion he exuded on stage was just as evident in person. I wondered if he was working on a new song, if this was part of his process.

Something lit up inside my chest at the thought of Noah Hart having trouble writing songs. The fact that it might not come easy to him, despite the wondrous lyrics he wrote and the passionate way he sang, gave me a small bit of comfort. Sometimes it seemed like the work that I struggled with came about so effortlessly to everyone else.

Maybe he and I had something in common when it came to that.

I was still lingering in the doorway, watching him, drinking him in. Dark tattoos peeked out of the collar of his shirt. Enough of his upper chest was exposed to make my thighs clench. One of my shaky hands gripped the doorknob. The other was pressed to my heaving chest, feeling every one of my shallow breaths.

I shouldn't have been so affected. It wasn't like I'd never met this man or his band before. I was a fan, after all. I'd seen them backstage dozens of times. I'd shaken their hands and spoke a few words to each, gotten their autographs and given them my thanks.

I'd even seen a few members of the band up close at a private event, once. Being a music student and having friends with connections in the industry had its perks. Of course, at the time, all I'd been able to do was stare at them, mouth gaping open and blushing. It had been mortifying.

I wasn't going to let that happen again. I had to get out before I made a fool out of myself.

But I had stood in the doorway for too long. I should have left when I had a chance. Noah turned to leave. He froze as his eyes met mine.

Immediately his expression shut down, eyes shuttering. His face went blank, no trace of the pain I'd seen before.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm so sorry," I replied immediately, shuffling my feet back and forth awkwardly.

His voice was flat. "No one's supposed to be here."

"I'm lost," I stammered.

The expression on his face was chilly, except for the lingering frustration in his eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth. He set down the papers he'd picked up from the floor on the piano.

"I'll just… leave," I said weakly.

Noah eyed me up and down slowly. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at that penetrating gaze.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

I shook my head, trying to suppress the heat flaring up inside me.

"I've seen you before." The words weren't a question. "It was at a party. That album release."

My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was for him to recognize me. I didn't want him to think I was just another one of his swooning fangirls. Even if it was true.

"I remember." His eyes narrowed. "You were so starstruck you couldn't say a word."

I fought to shake myself out of my daze. Noah was right. I had been struck speechless before. Almost like I was now. I didn't want to let that happen again. I could pull myself together. Definitely. I could totally do that.

"Well. You know." I gestured to him.

He tapped his fingers on the top of the piano in an staccato rhythm. "No, I don't know. What?"

"You're Noah Hart," I shrugged helplessly. Noah. Fucking. Hart. I still couldn't believe it.

"You're a fan?"

I tried to make light of it. "Who isn't a fan of Darkest Days?"

"So the answer is yes?" he asked. "How lucky for you to have stumbled upon me."

I was either lucky or cursed. How could I possibly manage an interview after running into the lead singer of Darkest Days? My heart felt like it might explode out of my chest. My limbs were trembling. My insides were throbbing.

I had to get a hold of myself.

"I didn't mean to intrude. I'm here for an interview."

"This area is off limits to non-employees."

"I'm sorry. I think I got off on the wrong floor."

I hovered in the doorway, unable to make myself walk away.

"You want an autograph or something?" he asked. “I can't imagine why else you'd still be standing here."

"Sorry, I'll just…" I trailed off, breath hitching as Noah strode over.

He moved like a wild animal, purposeful, with a barely restrained edge. As he approached, he scanned me up and down, his dark eyes intense.

"Or maybe you want more than an autograph?"

I folded my arms. "I don't know what you mean."

"Fangirls throw themselves at me all the time. You think I don't recognize that look you're giving me?"

"I'm not throwing myself at you. I'm just standing here."

"Then why is your face red?"

I put my hands to my cheeks. "It is not."

"Am I wrong?" He took another step forward, crowding me until my back was nearly to the wall. My breathing sped up. I couldn't even tell if I was angry or turned on. "Have I turned you speechless again?"

I inhaled a sharp breath, but nothing came out.

His eyes glinted as he backed away. I let out a wavering whimper, my vocal chords beginning to work again.

Noah gave me a darkly amused look as he walked through the open door. "Good luck with your interview, fangirl."

The moment he left I clung to the doorframe, my knees going weak. Shivers ran down my spine, half in arousal and half in anxiety. I only had room for one thought in my head.

Who exactly was this Noah Hart I'd met, and what the hell happened to my soulful, romantic poet?