“During the social events, we’ll have more time to discuss the deal,” Jackson said to Derrick, his operations manager. “I’ll bring a date. Someone to keep his wife entertained so I can talk to him without—”

A Toyota swung out in front of them and Jackson slammed on his brakes. His speed had crept a little too high while he’d been talking, but he reacted quickly and his Aston Martin Vanquish had one of the best state-of-the-art carbon ceramic precision braking systems in the world. The brakes came on so fast that he and Derrick were jerked forward against their seatbelts.

He still smashed into the Toyota.

“Shit.” Heart pounding, Jackson sucked in a breath. At least the airbags hadn’t gone off. “You okay, Derrick?” he asked.

Instead of answering, his operations manager let out a long and profane string of expletives.

“You’re not hurt?” demanded Jackson, reaching for the door handle.

“No, but I’ll tear that idiot in front of us a new—Wait! Jackson, don’t get out of the car. Let me handle this.”

But Jackson was already getting out. He waved at the cars behind them, telling the rubberneckers to move on. Then he walked toward the car they’d hit to make sure its driver was okay.

The rusty Toyota can’t have been much to look at before the accident, and the Aston had slammed into it hard enough to put a large dent in its side and shatter the window. When the driver shoved the door open, it made a screeching sound. A woman scrambled out, and Jackson’s instant impression was of her mass of long, black dreadlocks. Then he saw her eyes. They were a very light blue, and she’d lined them with black makeup. The effect was startling.

She barely glanced at him before turning away to exclaim over her car, and he frowned at the back of her head. He knew those eyes. But he sure as hell didn’t know anyone with dreadlocks, let alone a piercing in her nose.

“My car’s ruined.” The woman let out of a string of expletives even more profane than Derek’s. “Didn’t you see me pull out? What am I going to do now?” Blood was dripping from a cut on her forehead, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re hurt.” Jackson tugged his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“I don’t need an ambulance. I need my car. It’s all I’ve got.” Her voice was husky, with a whisky-and-cigarettes quality he wouldn’t expect in a young woman. Surely he knew that voice, too.

But no, how could he? Perhaps she sounded like someone on the radio.

Derrick had pulled himself out of the Aston. “The accident was your fault,” he accused, his tone belligerent.

“What?” The woman gaped at him.

“I’m prepared to have your car repaired, good as new,” said Jackson. “Agree to that, and to the ambulance, and this won’t go any further.”

Derrick started to protest, but Jackson gestured at him to shut up. He needed a deal struck before the woman figured out who he was and tried to leverage a huge payout. Once she was in an ambulance, she’d be their problem, not his.

“Are you kidding?” the woman exclaimed. “The accident was your fault. You were going too fast…” She spun around to face him, then broke off. Her blue eyes widened. “Jackson Jive?”

He blinked. “What?” His real surname was Brent. Calling himself Jackson Jive had been a pretentious stage name he’d come up with when he’d been playing in a high school band. Nobody had called him that in well over a decade.

“I’m Meghan. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Meghan Paige?”

She flushed at the incredulity in his tone, and lifted her chin. “You’ve changed,” she accused.

He’d changed? Last time he’d seen her, she’d been eighteen, with shoulder-length brown hair and not so much as her ears pierced. The only things that hadn’t changed were her remarkable eyes and lean, athletic figure, still striking even in a leather jacket, black T-shirt, and old jeans. And her husky voice, of course. How had he not recognized that right away? Especially because he used to think he was in love with her.

Memories came rushing back, including that awful last day when everything had changed for him. Meghan was the reason he’d left Sydney. The reason he’d never picked up a guitar again. He’d put all that behind him, and now here she was, threatening to bring it all back up again.

“You’ve changed too.” He forced a composure he didn’t entirely feel. “You’re in a grunge band now?”

“I’m solo. And you’re not a musician anymore?” She looked him over with a touch of distaste, as though his Armani suit offended her.

“You’re bleeding.” He stuck his phone back in his pocket so he could pull out his handkerchief and offer it to her.

“I’m fine.” She waved the handkerchief away.

“You’re getting blood on your jacket.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Now, with her hands on her hips and her chin jutting, she looked like the girl he’d fallen for. Her dreadlocks and piercings couldn’t hide the ballsy attitude he remembered so well. She’d been the singer in their high school band while he’d been lead guitarist, so of course he’d been in love with her.

She’d dated his brother, which had made her off-limits, but how many wet dreams had she inspired back then? Probably all of them.

“You can see my doctor and I’ll cover the cost,” he said. “I’m not admitting fault, but you need some kind of medical attention.”

“You really have changed, haven’t you? So careful to cover your ass.”

He felt his jaw tighten. Could she really not have heard about his success or know about his wealth? Was she trying to play him?

“I’ll book you a doctor’s appointment.” He glanced at his operations manager who was examining a tiny dent in the Aston Martin’s front bumper. While the glorified sewing machine Meghan had been driving had crumpled, the Aston was virtually unscathed.

“And I’ll write you a check for your car,” he added. “Then we’ll be square.”

“So much for a fond reunion.” Underneath its husky rasp, her tone was so cold it reminded him of the time he’d sailed to Antarctica and used the ice from a glacier to chill his glass of single malt. She had a remarkable voice, especially when she sang. Growing up, he’d assumed one day she’d be a major star.

“What about the apology you still owe me?” she added. “It’s a dozen years overdue, but I’ll take it now.”

“I heard you did well enough without me.” The last time he’d seen her had been before they were due to audition for an agent. Because Jackson, the lead guitarist, hadn’t turned up, the band hadn’t been able to play. He’d heard Meghan had sung anyway, and the agent had signed her.

“Where were you that night?” she demanded. “What happened?”

Jackson glanced at Derrick, who immediately spoke up. “We’re going to be late for an important meeting,” his operations manager lied. “We’d better go.”

Meghan put her hand up to touch the cut on her head, then winced.

Before Jackson could think about it, he’d moved to take her arm. “Don’t tell me you’re not hurt, because I can see you are. I’ll take you to a doctor. Derrick can organize your car repair and wait for the tow truck.”

Derrick’s head jerked. “Wait a minute. What?”

“I can take care of myself,” she protested.

“See? She can take care of herself,” repeated Derrick.

“You can’t drive your car,” Jackson ignored his operations manager. “If you won’t see a doctor, I’ll drop you home.”

“I don’t live in Sydney. Well, I do now. But I’ve only been back here for a couple of days.”

“Where are you staying?”

She glanced at her car, lips pressed together. He followed her gaze to a pile of belongings on her back seat, now covered with glass from the broken window. A guitar took pride of place on top of everything, but in the messy heap were blankets and a pillow.

“You’re not sleeping in your car?”

She yanked her arm out of his grip. “Just until I get a job. Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s a temporary situation. And I’m fine. You don’t have to look after me, or take me anywhere.” She held out her hand to shake his in what was clearly a fuck-you gesture. “So, I guess this is goodbye. Weird seeing you again. I’ll give you my e-mail address so you can send that apology you owe me.”

Derrick opened the Aston’s passenger door. “Great. Let’s go, Jackson.”

Jackson took Meghan’s outstretched hand. It was small and cold in his, and he could swear it shook a little. Blood was still trickling from the cut on her forehead into her eyebrow. And as tempting as it was to take off, especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to tell her why he’d left Sydney on the night of the audition that was supposed to launch their band toward stardom, he couldn’t just leave her there.

Fuck. He was probably going to regret this.

“You can’t sleep in a car with a broken window.” He motioned to the Aston. “Get in. I’ll take you to my place and you can stay in my spare room tonight.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll work something out.”

Derrick slammed the car door and stepped closer. “Jackson, may I have a quick word?”

Jackson let his operations manager draw him to one side. He was a short man with a round, deceptively angelic face, though right now his fleshy lips were pressed in a hard line.

“This could be some kind of setup,” Derrick murmured. “A damsel in distress? It’s too convenient, especially now, right before the product release. What if she’s not who she seems? You can’t let her into your house. That’s probably what this whole thing is about.”

Jackson frowned. “Let me get this straight. You think Lex Baine got an old high school friend to pull out of a car spot in front of me? He somehow arranged this whole thing so she could get into my house?”

“There are millions of dollars at stake. Think about it, Jackson. How else could Lex get access to your office? That’s the only place he can get everything he needs.”

“You’re being paranoid. Besides, the only time my office is ever unlocked is when I’m inside.”

Derrick narrowed his eyes. “We’ve been through too much to have our work stolen by a pretty piece of ass. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

By dragging in his breath, Jackson managed not to show his anger. Derrick’s divorce was still fresh. If his operations manager was crossing a line, it was because his bitterness hadn’t had time to scab over. “I know her, Derrick. So you need to back off.”

At least Derrick had enough sense to soften his tone. “Please, Jackson. Give her some money and walk away. I bet she’d take a thousand dollars in cash, and you can get her number to call her later. Catch up with her sometime after our projector’s been released.”

“She’s hurt.”

“Could be faking.”

Jackson couldn’t help but laugh, his anger dissolving. “So the cut on her head is a clever disguise? Stop worrying and call a tow truck. I’ll deal with Mata Hari.”

“Mata who?” Derrick had obviously never heard of the notorious female spy.

Jackson went back to Meghan, who was leaning against her car, staring at her phone as though she were making her mind up who to call.

“You can leave anytime—” she started, but he held up both hands to stop her.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. You want an apology? You might get one after you move your stuff into my car.”

“I might get one?”

“There’s only one way you’ll find out.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. He took advantage of her moment of indecision to pull open the back door of her car and grab her battered old guitar case.

“I’ll carry that.” She tried to take it from him. “Listen, I’m not staying at your place. I don’t want your help, and—” She blinked as a drop of blood hit her eyelash. Her hand went to her face to wipe it, and when her fingers came away red, she paled.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” He popped the trunk and put the guitar in, then tugged his previously-rejected handkerchief back out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Get in the passenger seat. I’ll move the rest of your stuff over.”

“It’s just a cut.” But when she dabbed at it with the handkerchief, he saw her bite back an exclamation of pain. She still argued as he transferred the rest of her stuff to his car, but her voice had lost its fight.

Whenever he’d thought of Meghan over the years, Jackson had always pictured a successful singer. But judging from her rusty Toyota and meager possessions, things might not have gone so smoothly. Now that he’d made up his mind to take her home, he intended to find out what had gone wrong.

He managed to get her in the car without more than a token protest. But in the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Derrick’s face as he and Meghan pulled away. His operations manager looked like he was chewing on a wasp.