“Hey,” I call softly.
Dree looks up, and her eyes are filled with so much pain that my heart squeezes in my chest. Poor baby. I have a sudden impulse to hook an arm around her waist and pull her into my arms, but I make myself stay where I am.
Dree quickly hides her expression behind a blank mask. “What are you doing here?”
“We haven’t finished talking.” I glance at the restaurant, and then back at her. “You were fired, weren’t you? I’m sorry. That was my fault.”
Her lip trembles and the rigid mask slips for a second. Then she turns away and heads for the bus stop.
I hurry after her and match her steps. “Can we talk, please?”
She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t tell me to piss off, either.
“I’m sorry if you’re having a tough time. This industry can be a bitch, and I’ve been in it long enough to know that it’s cruel as hell, too.” Even the thought of that asshole fills me with anger. I don’t know what happened between her and Striker Jones and I don’t care, but I’d wager my Stratocaster guitar that he’s the reason she stared at me like I was the Grim Reaper come for her soul in the studio earlier. “The people can make it hell.”
Dree sucks in a breath, and I know I’ve hit her sore spot. The reason she’s saying no.
“I promise I’m not a nightmare, Dree. I really just love your dancing.”
She slows to a stop, her sneakered toe dragging on the concrete. In a small voice she says, “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me right now. But get someone who has more experience. You’re Saint Cyprian. You can have anyone you want. I’m just some kid who threw herself into the deep end, and I barely managed to drag myself out again.”
I lean against the brick wall behind me, my arms folded, looking down at her. “I was eighteen when I first signed with Ryman. This year, a fourteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old won Grammys. This industry runs on young blood. Young blood is fearless.” I search her face. “How old are you, twenty?”
“Twenty-one.”
Too young to be so battered by the world. I remember Rin when I first met him. Sad and insecure, and ready to chuck it all in. Look at him now. “Listen, Dree. This job will pay you enough money that you can take a proper break when it’s over. Go travelling around the world for a year, if that’s what you want.”
Her eyes fill with longing, and I know she’s thinking of tiny Greek islands lapped by warm waters. Skyscrapers in New York. Muddy mountain tracks in the Andes, laced with mist. Damn, I wouldn’t mind some of that myself. I’ve been working like crazy these last few years.
“The money wouldn’t make it worth it.”
“Even if you were a secret part of the project?”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating, and then shakes her head. “You couldn’t keep it secret.”
“Yes, I could. I have everyone sign non-disclosure agreements before they work with us, and keeping your involvement secret would be part of that.”
“But you can’t promise me that my name won’t get out.”
My lips press in a rueful line. Rumors get out. People like to gossip. “No. I can’t promise you that.”
She takes a firmer hold of her backpack strap. “I think I like your honesty more than I like your dancing. So, I’ll be honest, too. You should probably know that I lost my last job because of drugs and violence.”
I smile at her. “If you try to take me in a drug-crazed fight, it wouldn’t be fair. I’ll throw myself on your mercy now and ask you to be gentle with me.”
Dree’s so tiny that I could just haul her over my shoulder and sling her into my car. She’s also cute as hell, the sort of girl I’d love to haul over my shoulder any day, but given what she’s been through, I’d be a fucking asshole if I didn’t keep my hands to myself.
Dree stares at me. Then her mouth quirks. A moment later she’s smiling, a wide smile, and looking up at me from beneath her lashes. Long, velvety lashes the same shade as her dark brown hair.
“How did you find out it was me who did that Itch Scratch video?” she asks. Her brown eyes are suddenly sparkling and she pushes back the tendrils of hair hanging around her heart-shaped face.
“Oh, a little bird. Never mind that now. I’m a good boss. This is my work and I take it very seriously.”
She chews her lip. “You’re not worried that my stank is going to get all over your band?”
“If everyone in this industry needed a squeaky-clean reputation then there’d be about three people left, and they’d all be boring as hell. I’m no angel, that’s for sure.” I tell her my email address. “You got that? Send me an email. My assistant will call you. It was lovely meeting you, Dree.”