“No fucking way.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, but he ignored the daggers she was metaphorically stabbing into his back as he stepped up to the ticket window.

The girl behind the window took his card, barely glancing at his face. She ran it, gave him the slip to sign, and it wasn’t until she’d passed his card back that she did the double take.

He was used to it, especially at places like this, places in his world. He got recognized. It typically didn’t bother him. Tonight, he knew it was gonna be a problem.

Fucking hell.

He wanted to wrap his arm around Tru’s shoulders and march her out the front door before people started to realize he was here and wanted to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. And yet here he was.

How much more fucked up could he get?

The panic attack had hit him out of nowhere midway through dinner. All because a woman had come on to him.

And that was the absolute most fucked-up part of this whole shit. JoJo with the bountiful bouncing boobs had made it absolutely clear that if he wanted to get laid tonight, she was more than willing to oblige.

Hell, she’d practically told him that if he drove her home, she’d blow him in the car and let him fuck her wherever he wanted.

“Hey, Valenti? How goes it? Haven’t seen you in a hell of a long time. How the fuck are you, man?”

Turning toward the booming voice coming from behind him, Sebastian felt a little of the tension making him grind his teeth lift.

At six-five and two-hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle, Xander Tucci looked like he should be on the back of a Harley dressed in black leather. His beard had gotten longer since the last time Sebastian had seen him and was streaked with more gray. But his head was still perfectly bald and ringed with a black bandanna.

He enfolded Sebastian in a bear hug that Sebastian returned without hesitation.

“Xander. Nice to see you.”

“Jesus, boy, you sound like a fucking pussy. Heard you been working on some film music or some such shit. You going soft in your old age or what? Let me buy you a drink. You here to listen or hang?”

By the time Xander had finished, Sebastian was smiling. Now this was more like it. This felt comfortable. Where he belonged.

“Listen.” Because Xander was right. He was a pussy. If they were here to listen to the band, he wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone. “This is Tru.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. “Tru, Xander Tucci. This is his place. It’s one of the first places Baseline Sins played in Philly when we were a bunch of idiot kids with no real idea what we were doing. Xander set us straight on a lot of things.”

Xander took one look at Tru and straightened like someone had shoved a pole up his ass. Then he stuck out one huge hand and smiled at her like a choirboy.

“Hey, Tru. Nice to meet you.”

Tru’s lips curved in a genuine grin that made Sebastian’s dick throb and his balls tighten.

“Nice to meet you, too.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music coming from the stage in the next room but she didn’t shout.

“You two come on back and I’ll set you up in the balcony.”

Leading them through the door into a private office, Xander struck up a conversation that allowed Sebastian a little breathing room.

“Was hoping you’d stop in sometime. Wanted to see for myself how you been. Talked to your dad right after your breakdown last year. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I like your dad. Seems like a good guy.”

Yep, same old Xander. No filter on his mouth and no problem saying anything that came to his mind.

“Yeah, my dad’s been great. Sorry I didn’t contact you myself. It’s been . . . a weird fucking year.”

Taking the stairs to the second floor and the private viewing rooms, Xander shook his head. “You’re not gonna hear any pussy-ass complaints from me, kid. I knew you’d come around when you figured shit out. I’m just glad to see you looking like yourself again. Even if you are wearing a fucking suit.”

Xander pushed open a door at the end of a short hall at the top of the stairs and waved them through. “Let me send up some drinks. You want beer or soda?”

“Soda’s fine for me,” Tru piped up as she slipped onto the plush leather seat overlooking the stage and the pit at the back of the small room. “Thank you.”

“Soda for me, too, man. And thanks.”

“Anything, kid. You know that. Glad to see you.” Xander nodded, and then knocked on the doorjamb. “Oh, hey. You want me to tell Gina and the guys you’re here?”

Sebastian stiffened and immediately shook his head. “Shit. I thought . . . No. Not . . . yet.”

Xander nodded like that’s exactly what he’d expected. “Figured. No problem. But you know Gina’s gonna be pissed as hell if she finds out you were here and she didn’t get to see you.”

“I know. I’ll . . . If we’re still here after their set, I’ll stop backstage.”

“Your call. I’ll send those drinks up.”

Then he left and they were alone.

Alone with Tru in a semidark room.

Maybe this had been a really bad idea.

Chapter Three

Sebastian showed no sign of speaking, though the room they were in was somewhat insulated from the full brunt of the music.

Tru knew they’d still have to yell at each other to be heard, but since they weren’t talking that probably wasn’t going to be a problem.

Their server flashed him a huge smile and a great shot of her breasts when she bent over to set the glasses on the table in front of him but he barely acknowledged her when she arrived with their drinks.

Tru might not have been in the room for all the attention the server paid her.

Then again, Sebastian was ignoring her, too. She tried not to let it get to her, knew he had issues. It still bothered her. As Greg’s former PA, she was used to being ignored. It came with the territory. No one paid any attention to her when Greg was in the vicinity.

So she turned her attention to the music. It was nothing she’d ever have chosen to listen to, but she knew it was the same genre as Sebastian’s band’s music.

Hard rock. That’s how Sebastian characterized his music. And she’d listened to enough of his music to know this band wasn’t in the same league. They weren’t bad. They just weren’t . . . as good. She didn’t know how to explain it¸ but when she listened to Sebastian’s music, she heard the emotion and the message his band was trying to get across.

These musicians were younger than Sebastian, and they certainly seemed . . . energetic. The singer threw himself into the performance as if he had something to prove and the guitarists bounced around so much she couldn’t believe they still managed to play their instruments. Even the drummer couldn’t stay in his seat, always looking as if he wanted to jump down and join the guys at the front of the stage.

The audience loved it, though, writhing in the pit as a solid mass.

She’d been to a few concerts before. Okay, she’d been to exactly four, if you didn’t count the annual high school band performances she’d attended because her best friend had played clarinet. But none had been a full-on, aural assault like this.

She’d never seen Sebastian’s band live, had only ever seen him play the piano or the guitar in the confines of the studio. But she had seen his band’s music videos and she’d watched some live concert footage as well.

For research, of course. When Greg had hired him, she’d done what she always did when faced with an unknown factor, be it an actor or a director or a reporter. She researched and looked for the reasons why they shouldn’t work with someone. Not why they should. Usually that was the easy answer.