know someone listened.
"What's the difference?"
"In my case? Quite a lot. I am not here to gather information, Zoe. Unless it's visual." Quinn tapped the camera bag she had slung over her shoulder. "This will be a photo essay. A story in pictures."
"There is a lot of money to be made from celebrity exposés."
It was understandable for Zoe to be cautious. She didn't know Quinn—none of them did. But she was human. The questions rankled—enough that Quinn felt she had to bite back.
"Did you invite me so you could suss out my intentions or insult my integrity?" When the elevator stopped at the garage level, Quinn did not get out. "I think I'll skip the girl time. If I want an afternoon of passive/aggressive bullshit, I'll call my father."
Zoe hit the hold button on the elevator panel, making certain the doors stayed open. Deliberately, she turned to face Quinn.
"Let me make myself clear. I don't have a passive bone in my body. Aggressive? Hell, yes."
"Then say what you mean."
Quinn preferred it when all the cards were on the table. That said, she wasn't a naturally confrontational person. If possible, she liked to settle things calmly and rationally. Not knowing what was coming, she braced herself.
"We make music. And we are damn good at our jobs."
"I agree."
Zoe's dark eyes narrowed. "What happened before Ryder formed the band is nobody's business. However, there is something you need to know. Ryder has watched out for me from the moment I was born. I can't tell you all the times he sheltered me; most of the time, I didn't know. He made certain that I didn't know. Now it's my turn. I will not let you hurt him."
Shadows crossed Zoe's expression, making Quinn want to offer a comforting hug. Something told her Zoe would not appreciate the gesture.
"I think you overestimate Ryder's need for your protection, Zoe. Whatever happened in the past doesn't seem to haunt him. He's a well-adjusted, happy man." When Zoe didn't answer, Quinn frowned. "Isn't he?"
"Most of the time." Zoe stepped from the elevator. "Ryder is the best man I have ever known. Happy? Yes. And loving. And kind. But he has demons nipping at his heels, Quinn."
Quinn found that to be a bit dramatic. Zoe must have read her expression.
"I can see why you would be skeptical. It isn't that Ryder hides his foibles. What you see is pretty much what you get. But now and then, he…"
Quinn leaned closer. "Don't leave me hanging. Now and then, he what?"
"I've said more than I should have." Ten feet away, a long, black limousine pulled to a stop. The driver rushed around to open the passenger door. As she started to get in, Zoe gave Quinn one more piece to the puzzle. "Listen to Ryder's music."
"I have," Quinn frowned. How was that supposed to help?
Tucking her long frame into the car, Zoe told her, "Not the commercial songs that fly to the top of the charts. If you want to know where to start, play Tangled Vines ."
BACKSTAGE WASN'T CHAOS. It was worse. From the moment The Ryder Hart Band took the stage, there was never-ending movement. To the untrained eye, the crew seemed to go in hundreds of directions with no planned path.
But in truth, they were a well-oiled machine. This was not the crew's first rodeo. Ryder insisted on the best—from lighting to sound. From the first night of the tour, nothing had been left to chance. If something went wrong, it was fixed before the next performance. Or the person responsible was replaced—quickly.
The band had a hard-fought reputation for putting on a flawless show, and it was well earned. Ryder meant to keep it.
Quinn had learned fast to keep out of the way. Though to the crew's credit, as soon as they learned that she would be there every night, they looked at her as a mobile piece of the scenery. Quinn is in the house, rang out as soon as she arrived. She smiled every time; it made her feel a part of the gang.
A week had passed since her conversation with Zoe. Since then, few words had passed between
"What's the difference?"
"In my case? Quite a lot. I am not here to gather information, Zoe. Unless it's visual." Quinn tapped the camera bag she had slung over her shoulder. "This will be a photo essay. A story in pictures."
"There is a lot of money to be made from celebrity exposés."
It was understandable for Zoe to be cautious. She didn't know Quinn—none of them did. But she was human. The questions rankled—enough that Quinn felt she had to bite back.
"Did you invite me so you could suss out my intentions or insult my integrity?" When the elevator stopped at the garage level, Quinn did not get out. "I think I'll skip the girl time. If I want an afternoon of passive/aggressive bullshit, I'll call my father."
Zoe hit the hold button on the elevator panel, making certain the doors stayed open. Deliberately, she turned to face Quinn.
"Let me make myself clear. I don't have a passive bone in my body. Aggressive? Hell, yes."
"Then say what you mean."
Quinn preferred it when all the cards were on the table. That said, she wasn't a naturally confrontational person. If possible, she liked to settle things calmly and rationally. Not knowing what was coming, she braced herself.
"We make music. And we are damn good at our jobs."
"I agree."
Zoe's dark eyes narrowed. "What happened before Ryder formed the band is nobody's business. However, there is something you need to know. Ryder has watched out for me from the moment I was born. I can't tell you all the times he sheltered me; most of the time, I didn't know. He made certain that I didn't know. Now it's my turn. I will not let you hurt him."
Shadows crossed Zoe's expression, making Quinn want to offer a comforting hug. Something told her Zoe would not appreciate the gesture.
"I think you overestimate Ryder's need for your protection, Zoe. Whatever happened in the past doesn't seem to haunt him. He's a well-adjusted, happy man." When Zoe didn't answer, Quinn frowned. "Isn't he?"
"Most of the time." Zoe stepped from the elevator. "Ryder is the best man I have ever known. Happy? Yes. And loving. And kind. But he has demons nipping at his heels, Quinn."
Quinn found that to be a bit dramatic. Zoe must have read her expression.
"I can see why you would be skeptical. It isn't that Ryder hides his foibles. What you see is pretty much what you get. But now and then, he…"
Quinn leaned closer. "Don't leave me hanging. Now and then, he what?"
"I've said more than I should have." Ten feet away, a long, black limousine pulled to a stop. The driver rushed around to open the passenger door. As she started to get in, Zoe gave Quinn one more piece to the puzzle. "Listen to Ryder's music."
"I have," Quinn frowned. How was that supposed to help?
Tucking her long frame into the car, Zoe told her, "Not the commercial songs that fly to the top of the charts. If you want to know where to start, play Tangled Vines ."
BACKSTAGE WASN'T CHAOS. It was worse. From the moment The Ryder Hart Band took the stage, there was never-ending movement. To the untrained eye, the crew seemed to go in hundreds of directions with no planned path.
But in truth, they were a well-oiled machine. This was not the crew's first rodeo. Ryder insisted on the best—from lighting to sound. From the first night of the tour, nothing had been left to chance. If something went wrong, it was fixed before the next performance. Or the person responsible was replaced—quickly.
The band had a hard-fought reputation for putting on a flawless show, and it was well earned. Ryder meant to keep it.
Quinn had learned fast to keep out of the way. Though to the crew's credit, as soon as they learned that she would be there every night, they looked at her as a mobile piece of the scenery. Quinn is in the house, rang out as soon as she arrived. She smiled every time; it made her feel a part of the gang.
A week had passed since her conversation with Zoe. Since then, few words had passed between
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