Page 36 of Witch's Wolf

Whatever this is, better to face it and get it over with. I cross the bar to his table. He’s tall and thin, his face clean-shaven, his chin sharp. Everything about him is polished, professional. He gives a slight nod as I approach, his polite smile carefully measured.

“Ms. Connors,” he says, with a smooth, practiced sounding tone. “How are you this morning? Allow me to introduce myself.” He continues without waiting for my answer. My stomach flips as he reaches into his pocket and for a moment, I’m about to run, but then he pulls out a gold laminated business card and holds it out. “My name is Alfred Jenkins, here is my card.”

I take the card, the weight of it heavier than it should be. It’s embossed with the name of a law firm. Holden & Winchester. Dread coils in my stomach. Lawyers don’t show up out of nowhere without a reason. And right now, I can’t think of a single one that isn’t bad. I turn the card over and read the back. Alfred Jenkins. Talent Acquisition. Platinum Tunes.

I blink, the words blurring for a second before snapping back into focus. A talent scout. Here. For me. My pulse skips, but I keep my expression neutral as I set the card down on the counter.

“I was told you were looking for me. What is this about?”

“Business, dear,” he says, steepling his fingers.

The speed of his response, the way he leans in ever so slightly, all of it is calculated. He’s been doing this a long time.

“I’ve seen a couple of videos of you online,” he continues. “The comments below them speak for themselves. You have a gift, Ms. Connors. I’m here to help you take advantage of that gift.”

The words should thrill me. Instead, cold clenches around my heart. A week ago, I would have been ecstatic to hear those words. Now, all I can think about is Sam. The way he looked at me before I walked out of that hospital room. The way I saw his heart shattering in his eyes.

“Straight to the point. You don’t like to waste time, do you?”

“Actually, I hate it,” he says, his grin widening. “There’s nothing worse than wasting time in my book. Do I have your attention?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“Wonderful”,” he says. “The process is simple. You go through an audition. Sing four or five of your favorite songs and then you wait for us to call you. Don’t worry. That phone call is going to comeverysoon. As for the audition? It’s just a formality. Do what you do during your gigs here and you’ll do fantastically.”

“You’ll want me to sign a contract?” I ask.

“That is correct,” he says. “Terms vary accordingly. You will, of course, have a lawyer present at the signing. He’ll advise you on those terms. Also, to be clear, we will give you a one-hundred-fifty thousand-dollar signing bonus.”

I nod, but my stomach twists. I wanted this once. A way out. A real chance. Now, though? Now, I’m not so sure. Jenkins folds his hands on the counter, his expression cool, unreadable.

“One-hundred-fifty grand? Just like that?” I ask, trying to focus on the opportunity in front of me and not the hurt and confusions of the past week.

“One-hundred-fifty grand,” he says, like he’s dangling a rare gem in front of me. “And in your case, we’ll throw in an extra plane ticket to Los Angeles since that’s where we’re based.”

Los Angeles. My fingers twitch against the counter. The idea of getting out of this town, of chasing something bigger, should have lit me up inside and would have before, but now it feels hollow.

“Wait a minute.” I rub my temple, trying to process. “You’re telling me you flew all the way from L.A. to offer me a contract? Why? Couldn’t you have done that over the phone? Or sent an email?”

“Some things are worth doing in person,” Jenkins chuckles, low and smooth. His smile sharpens. “You’re one of them.”

The words should feel like a victory, but they don’t. Right now, they feel like a trap. The promise of money and possible fame the bait. If I take this, if I let myself hope, what happens when it all goes wrong? When I mess it up? When I let them down. When I lethimdown?

“That’s a big risk for someone you’ve never met,” I say, squaring my shoulders and forcing the hesitation out of my voice.

His expression doesn’t shift. If anything, his confidence only deepens.

“That’s the business, Ms. Connors. We find talent before someone else does.” His gaze flicks over me, assessing. Calculating. “And you? You’re something special.”

Special. The word digs into me, splintering through the fragile walls I’ve tried to rebuild. Sam thought I was special too. And I walked away from him.

“And if I say no?” I ask, swallowing and steadying my breathing.

Jenkins tilts his head, as if amused by the idea.

“Then, I’ll ask you why.”

A million conflicting thoughts crash around inside my head. This is it. The big dream, the fantasy come to life in an expensive tan suit, sitting right here in Michelle’s bar.

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