Page 27 of Rhythm and Rapture

Roman's head falls back against the couch, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which part? The part where we're flying to California to fuck someone on camera, or the part where Artisan Records wants to throw money at us?"

My hand connects with the back of Roman's head before he even finishes the sentence. Not hard, but enough to make my point.

"Ow! What the?—"

"She's not just 'someone,'" I say quietly.

Roman's eyes open, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I know. Just... overwhelmed."

"Both. All of it." Ash continues like the moment didn't happen, but his drumsticks have gone still—his tell that he noticed too. "Six months ago we were playing dive bars in East Nashville. Now..."

"Now we're playing dive bars in East Nashville with better options," I finish dryly, settling back into my chair.

Roman straightens up, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off the moment. "We've handled worse. Remember that tour where the van broke down every other state? Or when Ash got food poisoning in Memphis and still played the show?"

"Barely," Ash groans, his sticks resuming their constant rhythm against his thigh. "But yeah. We figured that out."

"We always do," I agree, then pause, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Though I'll admit, 'how to have an intimate experience with a virgin chemistry professor who trusts us enough to be her first' wasn't in our original business plan."

"Neither was Artisan," Roman points out, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Roman's leg starts bouncing—his nervous tell. My fingers tap against my beer bottle in a pattern only I understand. Ash's drumsticks never stop moving.

"Early flight," I finally say. "We should probably?—"

"Sleep? Pack? Panic?" Ash suggests, grinning.

"All of the above."

The test results sit on the coffee table next to the freshly printed Artisan email. Tomorrow, everything changes. But at least whatever happens, we'll figure it out.

We always do.

Chapter Eleven

THURSDAY

The Behindthe Lens warehouse looks different at seven in the morning—less bustling creative hub I've come to know, more like a stage waiting for its performers. Today's the day. The calendar shoot. The collaboration. The moment I stop being just The Hidden Chemist and become... something else.

I arrive early, needing time to center myself before they get here. Before everything shifts from messages and flirtation to... whatever this is about to become.

I pass through security and park, taking a few centering breaths. My hands shake slightly as I check my phone. Their plane landed twenty minutes ago. They'll be here soon.

Nova looks up from the reception desk as I approach, her winged eyeliner perfect even at this ungodly hour. Behind her, I can see a stack of documents spread across her workspace—the contracts I sent to Nashville.

"Sabina! Right on time." She taps the papers with a manicured nail. "Just finished reviewing everything. All signatures are good, STD tests came back clear across the board—and get this, they signed everything without having their manager or publicist review it." She looks up at me with raised eyebrows. "Which either means they trust you completely or they're completely insane."

"Probably both," I mutter, my stomach doing another flip.

"Your collaborators should be arriving any moment. Traffic from Reno-Tahoe International Airport is actually moving for once." She grins, sliding the documents into a folder. "Your prep room is all set up—room 11. Hair and makeup will be there in about twenty minutes. Chad and Monty are already setting up equipment in the main studio."

"Thanks, Nova."

"Oh, and Sabina?" She leans forward conspiratorially. "I peeked at their photos when processing the IDs. They're even better looking in their documentation than in their music videos. This is going to be epic."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I head toward the prep area. Of course, Nova looked. I would have, too.

The warehouse is set up like a high-end production facility. Fifteen individual rooms line the main hallway, each equipped with professional lighting, multiple camera angles, and whatever set design the content requires. My prep room is exactly what I expected from Behind the Lens—professional,clean, well-stocked with everything I could need. Makeup station, wardrobe rack, comfortable seating area.

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