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him for sometime…make that any time tomorrow and explain that I’m working with Mr. Sterling on Joey’s latest solo album…what’s the name?” Maren quickly retrieved Joey’s contract from the stack. “Here it is… Restless and Righteous, can you believe that? Anyway, that should put him off for a while.”
    â€œPut him off or tick him off?”
    â€œProbably both.” Jan had a good point, but Maren persisted. “I know you can do it, Jan. You have a way of pouring oil on troubled waters.”
    â€œAnd you have a way of conning me into anything.”
    â€œYou love it.”
    â€œSure. Sure I do,” Jan replied sarcastically. “Okay, I’ll give it a try, but if Mr. Righteous comes blasting in here with one of his usual tirades, don’t blame me.”
    â€œConsider yourself absolved.”
    Maren picked up the intricate pages of legal work, carried them over to the couch and flopped down in her favorite spot on the couch. She put on her reading glasses to survey the top document, which was a contract for five songs from the soon-to-be-released Mirage album. Maren began to pore over the complicated legal contract, hoping for just a glimmer as to why Kyle Sterling wasn’t satisfied. Intuition told her he wanted something more from her, but she didn’t understand what it was. Why had he been so insistent about meeting with her tonight? It didn’t make any sense.
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    J AN HAD LONG SINCE LEFT the office and Maren was finishing reading the final contract. Other than a few typographical flaws, she found nothing out of the ordinary in the documents. The small ache in the back of her head had magnified as the hours had passed and there was still no answer to the puzzling question regarding Sterling Records.
    She pulled herself out of the cramped position on the couch and stretched, letting her fingers work out the tension in her shoulders. She rotated her head as she opened her eyes and stared out the window that overlooked the parking lot. From her position on the second floor she could see that the long shadows against the concrete promised an early dusk. A slight breeze moved through the palm trees near the entrance of the building and a brilliant orange sun slipped lower on the horizon.
    Though it was only a few minutes after seven, a sporty silver Mercedes rolled to a stop near the building. Maren’s fingers stopped massaging her shoulders as she watched the owner of the car with unguarded interest. When he stretched out of the car, Maren’s throat constricted with the recognition of Kyle Sterling. As president of Sterling Records, he held all of the cards concerning the fate of Festival Productions in his hands. That wasn’t true, she argued with herself. Festival relied on Sterling Records, but surely it wouldn’t crumble if the contracts weren’t signed. Or was she kidding herself?
    Apparently Mr. Sterling had ignored her request to change the time of the meeting. Though he had agreed to a time of seven-thirty, he was nearly a half hour early. Convenient, she thought sarcastically to herself as a slow burn crept steadily up her neck.
    He didn’t bother to lock his car, but Maren wasn’t surprised. What had come as somewhat of a shock to her was that he drove at all. She’d expected a man of such celebrated reputation as Mr. Sterling only to suffer the indignities and snarls of L.A. traffic behind the protective tinted glass of a chauffeured limousine. So the infamous Kyle Sterling was human after all. But she’d guessed that much, hadn’t she, at the party in Beverly Hills. The woman in her had intuitively known about his nature as a man.
    Kyle strode toward the building as if he were a man with a mission. He was taller than Maren remembered. Though his shoulders were broad, his torso was lean, and he moved with the purpose and grace of a hunter stalking his prey. His dress was sophisticated, but