Naomi stared me down for a few moments, a considering look on her face, then nodded once.

"Jennifer, I'd like to offer you this job."

"Are you serious?" Noah said, voice flat.

Naomi ignored him. "Are you interested?"

She said it so matter of fact, I wasn't sure I'd heard right. Had I done it? Was I really going to be working with Etude Entertainment?

The words sank in. Maybe I was more qualified than I thought. Maybe Naomi saw something in me I didn't see in myself. I let out a small choked cough and hurried to reply.

"Yes! Of course I am."

"Wonderful."

Noah sank back into his seat. "Yeah. Great."

Despite his lack of enthusiasm, I couldn't suppress the glee that rose up in my chest. Then the rational part of me gave me a kick. I placed my clasped hands on the table and cleared my throat.

"Although, before I formally accept, I would like to know about the position. What exactly were the others hired to do? And why weren't they able to do it?"

"We need you to write a song," Naomi said.

"That's it?"

Noah scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Naomi threw him a vexed look, then turned to me.

"It's not quite so simple. We need you to write a song for Darkest Days."

I gaped. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I'd get songwriting credits?"

"No. But you'd get royalties."

My mind nearly exploded trying to imagine the sum of money that entailed. Way more than I'd ever gotten at my crappy part time jobs.

"But the band always composes their own songs," I protested, still unbelieving. "They never use outside songwriters. They have one hundred percent artistic control."

"You're right. August composes the basis of their songs and Noah writes the lyrics, then the guys all work together to flesh it out. But this time, each member of Darkest Days is creating a song solely on their own for their newest album, from composing the music to writing the lyrics. Therein lies the problem."

"Problem?"

"Noah is a lyricist."

I quickly glanced at the lead singer of Darkest Days. That was why he'd been so frustrated at the piano. I immediately felt bad for him. I understood that feeling all too well.

"You can't write songs? Just lyrics?"

The withering glare I received in return nearly made me shrink back, all sympathy fading.

"I can write songs," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then why haven't you?" Naomi arched an eyebrow. "You've had months."

Noah looked away with a disgruntled expression.

"I don't care if you've got writer's block or performance anxiety or what, but you need to compose something," she stressed.

"Why can't one of the other band members help?" I asked.

He visibly blanched. "I can do it on my own."

"Clearly you can't," Naomi countered. "So if you won't ask the other members for help, we'll come up with another solution." She turned to me. "That's why we needed you to sign a nondisclosure agreement."

So I'd get fortune, but not fame. That was fine by me.

"If you don't want anyone to know, how are we going to explain me hanging around?"

"The same way we explained it with all the others. We'll say you're a consultant brought on to help with producing the album. No one will think it's odd to see you and Noah working together."

"So I'm supposed to work with the lead singer of Darkest Days to write a rock song and pass it off as being composed by him?"

"Exactly. Are you in?" Naomi asked.

I wondered what had happened to all the others they had hired that hadn't worked out. I caught a glimpse of Noah shifting in his seat out of the corner of my eye. He looked irritated beyond belief.

And that was why. Working with this man was clearly not going to be easy.

Especially not when I thought I caught a hint of heat in his eyes when he glanced at me. I couldn't be imagining the quick looks he was throwing my way. Looks that made my heart pump faster, looks that made my head swim.

We'd only just met and he'd already made comments on my hard nipples and soaked pussy.

If I didn't manage to get a grip, this was going to end up being difficult in more ways than one.

Then again, a professional career in music was never going to be easy. I had to take what I could get. And apparently what I could get was a job working with the lead singer of Darkest Days.

I nodded fervently to Naomi.

"Definitely. Yes. I'm very interested in the position. Thank you so much for this opportunity."

"You really think you can work with me?" Noah bit out. "You couldn't even string two words together the first time we met." His eyes fell to my chest again, leaving it unspoken how my body had responded to his.

I fought back a flush and pleaded with my body to cool down. "Well, I have lots to say now. We need to talk about what kind of song you want to write. What kind of sound you're going for."

"I don't need help. And I don't need help from some fangirl."

Pursing my lips, I resisted the urge to snap at him. "Stop with the fangirl stuff."

"Stay out of my way. I can do this myself."

"I've been hired to do a job. I'm going to do it to the best of my abilities."

"I don't need your help," he repeated.

"You've got it anyway."

Noah scowled.

Naomi smiled. "Looks like we've got the right person for the job."

Chapter Three.

As I left the interview room, Noah was still bickering with Naomi. She had asked me to step out of the room while she and Noah discussed a few details. I wanted to get out of there before I snapped at him again. What a great way to start our working business relationship.

Relationship. I could feel my cheeks heating up. Not exactly the word I wanted to use when thinking about Noah Hart and myself. We would be working together. That was all.

Of course, my body was showing interest in Noah in ways that it hadn't in a long time.

I was torn between terror and excitement. Putting aside the way my insides gushed when I was near him, there was more than one reason why I should feel worried.

It wasn't so much that Noah clearly resented being forced to work with me. I could deal with that. In college I'd been forced to pair up with fellow students who I had nothing in common with, people I might not have chosen to work with, people I might have clashed with in previous years. Still, I'd managed to be professional and had learned to work with people of all sorts.

Working with a lyricist who was dealing with the musical equivalent of writer's block wasn't all that bad in comparison.

It was that I was supposed to be writing a song for Noah Hart, lead singer of Darkest Days. Noah Hart, the soulful, romantic poet whose lyrics spoke to my very soul. I was supposed to be writing a song with the man who made me the person I was today. The man who saved me during my darkest days.

It was cliched and dramatic, but it was also true.

And I was supposed to write a song with him.

No way. There was no way in the world I was good enough to do something like that. As far as I was concerned, Noah was a god. I was a student barely out of college. Sure, I was pretty good when it came to composing, but I was nowhere near the level it took to work with someone like Noah Hart.

Why had I said yes? Why had I even bothered to show up for this interview? I should have told my professor no. There were dozens of other students I could name who would be a million times better than me for this kind of job.

I gave my head a vicious shake. I couldn't let my insecurities get the best of me. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But Noah was right. I was a fangirl. I'd been able to hold my own against him so far, but what if I broke down and panted at his feet like my body wanted me to? What if I couldn't control my arousal and embarrassed myself in front of him? What if Noah knew exactly how much I wanted him, and used that against me?

No. I wasn't going to let that happen. I was going to take this chance and I was going to excel. I was going to write the best goddamn rock song the world had ever heard.

All the emotional whiplash was beginning to give me a headache when Noah and Naomi walked out of the room.

"Thank you for waiting, " Naomi told me. "Everything's been sorted. I'll leave you with Noah to work out the details." She shot him a look that clearly said behave before leaving.

Noah stared at me with his arms crossed over his chest. "Congratulations," he snarked. "I suppose you get to live the dream."

"Excuse me?"

"Doesn't every fangirl wish she could sink her claws into Noah Fucking Hart?" he said, using the nickname fans had come up with.

My cheeks flushed, half in anger and half in shame. He wasn't exactly wrong.

"I'm not sinking my claws into anything. I'm here to do a job. I'm going to work with you whether you like it or not."

His eyes narrowed, dark and intense. "I don't like it."

"Gee, I couldn't tell. Maybe you should try to be a little less subtle. Maybe try telling me straight to my face that you resent me being foisted upon you. I really had no idea up until this very moment."

His eyes burned with irritation. I bit my tongue. Why had I mouthed off? At least that was better than melting into a puddle at his feet.

"This is my first real job in the music industry," I told him. "I want to do well. You may not want to work with me, but in this case being a fan is a help, not a hindrance. I love your music. I'm going to do my best to fulfill your vision."

"I suppose it might work," he said grudgingly. "You can't be worse than any of the others."

"Why?" I asked with trepidation. "What was wrong with the others?"

"Everything," he shot back. "They had no talent. They were hacks."

"I promise I'll try to live up to your high standards, then."

"Good." He looked away, eyes sliding away from mine to gaze up at the ceiling. "Because Naomi says I have to work with you or else."

"Or else what?" I couldn't imagine anyone trying to tell Noah what to do. Then again, he had listened to her in the meeting. As his manager, she must have had something to hold over his head.

Noah's mouth twisted in distaste. "Or else she'll tell August," he said, referring to August Summers, the band's drummer, main composer and founding member.

"Would that be so bad?"

"Hell yes."

"Why don't you want your bandmates to know?"

He glared at me without saying anything. Despite the dark look, his expression was awkwardly self-conscious.

Noah was trying to hide his problems from the rest of the band, but I didn't know why. Now it made sense.

"You don't want them feeling sorry for you? Or are you worried they'll think less of you?"