But it was a lie. As Noah sat there, explaining what sort of song he wanted to compose, how he wanted it to sound, my mind was a million miles away. As he tinkered on the piano, playing bits of music here or there, I tried to take it all in, but I was overwhelmed. Not because I was in the presence of Noah Hart, rock star god, but because I was near Noah, a man who caused my every nerve to sing. I'd never felt such an attraction to someone so quickly before.

I hated myself for it. I didn't want to be a groupie fangirl, lusting after rock stars. My love for Noah wasn't based on sexual desire, no matter how hot, sexy, or gorgeous this man was.

But damn, was he hot, sexy, and gorgeous.

I shook myself mentally. I wasn't going to go there. It was going to be difficult enough to work with Noah if I felt overwhelmed because of the pressure to do the job right. It would be even harder if I had to wrestle with these burgeoning feelings.

Maybe I just needed to go out and get laid. Get all that sexual tension out. I was sure my best friends would agree.

"This right here is where I want the chorus to go."

Noah's words jolted me out of my reverie. I thought back to the last few minutes, trying to piece together what he had been saying.

"What if we made the bridge a few bars longer?" I said tentatively.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Never mind. It's nothing."

He tilted his head, eyeing me. "Tell me."

"I just thought if you had a few more seconds, you could try holding the note longer, leading into the first chorus. Maybe try blending and overlapping the first and last syllables."

"Hm. I usually save that kind of thing for the last chorus."

"I know." I'd listened to every single one of Noah's songs a million times. "That's why I suggested switching it up."

He stared at me for a moment before he shut his eyes and hummed a few bars, first the way he'd originally envisioned them, then the way I'd proposed. His mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Shit, I don't know." He growled and ran his hand through his hair. "August always makes this look so goddamn easy." He closed his fingers into a tight grip, tugging on the strands at the back of his neck.

"You're doing fine." Without thinking, I placed my hand over his clenched fist, prying his fingers loose. "Don't go pulling your hair out over this."

He shot me a look. I immediately scooted away on the piano seat. The chilly look in his eyes eased up. If they weren't exactly warm, at least they didn't threaten to freeze me from the inside out.

I remembered the first time he'd confronted me. When he'd backed me up against the wall, practically pressing himself against me. This man did things to my insides. Things that made me want to rip off my clothes right then and there.

I got up and stood a few feet behind him. I couldn't take being that close to him anymore. How did one man have the power to affect me this much? I quickly looked away, hoping my feelings weren't showing on my face again.

"You don't need to feel so frustrated." I tried to smooth over that awkward moment. "There's something special about the way you're composing the song. It sounds more like you than you know."

"And you know enough about me to say that?"

"Sometimes it feels like I do," I said without thinking.

"Because you listened to my music," he scoffed.

I wondered whether or not to say what I was thinking. "Yes. You put so much of yourself into your lyrics, into those songs, that I feel sometimes like I know the person you want to be more than you know yourself. Don't all artists put themselves into their work?"

"Maybe I should listen to more of your songs," he said sarcastically. "It's not fair that you get to root around in my brain but I can't root around in yours."

"You've heard my stuff?" I asked, surprised.

"The professor who recommended you sent me some samples from your end of year performances."

I shuddered inwardly, suddenly embarrassed. "My stuff isn't worth listening to." Not for someone like Noah Hart.

"I thought your professor called you a genius."

"She was exaggerating."

"So modest."

"No. I just know that I'm nothing special."

Noah gave me a probing look, something almost like curiosity on his face. "You shouldn't say things like that out loud."

"Why not?"

"Don't let other people know you doubt yourself. It makes them doubt you."

"Is that why you don't want to the other guys to know about us working together?"

He grumbled. "I told you. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

"It's okay if you don't want the other guys to think less of you."

"I want you to stay out of my head." The words were quiet. Noah's eyes were almost dead inside, other than the slight frustration I could see simmering underneath.

"And I told you. I'm here to do a job. I can't compose a song for you until I've gotten to know the real you. This has to sound authentic. Otherwise it won't ring true to the fans."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? You're a fangirl."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Of course I'm a fan. Your music touches me."

"I don't write music for people to get all weepy."

"Don't you want people to feel something when they listen your songs? Isn't that the whole point of creating music?"

"I don't care if anyone feels anything. I write it because it's marketable. Because it sells."

I was appalled at the words coming out of his mouth. Noah Hart, talking about how marketable his songs were. It was baffling.

"Are you serious? You don't care how your music makes people feel? You just want money?"

"That's right."

"I don't believe that. You said the music came from your heart. From your soul. If you didn't care, you wouldn't be having so much trouble with this one song. You want it to be good. You don't want to let your fans down."

"You've got me all figured out, haven't you?"

Underneath the tension and frustration, I could hear a hint of helplessness. Noah was having trouble. He didn't want anyone to know. But he knew he needed help. He just couldn't bring himself to ask for it.

"I don't have you figured out." I gnawed at my lip. "But I'd like to."

Noah stood from the piano bench and approached me slowly, slinking almost like a jungle cat. The look in his eyes threatening to burn me up from the inside.

"You want to know more about me?"

He got closer, forcing me to take steps back until I hit the wall with a thud. I couldn't move any further away, and yet Noah didn't stop advancing. He stalked toward me until he was mere inches away. He inclined his head down. We were practically nose to nose.

"I can think of a few ways to get to know each other." His lips tilted in a dark smirk.

My inner muscles clenched as I contemplated all the different meanings of those words. Was he serious? Or was he teasing me? Making fun of my so-called fangirl crush? Noah kept on making these comments and innuendoes. How much of it was him needling me?

His eyes were on my lips. My breath caught in my throat. I made an aborted motion, stopping myself before I could reach out and touch him.

If Noah didn't feel the same sexual tension between us that I felt, if it was all just a sick game to him, I'd end up making a fool of myself.

I let out a shallow breath and shifted to the side, putting a few feet between us.

"I'm... gonna go get a coffee," I said weakly before stumbling out the door on shaky legs.

I had to get out of there before I did something I'd regret.

Chapter Six.

I made my way to a small kitchenette down the hall. There was a complicated looking chrome coffee machine on the counter. It took me about five tries before I figured out how to make a latte. I could have simply poured myself a regular cup of coffee, but working for one of the most established entertainment companies in the world had to have its perks. Besides, if I was going to be dealing with Noah all day, I deserved a goddamn latte.

The machine was complicated enough to make it slightly frustrating, but I was glad for the distraction. If I kept on thinking about the tension growing between me and Noah I was going to explode.

Or melt. Either one seemed likely at this point.

I must have drifted off, lost in my thoughts for longer than I'd realized because I hadn't heard someone entering the room until he spoke. I recognized the voice.

"Hey there gorgeous. You new?"

I nearly dropped my coffee cup as I saw Cameron Thorne, bassist of Darkest Days, standing in the doorway.

I knew when I took the job at Etude Entertainment I'd probably run into the rest of the band, but it honestly hadn't occurred to me that it might be under such mundane circumstances. Wasn't I supposed to run into them backstage at a concert while they were all dressed up in their rock star best?

There were no leather pants and no eyeliner, just jeans and a t-shirt. Of course, Cameron Thorne's t-shirt was tight and thin enough to show off every muscled ab and his bright, fire engine red hair was tousled in a careless manner that clearly took more effort than it looked.

I stood frozen, mouth gaping open for I don't know how long. Cameron gave me a carnal smirk. I shook myself, fighting down a flush. My latte spilled over the rim of the cup, splashing my hand. I hissed at the burning sensation and laid it down on the counter with a shaky clink.

"Sorry. Yes. I'm new. Hi," I said dumbly.

Cameron eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering on my legs. I flushed and resisted the urge to pull my skirt down, even though it already reached the tops of my knees. It was well known among fans that Cameron Thorne was a shameless ladies man - which was a more polite way of saying manwhore. I got the feeling he was picturing me naked. I didn't know if I should be flattered or appalled.

"What do you do here, gorgeous?" he asked. "Are you the new intern?"

"I was hired to..." Oh no, what was the cover story again? "I'm one of the new consultants helping produce your album. I've been working with Noah."

Cameron let out a choked laugh. "Who'd you piss off to get that job?"

"Um. No one?"

"Good luck. You're gonna need it."

"He's not that bad," I lied.

Cameron wrapped an arm around my waist and stoked my back. "You poor thing. If you get tired of that asshole snarling at you, you can always come work with me." He leaned close, putting his lips near my ear. "I know how to treat a girl right."

I stepped back, shocked. I'd heard about Cameron's reputation, but coming on to the new girl at work within minutes of meeting her was something else.

Almost as bad as commenting on her pussy and nipples.

Cameron walked with me as I headed back to Noah's piano room, latte in hand. Between the wicked grin Cameron Thorne threw in my direction and the knowledge that Noah was going to be waiting for me, my nerves were almost shot.

"See you later, gorgeous." Cameron gave me a smirk and left as I walked into piano room. Noah looked up from his music sheets, his expression turning panicked.

"Was that Cameron?"

"Yeah."

He cursed and stood from the piano bench. "We're not doing this here."

"Where are you going? We're still not done."

"I don't want you in this building. We'll work at my place."

"Your place?" Me and Noah. Alone. Just the two of us. Would I survive?

"Got a problem?"

"Nope."

"Good." He cursed again and ran his hands through his hair. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. Just that I'm working with you."