Laura Barnes is on my porch in broad daylight, dressed immaculately once again. I peek outside and see that my car has magically returned to its usual park on the side of the street. I'd completely forgotten that it had been impounded. I'd been too busy dealing with people like Laura.

Beside her is a security agent in a black suit with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He's nearly as big as Aaron, but less ferocious. For a brief second, he smiles warmly. "Randall."

Aaron gives him a mild grunt. "Brewster."

"Hello, Aaron," she says with a familiarity I don't like.

"Laura."

"Your things." She points behind her, to the large suitcase on the bottom step. Brewster rolls the monstrous case inside, while Laura follows the agent into my house. Not that she was invited. In fact, other than a brief once over, she hasn't acknowledged my existence at all.

I retreat into the lounge area, giving Aaron the space to handle this.

"It's not quite the Hilton, is it?" She laughs, surveying my belongings and décor. Suddenly, I wish I was a compulsive cleaner, and richer.

"It does have warmth." Aaron looks her over. "Unlike some."

"Ooh, cutting." She squeezes his bicep through his shirt. I expect him to shrug her off. It annoys me no end. She has no right to lay a finger on him! "Here are your termination papers." She flings the papers against his chest, pressing them there. Nostrils flaring, he slides them from her grasp. Next, she holds out her hand. "Keys and phone?"

"On the counter," he replies, nodding toward the kitchen. His eyes flash with satisfaction as she whips the keys and phone off the counter and examines them, finding them all in order. "I believe that is all."

She frowns, as if it's all too easy. "Ah...yes." She turns on the spot, scanning the open plan room. Her gaze lands on me and that uncertainty in her eyes transforms into the witch I've come to know. She crooks her finger, signaling to Agent Brewster that they are leaving. As they walk out the door, she runs her hand over Aaron's chest. "I'll leave you to play happy homes with the Good Samaritan. I bet she's already been more than hospitable, given that she's so willing to rescue stray men at a moment's notice. She's almost your type, if I remember correctly. Tell me, Aaron, does she take the pain away?"

Take what pain away? And how dare she imply that I've slept with him!

He pins Laura with a dangerous look that makes her stumble back into the doorway. "Apologize to Evangeline, now."

"Goodbye, Aaron." She smiles, then leaves.

Aaron slams the door behind her. He leans back against it and rubs his temples. "I'll be out of here by tonight."

If he tries to be noble one more time I'm going to lose it. That lady treated him like crap. "No, it's fine. Really."

"No. It's not."

"Please hear me out. You need a place to stay and I'm still rattled about this whole business with Nathaniel. And considering that I'm restricted to discussing matters of Nathaniel and the bridge with anyone other than you, I wouldn't mind if you stayed around for a while."

He lightly bangs his head against the door. "Let me pay rent then. Six-hundred a week."

"Six-hundred! That's insane. One-fifty would be more than enough."

"Six-hundred for inconveniencing you. I'd be paying more for a week in a hotel room."

I think back to Laura's insinuation earlier. It's humiliating to think of let alone say aloud, but I have to. "So we're clear, I'm not part of the package."

Anger flashes across his face.

I step back.

"I know that, Evangeline." He rubs his temple. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

I look around the room. It seems to have more life than usual. My eyes fall on the man who is now leaning against the counter and I realize that it's him...filling up the emptiness. "You want the truth?"

"Please."

"It's not fun coming home to an empty house. It might be nice to have the company for a while." I smile weakly. "Plus, you're actually not that bad to have around."

He laugh-grunts, then the television snares his attention. In one stride, he's beside the coffee table and turning up the volume on the remote. Footage of Nathaniel exiting the hospital fills the screen. The reporter ceases talking, the microphone pointed in the billionaire's direction. And I have to say Nathaniel looks good—fresh, handsome—his golden locks gleaming as he shields his eyes from the glare. Moving through the crowd proves slow. He's surrounded by four security agents and additional police, who escort him into a car much like the one confiscated from Aaron five minutes ago. The Channel 3 reporter returns, describing the events of which we just saw. There is a rehash of his attempted suicide—that is completely inaccurate—and the moments leading up to it. My heart pounds painfully as I'm mentioned as the mystery rescuer for the umpteenth time today, and how I'd saved him from falling.

I will forever remain a mystery to them—to him. More troubling, I'm bound to keep this secret forever. The secret seems too big. I'm scared I might crack.

The reporter holds her earpiece. She smiles and nods. I see other news crews in the background react similarly. "We've just received breaking news. Nathaniel Blake has issued a reward to anyone who can locate the identity of his mystery rescuer. He is keen to thank her for coming to his aid." She holds her earpiece again, then almost giggles. "And it seems the mystery girl has a first name. Evangeline—"

I can't breathe. I might be swaying. I grab the nearest armrest and swing myself into the seat, distantly aware that Aaron has shuffled over to the next cushion. I feel his eyes on me, but I am numb, staring at the reporter's shiny teeth and cropped hair. I miss the next few words—I'm still stuck on the word 'Evangeline'.

"Nathaniel is behind this," I say. "This makes no sense."

"He obviously doesn't know about the contract," says Aaron. "Laura is playing him."

"What? But she's his lawyer. He trusts her."

"Rule one: Never trust Laura Barnes. Nathaniel never seemed to get that message, no matter how many times I told him."

"No frickin' way."

I tune back into the report and freeze. "—the reward will be ten-thousand dollars. If anyone knows of a girl in her mid-twenties with long dark hair, Caucasian complexion and a slim build, named Evangeline, please call this hotline... And if you happen to be Evangeline, I recommend calling this hotline. Thankyou. I'm Lyndall Petrovski for Channel 3 news."

I slump against the sofa. "Holy shit."

"That about sums it up," Aaron murmurs.

I'd forgotten he was there. I roll my head against the backrest and stare at him. His hands are steepled beneath his mouth. I can't bear to look at the television again, in fear of what I might see. But he is staring intently at the screen. His dark eyelashes blink in concentration. With a flick of the remote, he rewinds an ad during the live program, pauses at the end of the Nathaniel report and turns to me with relish. His eyes are alight, and I have to say this is officially the most animated I've ever seen him.

An ad comes on. I realize it's a promotional spot as the logo pops up: a cream background with a rough black circle and the words Original Star scrolled around the inner circumference. A semi-famous soap star, Dan Groen, appears in a bikie jacket amidst a crowd waving signs for Original Star.

Dan flicks his sandy locks and speaks into the mic: "Amateur singers and bands of Australia we are looking for you! We don't want covers. We want original artists with original songs, who have that little something extra. You have until midnight tomorrow to get your video demo onto our site. Twelve lucky entrants will be selected via public vote on our website. The other twelve will be selected by our panel of judges. Each week the public will vote off one entrant, as will the judges, and they won't stop until we have our final two Original Stars. That's right! Two recording contracts are up for grabs! Voting begins 8 am Wednesday and finishes at 7pm. The finalists' names will be revealed at 7:30 Wednesday night. There are no pre-recordings here, folks, so enter if you dare!"

"That's us," Aaron says, staring at the screen. "We are going to enter that contest."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He turns and stares right through me. I can see it in his eyes, the determination. His mind is already set. "You're good enough. Hell, I think I'm good enough. What have we got to lose? I'm newly unemployed."

"Hey, I have a job!"

"Where?"

"I've worked there for seven years and I'm not about to desert them. I need that job to live."

"Where?"

"The Chalk and Cheese Café."

"Waitress?"

I sigh. "Yes."

"It's an honest occupation, don't get me wrong, but do you really believe your destiny involves taking food orders for the rest of your life? You should be doing music."

"Easy for you to say. You're highly trained in who knows what military and assassin stuff." He rolls his eyes, but I continue on, "But me, it's not that easy to find a job with nice people, which actually pays well."

"Believe me, this isn't easy for me." He breathes in a hiss. "But I need this."

"Um..." Why did he have to say he needs this? Now it's as if I'm crushing his dream.

I know that dream.

My gaze drifts to the small piano sitting between the kitchen counter and the heater. I'd put it there and let the dust settle on the timber. Part of me had hoped that it would warp and go out of tune just to ease my guilt about not playing it anymore. How many times had I pressed down those keys when I was growing up? All of the music exams... The auditions that had earned me a spot in a music program... I'd even gotten myself a part-time job at the café I still work at. My new adult life, I'd thought. Then Mum and Dad had died. I pulled out of my spot. I could barely function, only enough to get food on the table and work at the café, where people rallied around me. That's all. That dream is gone.

Then I remember Aaron's words. He needs this...

He lost his job.

Maybe there are other reasons why he needs this.

Maybe I need this...

I jump a little at the unexpected brush of his thumb under my jaw. His hazel eyes study me carefully, trying to calculate my response. "I could enter alone, but I think I'd go further with you."

"But you haven't heard me sing, yet. You haven't heard any of my songs. I might be horrible and no one's dared to tell me."

"I have a feeling you're not. And if you are horrible, I'll certainly tell you."

"Ha. Thanks." I smile a little. "Well, I haven't heard you sing."

He grabs the guitars and hands me one. "Then I think it's time we play."