I can't sing for an audience and I was an idiot for bringing Conner here to listen to me.

It's the same as being on that stage when the first panic attack hit me. Jay-Jay repeats the measures, slower, fuller, inviting me away from the past and into the present.

And then, everything disappears except for the Latin words in my mind. My voice spirals up through my throat like velvet. I lift through my pallet and let it ring, crystal clear in the tiny room. I pour every hurt and heartbreak into the notes, the pain that I have felt every day since my brother died.

This requiem?

I live it whenever I think of him.

In only a few moments, we come to the end of the short soprano solo and Jay-Jay changes the next chords in order to land on an end, instead of playing the notes to bring in a bringing in a choir ensemble.

And silence. Nothing. I blink, bringing the room back into focus after being lost to the sounds consuming me.

Conner isn't clapping or smiling, though. He stands frozen against the wall, shock on his face.

He coughs, and wipes at one eye.

A tear? Or an uncomfortable tick?

I smile nervously. "How was that?"

"Fucking hell, Avery. You don't belong at Stay Gold."

I refuse to let my feet shuffle in shame, as if I was a little kid, but disappointment is bitter in my mouth. I know I don't belong there. Throaty altos who can bring a nightclub audience to their knees belong there. My upper range trilling isn't sexy or appealing to people who want to drink and flirt, find someone to go home with.

Normally, I can take criticism. But this is too harsh.

Jay-Jay sits back in disgust. "Thank you, Mr. Hoffmann, you're right. We'll see you later."

Conner ignores him, nailing me to the spot with his eyes. "You belong in a cathedral, or in fucking heaven with that voice. It's eight-thirty in the morning and you've got me in tears, for fuck's sake."

"Thank you. I think."

"Don't thank me. I want more. Even if you are too good for the Stay Gold, I'll get you on stage. No. I'll do better than that. You should be prima-whatever-it's-called for solo singers on the grandest stages in the country. I'll work on that for you."

"That's sweet, but I'm not actually good enough for that kind of solo work. I need another ten years at least, singing isn't like dancing."

He's about to say something when his phone buzzes. He checks and mutters under his breath. "Listen, let's get out of here to talk some more before you sign anything with Devon. Come on."

He moves to take my hand, but suddenly Jay-Jay is standing between us.

"You interrupted our conversation earlier," Jay-Jay says. He motions to the door. "If you wouldn't mind?"

What the hell has gotten into all the men in my life today? I cross my arms and glare at Jay-Jay, but Conner nods as if it's no big deal.

"See you in a minute."

As soon as he closes the door, Jay-Jay whirls to face me. "I don't like this. Any of this. What's his agenda? What's up with the Stay Gold position?"

"Devon Orlando, the owner, was also a friend of Keith's. He showed up at my place last night, offering me a job that, honestly, I can't refuse."

"I don't like it. I heard things about that place, about how they treated Elena there. Everyone at that joint is a manipulative asshole with a hidden agenda and you are going to get hurt."

"It's a risk I have to take or I'll be sleeping under a bridge."

He shakes his head. "Sleep at my place. I'll take care of you."

"Yeah, I bet your new girlfriend would love that. Speaking of, I want to meet her still." I step out the door, but pause to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "She's got a keeper, I hope she knows it."

He says nothing as I go.

Conner puts his hand on the small of my back like he owns that spot of me and escorts me towards the exit. I glance over my shoulder. Jay-Jay looks worried. He mouths, be careful. I nod.

What he doesn't know is that this isn't just about a job. Sure, I don't exactly want to sleep under a bridge, but there's more to it: I want answers about what happened eight years ago.

I have a hidden agenda of my own.

Conner leans to me to whisper. "I need to go back to my place. Come with me and we can talk after I take a shower and get on clean clothes. You don't have to sign with Devon if you need help."

"Are you saying you can help me? Find a job in singing?"

"I can help you financially, if you need it, and yes, I'm sure I can arrange something eventually for your career, your future."

I'm not sure what he means by that. Do I really want to go to his place while he showers and changes? He might have been friends with Keith years ago, but Jay-Jay is right. I don't know this man.

What's his real agenda?

"If you're worried about me trying to take advantage of you," he says, grinning, "I'm a perfect gentleman. If a gentleman is what you want, that is. If it's not..."

He leaves the rest hanging, and my heart flips. He opens the door for me and we take the short flight of steps up to the sidewalk.

I jerk to a stop.

Devon is walking straight for the studio door, his jaw clenched in anger. He draws up when he sees us. "What the fuck are you doing with my employee, Conner?"

*** ONC 950 words. Does Avery want a gentleman in her life? It's a good question... Thank you so much for reading! Have a fabulous day. ***