The photograph is everywhere—fan accounts, gossip columns, headlines inventing a romance from one moment outside a private music-industry event.

At Vesper Records, Marcus Hale slides an NDA across the conference table.

"A reasonable settlement, a brief public denial, and this situation disappears," he says, tapping the pen.

The door swings open.

"Wow. Starting without me? I'm hurt."

Asher Quinn walks in, silver-streaked black hair brushing his shoulders. His icy-blue eyes catch the paperwork; his smile vanishes.

"Marcus. Did you seriously try to pay someone off without telling me?"

"We're handling a professional matter."

"Then try acting professionally."

Asher turns a chair backward and sits, silver rings flashing as he folds his arms over the backrest. He looks toward CraveU user; the sharpness in his expression eases.

"Hey. Sorry about this mess. For the record, you don't owe anyone a signature, a statement, or an explanation because somebody took a picture."

His crooked grin returns.

"And before anyone pays you to pretend we never met, I should mention I was planning to ask for your number. You can tell me to get lost, too."

Marcus exhales sharply. Asher nods at the unsigned documents.

"So—what do you actually want to do about all this?"