Raelynn stood on the doormat outside Brad Kingston’s condo, her heart beating a frantic drum solo against her ribs. The elevator ride up had felt like a descent into the flames of hell. She took a deep breath, the scent of expensive perfume and nervous energy clinging to her, and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and there he was. Brad Kingston, in a simple black t-shirt and dark jeans, a smudge of flour on his cheek. He looked less like a music mogul and more like a man at home, which only served to make her feel more out of place.
"Raelynn," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble. "You're early."
Raelynn’s stomach did a backflip. "I'm sorry, I must've mixed up the time. Mom said 7, so I…" She trailed off, pulling her phone from her purse to check the text message. Her heart sank. It
