The Cold Superstar Demands A Second Chance

Quinn slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, laying on the horn. The wall of cars ahead of them didn't move an inch.

Avery rolled down her window. The heavy scent of car exhaust mixed with cheap vanilla perfume flooded the cabin.

A group of girls holding pink glittery signs sprinted past their car, nearly taking off the side mirror.

Avery leaned her head out the window, following the direction the girls were running.

Her eyes locked onto the side of the massive network building. A giant billboard was slowly unrolling from the roof.

It was a man's face in profile. His jawline was sharp, his eyes dark and completely devoid of warmth.

Avery's heart stopped. A painful, hollow ache punched through her chest, stealing all the air from her lungs.

At the bottom of the billboard, bold gold letters read: Graham Gilbert - Global Tour.

Quinn followed Avery's gaze and let out a loud gasp.

"No way," Quinn said, slapping the steering wheel in excitement. "The King of Pop is back from the UK? He actually came back?"

Avery immediately rolled up her window. She pressed her head back against the leather headrest and squeezed her eyes shut.

Memories of a rain-soaked street in New York seven years ago flashed behind her eyelids, making her temples throb with a sharp, stabbing pain.

Quinn didn't notice. She was already scrolling on her phone.

"Graham never does variety shows or reality TV," Quinn babbled. "The network must have paid him an absolute fortune to get him in that building today."

Avery opened her eyes. She stared at her own pale reflection in the side mirror.

"He used to hate loud crowds," Avery whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The inside of the car was too quiet. Quinn's head snapped toward her.

Quinn's brow furrowed in deep confusion. "How do you know what his personal preferences are?"

Avery's stomach dropped. Her fingers instantly went to the seam of the leather seat, picking at the stitching.

"I just... I read a few of his early interviews," Avery lied, her voice tight.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. Her manager instincts were fully activated.

A traffic cop up ahead waved a glowing baton, and the cars slowly started to inch forward.

Quinn pressed the gas pedal slightly, but her eyes kept darting to Avery. "Are you hiding a connection from me? Because right now, any connection is a lifeline."

Avery looked out the window. The network building was looming closer. She knew she couldn't avoid him inside.

She took a slow, deep breath, turning her head to look Quinn dead in the eye.

"We know each other," Avery said flatly. "We're old acquaintances."

Quinn's foot flew off the gas and slammed violently onto the brake pedal.

The tires shrieked against the hot asphalt.

The car behind them blared its horn in rage, but Quinn didn't flinch. She stared at Avery like she had grown a second head.

"How old?" Quinn's voice shook. "How exactly do you know Graham Gilbert?"

Avery didn't answer right away. She turned her head back to the window, staring up at the cold, untouchable eyes on the billboard.