Chapter 1
[Jasmine’s POV]
“Harlow!” My manager’s voice cracked through the hallway like a gunshot, silencing every conversation within earshot. Heads turned. No one wanted to miss the show.
He stormed toward me, his eyes blazing, and jabbed his phone inches from my face. On the screen: the email I’d sent barely twenty minutes ago.
“Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke.”
My throat tightened as I scanned the message. There it was, the mistake. I’d written 10:30 AM instead of 10:00. A thirty-minute error. Fuck.
“It’s just a small–” I began.
“A small what?” he snapped, cutting me off. “A small fuck-up with a C-level exec involved? Do you have any idea what you just did to the schedule? Jesus, Jasmine, are you even capable of doing this job without tripping over your own incompetence?”
The words hit like a physical blow. Fury coiled tight in my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm.
This wasn’t about a typo, this was about reminding me of my place.
“I understand your concern,” I replied, voice professionally neutral despite the storm inside me. “I take full responsibility and will ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
He pulled out a thick stack of contracts, shoving them into my hands. “Take these to Conference Room A. The Blackwoods are waiting!”
I gave a stiff nod and walked away, cheeks burning.
It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to put me in my place at Cadence Records. The thing is, I’m good at what I do. Exceptional, even.
I navigate this chaos like I was born for it, juggling schedules, managing producers, keeping everything organized. I have a sharp ear for music and contribute to more projects than anyone realizes, but I’m invisible in the ways that matter.
Just the girl who keeps the machine running.
The moment I stepped into Conference Room A, the atmosphere shifted. Three men sat around that stupidly expensive table, and I immediately understood why my manager had been sweating bullets when he handed me these contracts.
Liam Blackwood commanded the head of the table like he owned the building, which he actually did. Sleeves rolled up over forearms that belonged in a fucking gym advertisement, perpetual five-o’clock shadow that suggested he’d rather be anywhere but in a boardroom.
When he glanced up, his green eyes held the kind of stare that made you wonder if he could see straight through your bullshit corporate smile to every dirty thought you’d never admit out loud.
“Good afternoon,” I managed, sounding way more professional than I felt. “I have the contracts you requested.”
“Thank you,” Liam replied, his voice deep and smooth. “Just set them down here.”
Moving around the table felt like walking through quicksand. Every step is hyperaware, every breath calculated.
I placed the copies in front of each man, and when Liam’s fingers brushed mine—my brain short-circuited: Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.
Asher Blackwood sat to his right, and where Liam was a barely contained chaos, his younger brother was a polished control.
Head of A&R, power radiated from his perfectly tailored suit, dark hair dark hair tousled in that ‘I woke up like this but actually spent twenty minutes with pomade’ way, and a jawline so sharp it could slice through my carefully constructed professional composure.
His mouth lived in a permanent state of almost-scowling, like he was constantly annoyed by everyone’s existence.
“Anything else we need to know?” His voice was rougher than Liam’s, gravel and smoke with an edge that sent shivers cascading down my spine like dominoes.
“Standard terms are highlighted on page three,” I replied, fighting to ignore how his stare made me feel completely fucking exposed.
Like he could see every fantasy I’d never voice.
Then there was Finn Blackwood, sprawled back in his chair with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he’d never encountered a situation he couldn’t charm, manipulate, or fuck his way through.
Their cousin, but he fit into their power dynamic like he’d been molded for it.
Tousled hair that begged for fingers, shirt unbuttoned just enough to be borderline inappropriate, and that trademark smile—the kind that could talk nuns into strip clubs.
No instruction to leave, so I stood there like an idiot, trapped in professional purgatory while they reviewed documents. But my eyes had developed a mind of their own, cataloging every detail despite every rational neuron screaming to look anywhere else.
These weren’t just my bosses—they were legends walking around in human suits. Powerful, successful, completely out of my twenty-five-years-old-virgin league in every conceivable way.
Yet that didn’t stop my brain from diving headfirst into dangerous, completely inappropriate territory.
What would it feel like to run my fingers through Asher’s hair? Mess up that controlled perfection? Would he lose that calculated composure if I pushed the right buttons?
That man Liam—fuck, would that raw intensity translate into other areas? Those hands on my skin, that barely contained energy focused entirely on making me fall apart?
And Finn… Jesus Christ. With that lazy smile and those knowing eyes, I could practically hear him whispering things that would make my toes curl.
I was so lost in mental gymnastics that bordered on pornographic that I didn’t realize how long I’d been staring, basically eye-fucking all three of them simultaneously, until Finn glanced up.
He caught my gaze with laser precision, and that knowing glint in his eyes suggested he could read every single filthy thought racing through my head.
“See something you like?” he asked, voice dropping to a register that bypassed my brain entirely and went straight to my nervous system.
That trademark grin spread across his face like spilled sin while mortification crashed over me like a cold wave. My face flamed red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something incoherent about needing to get back to work.
“I should… the other contracts…” I stammered, backing toward the door like a deer caught in headlights.
I fled the room as fast as my heels would carry me, my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. Damn it, I was supposed to be professional, not fantasizing about my bosses like some schoolgirl with a crush.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me back to reality. The caller ID showed my baby-brother’s name.
“Leo?” I answered, stepping into an empty office for privacy.
“Jas…” His voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. “I messed up. I messed up really bad.”
The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“I thought I could fix it myself, but they wanted the money immediately. They’re not waiting anymore.”
“Leo, slow down,” I said, gripping the edge of a filing cabinet for support. “What money? Who wants money?”
“I borrowed it,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought… I thought I could help… But now these people—”
“How much?” I whispered, dreading the answer.
“Thirty-seven thousand dollars.”
The number hit me like a physical blow and I slumped against the wall, my knees suddenly weak. “Leo, listen to me—”
“Harlow!” A sharp voice cut through the office, making me jump.
One of the senior assistants was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and an impatient expression on her face.
“I need those media contact sheets for the Morrison project. Where the fuck are they?”
Looking from the phone to the woman, I felt panic rising in my throat.
I closed my eyes, torn between my professional responsibilities and my brother’s terrified voice on the other end of the line. In the end, survival instinct won.
I need this job more than ever now.
“Leo,” I whispered urgently into the phone, “I have to go. We’ll talk about this at home tonight, okay?”
“But Jas—”
“Tonight,” I said firmly, then hung up before I could change my mind. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up at the assistant with a forced smile. “The Morrison materials are on my desk. I’ll get them for you right now.”
As I walked back to my workstation, my legs felt unsteady.
Everything around me looked the same, the familiar chaos of the office, the stacks of paperwork, the framed photos of Grammy winners on the walls, but it all felt suddenly fragile, like it could disappear at any moment.
My hands were shaking as I reached for the contracts, and for the first time in my life, I understood what true desperation felt like.
Where the hell am I going to find thirty-fucking-seven damned thousand dollars?
