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know, that it was all one of those crazy things you do when you’re a kid. Even if I’d known about this concert, I probably wouldn’t have gone.”
    Milla tapped her lips with a thoughtful finger. “You know, I heard his new song on the radio the other day. I thought it sounded like his heart had been wounded a bit.” She smiled. “Maybe you’re what did it.”
    Leyla started to protest, but Milla cut her off. “Here, I’ll take the guilt out of it. It’ll be my fault. I’ll assign you to cover the contest and the concert. Then it’s work. I want a pre-story by Friday, and a followup short after the concert, with an interview of the winner, and quotes by Arran Lake if you can get them.” She gestured to the letter and ticket. “Bet that’ll get you backstage.”
    “Yeah,” Leyla said, feeling a little drained. “Bet it will.”
    ****
    It did, too.
    Leyla arrived at the concert an hour before the opening curtain, tracking down the DJ right away to get a quote before the show began. He looked the same as always in public appearances, a loud Hawaiian shirt, this time in greens and yellows, and a pair of khakis that probably cost more than Leyla’s groceries for a whole month. He bossed the stage crew, reading off a clipboard. He started to yell at her to get off his stage, but once she introduced herself, Chandler’s whole demeanor changed.
    “Leyla Brand? Glad you came, honey. We’ve reserved you a seat right out front, so you can...uh, meet the contest winners.”
    “That’s great.” Leyla wished her voice had a little more conviction. Her stomach churned in anticipation of seeing Arran again. Her gaze flicked left, right, almost afraid she’d see him backstage, here, before she was ready. In the auditorium, at least it would be dark. Hopefully she’d be out of reach of the light from the stage. Quit thinking about Arran. Back to the job. “Tell me, Mike, how did you pick these ladies?”
    “Simple drawing of ticket numbers.”
    She scribbled notes on her reporter’s pad. It might have been more modern to tap into some personal data device, but they were way outside her budget. “How is this going to work, exactly?”
    Chandler walked her to the front of the stage, past the black-clad roadies noisily setting up equipment for Arran’s backup band. He gestured to the front row, the dozen seats tied off with a purple ribbon. “Between songs, we’ll call out ticket numbers, and whoever has those tickets will be invited to come forward to sit in our guest row, for an up-close look at the show. When the show’s over, we’ll draw one lucky winner out of the ones who’ve been in the front row, and that person will have an evening with Arran Lake.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Very lucky, that lady.”
    Leyla thought back to the evening she’d spent with the singer, trying like hell not to feel regret that she’d closed that door. “For sure.”
    She’d written up the details of the date in her pre-story—dinner at Lamont, a ride on the Duquesne Incline, a walk along the river—all very romantic. She surveyed the auditorium, imagining it filled with Arran’s acoustic music.
    “Want to meet Arran?” Chandler asked, a sparkle in his eyes, glorying in the fact he could drop the singer’s first name.
    A rush of panic drenched her. “No. No, thanks. I’ll—I’ll talk to him after. With his date.” There, create a little cushion of safety. He couldn’t say anything personal when he was with his date for the evening. She could be professional. They’d get through it.
    Chandler shook his head, looking at her like she was crazy. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
    She went on to ask him about the station’s involvement, get the local plug, like Milla wanted, and then Chandler’s restive attitude let her know the interview was over. He directed her down to the floor of the auditorium as the back doors opened and a flow of excited, chatty people, mostly women, entered the