Say You're Mine - Layla Hagen Page 0,1

eviscerate whoever came through that door.

Knowing Sasha, I probably had about thirty seconds to maintain order. I faced the guys.

“Let’s all calm down and listen to whatever they have to say.”

“Sasha hired a babysitter. I’m feeling the opposite of calm,” Harvey said.

“No, she’s bringing on a professional,” I said as coolly as possible. “Sasha’s never steered us wrong. Let’s give this, whatever it is, a shot.”

No one was buying my speech. I wasn’t buying it either. Yes, she’d never steered us wrong, but this was the first time she decided something like that without extensively discussing it with us first. I didn’t like it.

I turned toward the door when I heard voices on the other side. Sasha came in first, followed by a woman with waist-long hair that was so vibrantly red, it was all I could see for a few seconds. Then the rest of her came into focus. I fixated on her lips—full and pouty, like she was permanently ready to dish out sass. Her eyes were huge and brown and so expressive that I was sure she’d be an open book if we made eye contact long enough, but she averted her gaze quickly. She was tiny enough that I could lift her over my shoulder with one arm—I guess she’d be what you’d call petite. Her black dress touched her knees and had long sleeves that covered her arms, but her shoulders were on display. It made me want to step closer and drum my fingers from one to the other slowly, watching her reaction.

“Boys, this is Isabelle Gallagher. Isabelle, meet GreenFire. Thomas, Lars, Harvey... and Brayden. Forgive me. It’s my fault they’re all throwing daggers with their eyes at you. They were expecting a different kind of meeting.”

“Oh good, then I’m not the only one blindsided by the job description,” Isabelle said with a cheeky smile. I’d been right about her being sassy.

“Isabelle. Welcome!” I walked up to her, extending my hand. I wasn’t usually a hand shaker, but I wanted an excuse to see her up close. She was a beautiful woman in the most surprising ways. The round shape of her eyes was mesmerizing. She only briefly shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Brayden. All of you, in fact. I only found out yesterday that I’ll be working with you.”

“That’s still up in the air,” Lars said from behind me.

Isabelle gave Lars a polite smile, but her eyes flashed. “Yes, apparently so. Can’t say I’ve worked with anyone against their will until now, but let’s see what we can do.”

“If we go forward with this, it won’t be against our will,” I assured her.

“Good. Would make my job a lot easier, thank you,” she replied.

I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t meet a woman who was tongue-tied in front of me, or eager to get an autograph from any of us. Isabelle Gallagher merely seemed curious, which in turn sparked my interest. I pulled out the chair next to me, motioning for her to sit down.

She lowered herself onto the seat. My thumbs brushed the smooth skin on her shoulder blades when she leaned back. I didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath.

I glared at the others as I sat down, deciding to take the lead on this. That was the only way I could keep the guys in check.

“Sasha, why don’t you tell us what Isabelle’s job description is? You didn’t have a chance to explain that earlier.”

“Of course. She’s basically going to be advising us how to best give your fans what they want, but on your terms. PR professionals usually come to us with checklists about what you have to do without taking your personalities into account. I want Isabelle to make a psychological profile of each of you in conjunction with how the fans see you, how they relate to each of you. As someone new to GreenFire—”

“Wait a second. She doesn’t even know who we are?” Lars exclaimed.

“Lars!” I said in a warning tone. “Let Sasha explain.”

Isabelle sat up straighter. “The job posting didn’t mention who you are, probably to protect your privacy. I only found out the name of the band when I got the email inviting me here. I’ve heard the name GreenFire before, of course, in passing, but I can’t say I’m familiar with your music. But this is going to allow me to bring in a fresh perspective.” She waved her hand as if she couldn’t care less about our music. I could