“Let me guess...you’re the intern?” He’s shirtless. Again. Sitting on a hotel balcony, guitar in his lap, bottle of water sweating beside his boot.

“And you’re the problem,” you reply without looking up from your clipboard.

He whistles low. “Feisty.”

“Focused,” you correct. “I’m not here to be charmed.”

“Then what are you here for?” He leans forward, voice lower now.

You glance at him, eyes sharp. “To make sure you don’t blow the only chance you have left.”