He normally didn’t put such events on his calendar because he hated attending them. But since he was in New York and his artist’s contract would be up in six months, he’d put in an appearance. Parties bored him. No business was being discussed with loud music as a backdrop. Everyone attending appeared to have an agenda—to meet or nab someone in the music industry. His friends pushed him to get out more. But if this is what the dating scene had become, he’d happily stay home. What was the point, anyway? Even in a noncommittal relationship, he’d have to open himself up. He had no desire to do so. Nor did he have the energy to nurture the various stages of a relationship—not to mention that he didn’t know how to move on from Marjorie’s passing two years ago. No one, not even Charisse Sanford, could stir anything in him. “Brent, good to see you.” He turned, subconsciously hoping it was Charisse’s voice he heard. “Brent, yoo-hoo.” A woman standing near the registration table waved her hand madly at him.
