Page 9 of Giving Chase

"One more take," I hear myself say, my voice hoarse from overuse and too much caffeine. "Let's try it one more time."

Joe and Raphael exchange a look I pretend not to see. I know we're pushing it, know that fatigue can be the enemy of creativity. But there's something in Chase's eyes, a fire that tells me we're close to something special.

Chase nods, determination etched on his face. He adjusts his headphones, closes his eyes, and as the backing track starts, he begins to sing.

The opening notes wash over me, and just like that, all my exhaustion melts away. His voice fills the studio, raw and powerful and achingly vulnerable. It's a sound that's been haunting my dreams for the past two months, ever since thatnight at the Viper Room. But this... this is something else entirely.

I find myself holding my breath, afraid to move lest I break the spell. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of longing and missed connections, of two people orbiting each other but never quite touching. As I listen, I can't shake the feeling that he's singing about us.

Which is ridiculous, of course. We're colleagues. I'm his manager, for God's sake. Whatever tension exists between us is purely professional. It has to be. The industry is littered with cautionary tales of managers who crossed that line, who let their personal feelings cloud their judgment. I've worked too hard, climbed too high, to risk it all for... what? A fleeting attraction?

But as Chase's voice soars into the bridge, raw emotion bleeding through every word, I feel my carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble.

The song ends, the last note hanging in the air like a question. For a moment, none of us moves. Then Chase opens his eyes, meeting my gaze through the glass. The intensity I see there makes my heart skip a beat.

"How was that?" he asks over the talkback mic, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

I look to Joe and Raphael. Joe gives an approving nod, while Raphael leans back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"It was perfect, Chase," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I think we've got it."

He grins, that boyish smile that never fails to make my stomach flip. "Great. Let's hear it back."

As Joe queues up the playback, Chase joins us in the control room. He stands close – too close – as we listen, his arm brushing against mine. I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and coffee. It's intoxicating.

The song ends, and we stand in silence for a moment, all processing what we've just created.

"That's a wrap, folks," Joe announces, stretching. "Great session. I'll start the mixdown tomorrow... or I guess later today."

Raphael claps Chase on the back. "Kid, I think you just wrote yourself a hit. This could be the one that breaks you wide open."

As Joe and Raphael begin shutting down the equipment, trading technical jargon I only half understand, Chase turns to me. "Eliza," he says softly. "I think we've just made something special."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because he's right – the song is incredible. But more than that, I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing, of the electricity crackling in the air between us.

"We make a good team," I manage to say, aiming for a light, professional tone.

Chase doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he glances at Joe and Raphael, then back to me. "Can we talk? Privately?"

My heart races as I nod, following Chase out of the control room and into the small kitchenette down the hall. As soon as the door closes behind us, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and suppressed desires.

"Chase," I start, a warning and a question all at once.

"I know," he says, his voice low. "I know all the reasons why we shouldn't. The band, the label, our careers. But Eliza... tell me you don't feel this too."

And in that moment, all my carefully constructed walls come crumbling down. Because I do feel it. I've been feeling it since the moment we met, trying to ignore it, to push it aside in the name of professionalism. But here, in the dim light of the kitchenette, with Chase looking at me like I'm the only person in the world, I can't deny it any longer.

I lean in, or maybe he does – I'm not sure. All I know is that suddenly we're kissing, and it's like every cliché I've ever rolled my eyes at. Fireworks. Sparks. The world falling away until there's nothing but this moment, this feeling. An arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me closer while his other hand slides to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss.

This is heaven. This is a connection I’ve never felt before. And it scares the shit out of me.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. Chase rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

"We probably shouldn't have done that," I say, even as every fiber of my being screams for more.

Chase chuckles softly. "Probably not," he agrees. Then he opens his eyes, meeting my gaze with a seriousness that takes my breath away. "But I don't regret it. Do you?"

I should say yes. I should step back, reestablish professional boundaries, pretend this never happened. It's the smart thing to do, the safe thing. I think about Justin, about the responsibility I have to him, about the example I should be setting. I think about the band, about the delicate balance of personalities and egos I navigate daily. I think about my career, about all the sacrifices I've made to get where I am.