You know what they say: save a snare, bang a drummer.
Kay Fischer is well aware of what they say, and she intends to ignore it completely.
After her first step into the world of music journalism ended with a screw-up so royal it deserved a crown, Kay’s been struggling to re-stack the building blocks of her career. Salvation comes in the form of Sherbrooke Station, the latest alt-rock craze to grace Montreal’s legendary music scene.
A front page feature on the band everyone’s talking about seems like a foolproof shot at success, even after Kay meets their drummer. Matt Pearson might have a smile sexy enough to be the eighth deadly sin and a passion for music so powerful it makes her heart ache, but Kay’s got things under control.
She’s a professional, goddammit, and a professional would not get tongue-tied over a source, even a source who’s a six-foot, tattooed rock god with an affinity for tight jeans.
A professional would not find herself opening her door at an hour long past midnight to pull said source inside and lead him to her bed.
No, that’s not at all what a professional would do.