Written in the Stars
Rachael Eliker
Copyright © 2019 Rachael Eliker
Cover Art by Victorine Lieske
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (recording, photocopying, mechanical, electronic, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.
ISBN 978-1-949876-14-7 (e-book)
Written in the Stars
from the back cover
Eloise is ready to hit a high note as a pop star…except her ex is being a major distraction.
Eloise Stauch’s fears of becoming an old, shut-in cat lady are shelved when she’s invited to go on tour following an appearance on a popular singing competition. When all is said and done, she’ll have a recording contract with Harper Music. Simple…until her ex-boyfriend, Warren, shows up unannounced and with horrible timing: it’s on the one day she hasn’t washed her hair, and she’s still wearing the same pants she slept in.
Warren’s gorgeous singing voice and Southern charm are hard to resist, but Eloise is determined to stay focused. Easier said than done when one glance from him makes her insides turn to mush. Warren doesn’t hesitate trying to win her back, even if she occasionally wants to crawl under a rock when she makes a fool of herself. Protective of her once broken heart, Eloise quickly realizes she’s falling head over heels for him again.
As flirting with Warren reaches a pinnacle and she thinks she’s ready to give him a second chance, Eloise discovers he’s been keeping a secret that brings his character into question. When the music stops, Eloise will have to decide whether trusting Warren will lead her to another shattered heart or if the two of them just might discover a love that is written in the stars.
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Contents
Written in the Stars
Stay in Touch
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Thank You
When a Star Falls
About Rachael
Also by Rachael Eliker
For Jack,
the man I want to stargaze with forever.
Chapter One
The worst part of getting kicked off of America’s Next Pop Star wasn’t that it’d taken me a good two weeks to get the apartment clean when I returned home. It wasn’t even that I would probably never have another chance to fulfill the secret desire I’d harbored since I was four of becoming a singing sensation. No, the worst part of it all was that I’d had a genuine shot at love for the first time in a long time, but because of my own cowardice, I’d let it slip between my fingers.
“We’re out of milk,” my roommate said in her croaking morning voice.
I’d barely walked out of the bathroom, showered and ready for work when Bridget informed me of our dairy crisis. A secret talent Bridget didn’t know I possessed was a masterful command of my eyeballs—I didn’t even flinch as I suppressed rolling them at her. Living with Bridget, I felt like an overworked, underappreciated mother. I held down an eight-to-five job, did most of the cooking and virtually all of the cleaning, while I wasn’t quite sure how Bridget earned enough to pay rent. From what I understand, she works part-time for the New York City subway. Not driving the trains or anything semi-interesting. I think she collects trash at the various stops, which may have accounted for her total disinterest in cleaning once she got home.
“Can you pick some up? I’m going to be swamped at work,” I asked, keeping my tone level and unaffected by the annoyance I kept buried inside.
“You know, while you were gone doing your little talent show—”
“America’s Next Pop Star was a nationally televised singing competition,” I corrected. She glared at me, which I mutely answered with a delightful smile.
“Whatever. While you were off gallivanting around, living it up, and running with that yummy man with the cowboy hat, I had to do everything. Cooking. Grocery shopping. Cleaning.” I raised my eyebrows, challenging her claims of tidiness. Catching my subtle nuisance, she scoffed. “You know what I mean. I even fed your dumb cat.”
“I’m sure that was a challenge.”
Bridget locked her eyes with me, and I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to back down.
“Fine,” I grunted, the first external sign I was perturbed with my lazy roommate. “I’ll grab some on my way home.”
“Don’t forget.”
I know, I know…you’d never let me live it down. Taking an apple and a cheese stick with me to eat on the bus, I pulled my purse off the coat rack and reached for the doorknob.
“Oh, and Eloise?” Bridget asked, shuffling after me in her robe and sheepskin slippers.
“What is it? I’m going to be late if I don’t go soon, and if I miss my bus again, I’m going to have to pay a taxi to take me into work, and you know how expensive that is. Like, so expensive I’m probably not going to be able to afford to buy milk.”
“Geez, chill,” she retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “I was just going to ask if you were still dating the Marlboro man.”
“Who?”
Bridget sighed audibly. “You know. The hunky Southern man you were with all over the tabloids.”
“Warren?”
“Yeah. Warren Jackson. You two still a couple?”
“No,” I murmured, feeling a wave of sadness the size of biblical proportions about to spill over me.
“Can you get me his number?”
I walked out the door, scratching my cat, Ripley, on the head before I left, outright pretending I didn’t hear. Shutting the door firmly behind me, I hoped she’d read into my current mood. Leaning back against the wall, my chest constricted, and I felt very much like I was drowning. I had tried to think of Warren as little as possible, but his dark eyes, delicious smile, and the way he filled out a t-shirt kept slipping into my thoughts and interrupting my dreams. When someone like Bridget brought him up so bluntly, especially when I wasn’t expecting it, it always blindsided me.
The door swung open and Bridget peeked out. “Did you hear me? I was hoping you’d introduce me to Warren.”
Swiveling my head in her direction, I narrowed my eyes. “He lives in Alabama.”
“And? Long distance relationships are much more manageable with technology nowadays. We can always video chat and text in between visits.”
My mouth dropped open in an unflattering way. I knew right then I needed to start searching for a new place to live. With the modest prize I’d gotten from coming in third on America’s Next
Pop Star, I might be able to make a down payment on a small place that I could call my very own. I’d spend my entire savings on a rat-infested closet if it meant I didn’t have to live with a slovenly roommate who openly lusted after my ex-boyfriend. I might never have a shot with him again, but I sure wasn’t going to let Warren fall into the grasp of someone like Bridget.
“I don’t have his number,” I lied.
“Can you ask your connections at Harper Music? I’m sure they have it on file.”
Bridget wasn’t going to stop until she had some glimmer of hope. “Sure,” I fibbed again. “I’ll do that while I’m picking up the milk.”
I hurried down the stairs before Bridget could ask any more favors of me. For all I knew, the next thing she was going to ask was that I produce a magical unicorn for her that coughed up gold coins. Even if it wasn’t that, one more thing might be the straw that broke the camel’s back, landing me in jail for kicking in her teeth.
I had to sprint after the bus, but I managed to get on before it drove off into the blindingly bright sunrise coming up over the Hudson River. No taxi cab fare needed that day. My friend and the winner of America’s Next Pop Star, Vanessa de la Paz had reminded me time and time again how much she hated my comfy loafers, but for a job as a secretary commuting in to a big city, they were a necessity. She might have been born in heels, but I couldn’t sprint in six-inch stilettos without getting stuck in a crack and breaking my ankle.
I said a silent prayer of thanks that there were multiple empty rows to choose from and decided on one near the middle, so I could exit without having to trip around other people’s briefcases and shopping bags. Leaning my forehead against the cool window, I silently watched the world rush by, thinking how different my life could have been.
Vanessa de la Paz had been crowned the winner of America’s Next Pop Star, in part because I’d sacrificed my final performance so she would be able to move on to the finals to take on Candy Watson, a woman who would sink to the lowest, swampy, mud-slinging levels to try and win. I had the singing voice that could have taken on Candy, but I didn’t have the heart. I knew I was mousy and shy, but after Warren had been voted off the show shortly after we’d called it quits and left without so much as a goodbye, my whole soul had felt fractured. What if I’d gone on to win and bravely hunted down Warren to tell him how I really felt about him? I’d be sitting on top of the world instead of in a bus seat with cracked plastic piping that pinched my legs when I shifted.
Before I let the tears looming in my eyes fall, I erased every thought from my mind by drawing in deep breaths that filled my lungs to near bursting. There was no Bridget, no America’s Next Pop Star, no Warren. By the time I was riding the elevator up to my post as Deluxe Music Record’s front secretary, I was as calm as a spring sunrise.
“Good morning, Mr. Dyson,” I said cheerfully as Deluxe Music Record’s talent manager, Bruce Dyson, walked into the office.
Looking up at me like he hadn’t noticed I was there, he mumbled back, “Oh, hello Eloise. Have a nice weekend?”
“It was fantastic!” I cringed at my own chipperness, which had to make it painfully clear that I was lying through my teeth.
“Good, good.”
“You?”
“It was nice,” Bruce agreed, then left for his corner office without another word.
I sat down at my desk, getting right to work. It was during the lulls that the creeping feeling of failure started making headway, so I organized my desk drawer, then polished my name plate—twice—to make sure my hands were always busy. I ignored the depressing fact that I worked as a secretary for a music company that made others’ dreams come true but had never done any such thing for me—the paychecks were barely enough to keep me afloat, and as a receptionist, it did little to satiate my creative side.
Sometime after lunch, while I was doodling hearts and flowering vines on my desktop calendar, I heard someone forcefully clear their throat, an indication that I’d been so oblivious while daydreaming that I hadn’t noticed they’d stepped off the elevator. I looked up to see none other than Candy Watson drumming her nails on the raised counter surrounding me.
The sight about blew me backward. Her hair was shorter—she seemed to have ditched her extensions—and if it was possible, her lips were even more plump, looking like fat caterpillars smushed together on her face, but otherwise, it was definitely Candy. What on earth was she doing here?
Candy didn’t look at me, instead focusing elsewhere in the office, like gazing on a lowly secretary was beneath her. I wasn’t sure she’d recognize me even if she did glance my way. Though I’d been one of her toughest competitors on the show, I knew she never saw me as a threat. If it came down to it, she could have shut me down with one of her manipulative mind games that she was so skilled at. Candy was a ruthless competitor, even if she played ditzy and dumb.
“I’m here to see Bruce Dyson,” she said, following it up with an enormous yawn.
I stared a moment longer, then shook myself out of my stupor. Checking his calendar, Candy Watson indeed was in his two o’clock slot.
“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking slightly from fear. “I see he’s expecting you.”
My weak pulse fluttered in my chest, not sure if I should stay still in hopes that she didn’t see me and point her to his door, or if I should show her the way.
“Are you going to show me the way or do I have to wander around until I stumble on his office?” Candy asked, her tone dripping with sass.
For the first time, her muddled brown eyes focused on me and immediately, her unnaturally oversized lips twitched into a sneer. Her eyes narrowed like a cat who’d spotted a mouse, and if she’d had a tail poking out of that microscopic dress she was sporting, it certainly would be twitching.
“Well, well, if it isn’t drab little Eloise. Tell me, did you get this job because you came in third on America’s Next Pop Star and you could put that on your resume, or did you have to come back to it when you failed?”
Heat clambered its way up my neck until my whole face felt scorched with embarrassment. Knowing how blotchy and unattractive my skin was when I was uncomfortable only made it worse.
Trying to remember all the pointers Vanessa had given me, on how to appear confident when all I wanted to was put my head between my knees and barf, my mind went completely blank. “I’ve been working for Deluxe Music Records for a few years now.”
Candy sucked in a breath through her unnaturally white teeth that seemed to radiate their own light. “That sucks. You work for a talent manager and they never thought to sign you? Ouch.”
My jaw clenched shut, and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her because her observation was painfully correct. Though I’d kept my dreams of becoming a singing sensation to myself before the competition, even when I returned, Bruce had complimented me on how well I’d done but hadn’t once mentioned any interest in signing me as a singer for his record label.
Huffing on her nails and shining them on her shirt—an annoying habit that manifested itself when she was feeling superior—she continued, “Bruce actually contacted me to come in. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling really good about this meeting.”
Under her scrutinizing gaze, I retreated into the protection of my shell, where I could be the silent observer, the wallflower that didn’t rock the boat, the way I’d lived my whole life.
“So,” Candy said, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. “Are you or aren’t you going to show me to Bruce’s office?”
Mutely, I nodded and rose from my chair. The whole thing felt like an out-of-body experience, as I numbly showed Candy back to Bruce. More than one male’s head turned toward her, which wasn’t surprising. She was the sort of woman who was obviously trying to enhance every bit of her physical appearance, from her engorged lips to her impressive bosom, which didn’t require a bra to keep it perky. All the physical enhancements were a thinly-veiled attempt to hide her black soul. Glancing over my s
houlder, she was buttering up everyone who looked in her direction with flirtatious winks and smiles. If only they knew how rotten to the core she was, they might’ve gone running and screaming like I wanted to do.
Knocking on Bruce’s door, I cleared my throat. He barely acknowledged me with a hmm. “Mr. Dyson? Candy Watson is here to see you.”
Bruce jumped out of his chair like he’d sat on a tack. “Ms. Watson! Thank you for stopping by.”
Candy tilted herself forward to give the most advantageous view of her chest. Kissing Bruce on both cheeks, she tittered girlishly. “Dyson and Watson. We rhyme!”
My eyelids fluttered, but I contained another eyeroll. On the surface, Candy appeared absolutely braindead but each and every move she made was calculated to maximize her chance for success. Bruce scooted behind his desk, and Candy sat opposite, draping one long leg over the other, neither of them acknowledging I had participated in their introduction.
Walking back to my desk, one of the accountants with wireframe glasses and a closely cropped hair stood up from his desk. “Psst.” He motioned me over.
Unsure of whether or not he was addressing me seeing as he’d barely spoken five words to me the entire time I’d worked in the office, I pointed to my chest. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” he said. “Eliza, come here.”
“Eloise,” I muttered, though I don’t think he heard.
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