by Terri Osburn
Red brows drew together. “The name sounds familiar.”
“Then you made a bigger impression on her than she did on you. She said she doesn’t like the things people are saying about you.”
Blue eyes went wide. “She did?”
“Yes, ma’am. Then she asked if I thought you’d be interested in joining the cast.”
“What did you say?”
“That I thought you would, but that she needed to contact Silas to find out.”
Her expression filled with wonder. “I’m going to make my first solo television appearance.” Joy switched to panic. “I’m going to make my first solo television appearance. Holy crap, I have to go up there alone.” Terror flitted across her face as the color drained from her cheeks. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“You were born ready,” Ash assured her. “And I’ll be in the wings for moral support. You’ll be so good, the fans will be searching for more Jesse Gold music by the time the show goes off the air.”
“But there isn’t any Jesse Gold music.”
He lifted her hands to kiss her knuckles. “Then we’d better get to work and change that.”
A nervous giggle escaped her lips as she bounced on her toes. “Yes, let’s change that.”
By six that evening, Jesse’s day had made a complete turnaround. Mostly.
To Ash’s great satisfaction, Jesse finally wrote a song about Taylor, and oddly enough, the tune carried echoes of gratitude rather than anger. As she’d already concluded, if Taylor hadn’t left the duo, Jesse wouldn’t be cutting her own musical path. And without the current opportunity, she and Ash might never have reunited.
Considering their encounter on the back porch, that would have been a crying shame. Not that she was ready to pick up where they’d left off. They were different people now, and she needed to deal with her feelings for Ryan before diving into another relationship. When thinking of her now ex-boyfriend, Jesse mostly felt anger, hurt, and humiliation. But she also still loved him. A fact she’d realized during the week.
When Jesse hadn’t returned his calls or texts, Ryan had sent one final message on Wednesday morning that simply said, “I’m sorry, baby.”
She’d stared at the words, wanting to feel nothing. That was unrealistic, of course, but she would have settled for relief. That it was over. That he’d finally given up. Instead, Jesse began questioning her decision to leave. Three little words on her phone screen, and she’d nearly called Ryan to apologize. As if the tables had turned and she was the one in need of forgiveness.
A sure sign that what Jesse needed most was to be alone for a while. She needed to learn to trust herself, and to figure out who she was without a man in her life. It had been years since she’d been single for more than a week or two. A pattern she should have recognized sooner. Why couldn’t she be alone? The answers that came to mind—that she didn’t like herself or didn’t feel complete without a man in her life—revealed a truth Jesse had avoided facing for far too long.
She was so desperate for the love and affection that her parents had failed to provide, she’d spent her adult life attaching herself to anyone willing to fill the void. Sadly, her standards had been low, and that’s how she’d ended up with a string of ex-boyfriends, each as shallow as the one before. And now she was doing it again. Leaping from one man to another without even coming up for air. But then, this man wasn’t like the others.
This was Ash. Responsible, generous, and the opposite of bad boy yet just as sexy. Like many women, Jesse had her typical turn-ons when it came to men. Playing guitar, of course, would always melt her panties, and there was something about watching a guy play pool. That intense gaze and the quick strokes as he sunk another ball in a corner pocket. But with Ash she’d found a new turn-on.
Cooking.
Who knew that watching him masterfully chop an onion could be so sexy? As he dribbled soy sauce over the stir fry, she struggled not to tackle him to the floor and rip his clothes off.
“Is there anything I can do?” she said, needing a distraction.
“You can grab the wine from the pantry.” He lifted the frying pan to shift the veggies with a flick of his wrist. “This is just about done.”
Though she could have swung around the opposite side, Jesse took the route that forced her to squeeze between him and the island. Unable to resist, she copped a feel on her way by, and Ash shot her a grin over his shoulder.
“Subtle, Rheingold.”
“You know you can’t call me that around other people, right?” she said, stepping into the pantry.
“Why not?”
Jesse stuck her head out. “Because I changed it to Gold for a reason. Which wine should I be getting?” She never knew what paired with what.
“The Riesling. What’s wrong with the name Rheingold?”
She grabbed the right bottle and exited the pantry. “It sounds like a character in a World War II history book, and not one of the good guys.”
Ash pulled two plates from a top cabinet. “I get using a stage name, but you shouldn’t be ashamed of your heritage. What do your parents think of the change?”
“Where are the glasses?” she asked, avoiding the question. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her parents.
“Top far-left cabinet,” he replied, splitting the stir fry between two plates. “Now answer the question.”
Rising on her tiptoes, she dragged two wine glasses off the second shelf. “I told them that I changed it to protect them. If I’m a failure, then they’re friends won’t have any idea that their only remaining child is the loser they always knew she’d be.”
Ash set the pan in the sink and grabbed silverware from the drawer. “Your parents have their faults, but they never thought you were a loser.”
“Do you know what Mom said when I told her about the Daisies record deal?”
He stuck a fork on each plate and carried them to table. “What?”
“And I quote, ‘That’s nice, dear, but I hope you’re still considering nursing school.’” Jesse carried the glasses and wine to join him. “I have never considered nursing school. I can barely stand the sight of blood, and I only passed my high school anatomy class because my lab partner was our future valedictorian. Thankfully, Freddy didn’t mind doing all the work.”
“But I’m sure they’re proud of you now,” Ash said, clearly delusional.
“The night after our celebration party for cracking the top twenty, I got home to find brochures to three Atlanta-area nursing schools in my mailbox. And the party was nearly a week after I called home to share the good news that we’d hit the charts.”
Ash took his seat with a serious look on his face. “What do you think they’ll say if we pursue what we started on the back porch?”
Jesse didn’t even know how she felt about what happened on the porch, but her parents’ opinions hadn’t played a part in any of her other relationships, and she saw no reason to change that now. “My personal life is none of their business.”
“My mom wouldn’t like it,” he admitted, shocking Jesse as she dropped into her seat.
“What? Why?”
“She doesn’t trust you.”
What had she ever done to Mrs. Shepherd?
“Since when?”
“Since your family cut me out of your lives after the accident. I’ve told her that you didn’t know what your parents did, but she still holds a grudge.” Ash poured the wine and slid one glass closer to Jesse. “I don’t blame her. I held a grudge for a long time, too.”
Jesse stared at the wine glass. All the years of running from the past—from her selfish and uncaring parents—only to have them once again screw with her life.
“What if your mother told you to leave me alone? Would you?”
Ash pushed vegetables around on his plate. “She already did, and you’re still here.”
The vice around her chest loosened. “The same goes for me. I stopped caring what my parents thought a long time ago.”
&nb
sp; “Okay, then,” he said before popping a green bean into his mouth.
Jesse blinked. “What did you say?”
“Just okay, then,” he repeated, and a slow smile curled his lips. “Dig in before it gets cold.”
Due to practically growing up together, Ash and Jesse had bickered like siblings as children, until her sophomore year of high school when Ash began ending their arguments with those two simple words. She’d been sixteen, him seventeen, and it had taken Jesse months to realize that Ash was pulling a Princess Bride on her. Only instead of as you wish, he would say okay, then. The innocent phrase became code for a number of messages between them, including the times they’d sneaked away to be alone together.
Hearing him say the words again, with that tell-tale grin that offered all sorts of promises, Jesse’s heart stuttered in her chest. The man wasn’t playing fair, and in an effort to buy herself more time, she opted to ignore the subtle message.
They ate in a comfortable silence, and Jesse’s scattered thoughts eventually settled. Ash had that effect on her. He always had. With him, she was safe. She could breathe. But she needed to feel those things on her own, and that meant putting off anything between them that went beyond the making of the album. At least until Jesse figured out how to be by herself.
Because if she couldn’t do that, then a relationship with Ash would be as doomed as all of her others.
Twenty
Clay had been in his office less than twenty minutes when Naomi knocked on his open door. “Good morning,” he said. “How was your weekend?”
“Good,” she replied, crossing the office to set a folder on his desk before settling into a chair. “I managed to get the last of the info you requested. The band name was tougher to track down, but it landed in my email last night.”
Retrieving the manila folder, he flipped it open. “Does the information match what she claims?”
Naomi nodded. “It does. Did you check my credentials this thoroughly?”
“I was already familiar with your work. That’s why I recruited you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. The band Ms. Garcia didn’t name is called The Hard Way, made up of Liam Bradshaw on lead vocals, Bobby Shaw on bass, Matt Keys and Eugene Pepper on guitar, and Olive Cindowski on drums. They did a short stint at Six String Records, the label for which Ms. Garcia worked, before leaving their contract.”
“When did they leave?”
She leaned forward in her chair. “That’s the interesting part. They were released less than a week before Ms. Garcia left the label.”
Clay opened the folder. “She left or was she let go?”
“From everything I’ve been able to gather, the decision was hers. That was a month ago, and they’ve yet to replace her. Word is the label will likely fold soon, and a bankruptcy filing is imminent.”
That explained what she’d meant by looking for a label willing and able to put resources behind their artists. Without a successful act to bring money in, there likely hadn’t been much in the way of development budgets. The story was a common one on Music Row. Small-time executive wannabes set up shop and lure in one or two of the thousands of acts seeking any deal they can find. Promises get made. Contracts get signed. And nothing ever comes of them.
Some artists lose a year or two, believing that eventually their career will be launched. Meanwhile, they’re still working a day job and playing for tips to survive. In this particular case, not only were artists duped, but Ms. Garcia’s talent had presumably been wasted.
“Thanks for putting this together.”
Naomi rose from her chair. “I know you were only gathering information on the new recruit, but the band has a YouTube channel you should look at. Chance and I checked them out last night, and we were impressed.”
“Are you vying for the A&R position?” Clay asked, setting the folder beside his laptop.
“I’ll stick with publicity, thanks. And don’t forget Jesse hits the studio this morning.”
Speaking of Jesse. “I heard she and Taylor Roper put on a different kind of show last Friday. Have you gotten any calls on that?”
“Four emails on Saturday and two more yesterday. I replied that Shooting Stars did not comment on their artists’ personal lives, but that Ms. Gold is working hard on her debut album and as soon as we have new music to share, they’d be the first to know.”
That was why he’d hired Naomi. “Has there been anything reported from the Roper camp?”
“Only that the former duet partners are still friends and supportive of each other’s solo projects.”
Clay raised a brow. “Really?”
The publicist nodded. “Really. I figured they’d take the opportunity to bad-mouth Jesse since eyewitness reports cast her as the aggressor, but to my surprise, Roper took the high road.”
Maybe Jesse’s former partner wasn’t the source of the rumors after all. “Good. Then we’ll let it blow over.” Tapping the folder, he added, “Thanks again for this. I plan to call our new hire today to give her the good news. She’ll have the office beside yours.”
“I’ll get with Belinda and make sure it’s stocked and ready when she arrives.”
Naomi exited the office, and Clay did a quick search in his computer to locate The Hard Way on YouTube. There were plenty of songs to choose from, and he clicked the first option. The lead singer possessed a strong baritone and a growl that would appeal to female fans. The sound was retro but relevant and just different enough to stand out on modern radio.
With a few more key strokes, he found a website that provided the history of the band, the lineup, links to buy a self-financed EP, and a list of tour dates, all in small clubs around the country. The more he listened and read about the group, the more Clay felt Shooting Stars was ready to add a band to the roster.
Ms. Garcia would be happy to hear that she’d already found the label’s next act, and she hadn’t even started yet.
Sleep had been impossible.
This was the day. Her first day in the studio as a solo artist, and unlike a lot of hopefuls in her position, Jesse knew for certain that not only would her record be released, she had a label behind her, ready to provide all the push she needed to be successful. There was no better position to be in when it came to chasing this dream.
“Can you get the mandolin for me?” Jesse asked Dana as she unloaded her guitar and banjo from the SUV. They hadn’t talked about adding the mandolin to anything, but she wanted to be prepared.
“Got it, boss.”
The women entered the 1970s-era building, and Jesse told herself not to spaz out. This just happened to be one of the most historic studios in town. Legends had recorded here. Some of the greatest songs ever had been cut in these hallowed halls.
No big deal, she thought, as her stomach twisted into one gigantic knot.
Thankfully, Dana had done studio work at Triple Tone and knew her way around. She led Jesse to a large lounge not far from the entrance where they found Ash on a black leather sofa scrolling through his phone.
Jesse’s heart did a cartwheel the moment he flashed the smile she’d become a bit addicted to lately.
“Morning, ladies,” he said, rising to his feet. “Are we ready to make an album?”
“Yes, sir,” Dana replied. “But where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Reggie is setting up his kit, and Mason is on his way.”
“Mason?” Jesse asked, certain he didn’t mean the Mason Dexter.
“Mason Dexter, the guitar player,” Ash replied, taking the banjo case from her grasp. “I called him for the session.”
The knot in her stomach tightened. “He’s playing on my album?”
Amber eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem? We have the budget, so we might as well use it to get the best musicians available.”
As if having the musician of the year seven years running playing on her debut record would be a problem. “No. I’m good with that.”
“Holy crap
pola,” Dana whispered behind her as they followed Ash out of the room and down a narrow hall. “Mason-Freaking-Dexter. He’s played on every top album in the last decade.”
This was not helping Jesse’s nerves. She spun, nearly smacking Ash in the back of the knees with her guitar case. “I know,” she whispered back. “But if you keep talking like that, I might throw up, and I do not want to puke in front of a living legend.”
Dana schooled her features. “You’re right. We can be cool about this.”
“Are you two coming?” Ash asked, and Jesse plastered a smile on her face as she spun back around.
“Right behind you,” she trilled, shuffling through the door he’d just stepped through. Inside Jesse found the longest control board she’d ever seen, with engineer extraordinaire Aiden D’Angelo behind the console.
This just kept getting better.
“Which one of you is the lady of the hour?” Aiden asked.
As Jesse shyly raised her hand, she realized this entire day was going to be an out-of-body experience. “That would be me.”
“I’m Aiden D’Angelo,” he said with a wide smile and one dreadlock hanging over his left eye. “Nice to meet you.” His powerful black hand engulfed hers in a warm shake. “Ash says you can play anything with strings.”
“Not anything,” she corrected. “Just guitar, banjo, and mandolin.”
Dark brows arched high. “Is that all?”
Despite understanding the rhetorical nature of the question, Jesse rambled off an answer. “I toyed with piano as a kid but didn’t stick with it.”
Ash hid a smile as Aiden grinned and returned to his seat.
“The drums are ready to go,” Reggie announced as he entered the room. “Phoenix wanted to show her support, so she sent her homemade muffins. I dropped them in the lounge for anybody who wants one.”
“Did someone say muffins?” Mason Dexter entered the room with one of the goodies in hand. “I’m already on it.” Setting down his guitar, he greeted Ash with what Jesse referred to as a bro-shake—hands clasped and a quick pat on the back.