I'll See You Again: A Scottish rock star, standalone opposites-attract romance (Reigning Hearts Book 4)

by K. G. Fletcher

  “Start at the beginning, when you left with Mr. Macpherson after the show Saturday night,” Amber insisted, pouring her another shot, filling it to the rim. Her perfect brow knitted in a V in the space between her eyes.

  Nicky swallowed in an offhand nod. “Well, we ended up at my place. He spent the night—”

  “Oh, boy!” Amber interrupted, her face lighting up with glee.

  “No... nothing happened. We just… slept together – you know, as in sleep. Nothing else.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Amber sarcastically replied, tilting her blonde head as if flabbergasted by her admission. “You mean to tell me, you had a legitimate rock star in your bed, and you didn’t…”

  “Amber, please!” she shushed, swiping at her eyes with a napkin she’d pulled out of the holder. Amber hushed in dismay, unable to hide her scowl as she crossed her arms. Nicky sighed, ready to press forward. “We spent the entire day together yesterday, boating and exploring Bannerman Island. Then we ended up back at his hotel.”

  Amber’s lips curled up to one side in a cajoling smile, and she seemed to relax. “Go on. What happened at the hotel? Did you spend the night there?”

  Nicky shook her head. “No. We ended up at my place again. We got up early and took a horse to the east meadow to watch the sunrise.”

  “Dammit, Nick!” Amber stomped, like a spoiled child. “Did you close the deal with the hot-Scot or not?” Her nostrils flared with annoyance as she huffed a rogue strand of hair out of her face and squared off her stance with hands on her hips. Her friend sure was commanding in that small body of hers. It was no wonder she ran a tight ship.

  “Good god, Amber. Is that all you care about? Sex? What about my feelings, huh? Did it ever occur to you that we might have hit it off – I mean, totally hit it off? Like, off-the-charts, rocket-ship-to-the-moon, fireworks and all, hit it off?” Pressing her knees together under the bar, she shook her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it. I can’t stop thinking about him – wondering if he’s even thinking about me. But why would he? He’s on a train headed to New York. He’s releasing an album and preparing for a world tour,” she whimpered, gesturing with her thumb toward the door. “I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want him to go. I almost told him I love him. Can you believe it? What is that? Huh? I’ve known the man for what, three days? This is insane! What the fuck, Amber?”

  Amber’s eyes were wide with perplexity as she stared back with mouth agape, her features softening after Nicky’s unexpected proclamation. She fidgeted in her seat and waited for her friend to give her much needed advice. That was the thing about Amber – she always seemed to have all the answers. Filling her lungs with a cleansing breath, Nicky leaned in to concentrate on Amber’s response as her friend reached for her hand and squeezed.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asked, her voice turned down a notch, the patrons oblivious to their emotionally charged conversation.

  Nicky’s skin prickled, the thought peculiar but not far off course. “I think so.”

  “Because if what you just told me is true, I believe you fall into a not uncommon phenomenon, albeit romantic. Just hear me out, okay?” Lifting the bottle of whiskey, she poured two more shots and heaved a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve met a ton of people over the years running this place. God, the stories people have voluntarily told me – you wouldn’t believe some of them.” Rolling her eyes, she took a sip from her glass. “I’m a goddamn ‘shrink’ to some of the regulars who come in here. I’m part chef and part game-show-host with the ability for unleashing the gift of gossip.”

  “True,” Nicky interjected, taking a quick sip from her glass, concentrating on Amber’s words.

  “I mix and blend flavors to come up with the perfect cocktail, and then I lend an empathetic ear to those who come in to drown their sorrows, going on and on about their broken hearts. But I gotta tell ya, some of my very best customers are the happy couples coming through town on vacations or weekend getaways. Do you know what those special couples have in common with you?”

  Nicky inhaled through her nose. “No.”

  “Nine times out of ten, when we got to talking, they all swore it was love at first sight with their partners – that there was chemistry from the very moment they first laid eyes on each other. I believed them, too, every single one of them. You just – know. Does that make any sense?”

  Nicky remained quiet, and shrugged meekly.

  “Nicky, do you know how lucky you are? If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I believe you are among the phenomena of love at first sight. Your story is going to be a great one!” Amber’s eyes twinkled in the dim light, her smile intentional and sobering.

  Nicky sat ramrod straight on the stool, her glass halfway to her mouth, and her mind flooded with possibilities.

  “Girl, you need to find out how long he’s in New York. Call that rich friend of yours and stay with her, or better yet, invite yourself to stay with Mac wherever he’s staying.”

  Nicky blustered. “I can’t just call him and invite myself. You know that’s not how I roll.”

  Amber tipped back the shot glass, draining the liquor before exhaling with a grin. “This is rock and roll, baby. There are no rules. And if he’s feeling the same way you are, which I bet he is, what have you got to lose?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The cavernous streets of Manhattan grew shadows in the early evening, the setting sun eclipsed by the tall skyscrapers crammed in the cityscape. Mac’s cheeky smile faded when he arrived in the city, the last colorful images of a certain horseback ride among the sunrise with beautiful Nicky tucked into the pockets of his heart to think about later – if that was even possible.

  With his elbow leaned on the leather armrest, Mac rubbed his throbbing temple, barely listening as his manager, Ben Hightower, talked about travel logistics for the upcoming tour. But he couldn’t concentrate, his mind drifting far, far away – thoughts transported back to a place where Nicky Sinclair’s sunny dimpled smile lit up his world. What had she done to him? Some kind of spell had definitely been cast, his heartbeat erratic with a rush of intense memories filtering in like an unexpected breeze on a hot day. Just the thought of her heated, jade gaze sent him reeling, his fingers twitching to call her on his cell phone so he could hear her soothing voice on the other end.

  James must have noticed his sinking demeanor and elbowed him in the arm. “Mac, Ben asked ye a question.”

  Sitting up straight, Mac blinked several times in an attempt to shake himself back to reality. “Aye, sorry. I’m a wee bit tired. Say again?”

  Ben sat at the far end of the long, mahogany table in the record label conference room, his hands clasped together and resting on the polished wood. The Englishman’s dark skin around his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Understandable. You’ve been working very hard, and we appreciate it. We can wrap things up and get you on your way. As I said before, the rest of your band is scheduled to arrive in two days for a month of rehearsals in one of the spaces near Times Square in the Theatre District.”

  A few of the other label execs nodded, including the owner of Mainstream Records, Donald Lamont, who took in the exchange as they sat around the large table sipping coffee or water from the large beverage cart brought in earlier. Don was quintessential New York, his expensive suit tailored and pressed in sharp lines, sure to cut you if you got too close. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his steel-colored eyes held pride and sureness. Mac had always thought Mr. Lamont resembled a hit-man from one of his favorite mob movies but didn’t dare tell him so. His bold, New York accent boomed throughout the room with confidence.

  “It’s all in the paperwork, fellas. And I hear ya, loud and clear about being tired. After rehearsal month, we’ve arranged for you to have some time off right before the American Billboard Awards, where you’ll debut the first single before the tour officially hits the ground running.” Tapping his thick, index finger on
top of a stack of papers, the man seemed genuinely excited. “I’m extremely pleased with this schedule, and I think you will be too. Mark my words, the first song is gonna catapult you fellas to a new level.” Don stood, running his hands down his impeccable suit jacket, indicating the meeting was coming to a close. “If ya have any questions, hit me up while you’re here. I’ll be stopping by from time to time in the rehearsal hall to see how you’re faring. You boys need anything else?”

  Mac swallowed, shaking his head, impressed by Don’s imposing stance. “No, sir. Thank ye. For everything.”

  “Pleasure’s mine, son. I have an excellent feeling about this world tour. The songs on the record are number one hits. Now get some rest. Barb here has your accommodations all set up for the next few weeks. She’ll take care of ya.”

  “Thank ye, Mr. Lamont,” James interjected, his voice drawing a glance from Barb, followed by a saucy wink and grin. Of course, James took it all in stride.

  “Now, if you boys will excuse me, I have a dinner I need to get to uptown. See ya soon.”

  As the rest of the group milled about, James patted Mac on the back. “Where were ye, cousin? Left me fendin’ all by myself.”

  Mac scrubbed a hand down his bearded jaw, shaking his head. “I need a good rest is all. The tour is daunting. And did ye take a good look at the travel schedule? I don’t care what Mr. Lamont says. Shoot me now.”

  James’s expression was puzzled. “Ye’ve always been a happy traveler, especially on tour. What’s changed? What’s going on?”

  Unsure how to explain the plethora of emotions he was feeling in the moment regarding a specific American wedding planner, Mac pressed his lips together and shrugged. “It’s nothin’. Let’s settle in for the long haul, shall we?”

  They were interrupted by Ben and Barb, who approached with smiles on their faces. The middle-aged woman was attractive with her navy dress and black, pointy shoes. Her golden hair was pulled back into a tidy chignon, and thick-rimmed glasses covered her hazel eyes. “A car is waiting downstairs to take you to your accommodations. It’s a boutique hotel in the Historic District near Central Park and Madison Avenue, tucked away from the crowded tourist spots. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” Her smile was authentic as she handed James and Mac each a small cardholder with real brass keys in them.

  Mac read the name of the hotel out loud. “The Lowell Hotel.”

  Ben grinned. “Only the best for Mainstream Records number one recording artist. Come on. I’ll walk you to the lobby.”

  “Thank ye, Barb. We appreciate all ye’ve done for us,” James added as they passed the woman on their way out. With her hands dutifully clasped in front of her, she tilted her head in a slight nod, her eyes traveling down James’ backside.

  Descending thirty-seven floors to the building's opulent lobby, Ben waited until Mac and James exited first, palming the elevator door with his hand. “A black town car is waiting for you outside. Your driver’s name is Roger.”

  “Roger that,” Mac kidded, making James chortle.

  “Just so you know, you and James are the only band members staying at The Lowell. Mr. Lamont wanted to show his…appreciation for all you’ve done to prepare for this tour. He’s being quite generous, I might add.” Ben’s chin tilted in a proper English nod, sure to make the queen proud.

  The two Scots looked at each other, unaccustomed to the over-the-top red carpet treatment by the head of their label, especially when it came to touring. Sure, they never wanted for anything while they worked and traveled, globe-trotting in comfort and staying at five-star hotels with amenities. The fact it was Mr. Lamont who insisted on the cousin’s obviously swanky accommodations was a surprise.

  “We don’t need anything fancy or away from our bandmates. Ye know we’re grateful for everything ye’ve provided,” James interceded.

  “Aye. Give me a proper bed and a hot shower every day, and I’m good to go,” Mac added.

  Ben nodded as a look of pride swept across his features. “Well, Mr. Lamont insisted his stars stay in a place they won’t soon forget. And James, I’ll be bringing the Mrs. to The Lowell myself when she arrives with the rest of the band.”

  “Thank ye.” James smiled.

  A pang of jealousy shot straight to Mac’s heart, knowing his cousin would be with his beloved wife the entire month they rehearsed in New York. And where did that leave him – all alone in a city of eight million people. He was on the cusp of the biggest rock and roll tour of his career, and he had no one to share it with. What a crabbit he’d be for sure! His mind raced to come up with his own plan – and if he had it his way, the plan would include Nicky.

  Their driver, Roger, was professional and easy-going, transporting Mac and his cousin across town to the hotel, passing historic townhouses on a quiet, tree-lined street off Madison Avenue. The Lowell was located smack dab in Manhattan’s mecca of luxury, the heart of New York’s most exclusive and fashionable Upper East Side. Stepping out of the car, Mac craned his head to look up at the seventeen-story building that resembled more of an apartment than a hotel. The Art Deco façade of brick and glazed terra cotta on the ground floor gave way to a series of terraced setbacks on the upper floors, the subtle entrance blending into the integral character of the Historic District. On the drive over, Roger informed James and Mac that their luggage had been delivered earlier and dropped off in their rooms. There was no need to officially check-in as they already had their keys, but concierge indicated they would like to give them a proper welcome. With a quick handshake and farewell to the driver, the two cousins nodded at the doorman who was impeccably dressed in a white uniform jacket, black pants, and white hat edged with gold trim. He pulled the brass handle of the large door open, tipping his hat in the process.

  “One could get used to this,” James softly spoke near Mac’s ear.

  “Aye. It’s elegant, indeed.”

  The lobby was small, the interior decorated with understated European elegance. A middle-aged woman in a dark jacket and designer scarf tied around her neck looked up from the black granite check-in desk, her figure tiny against the backdrop of a wall-to-wall bookcase housing colorful hardbacks and nooks for hotel guest’s mail. “Good evening. Reid Macpherson?” She smiled with a hitched brow.

  “Aye,” Mac replied, resting his palms on the cold granite.

  “We’ve been expecting you. My name is Sofia. How do you do?” The woman came from around the side of the impressive structure and held out her tiny hand.

  “Fine, thank ye,” Mac responded with a curt nod.

  “Pleasure to meet ye. I’m James, cousin to Reid Macpherson,” James responded in a slight bow.

  “Nice to meet you, James,” she acknowledged, shaking hands with him. “Your accommodations are ready for your arrival, including food and beverage set up for your extended stay. And your luggage was delivered a few hours ago. We do have an unpacking service. Would you like for me to send someone up?” Her alto voice was professional and her courteous manner a nice touch as she turned to James, eyeing him with a smile. Leave it to his cousin to draw the ladies in like flies on honey.

  “Nae. I can unpack my own things if ye don’t mind.” James’ gaze flitted to Mac’s in a humorous eyebrow raise.

  “Very well, then. I’ll show you to your rooms.” Sofia walked ahead of the two men, her shoes clipping at a fast rate along the shiny marble floors.

  As they were about to enter the elevator, James’ phone rang. Quickly, he pulled it from his pocket and eagerly looked at the screen. “Och! It’s Shannon. I’ve been waiting for her call. Ye go on. I’ll catch up with ye later.”

  “Are ye sure?” Mac asked.

  “Aye!” James turned on his heels, his voice booming with an enthusiastic greeting to his wife, who was thousands of miles away.

  Mac’s stomach lurched when the thought of calling Nicky came to mind. Sofia turned to look at him and offered a smile. “Would you like to wait for him? Or shall we continue?”


  “Nae. He’s a blethering one. No use waitin’ on him.” Mac waved his hand toward James and stepped into the small lift.

  Rising to the upper floors, Mac was curious as he stepped out of the elevator and followed Sofia to the end of the hall. Using her master key, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the soft lighting highlighting the formal foyer. Sofia started to show him around the opulent space fit for a king, and Mac was spellbound.

  She explained the specialty suite was designed with hand-picked furnishings resembling a luxurious Manhattan apartment. Mac felt like he was touring a decadent mansion full of priceless works of art and designer wallpaper. The comfortable living space in subtle palates of soft blues and greens, creams, and whites was situated in a coveted corner location, a massive fireplace the focal point of the room. Gas logs fully ablaze welcomed him to his new home as he followed Sofia like a puppy-dog to the full-service gourmet kitchen stocked and ready for his extended stay. On his way to the bedroom, he passed a glass door that opened out to a private terrace overlooking spectacular city views. A king-sized bed adorned with luxury linens and pillows made him do a double-take, and the marble bathroom held his and her sinks, complete with a deep soaking tub and separate stall shower. But the one thing that impaled his heart and made him gasp out loud was the matching robes hanging in the walk-in closet next to his luggage. Never mind the wall mounted TVs, heated flooring and curated libraries Sofia droned on about. Give him the matching robes with Nicky Sinclair in one of them, and he knew he could be a happy man for a very long time.