by Pratt, Lulu
Table of Contents
Copyright
Author's Note
Heart Beat
Dedication
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Thank you!
Crushed (Preview)
Lulu Pratt's Books
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Lulu Pratt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author’s Note
Heart Beat is a full-length 60,000+ word novel. Please note it ends at 90%.
Thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy Heart Beat.
I’ve also included a preview of my book, Crushed, for your enjoyment.
Happy reading,
Lulu xoxo
Heart Beat
Wyatt and his sister are a chart-topping duo who have toured the world.
They need a session pianist for their new album.
My own band has just split and this could be the lucky break I've needed my entire life.
I audition, get the job and spend hours with him creating music.
This is a purely business partnership. No feelings.
But I’m falling in love with the man behind the words.
He’s handsome, talented and so hot – everything I need.
Our relationship is out of bounds and sleeping my way to the top is not how I want to get there.
It’s too hard working so closely together and we can’t fight our feelings anymore.
Now we have a secret, and if his sister finds out not only will I lose him, but she’ll make sure I never work in this industry again.
*** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***
Dedication
For C.A.B.
All these years later, I’m still glad I sat behind you in History.
Chapter 1
SADIE
MY CHUCK TAYLORS squeaked as I walked down the deserted hallway. The fluorescent lights flickered a little, and I heard a door close in the distance. I was four minutes early, but I knew from the cars in the parking lot that I was going to be the last one there. This was one of those rare instances in life where everyone involved was usually early or on time.
It never ceased to amaze me when memories from my adolescence flooded back as I walked towards practice. A memory that I hadn’t recalled in years came back to me of a high school assembly where I had stood at the back, as I had been too shy to walk down the aisle to where my friends had been sitting.
One of the members of our band was a chemistry teacher at the school and had convinced the principal to allow us to rehearse in the gym for free on Monday evenings. From the looks of the overcrowded trophy case that I had studied one evening while waiting for someone to unlock the gym, it was clear the school was an athletic powerhouse. Standing in front of the gleaming trophies, I squinted to read the small plaques, some older than me. I couldn’t help but think of how when I was in high school, moving to the big city was my dream.
I was now living that dream, though not everyone considered Nashville to be the big city. Even from thirty minutes away in my little hometown of Franklin, Tennessee, it felt like a world away. My suburban upbringing was sheltered and guarded, thanks to my overbearing parents who lived for their only child, born later in life and planned for years. They were heartbroken when I decided against their plan for me, which was to follow in their footsteps to live far away from what they considered the dangers of city living.
My father never missed an opportunity to remind me that his general practice was always looking for a part-time receptionist, as if I wanted to spend my days sorting paperwork. At least my mom didn’t try to convince me to work for her. As a psychiatrist, she warned me some of her patients were dealing with serious issues. She didn’t even like me hanging around the office.
Although neither of them believed it, I had no intention of ever changing course to something as ordinary as their lives. A new-build home in suburbia was as close to hell on earth as I could imagine. A clean-cut husband who worked in an office sixty hours a week, only to spend the weekends at home with me and the kids, sounded sterile and sad.
I’d never been in love, but I knew I’d never marry for convenience or stability, as my mother recommended. I wanted passion in all things – life, career, and especially love. Some might call it optimistic, or even immature, but I’d spent my entire adult life chasing just that.
In life and love, I was struggling, but at least I had discovered the passion of a career doing what I loved. In my regular life, people thought I was shy and soft spoken. On the stage with an instrument, I was confident, bordering on arrogant. It was when I felt most sure of myself. Music was what I knew, and had known since I was a little girl.
It was a part of me as much as my blonde hair and blue eyes. Without effort, it poured from me, showcasing every emotion known. Whether I was playing the piano, writing melodies, or belting the words I wrote with such care, my passion was evident when I performed.
Walking into the gym, I clenched my stomach at the smell. Memories of pep rallies and the sounds of sneakers scuffing the court felt too fresh. It had been years since I graduated high school, but the faint smells of rubber, floor polish, and sweat transported me back like no time had elapsed.
The other members were scattered on the other side of the large gym – some sitting in metal folding chairs, others tuning their instruments. It was this time I enjoyed most – surrounded by others who had the same dream as me.
My parents were so concerned with my education, but for me this was college, and I enjoyed every second. I learned something new every day, most importantly how to survive without enough money, the constant plight of the starving artist.
“What’s that you’re humming?” Dan asked as I approached the group. He played guitar, but mostly his job in the group was organizing practice and providing the venue for rehearsals. At times, I wondered if he used to be cool in his day. Before his waistline began to grow and he accepted a position as a chemistry teacher, I imagined he had dreams of making it big in the music industry.
I hadn’t even noticed I was humming, something my mother frowned upon. She said it was a habit I picked up to calm my nerves as a child, a deflection of my feelings, as she diagnosed it.
“That’s from Wyatt Hart’s debut album. Rookie’s been studying the local legends,” Gayle answered for me.
Gayle was my mentor, unofficially. While she deflected telling me her age, I guessed she was about fifteen years my senior. I always suspected she was hiding something with the hair dye, torn jeans and sleeveless T-shirts, but that wasn’t what aged her for me. My only indication of her age was her history of Nashville, particularly the music scene. Gayle knew everyone – promoters, musicians, club owners, and anyone else involved. She was the reason we booked every gig I’d played over the past two years.
“I loved that album,” Dan nodded at me, and I felt a flash of pride like I’d aced a pop quiz.
I was the youngest in the band, so everyone took on the role of schooling me in the business, particularly what they determined to be ‘real music.’ I’d stopped arguing long ago, accepting that my Gen Z perspective was less than welcomed.
“I wish he’d get back to that level of songwriting. He was the best in the business for a while,” Irene joined in. She was Dan’s wife, the president of the PTA, and our autoharp player, though she had barely mastered the beginner lessons we’d given her.
“He can’t now that his sister is in the picture. She’s got pop star written all over her,” Dan added. It was the first time I noticed he wasn’t unpacking or tuning his guitar, as he typically did before and after every practice. Irene stood at his side, her short hair tucked behind her ears, and she nervously played with the hem of her T-shirt.
“Now that Sadie’s here, can we all gather round?” Irene called out, gathering everyone’s attention.
I looked to Gayle, who only rolled her eyes before turning her attention to the older couple. The chatter between the members slowed to a halt as Dan cleared his throat loudly.
“I want to start by thanking every one of you. This was always a long shot, but I never imagined we would see the local success we have in just two years,” Dan began, gripping Irene’s shoulder.
“We’ve played clubs, birthdays, weddings, and even the county fair – something I never thought I’d accomplish. More than the heights we’ve reached together, I am most proud of the bonds we’ve made. And although this is the end of the road for us as bandmates, I see every single one of you as family.” Dan’s voice cracked as he finished.
Looking around the room, I wondered if this made sense to anyone else. Everyone was silent until Irene continued.
“Dan and I have had a ball living out this adventure as part of Rose Aurum, but it’s time for us to focus on our careers and our family. We know we’ll all continue to support each other, and we look forward to the next adventure.”
I stood there for a moment in a daze. The band was breaking up.
Eric stood up and began packing away his bass. “I guess that’s it for me too.”
One by one, my former bandmates hugged each other, recalling their favorite memories with sentimental smiles. Unable to contain the emotion bubbling in my chest, I turned to leave the gym while I still could.
Just as I reached the heavy door, Gayle’s hand caught my wrist. “It’s okay to be sad,” she said softly.
“Sad?” I turned to face her. “The only thing sad is that they think we’ve reached any level of success.”
To my surprise, her lips twitched with amusement. “We’ve played a handful of bars, most of which we didn’t make a dollar from, apart from a cut from the door – split nine ways. The only concert we ever played was a last-minute replacement, and literally no one there knew who we were.”
I nodded.
“Come out here.” She pulled me to the hallway.
“I just don’t understand how they could give this farewell speech like we just finished a world tour. Dan and Irene are the reason we can’t tour outside Tennessee,” I continued, looking over my shoulder to make sure my words stayed between us. Through the narrow window in the door, I could see my now ex-bandmates continuing their emotional embraces.
“They have a young family, Sadie. You can’t blame them. Irene doesn’t even really play. At the end of the day, we were a nine-person band with five musicians. It needed to end.”
“Did you know this was happening?” I wondered, because I felt blindsided by it all.
“Honestly, I was hoping someone else would end it before I had to. There are much better opportunities than this one, and I’ve been missing out on big money to make our charity gigs,” she responded, glancing at her phone.
“I just wanted to get to the point where we were playing to big crowds before we went our separate ways,” I admitted.
“You just never know in this industry. When I was your age, I wanted to be a lead singer, but then I realized how much comes along with that. In the end, I’ve learned that there’s no way to tell where my talent takes me. I just want to do what I love, so I follow the opportunities. It’s that simple.” She flashed her soft smile.
“I guess so,” I whispered.
But I wasn’t like Gayle. I didn’t have connections or any other gigs besides the one from our band. I was still waitressing to make ends meet, in addition to giving piano lessons twice a week. I needed this. It was my big break, or at least that was what I’d been banking on.
“Speaking of opportunities,” Gayle went on without glancing up from her phone. “I have one for you.” She looked up to make sure I was following before looking back to her phone.
“Another band?” I asked, hearing the hope in my voice.
“Even better,” she smirked. “There’s a group working on an album, but their studio pianist had to back out. Have you ever worked on an album?” she asked, though I was certain she knew the answer.
“No.”
“The producer will give you the details, but it’s good pay and steady. Can you make it to an audition tomorrow at two?” She glanced up again.
“Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess.”
“All right. I’m texting you the details now.” She tapped her smartphone, and I felt mine buzz in my back pocket.
“Should I take anything with me?” I asked after reading the message that was only an address and time.
“Your confidence. This isn’t the minors, rookie. You’re getting called up to the big leagues.”
Chapter 2
WYATT
“WHERE IS THIS place?” I asked, glancing over to my sister sitting in the passenger seat.
“Turn right here.” Billie pointed to a parking lot.
“Here?” I asked, although I was already pulling in. “This looks like a market.”
There were vintage-looking signs pointing towards a meat market that boasted the best cuts in Tennessee. I couldn’t believe anyone in Nashville could even pretend to have a title for the best barbecue in the state.
“Everyone knows Memphis is king when it comes to barbecue,” I groaned while pulling into a parking spot that would’ve been far too tight for my F-150. Luckily, I’d decided to drive my Porsche today, and it fit into the space with ease.
“Just have an open mind. Brad says this place has the best,” Billie said, looking into her phone as though it was a mirror as she fixed her hair. It seemed her camera was always open now that she was a social media star. I could never tell if she was FaceTiming or looking at her own reflection. She was constantly on her phone.
“Of course, that’s why we’re here,” I mumbled to myself as I got out of the car, annoyed. My sister was obsessed with her boyfriend, who was determined to win me over on Nashville.
I guess he was a bit guilty, since he was the reason I was there. Memphis was and always would be home base for me, but it seemed my sister was ready to abandon all of that. Unable to focus on our new album so far away from her boyfriend, I reluctantly agreed to move to Nashville for the few weeks of production, but I was already looking forward to returning home.
“Oh, my God! That’s Wyatt and Billie Hart,” I heard a woman whisper to her friend. With my shades on, I could steal a glance without being not
iced. She was hot, blonde, and looking at me like I was fresh off the grill.
“And he’s driving a Porsche!” Her attractive friend said too loudly.
With a slight smirk, I felt certain the girls would make themselves known later.
“Anyway, don’t start on Brad,” Billie called to me as she struggled to catch up to my quick stride in her sky-high heels. “He’s a really nice guy, Wyatt. I want you two to be friends.”
“Well, tell me what Brad suggests we get from this place?” I wondered, making my way through the light crowd standing around the parking lot. It was half social, half shopping, or at least that was what I got from the scene. People stood in small crowds as music blared from an open speaker. There was a chorus of what sounded like continuous laughter just above the music, a real party vibe.
“He swears by the brisket,” Billie answered after a long pause, and I knew why she didn’t want to reveal her boyfriend’s recommendation.
“Beef? Brad recommends beef barbecue?” I chuckled, looking over to her, but she refused to make eye contact. “Tennessee and pork go hand in hand, and you know that, Billie. You must really like him.”
“That’s it! It’s just back there,” she pointed to a truck at the back of the parking lot, picking up her pace while ignoring my criticism.
“Let me get this straight.” I crossed my arms as Billie stopped at the back of the order line. “Brad, who you claim to be an intelligent man, recommends the best barbecue in the city is beef served from a food truck?”
I could see the dimple in her cheek as she looked straight ahead, fighting back her smile. It was the same dimple that dented my left cheek, one of many physical characteristics we shared. Growing up, it was a gift and a curse having a twin sister. Of course, I had a built-in best friend through every phase of my life. Billie was always there, able to understand me more than anyone else. But with us being the same age, most of my friends had crushes on my sister, and that was always awkward, while I reciprocated with unfulfilled crushes on several of her friends.