by C. Lesbirel
Take Me Completely
Cockpit Series, Book 3
C. Lesbirel
Britney Bell
Contents
Prologue
1. Hope
2. Sullivan
3. Hope
4. Sullivan
5. Hope
6. Sullivan
7. Hope
8. Sullivan
9. Hope
10. Sullivan
11. Hope
12. Sullivan
13. Hope
14. Sullivan
15. Hope
16. Sullivan
17. Hope
18. Sullivan
19. Hope
20. Sullivan
21. Hope
22. Sullivan
23. Sullivan
24. Hope
25. Sullivan
26. Hope
27. Sullivan
28. Hope
29. Sullivan
30. Hope
31. Sullivan
32. Hope
33. Sullivan
34. Hope
Epilogue
Take Me Now
Prologue
What’s next?
Connect with us
Help Spread the word
Acknowledgments
Take Me Completely, Cockpit Series Copyright © 2020 by C. Lesbirel & Britney Bell
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locales is completely coincidental.
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Prologue
Hope
Blah, blah, blah, is all I hear coming out of Simon’s mouth as my hair is being pulled in different directions and sprayed down to submit and conform to place where they instruct it to. The same is happening to my face as it’s being plucked, scraped and painted to make me look like a totally different person than the one who stares back at me in the mirror every morning while I brush my teeth.
Day in and day out they tell me where to go, how to stand, what to say, how to dress and what my hair and makeup should look like, and I go along with it.
Every.
Single.
Time.
I stand by while Simon, my manager and the ringleader directing the circus called my life, barks out his orders, and my team follows them with military precision.
With a glance at my phone in camera mode, I check out how close I am to being finished, so I can grab some fresh air before the show starts. I quickly click out of it when I see the overdone face staring back at me.
Golden glitter covers my eyelids, and thick heavy lashes mask my own. The lip liner the MUA is applying around my lips changes the shape of them completely. If I didn’t know me, I’d barely recognize myself.
“You checking up on me, again?” she asks.
“Just seeing how you’re doing.”
“You don’t trust me after all these years?”
“No, I do. I know you’ll do an amazing job.” To be fair to her, there’s no doubt that she will. And rightly so, for the amount we are paying her because Simon only hires the best of the best.
On a slow exhale of a deep breath in, I fight to remind myself that this is my dream. Or, it had been a decade ago when I was singing my songs to handfuls of people, not thousands.
I hadn’t dared to dream with only sending demo’s out. Instead, I’d put all my efforts into creating new material. If it hadn’t been for Simon spotting me and passing me his business card, I’d probably still be singing my songs in the dive bars where he found me. Within six months of meeting him, I’d moved to Nashville and signed a watertight contract for no less than six albums.
When my first one went Gold two years later, I was the rising star everyone was talking about, and I began opening for famous singers I’d looked up to my whole life.
Fast forward a nonstop two years, and my debut went Platinum. As far as country music goes, I was… still am, the name on everyone’s lips.
My career is something that I never thought would happen to me, and I spent most of it wondering whether I deserved it. With several number one albums under my belt, I can confidently say I’ve earned every single piece of success I’ve achieved.
I put my own blood, sweat and tears into every single song. This is no longer a dream or a career, this is my life. Somewhere along the way, I lost Hope Carson and became Hope, the biggest country singer of our time. Almost… of all time.
The thing with success is, it’s changed from me wanting more, to everyone else wanting more of me. The label wants more recording time, the sponsors want more advertising filming time, my manager wants more touring time, and the fans don’t just want to hear my songs anymore, they want to meet me, get selfies with me, watch my every move on daily Instagram stories, and even then, it’s not enough.
“Okay, you’re good.” My MUA pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance into the mirrored wall facing me to see pure perfection. My hair is slicked into a tight ponytail intended to lift my face to a more youthful shape with extensions weaved in that are so long they skim my ass. The black eyeliner she’s applied changes the shape of my round eyes to feline like, and my red lips are huge and pouty.
“Thanks,” I murmur before grabbing a bottle of water and heading outside to breathe for a minute without my meticulous team harassing me.
“Where are you going?”
“Five minutes?” I turn to see Simon eyeing me suspiciously.
“You get two. Geoff, follow her.” He snaps his fingers while a stocky security guard moves forward.
“Unnecessary,” I bite back at Simon.
“Not optional,” he shouts back, his attention already elsewhere as he doesn’t bother to look up from his phone.
My eyes automatically roll while I leave and follow the fire exit signs in the corridor around to the back of the building.
At the door, I heave it open just a fraction to make sure the coast is clear, then fully open it since no one is around. As soon as I step outside, I’m startled to see a little tween girl standing with a man who I’m guessing is her father. It’s like looking at my reflection in youth form with her hair in a tight ponytail and the same gold glitter on her eyelids. Her eyes widen when they land on me, and her mouth flies open as she inhales to fill her lungs. “Oh my God, it’s you!” she breathes out.
“Hi. Are you here for the show?”
“Yes. Kind of. I don’t have a ticket.”
“Everything okay, miss,” the security guard interrupts us, and I glare at him.
“We’re fine.” I take a step closer to the mini me, hoping she doesn’t squeal and alert any of the paparazzi who are no doubt surrounding the building by now. “Who are you with?”
“This is my daddy,” she confirms.
“What are you doing back here if you don’t have a ticket?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to try and sneak in or anything, I swear. I was just going to listen. You can hear much better from back here than at the front where the crowd is.”
“She’s telling the truth. I don’t have the money for a ticket,
but I didn’t want her to miss out,” her dad explains.
She looks like she might burst into tears either from the excitement of seeing me or from the fear of getting into trouble.
“You were seriously going to sit out here and listen to me sing?”
Her eyes drop to her feet, and her little cheeks blush a dark enough shade of pink that it’s visible even through all of the makeup she’s wearing. When she senses I’m still watching her, she gives a small nod.
“Why?”
“You’re my inspiration. I have wanted to be like you ever since I was little.”
A smile spreads across my lips; she is still pretty little from where I’m standing.
“Well, thank you. Do you sing?”
“Of course.” She nods. Unsurprisingly, because we’re in London and no one comes to a country music concert in Europe, unless they’ve dreamed of being a country singer at some point.
“Do you want to sing for me?”
“Really? That would be amazing. I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“Go for it, I’d love to hear your voice.”
Her dad holds a fist up to his mouth, and she swallows before bursting into the chorus of one of my oldest songs from back when I used to write my own material. That’s something I haven’t been able to do in so long. It almost causes me to tear up at the sound of her sweet voice singing it.
She gives an embarrassed smile when she comes to a finish, and I give her a round of applause. “You’re incredible. Your voice is gorgeous, but… What’s your name?”
“Alisha.”
“Alisha, I want you to promise me something.”
Her eyes grow wider as I bend down in front of her, almost toppling off balance in my killer high heels. “Don’t let anyone change you. Okay? Don’t be a singer like me, be a singer like you.”
She grins, nodding in response and asking, “Can I hug you?”
“Of course, get on in here.” I open up my arms and wrap them around her, relishing in the feeling of genuine affection. It’s been forever since anyone has hugged me with real meaning.
“I love you,” she gushes out.
“And I love you for supporting me. Now, I have to get back inside. I kind of have a concert to do. If it’s okay with your dad, it would be wonderful if both of you could come and watch.”
“Oh wow, that would be amazing. You’ve no idea how much this means to her.”
“It would be my pleasure. Come and get some goodies. I’m sure the VIP team have plenty to go around.” I take hold of her hand, and her dad follows as I glare at the security guy with an I-dare-you-to-try-and-stop-me look. We walk backstage to the VIP meet and greet area where I’d met a handful of wealthy fans earlier tonight.
“Everyone, this is Alisha and her dad. Make sure they get the full VIP experience. Enjoy the show, guys.”
I wink at Alisha, and her ear to ear grin touches my heart, reminding me exactly why I’m still doing this.
For the fans.
And for me, that little girl with nothing but a pocketful of dreams and a passion for storytelling.
Somehow, I have to find my way back to her.
“Places, beautiful people. It’s showtime. Let’s move those asses and get this gorgeous star to her stage mark,” Simon orders, and I cringe as he claps his hands.
“It’s Hope,” I remind him, but he waves a hand dismissively as I take my position on the taped X on the floor and brace myself to be elevated to the thousands of fans cheering my name.
1
Hope
“You were incredible tonight.” Simon clinks his whiskey glass against mine, and we both drink up.
“I know.” I grin.
“You had them eating out of your hand!” he yells over the music. He’s right. The crowd was wild tonight with every seat in the arena filled, and every phone light glowed in the air on my command. My vocals were flawless as I hit each one of the complicated dance moves exactly the way my choreographer had planned. Yet, something was missing, and it’s weighing on my mind.
Although the songs I’m singing were all top ten, some for six weeks consecutively, they aren’t my songs. I miss putting words down on paper and telling a story through my music. It has been so long since I wrote anything. Even when I tried a few years ago, Simon pulled no punches in telling me it wasn’t what the label was looking for.
Screw Simon. What did he know? They can all fuck off. I’m tired of being whatever and whoever they want me to be.
I order and down another whiskey while watching my team party it up in the VIP area of the club we are in, feeling overwhelmed with loneliness.
My parents are the best and visit me as often as they can, but they are homebodies and being on tour is no life for them.
The dancers all know how to have a good time. Still, something’s off, and no matter how much everyone tries to get me into the mood, I’m just not feeling it.
They are all happy throwing shapes on the dancefloor and living life to the fullest, causing an idea to spring to my mind.
Carefully, I slip away from Simon and the group to dance over to where my MUA and her team are sipping cocktails in the corner and try my best to blend in. Which is something I’ve never been the best at.
“Hey girl, you killed it tonight.” The hairdresser stands to hug me.
“Your makeup literally hasn’t budged,” my MUA says with pride.
“Hey, can I borrow your hoodie? I’m freezing in here.” They’d probably never go for it. It’s burning hot in the busy club with bodies everywhere, but to my surprise, she picks up the hoodie beside her.
“Sure, girl, take it!” she shouts over the music, handing me the jacket. I wrap it around my waist and head to the bathroom.
Am I really going to do this?
I feel like I’m living a rerun of Prison Break except there’s no Michael Schofield to rescue me. I need to do this on my own.
The oversized hoodie slides on with ease, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“You got this,” I encourage myself. “You are Hope fucking Carson, you can go wherever the hell you like.”
I pull the hair tie from my perfect ponytail and extract the extensions, setting them aside to run my fingers through my own hair and push as much of it as possible forward to hide my face.
When a crowd of girls I don’t know exit, I walk with them, trying my best to fit in. My chest rises and falls so fast that I think my heart might beat out of it as we pass the security guard and walk down the stairs from the VIP area to the main bar. I feel like Simon’s eyes are burning into my back and anticipate the security guard’s hand on my shoulder any second, but I make it all the way to the door before the doorman stops me.
“Hey.” His arm blocks my path.
Oh shit.
“Please respect the no hoods policy,” he says.
“Sorry, I was just leaving,” I mumble, squeezing past him and out into the street.
I’m so anxious that I don’t stop walking until I pass a few more bars and come to another nightclub. The feeling of freedom waves over me as soon as I glance over my shoulder and see that no one is following.
With no idea what else to do, I approach the bar two doors down and order a whiskey. You can take the girl out of the country, but you’ll never take the country out of the girl. I’d been shooting whiskeys since before it was legal for me to drink alcohol. Not that I normally drink much, though tonight was a night for celebrating.
My show was a sell-out, and with another seven still to go, I deserve to let my hair down once in a while. This tour had been the most grueling of them all, totaling thirty shows including dates in Asia and Europe. When I agreed to it, I had hopes of spending a bit of time in each country and getting to see the world, but the schedule barely allows anytime for days off between rehearsals, shows and travel.
The only thing keeping me going is the fact that as soon as this tour is out of the way, I can get to work on my sixth album. Then my c
ontract will officially be completed,
and I’ll be free again.
With a quick hand raise to my lips and swift tilt of the glass, the shot of whiskey burns my throat with familiarity. I look up at the barman, who is staring at me wide eyed as though he’s waiting for something.
Crap, I am such a loser at times. I didn’t even bring anything with me.
“Do you take Apple Pay?”
He shakes his head, and I fumble in the pockets of the jacket I’m wearing, hoping to God there’s some spare cash in here.
“Damn. Look I…”
“Another two whiskeys, please,” a low husky voice says over my shoulder.
The barman nods, and I spin around to see who it belongs to.
I crash straight into a wall of solid muscular chest. Even in my heels I have to tip my head back to see his face. When I do, I’m met with a pair of blue eyes staring down at me with inquisition and a stubbled square jaw. He runs a hand casually through his mop of blonde waves and leans forward to pass the money for the drinks to the barman, positioning his arms to cage me in.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“So why did you?” I probe, trying to figure out his agenda and whether or not he knows who I am. If he does, he’s doing an incredible job of hiding it.
“Why do you think?”
“Because you want some booty?”