by Sandy James
Ethan shrugged in reply.
“Security is going to have to escort us out,” she said with regret.
“Nonsense. You just need plan B,” Joe said. He turned to Chelsea. “That leggy brunette who was singin’ for you still here?”
She’d never thought about either of the singers backing up her performance as a “leggy brunette” before. “Do you mean Kallie?” The moment the question was out of her mouth, she realized how stupid it was.
“Don’t know her name. The one with the wig.”
Chelsea picked her phone up and texted Kallie, asking her to pop over from next door. A moment later, there was a knock.
Ethan opened the door and Kallie practically skipped inside the dressing room. She stopped short when her eyes found Joe’s face and she gawked at his scars.
If the man had to put up with those kinds of rude stares all the time, it was a wonder he was so kind. Chelsea cleared her throat loudly to get Kallie’s attention.
Thankfully, her gaze shifted to her boss. “What’s up, Chel?”
Before Chelsea could reply, Joe pointed at Kallie’s shoulder-length dark brown hair. “That’s a wig, ain’t it?”
With a giggle, she put her hand up and lifted it off. Her real hair was almost military short and had been dyed a brilliant magenta. She splayed her right hand over the top of her head, making the trimmed tresses stand up.
Chelsea couldn’t help but gape. “How have I never seen that before?”
“Only did it two days ago,” Kallie replied. “I didn’t want to show it on stage ’til you approved, so…what d’ya think?”
“It’s cute,” Chelsea replied. “You’ll have to get a couple more ear piercings and really show it off.” Then she shot Kallie a wink. Since the girl already had an eyebrow ring and three hoops in each ear, she was sure to acquire a few new holes in her head.
“Can we borrow that?” Joe asked, pointing at the wig.
She held the wig out to him. “If Chel says I’m okay to sing like this, then I won’t need it anymore.”
“It’s okay to sing with your pretty pink hair,” Chelsea said with a smile.
After handing the wig to Joe, Kallie cocked her head. “What’s it for?”
“It’s a wig,” Ethan drawled. “What do you think it’s for?”
“It ain’t just a wig. It’s also your lady’s ticket outta here.” He shook his head. “Didn’t your parents teach you nothin’ about how to handle pesky reporters?”
A lopsided grin filled Ethan’s face. “I guess not.”
“Is that all you need?” Kallie asked. Then she grinned. “Got a hot date.”
“Thanks,” Chelsea replied. “I’ll pay you back for the wig.”
“No worries,” Kallie said before she skipped out of the dressing room.
“What else do we need to do?” Ethan asked.
“Get that little weasel who runs this joint in here,” Joe ordered. “We need him.”
Chelsea let out a chuckle at his characterization of Robert. He really could be a little weasel. She was about to text him when Ethan jerked his phone from his pocket and started tapping the screen.
“Got it covered,” he said. A few minutes after texting, he was rewarded with a chime. “He says he’s busy and wants to know what I want.”
“Tell him to stop postin’ them pictures and to bring a couple of the black T-shirts and baseball caps his staff wears,” Joe said. “They need to fit you and Chelsea.”
Seeing his plan, she nodded. “We’re going to try to sneak out of here pretending to be waitstaff.”
“No sneakin’ needed,” Joe said. “With that red hair of yours covered, you two could tap dance outta here, and no one would notice, not if you go one at a time. Then you get in Ethan’s truck and…zoom. You’re outta here.”
Ethan frowned. “How will you get home?”
Smiling at Chelsea, Joe said, “I can take the lady’s car. Will piss off the reporters to see an old scarred codger like me instead of her.”
Chelsea obediently went to her purse, grabbed her keys, and handed them to Joe. “It’s the Black Land Rover. I parked close to the stage door.” She started texting. “I’m telling security to pretend I’m going to leave that way.”
“What makes you so sure this will work?” Ethan asked.
Joe let out a resigned sigh. “Boy, you can be thick sometimes. Reporters ain’t the brightest crayons in the box. If you don’t look like a star, they ain’t gonna notice you. A waiter and a waitress leavin’? They’ll pay you no more attention than you would a fly buzzin’ by. Just a couple of nobodies leavin’ work. Reporters don’t care about nobodies.”
“Mom and Dad did stuff like that?”
With a snort, Joe replied, “All the damn time. Got to be a game for ’em. Those two could get in and outta anywhere without no one noticin’ it.”
There had been a few times Chelsea had gone to great lengths to sneak out after a performance, but only a few. Normally, she enjoyed the rush after a concert but after years of paparazzi attention, she was weary of their constant intrusion. While she was picking Joe’s brain for stories about Ethan, she could also learn some of the tricks he could teach them to help avoid the press.
Robert stuck his head in the dressing room. “I’ve got the shirts and hats. What d’ya need them for?”
Joe snatched them out of his hands.
“Thanks, Robbie,” Ethan said.
“You’re the one who started that online business,” Joe said as he handed one of the shirts and a hat to Chelsea.
“What online business?” Robbie asked.
When the man’s cheeks reddened, Chelsea frowned. He had guilt written all over his features. “You posted that Ethan was here to see me.”
Robert shrugged.
“Damn it, Robbie.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “You know I hate the fucking press.”
“Figured it couldn’t hurt business,” Robert replied, his gaze shifted between Ethan and Chelsea. “You two really are an item, aren’t you?”
With a disgusted grunt, Ethan pushed Robert out the door and slammed it shut. “Give me that shirt, Joe. I’m getting Chelsea outta here.”
* * *
Leaving Chelsea behind had been a lot more difficult than Ethan had anticipated. He’d exited the dressing room first, working his way from backstage to the restaurant floor without a single backward glance. Ethan felt like they had a reasonable chance of sneaking out without leechlike reporters following.
Weaving through the tables, he avoided eye contact so the guests wouldn’t stop him to ask for things like drink refills or ketchup. He tugged on the brim of his baseball cap, walking quickly but avoiding the appearance he was doing anything more than hurrying to do his job.
He had to steel his nerves to stop himself from looking over his shoulder to see if Chelsea was behind him. Until she joined him in the truck, he wouldn’t know if Joe’s little plan had succeeded.
Memories of times his parents had shuffled him through side doors or had asked him to put on a hat or get the hood on his jacket up came rushing forward. His parents had been celebrities. Genuine stars. As he’d grown up, it had seemed as if everyone wanted a piece of them—and their only child.
Now that he and Chelsea had made peace, Ethan wanted to see where this thing between them could go, even if that meant he was going to have to jump back in the deep end of fame. And damn, he wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of shit in his life again.
The kitchen was still bustling, and he marched right through it without anyone so much as sparing him a glance. Once outside the door, he headed to the parking lot, glad he’d parked his truck far away from the entrance. Hopefully, she’d be able to find it when she made her way out of Black Stallion.
Silencing the alarm, he pulled his phone from his pocket and slid into the driver’s seat. Then he texted Brad.
Ok to bring a guest to cookout?
Brad immediately texted back.
Sure. Bring her.
A bit miffed that Brad could so easily figure out he was with Chelsea, Ethan sent another message.
Maybe I want to bring Joe.
Brad’s answer was swift.
Bullshit. You would ask to bring Joe not a guest.
“Touché, my friend,” Ethan muttered. The passenger door suddenly opened, startling him as Chelsea slipped onto the bench seat.
“I can’t believe that worked so well,” she said, her hand reaching for the brown wig she wore.
Grabbing her wrist, he shook his head. “Not yet. Wait ’til we’re away from here.”
“Oh, good idea.” She buckled her seatbelt and turned her head to offer him a lopsided smile. “Or do you just want me to leave the wig on to fulfill some fantasy of yours?”
“I like your hair better.”
“I believe that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.” A couple walked past her window, and she sank down a little. “We should go before someone catches on.”
He pushed the starter button, bringing the engine to life. A few moments later, they were joining the flow of traffic and heading away from the Black Stallion.
“I’m starving,” Chelsea said. “I know a couple of good places if you need any suggestions.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a cookout.”
“A cookout?” She glanced to her watch. “At this hour?”
Ethan nodded. “Brad and Savannah like to unwind after her Friday show by throwing some stuff on the grill, lighting the fire pit, and listening to eighties music.”
“It sounds great, but…I shouldn’t intrude.”
Reaching over, he picked her hand up and cradled it in his, resting their joined hands on her lap. “I let them know we’re coming. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to get to know them better.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I was hoping Savannah and I would see more of each other at the barn.”
“Well then…” He signaled a left turn. “To Brad’s we go.”
Chapter Eleven
Chelsea stayed close to Ethan’s side, still a bit concerned that Brad and Savannah might not appreciate Ethan dragging her with him to their home. She was getting cold, but she wasn’t about to complain. Had they worn their jackets, they would never have pulled off the ruse of being employees.
The house was beautiful, at least what she got to see of it. They’d skirted around the side through a gate in the wrought-iron fence. Once they reached the backyard, the place came to life with tiki torches, music, and smiling people.
Savannah, who’d been playing corn hole with Russ, tossed her beanbag and then came hurrying across the lawn. By the time Chelsea was standing on the deck, still holding Ethan’s hand, Savannah had jogged up the stairs to greet them.
“Chelsea!” Savannah said, smiling at her. “I’m so happy Ethan brought you.”
“Thanks for having me,” Chelsea replied, relaxing after such an enthusiastic greeting.
“It’s chilly tonight,” Savannah said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”
“Great.” Turning her gaze to Ethan, Chelsea said, “Coming?”
“I need to talk to Brad first,” he replied. “I’ll join you in a minute.” After dropping her hand, he headed toward where Brad was playing chef over an enormous stainless-steel grill.
“C’mon.” Linking her arm with Chelsea’s, Savannah led her down the stairs toward a stone pit that held an inviting fire. “It was getting too cold to keep beating Russ’s butt anyway.” She motioned to Russ, who tossed aside the last beanbag he held and picked up the little girl who’d been standing at his side.
Long pigtails bouncing, the girl squealed in delight as he ate up the lawn in long strides before joining them at the fire. After he set her down, he settled in on Chelsea’s left while the little girl sat by Savannah.
Savannah stabbed a marshmallow with a long skewer and handed it to the girl. “Not too long, Caroline. Don’t burn it. After a couple of marshmallows, it’s bedtime for you.”
Caroline pouted her lip but nodded. Then she glanced to Chelsea. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Chelsea replied. “I’m Chelsea.”
“I know,” Caroline said with a smile. “Mommy and I sing some of your songs.”
“I’m flattered.”
Cocking her head, Caroline asked, “What’s flattered?”
Russ was the one to reply. “It means you made her feel happy.” The cold evidently didn’t affect Russ since he seemed quite toasty in his T-shirt and jeans. It was hard not to gawk at his muscled arms. The man clearly wasn’t a stranger to a gym.
“Oh, okay.” She grinned. “I like to make people feel happy.”
“Want one?” Savannah asked, holding the stick out to Chelsea.
“Sure.” She took the offering and held it out so her marshmallow could get toasted by the fire.
“Russ? Want one?” Savannah held out another skewer. “Careful, Caroline. Not too close to the fire.”
Caroline nodded and eased her stick back.
Russ shook his head. “No, thanks. Waiting on the steaks.” He grinned at Chelsea. “So Ethan was brave enough to drag you here, huh?”
The fire was so intense that Chelsea had to keep her gaze on the marshmallow so it wouldn’t burn. “Brave?”
“Yeah. He’s tells everyone we embarrass him.”
Savannah thrust her spear over the fire. “Can’t say I blame him there. We can get a bit…rowdy.”
Chelsea let out a chuckle. “I can’t imagine you’re any worse than my friends.” No sooner was the statement out of her mouth when she realized that talking about “friends” could be a bit sad. She had Kallie andJasmine, her backup singers, but they were so much younger. The girls were barely in their early twenties and didn’t enjoy the same things as a close-to-thirty woman. And there were the guys in the band. Problem there was that they partied a hell of a lot harder than she cared to, so she’d learned quickly to decline any of their invitations. She did know a couple of great girls who liked to go grab a drink or hit a club from time to time.
But friends—true friends?
Not in years.
Not since she’d become “the” Chelsea Harris instead of plain old Chelsea.
“You like ’em that scorched?” Russ asked with a laugh.
A quick look at her marshmallow and Chelsea groaned. The thing was aflame, so she jerked it out of the fire and blew on it until all that remained was a dripping mess of black shell with a gooey white interior rapidly falling off the skewer.
“Uh-oh,” Caroline said. “You burned it.”
Ethan’s voice sounded behind Chelsea. “I prefer my marshmallows not looking like a lump of charcoal.” He settled his hands on her shoulders.
“Yeah, I prefer mine a little brown rather than dark as death,” Chelsea said, glancing up at him with a smile.
Caroline dropped her stick and jumped to her feet. “Uncle Ethan!” She reached both arms up to him. Scooping her up, Ethan smiled, his expression so full of love it made Chelsea’s breath catch in her throat.
Caroline looped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, squirt?” he asked.
“Mommy said one marshmallow.” She pouted her lip. “I dropped mine.”
“Well, then. We’ll just grab you another.” After setting her back on her feet, he helped her get a fresh marshmallow on her stick.
“So did this guy finally agree to sing with you?” Russ asked.
“I’m singing with her, Russ,” Ethan insisted.
Chelsea shook her head at the same time.
“Chelsea…” There was warning in his voice. “I told you—”
“And I told you,” she interrupted. “I have more than enough people.” A bit of a lie, but she’d be able to fill seven songs, which would be enough to generate some sales. She simply couldn’t bring herself to take up Ethan’s offer.
Once Caroline finished her marshm
allow, Savannah took her skewer and set it aside. “Bedtime, sweetheart.”
“Do I hafta?” Caroline asked, rubbing her eyes in clear fatigue.
“Yes, ma’am, you do.” Savannah inclined her head toward the double doors leading from the deck into the house. “Go get your pj’s on, and Brad and I will be up to tuck you in soon.”
“Fine.” The walk to the deck seemed to take forever since Caroline dragged her feet the whole way. She stopped to say a few words to Brad before she went inside.
Brad joined them at the fire and tossed a couple of hoodies to Ethan, who handed one to Chelsea. “What makes you two think I’d let you run around my place with Black Stallion shirts?” They both donned them as Brad took the seat beside Savannah, grabbed a marshmallow from the bag, and popped it in his mouth. Ethan squeezed Chelsea’s shoulders. “Add my song to whatever you’ve got so far.”
“Tell me about this album,” Brad said. “Ethan only gave me the bare bones and whined about you wanting him to sing a duet.”
“I didn’t whine,” Ethan insisted.
“Look, we can talk about something else,” Chelsea said. “I’m not about to make Ethan do something that he was dead set against.”
“Chelsea…”
“Oooh. Careful,” Savannah said with a chuckle in her voice. “Ethan’s starting to growl.”
Like Chelsea would let him intimidate her. “Can we change the subject now?”
“Who’s doing the capture and mixing for you?” Brad asked, clearly not paying attention to her request.
“Red Barn,” she replied. “So what do you guys think of the Titans this year? Not sure we got much help in the backfield after the draft. That last game was—”
With a snort, Brad said, “Red Barn’ll charge you an arm and a leg.”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But they’re willing to work odd hours and with short notice since so many of my duet partners are touring.”
“But the album’s all for charity?” he asked.
“Cancer research,” Ethan replied. “Colon cancer, since that’s what got her dad.”