Charlie set down his mug of scalding coffee. “Motel?” he asked. “What motel?”
“Huh?” She typed something into the computer and frowned again. “Uh, Motel Joie. Over on Carrollton.”
The image didn’t compute. “Why in the hell would you be staying there?” Somewhere, someone’s head was rolling.
Charlie felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the decapitated Belle Meade assistant, but even he couldn’t fault Stone for axing her. Motel Joie wasn’t dangerous, per se. The walls were structurally sound, the roof secure, and the location…well, it wasn’t the worst in the city. But if any of Charlie’s sisters or, God forbid, Abby tried to stay there, he’d have them whisked out before you could say infestation of bedbugs.
“Why don’t you have your dad move you to The Ritz-Carlton?” he asked, shocked she’d spent an entire night in the place, much less consider more. Arabella ignored him, her fingers clicking away on the keys, and something she’d said earlier finally registered. “And what do you mean you can’t afford it?”
With a look of exasperation at his questioning, Arabella tore her gaze away from the screen. “Exactly that,” she said. “I can’t afford it. I get it that you, like the rest of the world, assume I float through life on my father’s coattails, but that just isn’t the case, okay? This summer, I’m completely on my own.”
Instead of being panicked by that declaration, as Charlie would’ve predicted, a proud smile transformed Arabella’s face. The room instantly brightened. “It was a deal we struck. I agreed to work for Belle Meade in the fall, in the position that I deserve”—she pinned Charlie with a look, daring him to argue—“and he agreed to give me these two and half months to do whatever I want, including bankrolling the entire endeavor.”
Not a lot shocked Charlie these days. He’d seen some pretty crazy things in his twenty-eight years. But this woman seemed to confound him effortlessly.
“How…” He cleared his throat and decided to try again, lest he find himself on the receiving end of another look. “Listen, I’m impressed as hell that you came out here on your own and have this independent streak going, but you’re how old again?”
Arabella’s back straightened, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Twenty-two.”
“Right, twenty-two.” Young, but not as young as he’d feared. “Well, when I was twenty-two, I’d been in a band for three years playing for peanuts and working at a garage to help make ends meet. So, pardon me if I’m just a bit curious, but where is all this money of yours coming from?”
It was invasive as hell, and absolutely none of his business. Charlie didn’t give a rat’s ass. This girl, correction, this woman, was his charge for the summer, whether she knew it or not, and he couldn’t have her living in some flea-motel off the side of the interstate.
Also, he was being straight-up nosy. He wanted to know.
Arabella huffed a breath, clearly realizing he wasn’t giving up until she answered his question, and closed the lid of her laptop.
“I worked two jobs through college,” she told him, folding her hands and setting them on the table. “My scholarships covered tuition, and Dad insisted on paying for food and utilities, so I saw an opportunity to make myself a nest egg. When I went out and got this internship on my own”—Charlie withheld a wince at the lie—“I decided to take this chance to support myself and be completely self-sufficient for once. Experience living in a city where everyone doesn’t just assume they know everything about me.”
He chuckled at the implied dig and lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. I get it, all right? That explains the alias on your application, and just so you know, your secret’s safe with me. I know a thing or two about people judging you unfairly, believe me.”
A look of understanding passed between them, and a bit of the starch left her shoulders.
Charlie circled the conversation back to her nest egg. “I have to say I’m impressed you were able to work that much and keep your grades up. If it were me, I’d have flunked out, fell asleep on the job, or both.”
Arabella laughed. “Yeah, well, it’s easy to do when you don’t have a love life.”
It was the wrong thing to say and, by the way her eyes widened the moment it left her lips, they both knew it.
The sights and sounds of the stark break room faded away, replaced by the sultry, intimate haze of Country Roads, and the intoxicating lavender scent of her skin. The connection they’d formed that night lingered still, snapping between them, urging them closer.
It had amazed Charlie, listening to her talk about her inexperience at the club. Sure, it’d been obvious, in her adorable rambling and in the high color of her cheeks, but he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of stupid men she’d surrounded herself with that they hadn’t noticed her beauty. Charlie had the same thought now. To him, there was no mistaking it. It was as clear as the knowledge that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“I’m sorry,” Arabella murmured, voice quiet, shoulders slumped, but meeting his gaze straight on. “I should’ve told you who I was. You would’ve figured it out anyway the next time we saw each other. Hiding the truth was silly and immature, but I couldn’t help myself.” Looking away, she sighed and added, “You never would’ve said those things to me had you known I was David Stone’s daughter.”
“You’re right about that.” He waited until she looked back to add, “But only because your father would’ve castrated me.”
She smiled, slow and wide and with a breathy laugh falling from her lips. “Let’s just be glad he didn’t see me kiss you. We both would’ve paid the price.”
That energy snapped again, electrifying the air. Charlie had never experienced anything like it, but he’d also never wanted something he couldn’t have. That had to be the reason for the pull he had toward her. The siren’s song of forbidden.
Off-limits. Off-limits. Off-limits.
Charlie was the first to break eye contact, blinking and staring pointedly at the floor. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a forced smile. “All’s forgiven. Forgiven…and forgotten.”
He glanced up long enough to know she’d caught his meaning, then he turned back to his coffee, pretending he hadn’t noticed the disappointment flash across her pretty face. A few seconds later, the click-clack of computer keys filled the silence again.
“I wish I knew the traffic patterns better,” she murmured, and he could imagine her squinting at the screen. “I don’t mind driving if the price is right, but I also don’t want to be stuck in two-hour gridlock every day if I can help it.”
She was venting, not complaining, and she certainly wasn’t asking for a savior. He got the feeling she hated appearing weak, and she’d dismiss the idea forming in his mind on principal if she suspected it was a handout. But it wasn’t charity. It was stupid, but not charity.
“I’ve got an idea.”
The striking keys paused. “At this point, no suggestion is too small.”
He closed his eyes, not believing what he was about to say, but feeling led to do it anyway. Life & Lyrics needed a strong board of directors, and Stone had agreed to be a member on one condition—Charlie looked out for Arabella. His boss would string him up by the gonads if he let her rent some shithole in a bad neighborhood. Hell, Charlie would hand over the rope. There’s no way he’d be able to sleep at night, worrying about her safety.
Yeah, that’s why you’re doing it.
“The house I bought in Magnolia Springs is a duplex,” he told her, which was true. “The other side is sitting there empty, and I’ve been considering renting it out,” he added, which was false.
Arabella’s eyebrows lifted with interest, and he rubbed the back of his neck where the tension was mounting. “I haven’t listed it yet, because I wasn’t sure the best way to do it. Fans are awesome, don’t get me wrong, but there are definitely a few crackpots in the mix. Posting a random ‘roommate-wanted’ ad seems to have trouble written all over it.”
; Like this plan didn’t.
Whether she heard his unspoken thoughts, or had a few herself, Arabella seemed hesitant about his plan, and Charlie couldn’t decide if he was grateful or annoyed. But then it didn’t matter, because her shoulders rolled back and she said, “When can I see it?”
A dangerous restlessness sparked in his blood. “After work,” he said, fighting the rise of excitement. “You can follow me home, Little Bit.”
Yeah, he’d added the nickname on purpose, and he didn’t miss the way she bristled. Evidently she wasn’t a fan, and that was good, because it could serve as a reminder for both of them. There were some lines they couldn’t cross. Regardless of how much they may want to.
Chapter Six
Ella rolled her eyes as she shut the folder Charlie had left her with that morning, every item checked and double-checked, and a few extras she’d added in for funsies. The duties he’d given her were so basic she could’ve done them in her sleep and still had time to mop the floor, but it was fine. She’d prove herself in time—to him, to Mike (who’d probably chalked up their strange reunion to her being one of Charlie’s former conquests), and to anyone else who needed convincing. She’d show the entire world that Arabella Stone was a force to be reckoned with and complete her bulleted list of crazy adventures while she was at it.
Speaking of which, she pulled up the list on her cell phone. Arabella might not be as anonymous as she once hoped she’d be here in New Orleans, but she did have one unanticipated advantage. She had a potential tutor. Who better to guide her through the terrifying world of living life “balls to the wall” than a bad boy musician and the king of scandals himself?
The only trick was getting him to go for it.
With thirty minutes left until she had to meet Charlie in the lobby, and mundane tasks completed, Ella pulled up her father’s number. She hadn’t checked in with him since the text she’d fired off yesterday, and the last thing she needed was him calling her at Charlie’s house. He’d completely flip, and her poor tummy had done enough of that all afternoon.
“Arabella?” Her dad answered on the second ring, which went to show how worried he was. Normally, with his schedule, they played phone tag a dozen times before settling on a text.
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
A door closed on the other end of the line and the murmurs in the background quieted. “It’s fine, princess, I know how excited you are. I’m just glad to hear your voice. I trust your first day is going well?”
“It’s been great.” She reached for a paper clip on the desk, and the cool metal twisted under her fingertips. “Everyone seems nice, and they’ve all been extremely welcoming.”
“Well, of course they are. They’re lucky to have you.”
The butterflies that had been performing acrobatics in her stomach all day transformed into one of those complicated knots she’d failed to learn in Girl Scouts. “In fact, you’ll never guess who else works here,” she said, praying that her thoughts were wrong. “Actually, he doesn’t just work here, he’s sort of my new boss.” Arabella closed her eyes, her fist closing around the metal paper clip as she said, “Charlie Tucker.”
The hesitation was slight, but it was there. “Oh? Well, isn’t it a small world.”
Her dad’s response came with the expected color of surprise, but it wasn’t enough.
“Many of our artists have side projects they devote time to when they’re not touring or recording,” he continued, adding a laugh before saying, “I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t eat into my profits.” There’s the shark of Nashville everyone loves. “With Strange Wheel being located near where the boys live now, it makes sense for Tucker to get involved over there.”
So he’d known how close Magnolia Springs was. “Oh, Daddy, please tell me you didn’t.”
Almost from the beginning, he’d surprised her with his open mind about New Orleans. She’d expected a fight, some back and forth before she won him over to her side, but he’d been strangely agreeable. The last two weeks he’d been positively chipper.
She’d convinced herself that being selected out of the hundred or so applicants validated her qualifications for the job. She was qualified. The music business was a part of her DNA, and Ella felt confident standing up against an army of her peers. But with Charlie now conveniently working at Strange Wheel, too, it made for some serious misgivings.
The fear inside churned, and she hesitated to give it voice. But not knowing was worse.
“Tell the truth. Did I earn this job on my own, or did you go out and buy it for me?”
“Absolutely not.” Arabella searched her dad’s voice for a sign of wavering and found none. “You deserve this opportunity, Arabella, and I couldn’t be prouder. If your mother were alive, she’d tell you the same thing.”
Ella’s eyes swam with sudden tears, and she imagined him, too, wiping away the sheen of grief. He’d never gotten over her mother. With a cough to clear his voice, he said, “I’m not gonna say I’m not glad Tucker’s there. The man’s a PR nightmare, but when it comes to music, honey, he’s smart as a whip. You’ll learn a lot from him this summer.”
She glanced at the door, wishing Charlie were there to hear his words. “I need to start recording our conversations,” she told him, releasing a relieved breath as she sank back in her chair. “I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t exactly heap praise on your artists to their faces.”
The gruff sound on the other end confirmed her hunch, but he ignored her. “Plus, I feel better knowing someone’s watching out for you.”
And there it was.
“Dad, I don’t need a watchdog. I’m twenty-two years old. I can vote, drink alcohol, and run for a variety of state offices if I want to.” She made a face at the thought of it, then sighed the sigh of one fighting an uphill battle. “I’m a woman, Dad. When are you going to see that?”
He laughed softly. “Princess, you may be a young woman, but you’ll never stop being my baby. Even when you’re seventy.”
Those blasted tears clouded her vision again, this time happy ones, and for a moment she wished she was back home so she could throw her arms around his neck and breathe in his familiar cologne. But that would take her leaving New Orleans and her taste of freedom, so instead she put her heart in her words as she whispered, “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, kid.”
A comfortable silence touched with sweetness fell between them. The workday wasn’t over, and Arabella knew her father was busy—she could imagine how frantic his poor assistant Catherine must be, fielding his calls. But he lingered on the phone with her anyway.
After a moment, her father cleared his voice again. “Before I go, I’d like to offer one piece of advice, if you’d humor me.” Arabella sat up straight, sensing something different in his tone. Something that made her insides squish. “Lean on Tucker if you need to, let him teach you what he knows about the industry. But don’t mistake talent and kindness for something more. Charlie has a reputation with women, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Ella’s jaw unhinged as embarrassment washed over her. Could he know about her old crush? No. She’d never told anyone, other than Lana, and there was no way her best friend had spilled the beans. As big and bad as the future prosecutor pretended to be, David Stone scared the snot out of her. Which meant this was simply fatherly advice. But man, did it hit eerily close to home.
“Don’t go inviting trouble,” he went on. “He’s not the staying kind. You’ve seen the type of women he associates with.”
Their conversation had taken a turn toward the mortifying, but Arabella couldn’t censor her laugh. Yeah, she knew exactly the kind of women Charlie liked. For one magical night, that list had included her, but the usual suspects were beautiful, voluptuous, and experienced.
Those words didn’t describe Ella on her most daring of days, and with the constant parade of women he was sure to have strutting in and out of his side of the dup
lex, she’d remember that just fine. Another reason to move in.
Charlie had made himself perfectly clear in the break room. They could be friends, coworkers, maybe even partners in crime, but now that he knew who she was, everything else was off the table. The mystery and attraction was gone, the labels were back in place, and she was once again Little Bit. Her heart couldn’t be safer.
“Trust me, Dad, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she replied. “When it comes to me, you and Charlie have more in common than you think.”
…
“Now, try not to be too jealous when you catch a glimpse of my side.”
The lock turned over, and Charlie threw open his front door, a smile already on his lips. As all good future landlords do, he’d begun today’s tour by showing Arabella the other half of the duplex first. The empty, clean, uncluttered side. Now, for fun, he decided to introduce her to the other half. A study in contrast.
Nose scrunched, she took in the stacked pizza boxes, empty soda cans and beer bottles, and discarded clothes lying on every conceivable surface of the living room. She completed a full circle, dislodged a T-shirt that had gotten stuck on her heel with a swift kick, then declared, “You’re a slob.”
Charlie shrugged. “What’s the point in cleaning? There’s no need making your bed if you’re just getting in it again. Cooking for one sucks. And when it comes to laundry, if I get desperate enough, I can always swing by Walmart and buy a fresh pack of shirts.”
Arabella closed her eyes as if his speech had physically hurt her, then she spun toward the nearest wall and banged her head against the surface. “Boys are disgusting.”
“Yup.” His laugh came freely, pure and honest, and the next words were out of his mouth before he could catch them. “And you’re adorable.”
It was dangerous to say, but it was the truth. Everything about Arabella Stone was cute. Her retro dress, the way she carried herself, even the way she insulted him—all charming. She was unlike any other woman he’d ever met. She was also completely out of his league.
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