Temptation

by Robin Covington

  I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Ron, once we hit the road I am yours one hundred percent, but right now I need some space…time to take of some personal matters. You got me?”

  Ron stared at me for a few seconds, clearly measuring what he was going to say next. His face tensed with determination as he patted my hand and said, “Now, Kit, you’re on the verge—”

  “Of ‘something big’. I know.” I interrupted the speech I’d heard many times before.

  It appeared that taking back control of my life was starting now.

  “Ron, I’m serious. No more stuff added to the schedule.”

  Ron looked at Bridget and gestured towards me in a “you talk to her” motion. Bridget shook her head while I rose from the table and moved towards the band.

  The conversation had solidified my decision. I didn’t know Max and having an affair with him was a risky proposition—especially for someone in my position. But Max was a delicious opportunity I was not passing up.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Max

  “I don’t know how you do this all the time.”

  Flashes were going off all around us as we stood on the sidewalk in front of the Bluebird Café. I could barely hear anything with all the reporters yelling out her name, but I knew she was right there beside me. Normally Kit was a force of nature, but in the spotlight she was a tsunami, a hurricane, and a tornado all at one time and everyone she came across was fighting for the chance to get pulled in.

  It was insane and she was the eye of the storm. Calm. Serene.

  She fucking owned this place.

  Kit leaned into me, grabbing my arm and looking up at me with a smile on her face. “This is one of the fun parts! All you gotta do is smile and look pretty.”

  “Well, you’ve got that down.”

  “You’re kind of pretty yourself, Mr. Butler,” she teased as the flashes doubled in frequency as they recorded every move we made. “So, on a scale of one to ten… how badly are you hating this right now?”

  “I’m ready to have a seizure.” According to the press release, I was here as her guest—a thank–you–for–saving–my–life present. I had no choice but to deal with it but it didn’t make it any less painful.

  “Okay, drama queen; we’re done. Come on; I hear there’s food inside.”

  She gave one last wave toward the crowd and pulled me through the front door and into the calm of the Bluebird. I’d been here once or twice with my grandfather before, to listen to someone play and I’d always liked the small, cozy place. No flash; no sparkles—just a place to enjoy great music with nice people.

  “I thought big industry parties were all held in expensive hotels,” I said as she grabbed my hand and drew me through the crowd towards the bar. Everyone spoke or nodded to her and most of them gave me a curious glance and then a second when they saw us holding hands. I squeezed her fingers before asking. “Is this okay?”

  We made it to the bar and she ordered a club soda and a beer before answering my questions.

  “This is the number one party for a song I wrote and I got to pick the venue. I didn’t want to spend the evening at some stuffy hotel.” She squeezed my hand again. “The press inside was hand–picked by me and my label. This is cool.”

  “Can I kiss you like I want to?”

  “No.” Kit laughed and nudged me with her elbow. “You’ll just have to control yourself for an hour or two.”

  “That’s easier said than done when you look like that.”

  Kit looked more like a star tonight than anytime since I’d met her, with a short sparkly black dress, hair curly and flowing down her back, and heels that gave her another three inches. She wore makeup, but underneath she was still Kit—right down to the crimson streaks in her hair.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Are you fishing for compliments?” I accepted my beer from the waitress and took a sip, letting the liquid cool me down from the heat that always pounded on Nashville in the summer. Even the A/C in the café was struggling to keep up with the number of bodies in here tonight. I noticed that several of the people were looking at her, clearly judging whether they could interrupt us. She was the party girl and needed to make the rounds. I was just the “plus one”. I placed a hand on the small of her back and nudged her toward the crowd. “I refuse to inflate your ego any more than it already is. Go see if one these people will tell you how gorgeous you look.”

  She was immediately sucked in by a crowd of people who hugged and kissed her in congratulations. Watching her was becoming one of my favorite activities and I settled back against the bar—the best seat in the house.

  I’d surprised no one by calling her first. The emergency call had been a bad one and it took most of the night to clear up but before I hit my rack at the station, I’d called Kit to arrange our next non–date. We’d come to an agreement about what this was and I was anxious to make it happen. She was constantly in my thoughts and those were the kind that had me waking up hard and aching for her.

  She told me to pick her up for this party and suspended in the air between us was the knowledge that when I took her home tonight, I wouldn’t be leaving.

  “Having a good time?”

  I turned, surprised to find Ron, Kit’s manager, standing beside me. He didn’t like me and was really bad at hiding it. I was reserving judgment on him.

  Okay, that was a lie. I thought the guy was dick.

  I sat back, waiting to see what he wanted because there was no way he was there to become BFFs.

  “Kit said she needed some time before the tour starts to take care of some personal matters,” he said, scanning the crowd, smiling and nodding when he made eye contact. “I’m guessing that you’re the ‘personal’ in the ‘matters’.”

  “I hope so.” What was I doing? I wasn’t playing games with this guy. If he was going to dig into things that were none of his business, then he was just going to have to deal. “I know I am. What’s it to you?”

  “Everything about Kit concerns me. It’s my job.”

  “And?”

  “Kit knows what she needs to do and that isn’t a distraction with a slick line, a rubber, and a truck parked off in the woods somewhere.”

  “Meaning that I should leave her alone.” I laughed. This guy had brass balls. “Why are you trying to cock block me, man?

  That got his attention. He turned to eyeball me, his gaze calculating. If this guy was trying to figure me out, he was going to be really disappointed. He didn’t even know who the fuck I was.

  “I’d like you to keep your dick in your pants and away from Kit, but if you can’t, please keep it off the Internet. No sex tapes. No tell–all interviews.”

  “I think I can guarantee that I have no plans to plaster my ass on YouTube.”

  “If you need an incentive, I can make it worth your while.”

  Okay, he’d shocked me. I turned to fully face him because I needed to watch him as he pimped out Kit.

  “Are you offering to pay me to sleep with her or not sleep with her?”

  “That’s up to you,” he said.

  “This is what is fucked up about this business. If you’re who she’s got looking out for her, then I feel sorry for her.”

  He scoffed, “I didn’t realize you were trying to play knight in shining armor.”

  “Anybody who met her would do the same thing.” I was done with this douchebag. Kit was getting ready to take the stage and I sure as hell would rather listen to her. “Nice talking to you, Sir–Pimps–A–Lot.”

  I found a seat next to Bridget in the front, just as the head of her record label took the stage. Kit made her way to the front and I openly ogled her legs. They were spectacular and I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t wait to feel them wrapped around my waist later tonight. The view and the fantasy went a long way to lift the bad mood that talking to Ron had started.

  Kit caught me and winked, causing several people to turn and look my way. I winked back at her and she laughed, dr
awing the attention of her label president. She caught his look and immediately toned it down a notch or two in the fun department.

  “Don’t encourage her,” Bridget whispered in my ear, her smile taking the edge off the scolding. I opened my mouth to respond but never got the chance because the ceremony began.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Liam Connor, the president of One More Song Records and we are here to celebrate the latest number–one song written by our own Kit Landry.” He paused while we all clapped and a couple guys in the back added wolf whistles to the mix. Kit looked embarrassed by the attention, dipping her head and hiding behind her curtain of dark curls. “No one is prouder of how far she’s come since she signed with us at the tender age of seventeen.” He turned to her, waiting until she looked up at him to continue. “She went from a homeless kid living on the street, to three multi–platinum albums, sold–out arena tours, and twenty number–one songs written and recorded by her or the biggest names in this business. These are just a few of the things I can list that make her a great artist. But what makes her a great person is the way she walked through the fire and came back to us, healthy, happy, and filled with the same, signature Kit Landry country music.”

  Kit tensed at his last few words. It was hard to see if you weren’t looking, but I had my eyes trained on her and she didn’t like what he was saying one little bit. The room remained quiet as he reached for a large framed print of the sheet music for the song and turned back to present it to Kit.

  “Congratulations, Kit, on your latest number–one song.”

  The room burst into applause, and flashbulbs went off as the photo opportunity was played out on the stage. And as soon as it started it was over, and Kit was on the stage all by herself, looking out at the crowd with a smile as everyone quieted down. She was poised, everything you expected a star to be, and I remembered that she was only twenty–one. A kid, by most people’s standards and she was doing what most people only dreamed about and had survived having the devil on her tail.

  “I’m never good at speeches, so I’ll say thank you the best way I know how.”

  She nodded at a couple of guys just off stage and they joined her up there, pulling up three chairs. Kit turned and lifted Jolene out of her case and joined them in the intimate circle under the spotlight.

  She pulled the microphone closer to her and spoke into it, her low voice weaving a net that caught all of us. You had to stay and listen to every word she uttered; there was no way you’d have the power to walk away. This was how she’d sold all those records. This was why she’d get back on top.

  “Songs come from inside you. I write because I have all these things—pain, joy, longing, anger—inside me and they have to get out. I’ve had a lot to say lately as I’ve been working on the new album and… well… it’s different from what I’ve recorded before.” She took a deep breath, making eye contact with people as she scanned the room as if she was looking for allies. “Nobody stays the same. I hope y’all like what I have to say.”

  The guitars started a slow strum, the three of them playing as one on a melody that could only be described as delicate. The notes paused on a second in time, hung in the air like smoke, and then Kit’s voice added the element that I didn’t know was missing until I heard it. The lyrics were written to a lover, telling him to change his mind about trying to get her back. It was a plea to leave her alone, between the lines an appeal to come back and push her over the edge and a question of whether she would survive either option.

  It was sad and hopeful and raw and gritty and unlike anything I’d ever heard her sing before. It blew me away. I had no idea how she did it and I was in awe of her talent. For her not to do this would be a waste.

  She was in her element. I couldn’t tell where she ended and the guitar began.

  Kit sang in that spotlight, her eyes closed as she laid her heart and soul on the ground for everyone to see. This song was more than a love song; it was a tale of a life hard fought and won against demons. It was Kit’s testimony for anyone who looked deep enough to see it.

  I ran into burning buildings and this was the bravest thing I’d ever seen.

  She opened her eyes and the fire that blazed out was even brighter than the spotlight shining down on her. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to and I realized that I didn’t, even when she locked her gaze with mine and seared my soul for a few seconds before moving on to brand the next person in the room.

  I glanced around, gauging other people’s reactions to the song. Most were clearly enjoying it, moving their heads to the beat, tapping fingers idly on the tabletop in time with the rhythm. Everyone, except Liam Connor.

  He stood to the side of the stage, mostly in the shadows, his expression dark and disapproving. Hell, the guy looked like he wanted to walk on the stage and rip the guitar out of her hands.

  “What’s with Liam Connor? Did someone pee in his beer?” I asked Bridget.

  She glanced at him and cursed under her breath. She leaned over to me and whispered, “That’s what trouble looks like.”

  “Why? Everyone loves the song.”

  She grabbed her drink and took a sip before patting my hand like I was four years old. “You’ll need to ask Kit about it, but remember: the first rule of the music business is that has nothing to do with the music.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kit

  “What the fuck was that supposed to be?”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know who was behind me or to know what his face looked like. Liam Connor was always in a bad mood around me lately—I’d lost him money and that was the cardinal sin, in his book. I’d also deviated from the agreed–upon playlist at the last minute. Spurred on by my recovery, the great progress during tour rehearsal today, and the way Max looked at me, I was feeling good and empowered and in control for the first time in a long while and I’d decided to flex.

  “It was material for the new album. Everyone’s heard my other stuff and I figured I’d thank them all for their loyalty by giving them an exclusive sneak peek.”

  I turned to look at him and it was exactly as I expected. Face red and hard with his displeasure, he crowded me into the back staff room of the Bluebird where I’d gone to take a restroom break after my performance. He was a big guy, a former college football semi–star who’d moved into the music business after graduation. He wasn’t above using his size to make a statement, but I’d seen it all before. I’d faced shit down in my head that was scarier than Liam.

  “I haven’t approved that song for the album.”

  “According to my contract, you don’t get approval on content unless it violates the morals clause. I get creative control over my music.”

  “Yes, but I can refuse to release an album if I’m not happy with the final product.”

  Shit. He could. The label ultimately had the last word and it would be difficult for me to force them to release it or to get the rights to take it elsewhere. I wasn’t even sure I had the cash to buy out my contract and I didn’t want to go down that road unless I had to.

  “Liam, did you see the audience? They were eating it up.” I deliberately took out any agitation in my voice, hoping to get my way by gently shaking the sugar tree.

  “This crowd is all the ‘music is art’ group, but they aren’t a commercial audience. They aren’t your demographic, your fan base.”

  “I’m twenty–one; my fan base is growing up with me. They would love that song.” I took a breath and tried to plead my case. “I’m not the girl you signed five years ago. I’ve changed, grown. My image needs to change, too.”

  “I think you need to focus on how much you owe this label and how much you cost us with your little detour from your contractual obligations before you decide to change what’s been proven to make money.”

  Ouch. That hurt and I must have shown it on my face because he had the bad manners to look like a smug dickhead. I knew I’d lost them money, but they’d also recouped a bunch of it b
y releasing a “greatest hits” album while I was in rehab. But my alternative was to tell them to shove it up their bottom line and see if some other label would buy out my contract. Nothing was guaranteed with my track record. I was hoping to get back on top with this tour and a successful next album, and then I’d have more options.

  “Fine, Liam. Obviously we have a lot to discuss about the new album.”

  “I think you need to be prepared to do some listening.” He nodded at me, spun on his heel and walked back into the café, to navigate the danger zone of having his mistress and his wife in the same room at the same time. I’d taken no end of happiness by adding them both to the guest list. It was petty and mean and I was not sorry.

  I walked over to the staff lockers, slamming a door in frustration. I knew I had to make good on my promise to apologize for my failures, but having to kiss his ass was whole other story. I needed to talk to my legal team about my power over this album. I wouldn’t go to Ron; he sided with Liam and thought the status quo was the way to go. Once I knew where the lines were, I’d figure out which ones I wanted to cross and which ones needed to go entirely.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I turned to find Max standing in the doorway, partially blocking the noise and people in the Bluebird. He took one look at me, glanced behind him at the crowd and shut the door. He stalked over to me, eyes locked on my face, and even though I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. Instead I did what I did best. I hid.

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “That thing where you shut down.” He reached up to brush a curl off my face and I leaned into the touch in spite of myself. “You did it the other day when I gave you your guitar. For a couple of minutes you were real and then it was like you flipped a switch and this mask came down.”

  I just stared at him. I knew exactly what he was describing. I’d started doing it when I had come to Nashville on my own at sixteen. It was self–preservation to keep people at a distance and it had stuck once I’d become a celebrity.