by Sandy James
The woman clearly knew her own appeal, and she exuded confidence. Oh, she was quite aware of how many people were staring at her, talking about her, and she was fine with all of it. From the way she laughed and gave slight nods to anyone who was able to find the courage to make eye contact, she relished her celebrity status.
A queen on her bar stool throne.
Not all stars were that comfortable in their own skin. Many tried their best to hide from press and fans until they chose the time or place to make contact. A concert. An award show. A fundraiser. In all other aspects of their lives, they usually demanded privacy.
Not the eminent Ms. Harris. One of the reasons Ethan knew so much about her was because the woman lived her life in the open. His famous parents had been of that breed—acting as if every fan should be a best friend.
A person wanted to know where she was, what she thought, who she was with? All he had to do was pull up any social media account. Bam. Chelsea Harris was there. Hell, she was playing on her phone at that very moment, probably doing one of those tweety things.
Hopefully, she was telling everyone to get their asses down to Words & Music. The business would always be welcome. If word got out that she’d stopped by and enjoyed the place, fans would be there waiting with hopes of seeing her the next night. Or the next.
As though reading his thoughts, Russ said, “She’s great for business. Hope social media is eating this up.” He let out a low whistle. “She sure is a looker.”
Understatement of the year. Her thick hair caught the lights exactly right, making it appear like waves of fire rippling down her back and ending right above her shoulder blades. Her gaze swept the room, settling on the bar. When her eyes caught his, he sucked in a breath, unable to stop a physical reaction to the woman.
With a shake of his head at his own weakness, Ethan shrugged and drew another draft.
“Heard she’s unattached again,” Russ commented. “Kicked that pretty boy actor to the curb.” He let out a chuckle. “Probably wrote a song about it. She has every other time she broke up with a guy, and they’re always hits.”
“Saw? Saw it where?”
Russ rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. “On Nashville Chat.”
“You watch that garbage?” The show was nothing but gossip pretending to be news. Ethan knew it as Nashville Shat since that’s what he and his other partner Brad Maxwell called it.
“Sometimes…”
With a snort, Ethan turned his back and sliced an orange to garnish one the foo-foo drinks women seemed to enjoy. Damn if he wasn’t so preoccupied thinking about Chelsea Harris and that gorgeous hair that he nicked his finger when a feminine voice broke into his reverie.
“Ethan Walker?”
“Shit.” He grabbed the bar towel again to hold against his sliced index finger. A quick check showed it wasn’t serious, so he just kept a little pressure on it.
“You okay?”
The melodious voice made him glance up to find himself face-to-face with the object of his new and rather obsessive fixation. She leaned down, resting her forearms on the bar. Most of the patrons on the barstools were gawking at her.
He was dumbstruck. Her eyes were to blame. Such a sparkling green, but it wasn’t the color that had him transfixed. It was the intensity he found in those depths, an intensity that put him immediately on his guard.
Despite all the people staring at her, this woman was on a mission.
“You’re Ethan Walker,” she said. “You own this place.”
Since she hadn’t asked a question, he saw no need to reply.
“I’m Chelsea Harris.”
Several people laughed in response to the statement, as though she had stated something so obvious it became comical. He had to resist the urge to do the same.
“I know.” Those were the only words he would spare until he figured out her angle.
Her gaze wandered slowly around the cavernous Words & Music. “This place is amazing. I never saw it before—you know, when your parents ran it. But…wow. You’ve really done well.”
“Thanks.” Having no idea what was going on behind her mask of cordiality, he wouldn’t say anything more. Better to let her lead so he could figure out exactly why she was chatting him up and plying him with compliments. While she seemed genuine, he didn’t trust someone with her fame.
She gestured to the two women who waited at her high-top table. “We were all talking about how great sound carries in here. And you’ve got that fantastic dance floor…”
He took a quick look at the people learning a new line dance from one of the club’s dance instructors. “Thanks.”
Her lips drew into an annoyed line, but she quickly obliged a patron who’d worked up the guts to slide a pen and napkin her direction by signing an autograph. She even murmured her thanks for the way the lady was gushing over her songs.
The security guard took a few steps forward, but Chelsea stopped him with a quick flip of her hand and a shake of her head. Then she turned her attention back to Ethan. “You really should be proud of this place.”
“I am.” He pulled a new drink order up on the point-of-sale screen and went about filling it. His partners—his friends—often told him he had a way of irritating just about anyone he came across. At that moment, he couldn’t help himself. Her increasingly exasperated reactions at his clipped answers were far too entertaining.
Chelsea put her elegant hand on the bar and began to drum her bright red nails against the wood. “Do you tend bar here a lot? Or is this just a one-night stand?”
He snorted. “Definitely not a one-night stand.”
“So you’re here a lot? Tell me this…do you hire the talent, or is that the Hitman’s job?” she asked.
“Brad hates it when people call him that,” Ethan cautioned.
“Everyone in the business calls him that.”
“Not to his face.”
Her fingers quickened their pace.
So there was a temper to go with that red hair.
Time to end the baiting game.
After setting a glass of white wine and a beer on an empty tray, he finally directed his full attention to her. “I’d really like to know something.”
“And what is that?”
“What exactly do you want from me?”
* * *
The man couldn’t be any ruder if he tried, and something in Chelsea told her that was exactly what Ethan Walker was doing. Trying to aggravate her.
Well, he’d succeeded. Problem was she couldn’t show him what she truly felt. Not if she was going to get her way. No, she needed Ethan’s cooperation. From what she’d been told, that cooperation would be a hard-earned prize.
She’d tried to learn as much as she could before setting out to tackle her plan for her newest project. Although he was supportive of her plans, her manager had told her that she was crazy to even try to recruit Ethan Walker. His aversion to ever being a part of the country music world again was legendary.
From the moment she’d heard the duet he’d sung with Savannah Wolf, Chelsea had known that he needed to sing with her. God, but the man had the most amazing voice. Besides, she didn’t understand why he should be different than any of the other people she was enlisting. So far, most of the offspring of former stars had been on board and rather enthusiastic about her plans.
Of course none of them had Ethan’s reputation—a reputation that was two-fold. First, he hated being reminded that his parents were Nashville stars. Second, after walking away from a budding singing career years ago, he hated anything to do with performing or recording. Period.
And yet…he was friendly with Brad Maxwell’s fiancée Savannah. She’d gotten her start at Words & Music, and Chelsea had been so mesmerized by the video of Ethan singing with her that she’d watched it too many times to count.
So he would perform.
But on what terms? Did he only pick up a guitar for a friend, or would a good cause—a great cause—be enough mo
tivation?
He threw her a fierce frown. “Are you going to answer my question, or can I get back to work?”
The ill-mannered man didn’t even wait for her reply and started tapping at the computer screen, all but dismissing her.
No one dismissed Chelsea Harris.
Sidling around the bar, she savored the surprised expressions of the people sitting close enough to watch her. She glanced at the drink order he’d been reading and then plucked two margarita glasses from the freezer under the counter. As Ethan gaped at her, she went about preparing the drinks, much to the amusement of the crowd. Muscle memory kicked in as she found the margarita mix and ice, blended the mixture, and then salted the rims of the glasses. After pouring the drinks, she garnished them with pineapple wedges and set them on an empty serving tray, earning herself a round of applause.
With a smug smile, she touched the screen to pull up the next order. While she wanted to see his startled expression—to savor it—she focused on the libations she needed to make.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Ethan demanded. Thankfully, his tone was more amused than irritated despite his choice of vocabulary.
“I would think it was obvious.” She flashed a smile at a few people who laughed in response.
“I mean why are you pretending to be a bartender?”
Chelsea let out an indignant huff. “Pretending?” She nodded toward the drinks the waiter was carrying away, wondering if pictures of her acting as the bartender at Words & Music would’ve hit social media yet. “Those are damn good margaritas, if I do say so myself. You know what? Name a drink.”
“What?”
“Name a drink. Any drink. I can mix it.”
As he continued to gape at her, she pulled three draft beers, poured two glasses of different wines, and whipped up a screaming orgasm. After passing them off to a waitress, she folded her arms under her breasts and grinned at Ethan.
He grinned back, and damn if her stomach didn’t plummet to her feet. The man was too appealing for her peace of mind. Her preference went toward long hair on guys, and his dark brown hair was pulled into a neat queue. If it were loose, it would probably brush his shoulders.
Sublime.
The first thing she’d noticed when she’d approached him were his eyes. Not only were they a warm mahogany, they sparkled with intelligence.
Even better than his obvious physical appeal.
She had no doubt that should the two of them match wits, she’d find herself with an adversary who rose to her level.
“Where’d you learn to bartend?” he asked.
“It’s how I survived after college until I got my break in the business.”
“You’ve still got the touch. You can work here if you ever need a job.” He gave her another stomach-flipping smile.
“Thanks.” She poured two more glasses wine and then whipped up a whiskey sour.
“Hey, Chelsea!” a guy shouted. “Hold up the tray with the drinks so I can take your picture.”
With one of her practiced smiles, she obliged the man. “Be sure and say where I’m at! Words and Music, one of Nashville’s best hotspots.”
“Thanks for the plug,” Ethan said, although his voice was devoid of true appreciation. A shame since the man had a smooth, seductive voice when he was sincere.
Always one to possess a wild and far-too-active imagination, Chelsea had to smile at the thought of how Nashville would react should she and Ethan ever hook up. The son of “Crawfish” and Dottie Walker—Nashville royalty—and the hottest female star in country music?
Reporters would be tripping over each other to get to them the same way people were now crowding around the bar to watch their exchange.
And the charity album would go platinum.
A chuckle slipped out.
Ethan’s mouth fell to a frown. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all,” she assured him, absentmindedly signing a few more autographs. The action had become so perfunctory, she hardly thought about what she was doing anymore.
“Then what’s so funny?”
He’d never understand how happy she was at the thought of her new album being a huge success, so she shook her head.
The frown became a scowl. “Why are you here?”
Knowing Ethan was in no frame of mind for her to even broach the topic of his recording a song with her, she scrambled for something to say. She wished they had a bit of privacy, but that was in short supply whenever she was in public. “I…um…” She nibbled on her bottom lip, flustered that his gorgeous eyes and handsome face had erased every bit of information she’d gathered on the man, information she’d hoped would help her in this important quest. “Let’s see… I—”
With a shake of his head, he gently pushed her aside so he could get to his computer.
She’d lost him before she’d even asked for his help. To rescue the situation, she was going to have to lay all her cards on the table at the start of the game. This man wasn’t going to be charmed or cajoled, but maybe he could be convinced if she told him the real reason she was there.
The truth was that she needed him, she needed that rich baritone singing his parents’ biggest hit with her.
“I came to ask for your help,” Chelsea announced.
“Finally!” Ethan set a longneck he’d just opened on a tray. “She can answer a question.”
The snickering around them made her sigh. Was nothing in her life private?
“All right,” she said, a bit peeved at him and at the eavesdroppers. “I deserved that.”
“Yep.”
His superior tone grated on her. For a man everyone described as kind and helpful, he seemed to know exactly how to irritate her. “My father passed away last year.” The memory still felt like a knife to the heart.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Those brilliant eyes found hers, and they were full of compassion. There was sincerity in his tone.
“Thank you.”
“What does losing your father have to do with me?” he asked.
“He died of cancer,” she replied. “I want to do something big to honor his memory.”
Ethan encouraged her to continue with a flip of his hand.
After a bracing deep breath, Chelsea said, “I’m putting together an album to raise money for cancer research. I’m singing duets with the kids of former Nashville stars, and I’d like for you to cover one of your parents’ songs with—”
“No. Way.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away.
About the author
Sandy lives in a quiet suburb of Indianapolis and is a high school psychology teacher. She owns a small stable of harness racehorses and enjoys spending time at Hoosier Park racetrack. She has been an Amazon #1 bestseller multiple times and has won numerous awards, including two HOLT Medallions.
Learn more at:
sandyjames.com
Twitter @sandyjamesbooks
Facebook.com/sandyjamesbooks
Also by Sandy James
The Ladies Who Lunch Series
The Bottom Line
Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Sealing the Deal
Fringe Benefits
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