Rising Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 1)
Page 15
Ruby picked up the microphone. “Tell you what? That you got kissed off your feet by the hottest thing to come out of Louisiana since Tim McGraw? I assumed you knew.”
“Not that part,” Charley hissed. “I didn’t know it was on video.”
“Nothing happens in this world anymore that isn’t caught on camera from at least three different angles.” The older woman turned down the radio to her right. “I thought that might be the Dylan you met last weekend. Looks like you hit the jackpot, chickie.”
“Wait. You knew?”
Instead of answering, Ruby went live. “Good morning, guys and dolls. This is your friend Ruby Barnett coming to you live from Esmeralda’s Pancake House here in East Nashville, where the Eagle 101.5 staff is working their little tootsies off to rake in all the cash we can for the Central City Food Bank. If you come in now, you can plant your tookus at one of Charley Layton’s tables, and maybe she’ll tell you what it’s like to kiss the hunky Dylan Monroe. I think we all want to know what that’s like, am I right, ladies?”
Tossing up her hands, Charley marched off toward the kitchen, where she bumped into Payton Cheswick, one of Ruby’s sidekicks on the morning show.
“Layton, you sly dog,” he said. “I know that cutie Monroe doesn’t swing my way, but damn, I’m still jealous. You work fast, girlfriend. High five.”
Annoyed, Charley left him hanging. “I don’t want to talk about Dylan.”
“Why?” Payton asked, following her to the drink station. “That kiss is all anyone is talking about. Hell, I bet his record sales have doubled overnight.”
Charley filled two cups with ice. “We didn’t kiss to sell records.”
“That’s not what I meant. Come on,” he pressed. “Why are you mad?”
Water sloshed onto the counter as she slammed down the clear pitcher. “I’m all over the Internet lip-locking some guy in front of an audience. How is anyone going to take me seriously after that? I’m a professional, dammit. Now I look like a . . . a groupie. Willoughby already treats me like a puppy he has to house-sit until my owners return. What if he uses this to get rid of me?”
Without warning, Payton dragged Charley to the far side of the kitchen and looked around as if making sure they were alone.
“If you tell Ruby I said any of the things about to come out of my mouth, I’ll deny it to my dying day. The truth is, Charley, you’re better on the air than folks who’ve been doing this gig almost as long as you’ve been alive. Ruby couldn’t hold a candle to you if she hadn’t been doing this since Jesus was knee-high to a camel, and Willoughby is only the program manager because he sucks on the air.” Glancing around one more time, Payton lowered his voice. “You’re a natural, darling, and nothing makes radio people more jealous than someone who can slap on those headphones and do what you do.”
Blinking, Charley struggled to process this information. “You really think they’re jealous?”
Perfectly manicured brows shot up a wrinkle-free forehead. “Sugar, I know they’re jealous. You’re in no danger of going anywhere. I’ll admit, fraternizing with the artist types is usually frowned upon, but the higher-ups love you. And this Dylan Monroe stuff? That’s already landing your name in the news, which in turn brings the station free publicity. That’s a win all the way around.”
So in some weird way, both she and Dylan had benefited professionally thanks to one spontaneous kiss. If she examined that fact too closely, the whole thing would feel tawdry and shallow, so she focused on Payton’s compliments about her talent. Deep down, Charley knew she was good, but in Kentucky she’d been a big fish in a tiny pond. In Nashville, she often felt like a minnow swimming with the sharks.
Turned out, she wasn’t a measly minnow after all.
“Well then,” Charley said, making her way back to the drinks. “I guess going viral isn’t the end of the world.”
“And I bet kissing Dylan Monroe isn’t, either,” he hinted.
Flashing a smile, she cleaned up her mess. “It is not, Payton. It definitely is not.”
By the time Dylan arrived at Charley’s place, he’d had one of the strangest days on record.
First thing in the morning, he’d been summoned for a meeting with Mitch, Clay, and the label publicist, Naomi Mallard. At first, he’d feared the worst. That stations had started playing the song and received so many complaints that they’d taken it off the air. To his relief, Dylan’s imagination had been way off.
The entire conversation had revolved around social media. Dylan had the accounts and posted from time to time, but he didn’t live by the latest trend in his newsfeed or feel lost if he hadn’t checked Instagram in a couple of days. According to Naomi Mallard, that had to change. Or at least his amount of personal postings did.
According to the publicist, a heartfelt moment intended to win Charley’s forgiveness had turned into an Internet sensation. Several fans had caught the kiss on video, and by morning, Dylan was trending, the video had been shared thousands of times, and his number of followers was shooting up on every platform. In some cases, triple what he’d had the day before.
Clay and Naomi were ecstatic about the new development, while Mitch feigned approval. Dylan couldn’t help but wonder what Charley thought of the whole thing.
Her spotlight comment kept coming back to him. Charley didn’t like attention. Considering her response when Ruby had dragged her onstage in front of two thousand people, there was no telling how she’d react to being seen by twenty thousand overnight. His afternoon text to check on her hadn’t alleviated his concerns, either. Charley’s only response had been a question about what to wear that evening. Dylan had to ask Naomi, since he had no idea what to tell a woman to wear to anything.
The answer came back cocktail dress, and he’d passed it along, receiving an ambiguous “Okay” in response. Whether it had been an I-can-do-that okay or a fucking-great okay, Dylan didn’t know, so his heart lurched into his throat as he knocked on her door.
A full thirty seconds later, the thing finally opened, and Matty the Dragon offered a cold yet noncombative greeting. “Come on in. Charley is almost ready.”
“Thanks,” he replied, stepping inside and hovering near the door. “You look . . . comfortable.”
Not the greatest compliment, but he was trying.
“Unlike Charley, I have a date with Netflix.” She settled on the couch and grabbed a bowl of popcorn off the coffee table. No invitation to sit was offered, so Dylan continued to stand. Rocking on his heels, he straightened his tie before leaning against the wall to wait. A couple of minutes later, he was rewarded for his patience as Charley descended the staircase wearing a solid blue dress that hugged her curves, stopped midthigh, and revealed enough cleavage to be tasteful yet still make his mouth water.
Simple black heels finished off the look, turning her legs into objects of perfection. By the time she met him at the bottom, Dylan’s brain had turned to mush, and his dress pants had grown uncomfortably tight.
“Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find one of my earrings.” She pointed to a tiny gold hoop, and Dylan resisted the urge to drop a kiss below it. “Are we ready?” Charley asked when he made no move to leave.
Speech failed him, so he nodded and reached for the door.
“Try not to make the evening news,” Matty quipped around a bite of popcorn.
Charley ignored the snarky comment, leading Dylan out of the apartment. They reached the truck without exchanging another word, but before opening her door, there was one thing he had to do. Locking his hands on her satin-covered hips, he took her mouth with his, relaying every emotion churning through his system—from lust and longing to admiration and pride.
When he pulled away, her hand lay against his cheek, and her eyes smiled into his. “So the dress was the right choice, then?”
Dylan nodded. “The dress is perfect, but only because you’re wearing it.”
“That’s the second-nicest thing anyone has said to me today.”
He glared in challenge. “Who’s been flirting with my girl?”
Straightening his lapel, she shook her head. “Payton would rather flirt with you than with me, but he said something nice about my skills as a DJ, and I value an observation about my brain a little more than one about my body. Not that I don’t appreciate the compliment. Or the sexy man who gave it.”
He wiggled his brows. “You think I’m sexy?”
“I do.” She grinned.
“I’m getting a sense that you aren’t mad about our make-out session going viral.”
“Not sure mad is the right word. I was more embarrassed than anything, but then I remembered what led to the kiss, and I figured there were worse ways to become famous on the Internet.”
“Much worse ways.” Dylan laughed, opening the passenger door. “Watching you climb up here might be the best part of my night.”
Charley smacked him playfully on the chest. “Don’t be ogling my legs.”
“You can’t show ’em off that pretty and expect a man not to ogle.”
Her husky chuckle aroused him almost as much as the heels. “Play your cards right, and I might let you do more than ogle before the night is over.”
For a brief moment, Dylan considered skipping the dinner altogether. But if he did that, he’d be proving Mitch right, and he wasn’t about to give his manager the satisfaction. Even for a few extra hours of Charley naked beneath him.
After dropping a hard kiss on her lips, he lifted her into the truck, eliciting a surprised yelp from his gorgeous date and scoring a delicious peek under her skirt.
“I’m holding you to that promise, Layton,” he said, enjoying her carefree laughter as he closed the door.
Chapter 16
“So now I have to step up my game on social media,” Dylan said as they crossed the Cumberland on Korean Veterans Boulevard. “Before leaving the house, I shared a picture of Bumblebee getting hair on my pants with some complaint about trying to look nice and he isn’t helping.”
“Remember back when we were kids and didn’t stare at a screen all day?” Charley pined. “Good times.”
“But think of all those selfie opportunities we missed.” He grinned her way. “And the food that never got its day to shine. Chocolate gravy on a Sunday morning, or deer meat on the grill.” Dylan shook his head. “How was life ever worth living without fifteen likes on a pic of your peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?”
“Grandpa loves chocolate gravy. Makes me feel bad that I never got Granny to teach me how to make it.”
They stopped at a red light at Second Avenue. “That’s easy. Sugar, cocoa, and flour. Add a little milk, whisk, and put it on the stove.”
Now this was a revelation. “You cook?” Charley asked. She had not been blessed with the magical powers required to throw seven ingredients in a pan and turn out something edible.
Dylan nodded proudly. “I can put together a meal now and then. Granny had bad knees, but she refused to give up working in the kitchen. When she couldn’t stand at the counter anymore, I became her understudy, so to speak.” The light turned green, but he had to wait for the straggling tourists to scurry across before driving on. “Five foot nothing and as sweet as the day is long, but if you didn’t follow her orders exactly as she rattled them off, Granny would tear you up one side and down the other.”
“I think we might have had the same grandmother.” Charley chuckled. “Except Gram knew I had no business being in the kitchen, so I got the scolding if I dared get too close. Mama was a wonderful cook. Together they could put out a spread that would feed an army. And all in a matter of hours.” Sighing, she watched a young girl skip along the sidewalk. “Unfortunately, that tradition died with them.”
“Doesn’t have to,” Dylan said. “You could cook if you wanted to.”
Charley shook her head. “You’ve clearly never seen me in a kitchen. I can barely boil water.”
“You mean like you have no musical abilities? We proved that wrong, didn’t we?”
“We both know I didn’t play a thing on that guitar.”
“Sure you did.” He smiled. “And we’ll get you cooking, too. Like anything else, it takes a little practice.”
Though his faith in her was naively misplaced, Charley appreciated the belief all the same. Dylan made a right to cross over to Demonbreun Street, only to find a line of black cars in front of them, mostly limousines.
“I thought this was a dinner.” She watched a highly recognizable artist climb out of one of the limousines and make her way up the stairs. “Is that a red carpet?”
“They’re celebrating a biopic documentary of Merle Haggard,” he replied, edging forward as the black SUV in front of them did the same. “I didn’t get the red-carpet memo, either.”
As if saving them from some great embarrassment, a valet sprinted around the front of the truck and waited for Dylan to lower his window. “Are you here for the event?” he asked.
“Yeah, but it looks like we might be in the wrong line.”
“No problem. I’ll take it from here, and you two can make your way in.”
Dylan glanced over to Charley with a shrug and said, “Sounds good, man. Thanks.” To Charley he said, “I guess we’re walking the red carpet. You good with that?”
“No,” she answered, watching another chart-topper climb the stairs. “But I’ll give it my best shot.”
Taking her hand, he dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Before she knew it, Dylan had rounded the truck, helped her down, and was escorting her along the sidewalk to the entrance.
“Thank heaven I asked what to wear,” she whispered in his ear, careful not to smack her temple on the brim of his cowboy hat. “But I still think I might be underdressed.”
A major label executive she’d only seen pictures of to that point exited the SUV they’d been following with a woman closely resembling a disco ball on his arm. Charley’s little ten-carat gold earrings didn’t seem all that fancy anymore.
“You look gorgeous,” Dylan assured her, stopping to turn her way mere feet from the main stairs. “In jeans and a T-shirt you’d be the envy of any woman here, and I’m damn proud to have you on my arm.” After tucking her against his side, he lowered the midnight-black hat. “Naomi says the trick to this stuff is to smile but look bored at the same time.”
Choking out a laugh, she said, “How do we do that?”
“I have no idea, but let’s give it a try.”
Charley’s anxiety ebbed as her adrenaline levels rose. Though she knew they were legitimate attendees, she couldn’t help but feel as if they were crashing a party and at any minute would be exposed as frauds. But then she remembered that on her arm was a talented rising star in the ranks of country music, and her fears subsided.
The carpet led to the center set of doors at the entrance, but not before meandering past a mixture of press and paparazzi roped into an area on the left. To Charley’s surprise, someone called both their names as they reached the end of the press line. With studied precision, Dylan turned to face the flashes, holding tight to her hand as she did the same by his side. She could only assume that “smile but look bored” translated to “look happy to be there but not enamored with the attention.” Something she could definitely pull off.
What should have taken seconds took upward of five minutes as the line moved slowly, the press calling out for this or that star to offer a pose. Two more photographers hollered for Dylan, and by the time they reached the end of the press area, Charley’s vision had become nothing but flashing dots. Which meant she failed to see the man with the microphone waiting for them around the bend.
“Next in line we have the newest star on the scene, Mr. Dylan Monroe. How are you, buddy?” asked Owen Overstreet, as if he and Dylan were longtime friends.
Once Charley’s vision cleared, she recognized the reporter from a local Nashville news station. Matty’s parting words came back to her, and she nearly burst out laughing.
“So the new single is getting a lot of buzz. How has this week been for you?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “It’s been crazy, but a good kind of crazy. Played an amazing show last night at the Marathon here in town, and we hope to spend a lot more time in front of the people going forward.”
Giving Dylan a friendly nudge, the reporter said, “I think we’ve all seen how well that show went for you last night.” Nodding toward Charley, he added, “And I see the other half of the most famous kiss this week is here with you. Miss Charley Layton, looking beautiful. Are you having a good time tonight?”
Startled to find herself on the opposite side of an interview, she said, “We haven’t been here long, but it’s fun so far.”
Oddly enough, as the attention shifted her way, Dylan’s grip loosened.
“What’s it like to be Dylan Monroe’s girl?”
Scrutinizing her date, she offered a subdued smile. “Pretty good, actually.” Turning the tables, she passed the question on to Dylan, mostly because she knew the reporter wouldn’t. “How about you? What’s it like to be Charley Layton’s guy?”
Owen shifted the microphone in Dylan’s direction. “Are you kidding?” he replied. “Look at her. I’m a lucky man, my friend.”
“And hearts are breaking all over Nashville right now.” Waving them on, Owen said, “You kids have a good time tonight, and thanks for stopping to talk to us. We move on now to our next guest coming down the red carpet . . .”
Charley didn’t hear the rest of the reporter’s statement as Dylan led her toward the entrance with a hand on the small of her back. An usher opened the doors as they approached, and as soon as they stepped inside, he placed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
She did not know that, but she felt damn proud of herself in that moment. No cold sweats. No racing heart. And no panic attack. Who knew having Dylan by her side would cure her phobia?