Second Shot

by Shandi Boyes

  The driver of the limousine, a fit-looking man in a crisp black suit and dazzling smile, taps his hat in greeting before opening the back passenger door of the stretch Phantom Rolls Royce. Although this area of New York is known for its wealth, there is still a bristling of excitement hanging thick in the air. Just like the day the church door smacked me in the face, it feels like something magical is about to happen. And I'm as pleased as punch I get to experience it with Wesley.

  Oddly, when the record company called to request a meeting with Wesley, they also requested my attendance. Although shocked, I was also pleased. Like in any industry, most of my contacts are made through word of mouth. This was the sole reason Wesley asked me to design and shoot his demo album cover two years ago. Over the past two years, Wesley’s album cover has bestowed me with the privilege of photographing a handful of rising stars in both the music and movie industries. It makes me both humble and thrilled that industry professionals could see past Wesley’s heart-cranking good looks and recognize that the entire picture is just as beautiful as the man standing in the middle of it. Anyone can take a photo, but a person with passion sees the picture before it is taken.

  I grip Wesley’s hand before turning my eyes to the vibrancy of New York City streaming past my window. I’ve lived in this city the past three years and I still feel like a fraud. It probably has something to do with my inability to hide my love for the city that gives away my deceit. The unique smell, the vibrancy, the way you never feel alone. They are only a small handful of reasons why I love this city so much. But the biggest one, the one that ensures I will never leave is the fact I feel safe here.

  After wrangling through the tightly packed cars with the precision of a native New Yorker, the limousine driver pulls onto the curb of a glass building in the middle of Manhattan. I tip my head back and follow the smooth lines that soar into the billowing clouds promising to cool the ghastly muggy temperatures with a few drops of rain. Although a few hours of reprieve from the stifling New York summer heat would be a godsend, the humid conditions that follow an afternoon storm aren’t something I welcome with open arms.

  I squeeze Wesley’s hand one final time in silent support before scooting across the cool leather seats. Although we are both here with the hope of advancing further in our careers, he needs this more than I do. The smell of exhaust fumes and food vendors rush memories of days at the track with my dad to the forefront of my mind when I step onto the sidewalk. It is also a reminder of his stern demand that we are to call him with an update the instant we leave our meeting.

  After rolling my shoulders to shake off my nerves, I accept Wesley’s hand and saunter into the architecturally marvelous space. I struggle to keep a neutral expression on my face when the full wonderment of the building engulfs me. With dark gray veined marble floors and artist-designed glass and chrome chandeliers, it is a seriously impressive building that would only look better captured in black and white film.

  “We need to come back here,” I whisper, tilting into Wesley’s side. “I’d give up cupcakes for a month for the chance of photographing this lobby.”

  Wesley nods his head in greeting to the two large security officers manning the turnstiles before replying, “That’s the plan, Poppet. If I have it my way, we will be having many visits to this building over the next century.”

  The jitters in my tummy ramp up a notch when I hear the unease in his voice. Nerves have never bothered Wesley. He typically oozes confidence, so his shaky composure has my anxieties sitting on edge.

  After having our IDs scanned by one of the security officers eyeing us with interest, a lady in a one shoulder stark white dress gestures for us to follow her. Nerves tingle the hairs on my arms, and just like it did every time my dad rolled his car onto the track during a race, my bladder decides now is the perfect time to announce its desire to be emptied. Now is not the time to let my nerves get the better of me, so I push them to the side and force a professional front onto my blood drained face.

  Any chance to portray a professional facade is left for dust when Wesley mumbles, “Holy shit,” under his breath when the pretty brunette walks us into a boardroom bristling with energy.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize what caused Wesley’s abrupt response. We are standing in a room with one of Wesley’s newest idols. Noah Taylor, lead singer of the number one band in the country, Rise Up, smiles a dimpled blemished grin at Wesley’s star-struck response. After picking Wesley’s jaw up from the floor, I pace to Noah and accept the hand he is holding out in offering. I’m not going to lie, even with Noah being several years younger than me, my mouth is salivating so badly, I’m tempted to run my hand across it just to ensure I'm not drooling. He is gorgeous. A ten out of ten. No doubt about it.

  “Hi, I’m Gemma,” I greet him, loathing that my voice comes out shaky. “And this is my. . .business associate, Wesley.”

  I yank a still slack-jawed Wesley to my side.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Noah replies, his voice rough and gritty, and 100% sexy. “This is my wife, Emily,” he introduces, gesturing to an equally gorgeous specimen seated at the end of the table. “And these are my bandmates, Nick, Slater, and Marcus.”

  I’m mentally snapshotting each band member of Rise Up as Noah greets them. Nick has charming good looks and the aura that screams of a player. Slater has a more manly and brutish appearance than Nick, but just peering into his dark eyes tells me there is more to his story than the headlines the tabloids have been running on him the past two months. And Marcus . . . my, oh my, he has gorgeous dark unblemished skin and a pair of soul-stealing green eyes that hit a few of my hot buttons. If you stared into his eyes too long, you’d combust into ecstasy without him even needing to touch you.

  If I wasn’t a fan of Rise Up’s music, I would have assumed their record label signed them purely on their looks. They have a set of faces that would sell CDs by the truckloads even if their music sounded like nails being dragged down a chalkboard. They are all attractive but in a unique and completely individual way.

  After giving me a few moments to fully absorb the beauty surrounding me, Noah turns his dark eyes to me. “I believe you’ve been in contact with Cormack?”

  I nod. “Yes. That is who we’re meeting with today?” The hesitancy of my words make my statement come out sounding more like a question.

  My knees wobble when Noah smiles. “Cormack is running a little bit behind, so he asked us to start the formalities.” He gestures for us to take a seat at one of the many vacant chairs housed around the long rectangular table.

  Pulling out the chair closest to me, I thrust a still-muted Wesley into his seat before taking the empty one next to him. Noah surprises me when he sits into a vacant chair two spaces up from us. Normally, any meetings I’ve attended in this industry, the help and talent sit on opposite sides of the table.

  Heat spreads across my chest when Noah connects his dark eyes with Wesley and says, “We’ve listened to your demo CD numerous times the past month. You have real talent. A smooth edginess to your voice not many singers can produce.”

  “Thank you,” Wesley graciously replies. “Coming from you. . . that’s a real compliment.”

  I squeeze Wesley’s hand, grateful he has finally worked past his shock.

  My grip on Wesley’s hand firms when Noah swings his eyes to me. “We’ve also been perusing your photography portfolio online. The pictures you took of the O’Reilly Brothers tour earlier this year were phenomenal. My wife Emily is a huge fan of theirs, and she said your photos captured not just the band, but the men standing behind the instruments.”

  I lift my eyes to Emily. “You have good taste. Pictures can’t lie. The O’Reilly Brothers aren’t just talented musicians; they are also wonderful human beings.”

  Wesley sighs loudly when Emily smiles. I can understand his response. She has natural grace and beauty any young woman would love to have, but when she smiles, my god, it makes me green with envy.
<
br />   “I told you she’d be perfect,” Emily says, glancing at Noah.

  Noah nods his head as he sinks deeper into his chair. His laidback approach shows how comfortable he is leaving decisions about his career in his wife’s hands. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. They only married two months ago. They’re still in the newlywed love haze I hope one day to experience.

  Masking my shock at my inner monologue with a smile, I return my eyes to Emily.

  “As Rise Up’s publicist, it’s my job to ensure the band is seen by the public in the best light. That isn’t going to happen by slapping a half-naked photo of them with oily chests onto an album and mass producing it. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying sex doesn’t sell, but there is so much more to this band than just their sex appeal.”

  “I understand. I don’t photograph people to capture their smiles. I photograph them to capture their souls,” I reply, my words coming out heavy with pride. I shift my eyes to Noah. “I’m sure you and Wesley don’t turn up to a recording booth and sing in the same tone as every other singer out there. Every artist brings their own unique flair to their industry. Capturing that unique quality is my specialty.”

  All my nerves clear when Emily, Noah, Marcus, Slater and Nick nod their heads in agreeance.

  Noah claps his hands together. “Our very first unanimous vote?” he mutters, his voice sounding shocked. “Hell must have frozen over.”

  When the band members break into laughter, I drift my eyes to Wesley. He appears just as confused as I am. His confusion intensifies when the boardroom door flings open and a blond-haired man in a dark blue suit enters the room. When Wesley straightens his spine, the spicy scent of the cologne I bought him for his birthday lingers into the air.

  “You’re the talent scout I spoke to two months ago.” Wesley drifts his eyes to me. “You remember that talent scout we saw that night at Karaoke City.”

  My heart rate kicks into overdrive when recognition dawns. Although he is more professionally dressed now than he was when we saw him two months ago, there is no doubt the blond-haired man is the same man who had all the females entranced at Karaoke City.

  I jump in fright when a deep, manly chuckle booms through my ears. “You still pretending to be the help?” Slater chuckles.

  “If that’s what it takes to find the best talent in the country, that’s what it takes.” The blond flings off his suit jacket and hangs it across the chair before extending his hand in offering to Wesley. “Cormack McGregor, owner of Destiny Records.”

  My eyes snap to Wesley. He looks just as shocked as I am at discovering the man we’ve been corresponding with the last month is the owner of the record company interested in signing him. My chest swells when, before my very eyes, Wesley seizes the life-altering opportunity standing in front of him with both hands. With a smile that would stop traffic, he rises from his chair and accepts Cormack’s offer of a handshake.

  “Wesley Heart, next year’s Grammy award winner for Best New Talent.”

  Chapter 17

  I wait for our limousine to chug into the bumper-to-bumper traffic before turning my massively dilated eyes to Wesley. “What the hell just happened?” I ask, my voice shocked.

  Muted into silence, Wesley’s mouth gapes open and closed like a fish out of water, but not a syllable escapes his parched lips.

  “You got a record deal,” I answer for him. “A real-life record deal.”

  I'm so thrilled for him and so very proud. He has worked hard the past five years, and he deserves this recognition more than anyone I know. He is proof that hard work eventually pays dividends.

  Wesley hesitantly nods his head. “I did, didn’t I?” His heavy brows stitch together. “Did I?”

  I arch my brow high into my hairline before nodding my head. “You did! I’m so proud of you, Wesley.”

  He throws his arm around my shoulders. “Just as I am of you, Poppet. You killed it in there,” he praises. “You practically had Cormack eating out of your hand to sign you on as the band’s photographer. I’ll have to take a page from your book and occasionally play the not interested card. It might have forced the decimal point on my contract down a few places.”

  “That wasn’t a ploy,” I reply, leaning into the plush leather seats. “New York is my home, Wesley. I don’t know if I could cope not seeing it for weeks or months at a time.” Even with New York having so much energy it could crush a weak person, I love it here.

  Wesley angles closer to me. “Home is where your heart is, Gem, not your zip code.” He runs the back of his hand down my cheeks, drawing my attention to him. “So I guess it is lucky we’re going to Ravenshoe together, or you would have been left heartless for two months.”

  Even with my heart warming from Wesley’s playfulness, confusion swamps me. “Ravenshoe?” I query, uncertainty in my tone.

  Wesley nods. “Yeah, that’s where we’re going.”

  The bile in my stomach climbs up my windpipe. “Cormack said we were going to Hopeton. Didn’t he?”

  Wesley shakes his head. “No, he said the headquarters of Destiny Records were in Hopeton. But wanting to keep the number one band in the country happy, he’s bringing us to them.”

  “The band lives in Ravenshoe?” I ask, my pulse quickening, my heart freezing.

  Overlooking the daftness of my question, Wesley nods his head.

  My mind spirals with endless possibilities. I'm both excited and petrified.

  “What’s going on, Gem?” Wesley asks when he is unable to read the bizarre mix of emotions pumping out of me.

  I lick my dry lips before replying, “Carey lives in Ravenshoe.” I can’t hide the excited nervousness of my tone.

  Wesley smiles a grin that does nothing to ease the turmoil plaguing my stomach. “What clearer sign do you need than that?” he asks, his voice as high as his brows. “That’s fate, Poppet.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you sure you and Ava aren’t long lost siblings? You both love pulling out the fate card as often as possible.”

  Wesley barges me with his shoulder. “That would be totally gross if we were, as I’ve thought many times about banging her.”

  I pop my elbow into his ribs. “Don’t ever let Hugo hear you admit that.”

  “He doesn’t need to be jealous. There is plenty of Wesley to go around.”

  I laugh before switching my eyes to the bustling flow of activity out my window. Only the brave dare to drive in New York City. The traffic is bumper-to-bumper. Bike couriers meld with a sea of yellow cabs; wealthy stock brokers share the same footpath as the less fortunate, and native New Yorkers cruise past wide-eyed tourist snapping photos of the well-renowned landmarks without a pause in their stride. It is a confronting and magnificent sight.

  After a few moments of silence, Wesley tilts into my side. “Sometimes the road of life takes an unexpected turn, and you have no choice but to follow it until you end up in the place you're supposed to be. This may be a forced fork in the road, Poppet, but nothing worthwhile comes easy.”

  A solid lump of sentiment forms in my throat. “Dr. McKay would be so proud,” I push out past the bulge.

  Mortified at being busted quoting our therapist, Wesley deflates into his seat and shifts his eyes to the stream of traffic moving at a snail’s pace. Even with the sound of sirens wailing and the hum of the heavy clog of traffic surrounding us, I can hear his brain ticking over. I know this record deal is everything he has ever wanted, so I’m somewhat surprised by his lack of excitement.

  “You are stronger than you were back then, Wesley,” I mumble when reality finally dawns.

  Looking at Wesley as he is now, you’d never guess the lifestyle he was raised in. My upbringing would have mirrored his to a T if I hadn’t been adopted by my dad.

  “If you're worried this lifestyle is too tempting, don’t. Look at Slater for example. At the first sign of trouble, the record label got him the help he needed.”

  “Drugs aren’t my only addiction, Poppet.”

/>   I nod. Wesley has been a sex addict nearly as long as he has been a drug addict. I scoot across the leather and grasp his hand in mine. “You have no reason to be worried. Back then, you didn’t have me as your kickass side kick. Anything starting with a P won’t get close to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The pain in my chest soothes when a grin curls on Wesley’s lips. “P?”

  “Powder, pills, pussy, and penis.” I impress myself when I hold in the childish giggle dying to break free from my snickering lips.

  Smiling, Wesley shakes his head. His expression is both mortified and disgusted. That’s all it takes for my girly laughter to spill from my lips.

  Once my laughter settles down, Wesley locks his hopeful eyes with me. “Does that mean you're going to do it? You’re going to come to Ravenshoe with me?”

  My cheeks incline as I nod. “I’ll do the special edition cover. But I can’t sign up for more than that right now. Besides, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity of photographing a group of men who look like that? They are so hot, I’m considering changing my business slogan from upstanding memory capturer to pin-up photographer.”

  Wesley throws his head back and laughs. “You need to do one of those artistic shoots that require no clothing,” he strangles out between vigorous bouts of laughter.

  “I’d be the most famous photographer in the state,” I laugh.