by Terri Osburn
Shaking her head, the furious woman raged at the men around her. “You’re all a bunch of assholes.”
With that parting shot, she stormed into the club, leaving three stunned males staring after her.
“Nice, dickhead,” Casey murmured to Dylan as he stomped into the lounge.
As he passed, Easton said, “Man, I—”
“Forget it,” the drummer snapped. “We’ve got a show to do.”
Dylan grabbed the discarded ball cap off the case. “She’s right,” he said to Easton. “We’re all a bunch of assholes.”
Chapter 14
If Charley were on her own, she’d be in her car carrying her distracting ass home. But, alas, she was Sharita’s ride, and the young intern had yet to find her in the crowd, which had more than doubled in size since their little foray backstage. So far, Charley had recognized four people from the radio station, spotted Clay Benedict in the VIP section at the back of the floor, and rolled her eyes at the flustered females tugging Dylan Monroe shirts over their heads as they pushed their way to the front.
In their whirlwind romance, if one could call it that, Charley hadn’t had time to think about where she’d landed. In fact, she’d been too tied up in lust (she refused to entertain the other L-word) to consider the practicalities of what she was getting into.
Her declaration that she didn’t want to be in the spotlight held true. Which was another reason this fiasco should end tonight. As Sharita had pointed out, Dylan belonged on film. Magazines were sure to come calling. Television appearances would be next. Award shows and the dreaded red carpet would follow, spinning the guy she’d met one Saturday night at a club into a bona fide star, sought after and untouchable by mere mortals.
Charley wouldn’t last long in that scenario. Not when Dylan could have any woman he wanted.
Checking her phone for the time, she knew the lights would drop any minute, so she scanned the room once more for Sharita. Though the band’s newest fan wasn’t likely to leave before the show drew to a close, Charley could at least see if someone else from the station might offer the intern a ride. Stretching on her toes, she spotted Sharita tunneling in from the side of the crowd and hopped into action to catch her. Except the minute she breached the mass of bodies, the lights went down and the audience surged forward, carrying Charley as if she’d been caught in a dangerous riptide.
Beams of light crisscrossed the stage as the band members reached their positions. Seconds later, they kicked off “Working at Home,” and Charley’s chest tightened as Dylan stormed onstage, guitar strapped to his chest and hat down low.
Though the crowd had no way of knowing the song, since the album hadn’t been released yet, they clapped along, bouncing to the beat and feeding off the energy of the music. As much as she wanted to run, Charley found herself as mesmerized as the strangers around her. Dylan possessed a natural stage presence, appearing as comfortable beneath the lights as he had sitting next to the water in Centennial Park. His smile could power a city block, and passion filled every strum of the guitar.
The same guitar he’d settled in her lap six days before.
As the first song faded to a close, the crowd went wild. Regardless of what happened between them, Charley couldn’t help but smile. The fans loved him. The applause died down as he stepped to the microphone and thanked everyone for coming out to celebrate the release of his new single. Seizing the opportunity, Charley turned her back to the stage and let the crowd funnel around her as she worked her way to the edge.
When she finally reached open air, Dylan said the last thing she expected to hear.
“I’m not sure if Charley Layton is still out there, but I hope she is.” He shielded his eyes from the lights and scanned the audience in front of him. “I owe Miss Layton an apology. You see, I was a bit of a jerk earlier tonight, and I’d like to make it up to her. So if you’re listening Charley, this one’s for you. It’s called ‘Better Than Before.’”
Easton drew a mournful cry from his guitar as Dylan swung his acoustic around to his back. The slow song subdued the crowd, who listened with rapt attention, swaying from side to side. When his soulful voice filled the room, Charley’s heart soaked in every gorgeous note.
They say I’m a lucky man,
And boy I know they’re right,
Because the day she smiled my way
Is the day I saw the light.
I thought I had it all,
Wasn’t missing anything,
Thought love would keep me down,
Said I’d never buy a ring.
But a girl like that doesn’t come along every day,
You’ve got to hold on to her tight, before she walks away.
Don’t take her love for granted, and she’ll show you so much more,
’Cause life with her beside me is better than before.
Dylan stepped back as Easton took the spotlight, mesmerizing the crowd with a solo that echoed the sentiment of the lyrics. The chords hung in the air, lingering like a prayer suspended in the artificial fog hovering around his feet. Solo fading to a close, the guitarist retreated into the darkness, leaving Dylan center stage once more.
At some point during the song, Charley had made her way back to the front, unaware that she’d taken a single step. Resting her arms on the thin metal barrier, she waited for Dylan to look up, ready with a smile when he did. The moment their eyes met, she kissed her heart goodbye. Dropping to her level, he sang the rest of the song for her.
There are times I get it wrong,
Forget the things I’ve learned.
I lose my way, but she’s right there
To give me love I haven’t earned.
And if I ever lose her,
It’ll tear my world apart.
She’s the breath that keeps me going,
She’s the beat inside my heart.
And a girl like that doesn’t come along every day,
You’ve got to hold on to her tight, don’t let her walk away.
Don’t take her love for granted, and I promise you for sure,
Life with her beside you will be better than before.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a dying cynic pointed out the cheesiness of the moment, but the smile stayed on her face as Dylan leaned in to seal the deal with a kiss. The crowd fell away when his lips touched hers, and Charley wrapped her arms around his neck, cursing the barrier between them. By the time the kiss ended, they were breathless and both a little stunned.
Not until the crowd roared with applause did Charley remember where they were.
After his kiss with Charley, Dylan experienced the best hour onstage of his life. The crowd pulsed with energy, and at the end, several fans in the front were singing along with the new single. Less than a month and they already knew the words. The entire night had been a rush, with the only downside being Charley’s early departure.
Dylan had wanted her to stick around and celebrate with him and the guys, but thanks to an early-morning remote, she insisted on heading home. Though not without a long goodbye kiss and a commitment to attend the Hall of Fame dinner with him the next night.
“What the hell was that about?” asked Mitch when he found Dylan packing up his guitar.
With the success of the show, he expected his manager to be in a better mood.
“What was what?” he asked, snapping the case shut. “The show was great. The crowd loved us.”
The older man didn’t seem to share Dylan’s assessment.
“I’m talking about that damn kiss. Where do you get off pulling a stunt like that?”
Kissing Charley hadn’t been a stunt, and Dylan took offense to Mitch’s tone. “I didn’t plan that, but I damn sure don’t regret it.” Lifting the guitar, he said, “The crowd didn’t seem to mind, so what’s it to you?”
Mitch followed him to the back exit. “What part of ‘eligible bachelor’ do you not get?”
“I kissed her, Mitch. I didn’t propose.”
�
�Listen, boy. Pictures of that kiss are already peppered all over the Internet, and they’re tagging you in every one of them. A simple search is all it’ll take for the magazine to find them, and then we’re screwed.”
Dylan dragged the keys from his pocket and unlocked his truck. “That eligible-bachelor bull was your idea,” he reminded Mitch. “If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. We’ve got the radio tour next week, and by the time that article is scheduled to come out, I’ll have hopefully spent weeks on a major tour, gaining more exposure than Country Today could ever get us.”
The manager poked him in the back. “Do you think I do this shit for my health? I had to bow and scrape to get you in that article. You don’t toss off opportunities like this over a piece of ass.”
“Hey,” Dylan snapped, spinning on his heel. “Charley isn’t ‘a piece of ass.’ She’s the woman in my life, and I won’t have you or anyone else disrespecting her. You manage my career. I’ll manage my personal life. Is that clear?”
Jaw working from side to side, Mitch stood his ground. “When your personal life threatens to fuck up your career, that’s my business. Do you have any idea how many people are riding on your success? You’ve got a whole damn label to yourself. You’re it, buddy. You go down, so does Shooting Stars Records.”
“And so do you, right, Mitch?” he growled. Dylan knew what was on the line and exactly how much weight rested on his shoulders. The last thing he needed was someone reminding him how many people would be hurt if he didn’t get this ship off the ground. “I’ve worked my ass off for this chance, and if you think for one second that I would do anything to screw it up, then you don’t know me at all. This is about the music, not my relationship status. As long as there’s no ring on my finger, I’m a bachelor. That should be enough for your magazine article. And if it isn’t, too damn bad.”
Dylan yanked his door open and slid his guitar behind his seat. To his credit, Mitch backed off and let him close the door. Running on pure adrenaline, he cranked the engine and slammed the GMC into drive. By the time he made a left from the parking lot onto Clinton Street, he’d cursed Mitch six ways from Sunday.
Tonight had been the best show of his life. That’s what should have been the focus. Mitch should have been dancing a freaking jig after seeing that crowd’s reaction. Hell, the entire week had been a success, according to his label. When he’d talked to Clay after the show, the exec had been all smiles, patting him on the back and congratulating him on blowing the roof off the place. Not once did he mention what happened with Charley.
The first time he’d taken this ride, Dylan hadn’t even gotten this far. Four months of his life sat on some computer hard drive, deemed unworthy of even getting a shot. This time was different. Shooting Stars believed in him, and he would not let them down.
Maybe this wasn’t the time to start a relationship. Maybe diverting even a fraction of his energy to something other than the work would bring it all crashing down. Or maybe, he reasoned, Mitch was overreacting. Dylan couldn’t blame the man for being nervous. Once upon a time, he’d climbed to the top only to watch it all fall apart. Then again, Mitch couldn’t blame any artist for his legendary descent. The mistakes he’d made were his alone.
Determined to do right by all involved, he vowed to appease the magazine, if necessary, and reassure Mitch that his priorities were still in order. No matter what, this opportunity would not slip through his fingers. Too many people were counting on Dylan to be successful. And he would be. Because, at this point, failure was not an option.
Chapter 15
“We’re live from Esmeralda’s Pancake House, raising money for the good folks at Central City Food Bank.” Charley dodged a fast-moving intern balancing a tray on her shoulder. “The staff and personalities of Eagle 101.5 are here to serve up some scrumptious food and collect money for a great cause. We’ll be here for another hour and a half, so if you’ve longed for Ruby Barnett or Beau Treble to serve you up a waffle, your dream can come true today, folks. We’re at 515 Flanders Avenue. Hurry over and have breakfast with us. Charley Layton, sending it back to Freddy in the studio.”
As Charley set the microphone on the table, a familiar face came rushing into the restaurant. “There she is, Brenda. That’s Charley right there.”
“I know what she looks like, Sharlene. You were right. She is prettier in person.”
Sharlene of the awkward ice cream shop encounter all but bounced Charley’s way. “Remember me?” she asked. “From the other night?”
When a person had a fan club of one, she tended to remember. “Of course I do,” she replied. Turning to the curvy woman with cherry-blonde hair, she added, “And you must be Brenda.”
“I am!” she exclaimed. “How did you know?”
“Good guess,” Charley replied with a smile. “Are you ladies here for breakfast?”
“We sure are. Which tables are you serving?” Sharlene asked.
Sorry to disappoint them, she pointed to the microphone. “I’m currently handling the live spots, but Ruby is taking care of the first several tables by the window.”
“Did I hear my name taken in vain?” the morning hostess interrupted. “How you ladies doing?”
Neither of Charley’s fans appeared as excited to see Ruby as they’d been to see her. “We’re great,” Brenda said. “But we were hoping Charley would be our waitress this morning.”
“Well, why can’t she be?” Ruby asked.
“I’m doing the live spots,” she explained. Since Charley hadn’t been at the station long, the assumption had been that listeners wouldn’t want a lesser-known personality as their server. That left Charley on broadcast duty.
Ruby waved her words away. “Don’t be silly. I can do this. These ladies came all the way down here to have you slap some pancakes in front of them, and by golly, that’s what they’ll get.” Sharlene and Brenda danced with excitement as an apron got tossed over Charley’s head. “Now y’all have a seat right at that first table, and Miss Layton here will deliver your menus in one second.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brenda led the way as the ladies hurried to take their seats.
“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” Charley asked. “John made it clear that I’m not supposed to serve.”
While tying the narrow strings behind Charley’s back, Ruby drawled, “Rule number twenty-three, honey child. Never hide your best assets when there’s money to be made. If in the eyes of those ladies you’re our best asset, then tote your scrawny little ass over there and make some money.”
“But—”
“I’ll take care of Willoughby.” Ruby spun her around and shoved two menus at her chest. “Have you ever waited tables before?”
“I used to carry around trays of cookies at church gatherings.”
“Close enough.” Tucking a pen over Charley’s left ear, she said, “Everything is right there on the menu. Take the order. Talk ’em up. Collect the cash. Think you can do that?”
Slightly offended, she grabbed a notepad off the counter behind her. “I’m not an idiot, Ruby. The next break is in ten minutes. Someone needs to call Freddy and let him know he won’t be cutting to me.”
“Where are you going?” asked the program manager as Charley turned toward her customers.
“Personal request,” Ruby answered for her. “We’re here to give the people what they want, and those two ladies over there want our newest addition.”
John appeared skeptical. “I didn’t realize you were so popular.”
“I didn’t, either,” Charley mumbled. “Better not keep them waiting.” Circling her boss, she crossed the short distance to Brenda and Sharlene and set a menu in front of each of them. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
“Water for me,” Brenda replied.
Sharlene said, “I’ll have some orange juice. You must be walking on air after last night.”
“Last night?” she asked, making note of their drinks.
“That kiss!” Brenda
all but shouted. The woman seemed to have two volumes—loud and louder. “It’s all over the Internet. I’ve watched the video three times this morning already.”
Freezing with her pen above her paper, Charley cut her gaze from one smiling fan to the other. “There’s video?”
Sharlene giggled as she picked up her phone. “Girl, let me show you. Though you lived it, so I guess you know better than anyone what happened.”
Seconds later, Charley stared at Sharlene’s phone screen as Dylan Monroe planted a passionate kiss on her lips, and she all but threw herself at him. When they finally broke apart, the crowd went wild, and the video cut off.
Stunned into silence, she didn’t know whether to curse or cry. Being in the spotlight sent chills of panic down her spine, but until that moment, Charley had never contemplated the concept of going viral.
“Did you say all over the Internet?”
“I’ve seen it on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter,” Brenda said. “And my daughter saw it on Snapchat.”
Scrunching up her nose, Sharlene said, “For the life of me, I cannot figure that snap thing out.”
“Kenzie has tried to teach me,” Brenda lamented, “but I don’t get it, either.”
Charley had an account on all the usual sites, but she rarely checked them unless she was on the air and needed something to talk about.
“By the way,” Sharlene whispered conspiratorially, “you weren’t tagged in a few of the posts I saw, so I went ahead and did it for you.”
A nervous laugh escaped Charley’s lips. “I appreciate that. I’m going to grab your drinks, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Sure,” they said in stereo.
Returning to the table where she’d left Ruby, Charley said, “Have you been online today?”
The redhead flashed a wicked grin. “That was one hell of a kiss, girlfriend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
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.”