There was a lull as the crowd outside waited to see who was emerging, but the moment he set foot on the blinding white concrete parking lot, the screams began.
“Travis. It’s Travis!” The shriek set off a crescendo of screams.
Smile, Trav. He could hear Emmy Lou in his head. They love you. Give them the best version of you.
“How are y’all doing?” he drawled, sliding off his sunglasses and giving them his best smile.
“You’re here.” A teen with pink hair, a nose ring, and a brightly colored tattoo sleeve started sobbing. “You are really here.”
Since there wasn’t much to say to that, he winked and took the pen and notebook being shoved his way.
He posed for at least a dozen selfies. Sawyer handed over a second permanent marker when he’d made it halfway from the exit to the car. He scribbled his name on autograph books, shirts, a shoe, and several arms by the time he reached the car. With a final wave and smile, he climbed into the black suburban—to find both of his sisters sitting on the opposite seat.
“You made it.” Krystal said, glancing through the darkly tinted windows. “For a minute there, I thought that soccer mom was taking you down.”
Travis had to smile. “You know how partial I am to soccer moms.”
Sawyer climbed into the front passenger side, his gaze flitting to the rearview mirror. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to find the other two members of Three Kings aboard or he wouldn’t be wearing that look. For Sawyer, the slight eye-narrow headshake combo was about as close to surprise as it came.
“Yeah. Surprise?” Travis sighed. “As my bodyguard, shouldn’t this sort of thing not happen? Not without you knowing about it, anyway.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “That way, I don’t know, you could stop them?”
“Sawyer knows we’re not dangerous.” Emmy Lou leaned forward to pat Travis on the knee.
Sawyer’s eyebrow shot up.
Travis laughed.
“What?” Emmy Lou asked.
“Nothing.” Travis shook his head and stared out the window at the blinking lights and crowded sidewalks of the Las Vegas Strip. “Why, exactly, are you here?”
“We have a family dinner tonight, remember?” Emmy Lou answered quickly. “Brock should be here soon.”
Travis and Krystal groaned in unison.
“Does that mean we’ll be talking wedding talk?” Krystal slumped back against the black leather seat. “Don’t get me wrong, Em, I’m super excited for you and Brock and the wedding. It’s just…it’s such a thing.”
“Harsh.” Travis shot Krystal a look. The “Wedding of the Decade” stuff was taxing, but it was worth it. Emmy Lou had never been this happy. He’d keep eating cake samples, offering his opinion on bridesmaid fabric, and look at pages and pages of potential place settings if it kept that joyful smile on Emmy Lou’s face.
And, selfishly, this wedding couldn’t have come at a better time. Emmy Lou had more followers than…anyone. Her wedding and every little thing related to her impending nuptials trended regularly on social media—taking the attention and pressure off of him and his parents’ rapidly declining marriage. How could the third wheel of Three Kings’s return to the stage or another celebrity divorce compete with the wedding of country music darling Emmy Lou King and football star Brock Watson?
“No.” Emmy Lou smiled. “No wedding talk. I promise. We all need a break.” She rested her head on Krystal’s shoulder. “I’m just glad he’ll be here. I miss him when we’re apart.”
Krystal took Emmy Lou’s hand, her green gaze meeting his. Krystal wasn’t the hard-ass she tried to be. She guarded her heart from the world—save a select few. At the top of that list was her twin. Hell, when it came to Emmy Lou, they were both fiercely protective. “You know you can still change your mind.” Krystal said it at least once a day.
“I know. I won’t. But I know.” Emmy Lou glanced up at her sister. “I also know that we’re in Las Vegas and there are a million wedding chapels around and you and Jace—”
“Emmy.” Krystal cut her off. “Let’s take one wedding at a time, okay? Besides, we are now way off track.”
Emmy Lou sat up and, together, his sisters turned all of their focus his way.
“I thought this was about dinner?” Travis asked.
“It is.” Emmy Lou smiled. “Partly.”
“How much longer is this car ride?” Travis ran a hand over his face. “If this is about Loretta Gram, I only have one thing to say. Her not liking me thing? Well now, the feeling is mutual.” They had one other thing in common too: both of them couldn’t wait for tomorrow night and their collaboration to be over.
Chapter 3
“The brandy first? And the peacock for the performance?” Juliette Rousseau, her stylist for the awards show, asked. “Then again, the brandy color is more somber?”
Loretta nodded, staring at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of her suite. “I agree. The brandy dress for the performance.” The peacock gown was lovely, but not right for an “In Memoria” performance. Loretta prided herself on simple fashion, nothing over-the-top or too flashy. The peacock dress was a classic ballgown of near-weightless silk, sleeveless with a gentle V neckline that didn’t reveal too much skin. But when she moved, the pleats of the skirt parted to reveal vivid jewel tone silk inserts with peacock feather embossing. “It’s one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever worn, Juliette.”
Juliette stood back, gave her head-to-toe assessment, and nodded. “You look elegant and feminine and every bit the country music star you are. Head up, shoulders back, and you will own the red carpet.” She plucked a pin from the pincushion her assistant was holding. “One day, you’ll let me put you in a real statement dress. You’re so young, Loretta. With that figure and my magic, you’d make an entrance no one would ever forget.”
Juliette and her assistant were both wearing the same hopeful expression, but Loretta shook her head. “I appreciate it but…this is me. This is perfect. I love it.”
“Let me see,” Margot sounded off.
Loretta had almost forgotten Margot was there. Well, not actually there, but on FaceTime. She couldn’t be there in person, but she was doing her best to be there virtually. And Loretta loved her all the more for the support.
“You’re killing me here.” Margot gave an extra-exaggerated sigh for good measure.
Loretta held the phone away from her. “Don’t get too excited.”
“I will promise no such thing.” Margot twirled her finger. “Turn me around or flip your phone or something. Let me see.”
Loretta smiled as she held up the phone so Margot could see. Over the years, Loretta had come to trust the older woman’s instincts. She studied the industry, every detail. Branding was key and she’d made sure Loretta was always on brand. If Margot didn’t like the dress, there would be a reason.
“Lori-girl, you look so…so…” Margot broke off.
“Lovely? Elegant? Classy?” Juliette offered. “Beautiful.”
“All those things. I’m speechless.” Margot nodded. “You need to stay away from Mickey Graham, you hear me. That man has too many hands and none of them are up to any good.”
Loretta laughed. “I know.”
“I guess I’m glad you’re sitting with Hank King. The man can’t stand Mickey Graham, either,” Margot said. “Turn around.”
Loretta turned, considering Margot’s statement. If she was sitting with Hank, she’d be fine. Hank King was a gentleman. But she wasn’t just sitting with him. She was sitting with the whole King entourage. And, after her hasty exit, she wasn’t sure what sort of reception she’d get from Three Kings. Of course, Margot didn’t know about any of that. As far as she knew, the rehearsal had gone off without a hitch—because that’s what Loretta had told her.
“I love the laces down the back. And the extra fabric in the
skirt. The patterns.” Margot nodded. “You look like a princess.”
“You approve?” It had been a long time since Loretta felt put together, let alone pretty. It was a nice feeling.
Juliette waved her hand dismissively. “Margot, you have to help me convince her to take a risk now and then. Something daring. Unique and…sexy. She has the figure for it. A plunging neckline and low-cut back too. Not too low. I remember dressing another celebrity and she requested her gown be cut so low in the back, you could see the top of her bum.” She shrugged. “But her bum is insured for thirty-million dollars so I suppose it’s worth showing off.”
Loretta blinked.
“Imagine that? I doubt my ass is insurable.” Margot laughed. “I don’t think now is the time for Loretta to be taking risks.”
“Next.” Juliette sighed with disappointment and glanced at her phone. “No time to waste.”
“Who else are you dressing today?” Margot asked.
Loretta put her phone back on the stand and raised her arms so Juliette could help her out of the dress.
“People.” Juliette winked. “Bree, here, will come back to help you get ready for the evening.” She nodded at the assistant holding the pins at the ready.
Next was the brandy-colored dress. Once it was on, she wasn’t sure what to think.
“It looked more sedate on the hanger,” Loretta murmured.
“Looks can be deceiving.” Juliette winked and stepped back. “Turn, slowly.”
Loretta did as she was told. The dress itself wasn’t the problem. It was off the shoulder with three-quarter-length sleeves and a hip-hugging mermaid skirt, but it had sheer tulle overlay on the bodice and a skirt covered in hundreds of near-invisible tiny beads and crystals that caught the light and gave her a slight glow. “It’s…not too much?”
“It’s perfect,” Margot said.
“Of course it is. As much as I’d like to put you in something more, I know Loretta Gram’s style.” Juliette pointed out. “A few beads, a little sparkle, it’s not too much. Not even close.”
Loretta ran her fingers over the beading and nodded.
“Good. There’s not time to find anything else at this point, anyway,” Juliette pointed out. She was slipping out of the dress when she heard Margot say, “I’m so mad I’m not there to hold your hand, Loretta. If there was ever one awards show not to miss, it’s this one.”
“Why do you say that?” Loretta accepted her white robe from Bree. “Thank you.”
“Turn on TNM. Don’t look at me like that; turn it on.” Margot believed there was always some truth to what was reported. At least, that was the excuse she used.
Loretta turned on the television, putting on the closed captioning versus turning on the volume. She wasn’t a fan of TNM. They’d been relentless in their coverage of Johnny—most of it had been fabricated and none of it had been nice.
“They’re doing a greatest hits sort of thing. They’ve gone back through the last twelve months to see if any of tonight’s nominees had a scandal,” Margot said. “They’re talking about Travis King now.”
Travis King. Pictures of Travis playing pool, in boxer shorts, with a bunch of bikini-clad or naked women. Images of Travis King’s various trashed hotel rooms. The transcript of his drunken drive-through visit where he ordered everything on the menu and left a two-hundred-dollar tip for the drive-through attendant. And his bizarre tackling of a Christmas tree because one of the bulbs was out.
The segment culminated with that night—the night—and the video that twisted his party-boy image into someone on the edge and threatening.
“I can’t watch this again.” Juliette frowned and turned away from the television. “I don’t care what people say, I know this family and I know Travis. If he’s going to have a fresh start, this sort of thing needs to stop.”
He’d already blown the whole fresh start thing; Loretta had seen it herself. It was sad…but, more than that, it was infuriating. Why did Travis King get a fresh start? What made him more worthy than Johnny?
The moment the footage of that fateful night started, Loretta couldn’t look away. She’d seen it before—you’d have to live on a deserted island not to have seen it before. The camera recording from someone there at a rodeo. They’d caught the large, in-your-face guy heckling Travis until the heckling got out of control. And the look on Travis’s face when he was finally goaded into taking the first swing. The fight didn’t last long and, honestly, Travis was getting his ass kicked, but security—Travis’s bodyguard—managed to break it up. Cut to ten minutes later, this video from a phone in the gravel parking lot of the rodeo. A visibly stumbling Travis, baseball bat in hand, breaking headlights and denting the crap out of the body of a parked red pickup truck. A couple of young teens were laughing and filming—all sorts of expletives beeped out as Travis continued to decimate the truck. The kids were filming Travis—filming each other filming Travis—and having a great time. But one boy got too close, tripped, fell, and Travis spun around, baseball bat raised over his head.
The video ended there with the image of Travis, looking furious and ready to use the bat on the teen lying helpless on the ground.
Loretta wrapped her arms around her waist, putting herself in that kid’s position long enough for her heart to lodge itself in her throat. He was terrifying… And totally out of control. For months afterward, that picture had been everywhere.
It was hard reconciling this image with the man who’d offered up his handkerchief to her. But that was Travis King. So handsome and charming it was hard to believe he was capable of doing something like this, even with the damning proof right in front of her.
But TNM wasn’t done with the Kings yet.
Next up, Hank King. And CiCi King. Rumors of their impending divorce. CiCi’s work as a guest judge on this year’s season of Next Top American Voice. And the relationship between her and the show’s runner-up, Kegan Scott.
“If they keep things going at this pace, there’s no way this will last four hours long,” Margot said.
“Four hours?” Loretta frowned and turned off the television. “Margot, you can’t watch this for four hours.” She couldn’t stomach another five minutes.
“Why not? It’s not like I have anything else to do. Might as well entertain myself up until the red carpet fashion show starts.” Margot blew kisses. “Remember the label is sending you security for tonight; they insisted. I asked for Gina again. You liked her, didn’t you? Now, you have fun tonight. Listen to Juliette on the whole posture thing. I’ll be on the lookout for you. Not that I’ll have to look that hard. That princess dress is a showstopper.”
Juliette sighed, saying, “Princess,” like it was the worst sort of insult.
Loretta smiled, her confidence more than rattled by TNM’s bit. “I’ll blow you a kiss.” The call ended.
“You look great,” Bree offered.
Juliette glanced at her assistant. “Great? No. Fabulous? Yes.”
Great was fine. Fabulous? A showstopper? Not words she was comfortable with.
Juliette glanced at her watch. “Hair and makeup are coming? In ten minutes?” She waited for Loretta’s nod, packing up her pins, needles, thread, double-sided tape, and other bits into her large work tote.
“I’ll leave a few pins,” she said to Bree, pointing at Loretta’s chest. “And use the tape to keep things in place. The dress is too sheer to wear undergarments.”
Loretta eyed the tape. Lovely. Nothing like having to tape your boobs into place. But she didn’t want to think about the alternative. She vaguely remembered a costume malfunction of a performer years back—during the halftime show of the Super Bowl. Not the sort of media attention she wanted tonight. Or any night, really. “Tape me up.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.
Within an hour, her suite was overflowing with people. The expected hair and makeup crews were w
ell-oiled machines. Wheelhouse Records had sent a masseuse too—to help her relax. But being touched by a stranger, naked, wasn’t exactly relaxing, so she politely declined.
And then the bodyguard arrived. So far, Loretta had managed to avoid hiring her own personal security detail. But maybe it was time to rethink that. The idea of having someone watching over her every second of every day was unnerving.
“It’s nice to see you again, Gina. I’d get up…” Loretta trailed off. Here she sat, in her fluffy white robe, with hot rollers in her hair, several nail technicians working on her hands and feet, and a makeup artist unpacking a tote full of brushes and sponges and who knows what else. It was too much and, honestly, a little embarrassing. But if she wanted to stay in Wheelhouse’s good graces, she’d play her part in this dog and pony show.
“No need.” Gina didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the flurry of activity underway. She’d worked with Gina a handful of times but she’d forgotten just how intimidating the woman was. From her steely-eyed assessing gaze to her well-muscled arms, crossed over her chest. Loretta was five foot eight, relatively tall for a woman, and she wasn’t exactly a waif either, but she was comfortable with her curves. Next to Gina, Loretta seemed tiny.
“You can sit, if you’d like?” Loretta paused. “Or can you?”
“I can.” Gina’s glanced her way. “But I’m fine.”
That makes one of us. The longer it took for Loretta’s appearance to become “camera ready,” the further away she was from fine. Between the extra eyelashes, bright red lips, intricate half-up, half-down mass of curls the hairstylist had spent close to an hour executing, and the peacock dress that had been steamed smooth and was ready and waiting for her, Loretta regretted not bringing someone with her—even her father. No, no, that would only make things worse.
“What do you think?” The makeup artist—whose name Loretta couldn’t remember—stood aside so Loretta could see her reflection clearly.
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