"Michelle, please don't."
She moved her hand, picked up her wine glass again, but set it down before she drank anything.
"I'm going to tell you something, Trace. I feel it's the right time." She took a deep breath. "I loved you back when we worked together, when you wrote those songs for me."
Trace turned away from the TV he'd been ignoring and looked straight at her. "Michelle, you were barely twenty. It was a crush, that's all."
"Maybe you're right, but I believed that I loved you. Then you hit it big, married Trixie. I moved on, kept working, became what I am today. And when I found out you weren't with her anymore I was hoping that maybe, working together again, you'd see that I'd grown up. I'm not the same naïve young girl." She sighed, took a sip of wine.
"Then Lisa showed up. Even before you started officially dating, I could see the attraction. Trace, I don't know if it would have worked out between us. Maybe not. But I regret every day not telling you how much I loved you back then."
She touched his arm again, but this time it felt more like the supportive touch of a friend.
"If you love her, and I believe you do, then you need to go to her. Don't give up. Don't be an idiot. You need to try or you'll never know what could have been."
She rose from the bar, taking a hundred from her purse and laying it on the bar. "Is that enough for his too?" she asked the bartender.
"It's too much, ma'am. I'll get your change."
"Keep it." She slung her purse over her shoulder.
"Come on, Trace. Let's get you home."
Chapter Nineteen
Coffee. The smell wafted through his dreams until it pulled Trace awake. He opened his eyes and the living room light hit him like a hammer. Hangovers sucked.
He squinted, turned his head a quarter inch to the right. Blurry shapes and fuzzy colors came into focus. He'd fallen asleep on the living room couch again. He sat up, scrunching his eyes closed against the bright overhead light, rubbing his temples, trying to ease the headache. "I'm too damn old to sleep on a couch," he said out loud.
"Here." A glass of water, two aspirin, and a cup of coffee was placed on the coffee table in front of him. The coffee smelled wonderful.
"Thanks," he said, and looked up to see Michelle. "Morning." He swallowed the aspirin and the water before cradling the coffee mug in his hands. "Why are you here?"
"Well, someone had to drive you home, Cowboy. You walked into the room and collapsed on the couch. I was beat, so I slept in the guest room. I didn't think you'd mind."
He vaguely remembered talking to her at the bar.
"My truck?"
"Still at the bar. Patrick is having someone drop it off later."
"I guess I owe you for getting me home." Trace sipped the coffee, trying to piece together fragments from the night before. He'd yelled at Trixie, punched the wall in the dressing room, then headed to a bar nearby. He remembered drinking Boilermakers before switching to beer, then something about Patrick and going to Europe. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness from his brain.
"You're welcome, Cowboy. It wasn't a problem." Michelle settled next to him, holding her own mug of coffee. "You must really love her."
"Her?" Trace was confused. Who was she talking about?
"Lisa. You talked about her on the ride over." Michelle looked at him, smiling. "She's a lucky girl."
"Not that lucky. She was caught lying - to me, her boss, Leon and the other producers, Patrick. She's not my girl anymore."
"Yeah, you said that too. But it's not true, is it?"
Trace was quiet, but yeah, he had to admit it, even if only to himself. Something was still there. You don't fall out of love with someone in barely twenty-four hours. He did love her. But she'd lied to him. It's wasn't an accident, a mistake. She'd lied. Could he forgive that?
"No, it's not true." Trace admitted out loud. "But it doesn’t matter. It's over."
"Don't be so sure about that. Give her some time. Both of you need some space for a while." Michelle finished her coffee, set the cup on the table and rose from the couch. "I need to go. I have a cab coming."
"I can take you wherever." Trace said, setting his coffee down too.
"No, you can't. Your truck isn't here and you have a hangover. Rest, take it easy." She picked up her purse as the intercom buzzed.
"Yes," Michelle pressed the button and answered the page.
"This is the doorman. There's a cab here for Michelle Nelson."
"I'm on my way down." Michelle let go of the button and turned back to Trace. "Don't be an idiot, Trace. If you love her, forgive her. See what happens."
He raised his cup to her, but didn't say anything.
Michelle closed the door behind her after stepping into the hall. Trace heard the lock click behind her. His head pounded like a full drum set was inside his skull.
"Dammit." He said, and collapsed on the sofa.
###
The rest of the weekend passed Lisa by in a fog of tears, ice cream, B-movies with Tanya, more tears, Chinese food, more ice cream. But the time for self-pity was over. Monday morning -- time to man up and get back to work.
Lisa needed to speak to Molly Sims and her parents. She knew they'd hear what happened soon, if they hadn't already, and as much as she didn't want to lose Molly as a client, she didn't want the Sims to believe she'd lied to them too. And she hadn't. She'd told the truth about the contract with Molly -- nothing had been said about Cahill-Waters when they'd signed with her. But Lisa needed to be sure they understood everything that happened Saturday night. She entered their apartment building and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, ready for whatever decision they made.
Molly answered Lisa's knock.
"Lisa, hi. I'm glad you're here. Come on in." Molly grabbed her hand and pulled her through the entry to the apartment.
"Molly, wait. I need to speak to your parents."
"They're in the dining room. Come on."
Molly led the way through the apartment, past an expansive living room with French doors leading to a balcony. As she passed the sheer-draped doors, Lisa thought there must be an awesome view of the city from up here. Molly led her around the sectional sofa and into the attached dining room. Her parents were at the table, eating breakfast.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sims, Hi. I'm sorry to bother you during breakfast."
"It's no bother, Lisa. Would you like something?" Caroline motioned to an empty chair next to hers. Molly dropped Lisa's hand and made her way to her own seat across from her father.
"Eat something, Lisa. Mom makes great breakfasts." Molly took a bite of her scrambled eggs.
"No, thank you, Molly. I need to talk to you about my continuing to represent Molly." Lisa stood near the family, clutching her purse, twisting the strap around her hand, then loosening it. Her palms felt damp and her forehead hot and sweaty.
"I hope you're not changing your mind." Caroline placed her napkin on the table and turned toward her, giving Lisa her full attention.
"I'm not, but I want to make something clear. In regards to our contract, Molly is my client, not a client of Cahill-Waters. At the time I signed Molly I was working out a four-week notice. Molly is my client and isn't represented by Cahill-Waters."
No one spoke. Let me fall through the floor now. Lisa continued twisting her purse strap.
Caroline broke the silence. "Lisa, until Saturday night I didn't know you had worked for anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, you and you alone are Molly's manager."
"I am? You're not concerned about what happened Saturday?"
"After we heard what happened and discovered you were working for someone else, we did discuss the contract with our attorney. He'd gone over the contract to begin with before we first signed, and he told us everything was fine. Molly had no other link to your previous employer and I'm happy to keep you as part of our team. You've done a great job with Molly, getting her booked on talk shows and radio. Patrick Mitchell is a wonderful agent.
Thank you for recommending him."
"I've known Patrick for some time. He won't let you down. Thank you for deciding to keep me on. It will help as I search for more clients."
"If that's all you needed, at least have a cup of coffee with us." Caroline indicated the empty chair next once more and this time Lisa joined them. Caroline took her hand while Mr. Sims poured her a cup of coffee.
"Lisa, as I said, you are a great manager and we're pleased with all you've done. It must have been difficult."
Their belief in her, their trust, helped Lisa relax. It was as if a huge burden fell from her shoulders. She sweetened her coffee and took a sip.
"It wasn't difficult because I love this work. I love managing. It brings out so much in me that I didn't realize that I had." Lisa set her cup on the table. "But Molly is my client, and what I want is secondary to what she wants. So, tell me what you want?" Lisa pulled out her notepad and pen and got busy taking notes and bouncing ideas off the Sims family.
As she sipped coffee and planned out the more public aspects of Molly's career, Lisa felt calmer than she had in weeks. The big secret was out and it barely caused a blip on anyone's radar. Except it cost her a relationship with Trace.
"Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" Caroline offered her a plate filled with pancakes, eggs and bacon.
"Sure," Lisa accepted, taking the plate, and they finished their meeting over breakfast.
###
"Caroline, Molly needs to be at the studio at seven tomorrow morning. I'll send a car for you two, all right?" Lisa switched the phone to her left ear and started playing with the earring in her right ear.
"That sounds fine, Lisa. Let me get this down." Lisa heard Caroline Sims rummaging for a pen and paper on the other side of the line. "I can't believe you got her on Nashville Today."
"It wasn't difficult. She is in the lead on the show right now, and popular opinion says she's going to win."
"That's great! But we still have four more weeks before the finale."
"I still say she's going to be on top. And you never know, Caroline, she may get a contract even without winning the contest. Look at some of the American Idol contestants, like Kellie Pickler. She didn't win, but she's got a fabulous career." Lisa doodled on her notepad.
"I would love for Molly to win, but regardless, I'm just happy she's doing what she enjoys. All right, you're sending a car in the morning. We'll be ready. The driver needs to buzz our apartment."
"I'll remind him." Lisa made a note on her growing to-do list. "I have a few more calls to make. I may be able to get another talk show next week."
"That would be wonderful, Lisa. I need to go too, and let you get back to work. But Molly did want to know if you were coming to the taping Saturday."
Lisa's stopped drumming on her notepad, her pencil still. The Saturday taping. She hadn't missed one since Trace had started on the show, but she hadn't planned to go anymore.
"I wasn't planning on coming, Caroline. You know that Trace and I aren't seeing each other anymore."
"I know, and I hate that. You two were so good together. But Molly would like you to be there."
It's part of your job, Lisa, she told herself. Put your personal feelings aside and do your job.
"Okay, Caroline, I'll be there. Let Molly know, and if I don't see you at Nashville Today in the morning I'll see you Saturday."
"Sounds great. Bye."
Lisa returned the goodbye and disconnected the call. Saturday night. She hadn't seen Trace since the previous Saturday. She'd spoken to Patrick, but both of them had kept the conversation all about business, even though she wanted to ask about Trace. Well, she had three days to get used to the idea of seeing him again. Lisa started doodling on the pad again, wondering what she could do to protect her heart within that short time.
Chapter Twenty
Trace stepped onto the marble floor of the lobby inside First National Bank. He didn't want to return here, but he'd received the next third of the money for the show and he was more than ready to pay off the balance on the bank loan. He wanted this bank and everyone else out of his business and out of his way. Getting the mortgage paid was the first part of that goal.
He walked back over to Peggy, still at the customer service desk. Maybe he'd ask her out. She was cute.
"Hello, sir." She said, looking up at him, and her eyes went wide.
"Hello, Peggy. Good to see you again." He tipped his hat towards her.
"You're -- you're the guy on that show."
"Yeah, I'm the guy on that show." Trace sighed. This was definitely a different greeting than he'd received last time. But what he wouldn't give to be known as a performer again instead of the-guy-on-that-show.
"I watch you all the time. Can I have your autograph?" She pushed a deposit slip towards him.
"I'll do this if you'll let your manager know Trace Harper is here. I'd also like to see Sheila Nichols if she's in."
"Yes, just a moment." Peggy went back into work mode while Trace signed the blank slip: To Peggy, a beautiful gal. Trace Harper, aka the-guy-on-that-show.
"Mr. Elliott is on his way out. He'll take you up to Miss Nichols. Thank you so much!" Peggy took the slip from him and offered a big smile.
"You're welcome, Peggy. I'll just sit over here and wait."
Before he could sit in the same chair he'd sat in a few weeks ago and flip through the same magazine -- it didn't look like it had been moved at all -- Mike Elliott entered the lobby from the office area behind the reception desk.
"Mr. Harper, hello. You know you could request security to walk you in the back entrance."
Yeah, this was definitely a different reception than he'd had a few weeks ago.
"No, thanks, I don't that. I'd like to see Miss Nichols, though, and pay off my loan."
"Pay it off? Well, that's fantastic. Let's go up."
Trace followed Mike to a bank of elevators. Soon after he pressed the button the doors opened and they were whisked away to Sheila Nichols' office on the third floor.
It was something, Trace thought when they exited the elevator. It was opulent, abundant. The bank did well here, especially with the country music business being based in the heart of Nashville.
His boots clicked on the marble floor. Granite columns on the wall held a great expanse of blue sky painted on the domed cathedral ceiling. And this was just the third floor lobby. He and Mike walked under the blue dome toward the offices in back. Bank employees sat at their desks or walked past them, ignoring them both.
The office area was more comfortable, more relaxed, than the lobby. Standard carpet ran down the hall floor, lit sconces were attached to the walls and photos or painted portraits of former bank directors alternated with windows.
Mike led him to Miss Nichols' office at the end of the hall. They stopped at her secretary's desk. "Trace Harper and Mike Elliott here to see Miss Nichols."
The secretary cleared the way for them to enter the bank president's office. Sheila Nichols' office was elegant, but understated. Antique furniture was mixed with more modern pieces. They were obviously expensive but meshed together well.
He of Lisa and her shabby chic house she'd decorated with thrift store and flea market finds. Yeah, it takes a certain kind of person to make a house a home, no matter if it was furnished with expensive antiques or refinished yard sale finds. A germ of an idea inched into his mind, a possibility. "No." Trace said to this niggling worm of an idea. But it wouldn't let go.
"Hello, Mr. Harper. I'm glad to see you again. My husband loved the autograph. What can I do for you?"
Sheila Nichols shook his hand and before returning to her desk, looking at him expectantly.
"I want to pay off the mortgage on my house. The money can be transferred from my checking account."
"All right." Sheila turned to her computer and began typing in search parameters. Soon his loan application and all documentation showed on her computer.
"The mortgage balance is fift
y thousand twenty dollars."
"Pay it. All of it."
Sheila Nichols checked the balance in his checking account, then completed the transfer. The house was his again.
"I'll be getting my deed back?"
"Yes, you'll receive your deed by next month. I'm sorry I can't be more timely."
"Not a problem," he said, and stood to shake her hand. "Thanks for your assistance, Miss Nichols."
He didn't wait for acknowledgement from either of them. Instead, he tipped his hat and left the office. His house was his again, and he'd protected it this time by filing a will with his attorney. This was never going to happen again, he would swear on it. As he left the bank, the niggling idea he'd had earlier crept up again. In fact, he realized, the idea had been there for a long time. He just hadn't been able to understand it.
###
Lisa took her usual seat near the front, but she was dreading the show. She smoothed down her dress as she sat, then stopped, recognizing her nervous habit. She wore a new dress, the same material as the green but this one was blue. She'd also worn her boots, but not because of Trace, she told herself. She wore them because they were comfortable and she fit into the casual crowd in the audience at the taping.
She hadn't seen Trace backstage when she'd gone back to see Molly. This would be the first time she'd seen him since their fight week ago. It will all be okay, she told herself. She'd made it through one week and she'd make it through another. It will all be okay.
Despite her mantra, Lisa found herself fidgeting in the seat again. "Good grief," she said out loud, then rose from her seat. If she had to stay, she wasn't going to sit in her usual seat up front.
"Excuse me." A man started bumping his way down the aisle before she could get out, heading for the empty seat near Lisa. With the man coming in and equipment blocking the other side of the aisle, Lisa knew it would be hopeless trying to move to another see. She sat back down, annoyed.
"Hello," he said, reaching out his hand to her for a shake once he'd settled next to her. "Herb Johnson. I hope I'm in the right place. The usher escorting me had to head back, some kind of emergency."
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