Bucking Bareback

by Maggie Monroe

  I didn’t know whether to be more annoyed with Scott for making such offensive suggestions, or Ben for sending him to me.

  Quinn hung up her phone and dropped it in her bag. “That was quick.”

  “Let’s go.” I looked over my shoulder. “I said all I had to say.”

  “You can tell me all about it over lunch.” She smiled. “But just be prepared, the paps might catch me feeding you or whispering sweet nothings in your ear.”

  “Stop.” I let a giggle escape. That’s all I needed, one more headline how I was double cheating on Ben and Mark with Quinn. I laughed louder. I had to admit—it was pretty damn funny.

  ***

  By the time I pulled into the ranch, darkness had settled on the land. I hadn’t heard from Ben. Surely, Scott had gotten in touch with him. The need to explain my decision to have coffee with Mark didn’t seem nearly as urgent after meeting Ben’s agent. Something about the exchange had put me on the defensive and in an unforgiving mood.

  I marched through the kitchen.

  “Hey, Chelsea. I’m working on a risotto and some steamed vegetables.” Lenny hovered over the stove.

  “Sounds good. Whatever you want to make, Lenny. I’m going to change. I’ll be down for dinner later.” I knew he had probably been working on the dish all day, but I didn’t have the energy to stroke his ego at the moment.

  I climbed the stairs and met Nan at the top landing.

  “Oh, well I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” She stood with an armful of towels.

  I was puzzled. “I didn’t have other plans.”

  “Oh, I thought I had read something that you might not be staying at the ranch.” She made a move toward the linen closet.

  “Nan, you’re not serious, are you?”

  “I must have misread it.” She focused on layering the towels on top of each other so that the ends were lined up.

  I huffed, searching for shreds of restraint. “I’m not leaving the ranch. Those pictures, or whatever you read, were just nasty gossip.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Nan didn’t turn from her task.

  “Fine.” I spun toward the bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I knew the exit was melodramatic, but I didn’t care what Nan thought. The house manager had already formed an opinion of me and it wasn’t a favorable one. What difference did it make if I tossed some of the bad manners back in her face?

  I set the shower on high and waited for the steam to billow over the glass walls. I was tired of everyone treating me like a liar. Tired of having to defend myself. Tired of feeling like I did something criminal, when it was only a latte. A freakin’ latte.

  I stepped into the streams of water, hoping some of this mood would wash down the drain like the soapy bubbles sliding over my body.

  I toweled off my hair, feeling slightly more relaxed. Lenny’s dinner and a glass of wine might be the only way to right this day. I got dressed and headed downstairs to see if the chef had finished his masterpiece.

  “Smells delicious, Lenny.” I walked into the kitchen, inhaling the aroma of all the spices. My mother would die over his herb garden. It was like something out of Southern Living magazine.

  “Lenny?” I stopped in the center of the kitchen. He wasn’t chopping up vegetables for a salad or prepping a dessert. He was gone.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “I live here, Chelsea.” Ben stood next to the counter. He wasn’t wearing his usual smile and he didn’t make a move toward me.

  “I didn’t know you were flying in. Did you wrap?” I stepped closer, but it didn’t feel right. I paused a few feet from him.

  “No, but I’m off tomorrow. Have to get back to L.A. by tomorrow night. Seems like there are things back home I need to take care of.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know why I felt like a child being scolded, but that was exactly the feeling invading my limbs. He had a parental look.

  Ben walked to the beer fridge, grabbed a beer, and twisted off the top. He chugged half of it before settling on one of the bar stools. “I think we need to talk.”

  I pulled out the stool in front of me. No matter what was going on between us, I didn’t want to create more distance. There was nothing good about distance.

  “Ok, talk.” I focused on his eyes. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen them so intense. They were hard and relentless, boring holes into me when I was trying to protect myself from more accusations. I didn’t like feeling as if my back were against the wall.

  “I want to know about the pictures.” He pushed the beer away from him.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious, Chelsea.”

  “Didn’t your little minion fill you in on everything?”

  “Minion? Are you talking about Scott?”

  “I don’t know how many people you have on your staff who would show up at my job and interrogate me like I’m a criminal, but yeah, Scott.” The words were biting, but the day had piled up on me.

  “Criminal? What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “He didn’t tell you he accused me of staying over at Mark Weston’s place?” I folded my arms, welcoming the tension as if it were a way to add strength to my body.

  “Ok, ok. This is getting crazy.” He moved off the stool and paced around the island. “I did not ask him to interrogate you. He said he was going to talk to you about whatever happened, and we’d take care of it from there.”

  “You sent him to run damage control on me?”

  “God, no. Not like that.” He ran his hands through his hair. I noticed it was dabbed with hair gel, something he never wore.

  “Then what? Because all I’ve felt all day is that I’ve done some horrible, terrible thing to you when all it was was coffee. Do you know what I’ve had to deal with? Pictures of you and Rebecca having drinks. You and Rebecca at dinner. Rebecca draped all over you. And I’ve dealt with it. I never accused you of sleeping with her.” Ben opened his mouth to speak, but I slammed my hands on the island. “So, if some stupid photographers take a picture of me having one freakin’ coffee with a new artist at my label, then I would think you would ask me first before sending your clean up squad.” I jumped off the stool, almost knocking it over.

  “Chelsea, hold on a second.” He reached for me, but I stepped to the side. “I never—”

  “No, I’m pissed. Actually, I’m beyond pissed. How could you think so little of me? Think I’d cheat on you? I was with you last night.” I walked out of the kitchen.

  “Chelsea, wait!” He chased me.

  “I’m sorry you flew all the way out here for this.” I shook his grip from my arm. “But, I’m done with people treating me like this today. And that means you too.”

  “What people?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know everyone around here has been whispering. Nan hates me. I’m sure she was thrilled with the headline. She’s dying for me to get out of her precious ranch house.” I didn’t care if the house manager heard every word I said.

  Ben followed me down the hall. “No one here hates you. Don’t say that.”

  I was at the top of the staircase, fueled by more pent up hostility than I realized I had. He was on my heels.

  “Darlin’, we have to talk about this.”

  I whipped around in front of the bedroom. “No, we don’t.” I slammed the door shut.

  “Chelsea, you can’t lock me out of my own room.” He pounded on the door.

  I slid against the frame until I was sitting on the floor.

  “Chelsea, let me in.”

  I didn’t care if he had just flown in from Australia. And it didn’t matter that I had taken up residence in his room. Nothing would get me to open that door. Nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ben

  I stared at the door. It was my bedroom door, slammed clear in my face.

  “Chelsea, darlin’, you can’t lock me out of my room.” I twisted the handle but it wasn’t budging. “Come on.” This was ri
diculous. Ludicrous. Downright insane.

  I waited a few seconds, but couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. She just needed time to cool off. I looked at the hallway. There were six other bedrooms I could choose from. I picked the first one on the corner.

  My first impulse was to call Scott and lay into him, but what good would that do now? She was spitfire mad, and I had to wait it out.

  I kicked off my boots and grabbed the remote on the nightstand. It wasn’t my room, but at least I was back at the ranch. I flipped through the channels until I landed on a football game. In Texas, there wasn’t a night without football.

  I’d just wait her out. Eventually, she’d unlock the door and let me in. I watched the game through heavy lids until the room was dark and the only sound was snoring.

  ***

  I awoke the next morning fully clothed. I looked around the room, confused for a second. Right, the guest room down the hall. I shook my head and stumbled to the adjoining bathroom. I couldn’t believe she never came to get me.

  My guest suites had spare supplies for any friends or family who stayed over. I chose a blue toothbrush from the basket.

  No matter what was going on in that head of hers, we were going to talk. I had twelve hours before I had to be on a plane back to L.A.

  I spit into the sink and turned off the water. There was a five o’clock shadow creeping along my jawline. I rubbed the stubble. Everything else could wait. I had to find Chelsea.

  I walked to our bedroom, but it was empty. I jogged down the stairs, checking every room I passed on the way to the kitchen.

  “Good morning, sir,” Lenny greeted me.

  “Hey, man. Have you seen Chelsea?”

  “Yes, she left for work about an hour ago. Can I make you an omelet? I have some coffee for you.”

  “Work?” I scratched my head. I was certain she would have stayed to talk. There was no way she wasn’t feeling the same kind of need to put the pieces together.

  “That’s what she said. I made a breakfast sandwich to-go for her.”

  “All right. Thanks, man.” I picked up the cup of coffee Lenny had poured. I was going to have to shave and shower after all if I was making a trip into town.

  I climbed the stairs, careful not to let the hot coffee slosh over the sides of the mug. I pushed open the bedroom door, expecting to find solace in my own space, but I studied it closely.

  Chelsea’s sweater was draped over the bed. On the nightstand was a stack of her writing journals, the lotion she liked to lather on right before she went to sleep, and citrus ginger candles that she had brought with her from home on her last trip.

  I walked into the bathroom and looked at the counter. Her makeup brushes were scattered by the sink. There was hairspray, perfume, nail polish, and something green in a tube. I could only imagine what beauty regimen that was for.

  This wasn’t my space anymore. It was ours.

  Everywhere I looked, there were traces of her. All this time I had been begging and pushing for her to move in with me, when she had been blending her life into mine all along. It just took time. She needed to do it on her own terms.

  I picked up the perfume bottle and held it to my nose. In an instant, I smelled her, felt her arms around me, inhaled the feeling of closeness she showered on me. The nearness of her was trapped in that tiny bottle.

  I carefully placed the perfume where I found it and turned for the shower. I had to make all of this right. Sure, I was hurt, but I realized I had gone too far. Chelsea had managed to handle all the Rebecca attention, and the first time the tables were turned, I jumped on a plane and lost my cool.

  The water was hot enough. I stepped inside and rehearsed what I wanted to say. These lines couldn’t be fumbled. They had to be perfect.

  ***

  Bud opened the car door in front of Blue Steel Records. “Want me to wait here?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to leave.” I stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “Sure thing. I’ll park around the corner, so just holler.” He scanned the sidewalk before closing the door behind me.

  I didn’t know that this was the right thing to do, but there were only hours before I left for L.A. I couldn’t get back on the plane if this was unresolved. I wasn’t sure how many cracks it took to completely shatter what we had built, and I never wanted to know. I was going to stop this one from spreading any farther.

  The receptionist in the lobby smiled at me, and I thought she might be shuffling papers for my benefit.

  I pointed at the elevator. “I’m headed to the third floor.”

  She nodded and stammered, “Oh-ok-ok. Sh-should I call someone for you?”

  “Aww, that’s all right, darlin’. It’s kind of a surprise. You won’t blow my cover, will you?” I winked and knew then she’d be too busy texting all her friends to call upstairs.

  She shook her head. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  The elevator doors opened and I waltzed inside. “Thank you.” I flashed another grin before the car carried me three stories to the main floor of Blue Steel.

  The speech I prepared in the shower was firmly planted in my mind. I only hoped it would work.

  The doors opened. I could hear different instruments playing down the hall. In front of me were the executive offices. I had visited Brandon a few times when we had lunch or met for drinks, but I had no idea where Chelsea was.

  I strolled to the assistant in the lobby. “Hey, there.”

  She looked up from her computer. “Oh, hi.” She smiled.

  I didn’t recognize her. I wondered if Brandon had the same problem I did finding people on his staff he could trust.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find Chel—”

  “Ben!” Brandon’s voice bellowed from his office. He walked into the lobby.

  “Hey, man.” I leaned in for a pat on the back. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Sure has. What brings you by? Let me guess…one of our star songwriters.” He patted me on the back again.

  “Well, yeah, that and I wanted to say hi. We need to catch up.”

  “Come on in my office. I think the girls are laying down some tracks in the back studio, so you can’t even get in there. You know artists. They freak out if you interrupt. I’ll have Diane let us know when they’re out.” He nodded at Diane.

  “Of course,” she replied. “I’ll let you know the instant they’re done.”

  I was hesitant. I didn’t need them to know the details of my love life, but I didn’t have time for bullshit conversations. I needed to see Chelsea. My boots wanted to carry me down the hall and start searching every office and closet for her.

  “Come on, man.” Brandon held the door open.

  “Sure. I guess I’ve got a few minutes.” I followed him into the corner office.

  Brandon sat across from me behind a glass desk. Pictures of Blue Steel artists were in a canvas collage over his head.

  “Looks like you’ve picked up some more talent since the last time I was here.” I pointed at the pictures.

  “Yeah, we are kickin’ butt down here. Everyone said I needed to move to Nashville, but we’re doing just fine in Austin.”

  “I can tell. This is impressive, man.”

  “Did you ever think when we were playing football I’d be head of a record label and you’d be an actor? I mean, we would have thought we dreamed that up in a drunken stupor.” He laughed. “We probably did dream up something this crazy when we were drunk.”

  I smiled. “I, for one, would have thought you were crazy.”

  “But here we are.”

  “Yep, here we are.”

  Brandon leaned back in his seat. “You ever hear from any of the other guys?”

  “Nah, not really. It’s kind of funny. Being famous keeps certain people away, like they’re afraid to talk to you, and then it brings out the people you wish would forget you exist. I can’t seem to level that out.”
<
br />   He chuckled. “I can’t tell you how many favors I’ve had called in.”

  “About that.” I shook my head.

  “No, no, man. You can ask for anything anytime. I’m not talking about Chelsea. She’s amazing. I’m lucky you did send her songs. She’s talented. She’s writing the kind of stuff we dream about here. Really. I can see a long list of number ones coming out of that girl.”

  “Is that so?” I knew I loved what she wrote. There was meaning in every word. Her heart was there on paper. But knowing that everyone else got it too made me feel like I was sharing a part of her I wasn’t ready to let go.

  Diane poked her head in the door. “I think they’re out.”

  “Thanks, Diane.”

  I stretched my legs to stand. “That didn’t take long.”

  “Hey, before you go.” Brandon walked to the front of the desk.

  “Yeah? I know we’ve got to get together for that beer. Maybe when I wrap things in L.A. This movie’s been a killer.”

  “Sounds good, but I think I need to say something.” He lowered his voice.

  “Go on,” I urged.

  “I saw the pictures. Hell, we all saw the pictures. Can’t miss the damn things online.”

  I shuffled my feet.

  “Anyway, I thought you should know we are signing Mark Weston to the label. It’s our biggest deal yet. I’m telling you this in confidence. We’re holding a press conference next week and rolling out a promo campaign for his next album that’s going to be unlike anything we’ve ever done here. I’ve got a lot riding on him coming aboard.”

  “Congratulations, I guess.” I didn’t know how to take the information.

  “I just thought you should know he’s going to be here a lot. I might even have Chelsea write a song for him. We’re probably not sending him out on tour until next summer.”

  “But I thought you wanted the label to push Quinn’s style.”

  “You know how it goes. We have to unleash what’s big. Right now, it doesn’t get much bigger than Mark. He’s going to bring on more artists. Quinn’s still our girl, but I can’t put everything we have into getting her where she needs to be. Let’s face it. He’s already there. Tell me a twenty-something who doesn’t know his name.”