by Caisey Quinn
“I have to go,” she blurted out. Before he could finish his sentence, she grabbed her belongings from the couch and barreled past him out of the room.
BREATHING HAD become nearly unbearable. Existing was painful.
He’d just appeared at her recording session without warning. She couldn’t handle Trace Corbin without some time to prepare herself. And then he’d been all “Hey, pretty girl.” And then nearly telling her he was proud of her? It was too much. Way too much.
The tears came unbidden down her face as she leaned against her daddy’s truck and tried to steady herself. Damn Trace Corbin to hell for making her feel this way. He hadn’t even looked as if talking to her in such close proximity had affected him in the least.
Well, up until she mentioned Steven.
Steven, she realized, was her ace in the hole. Her shield that backed Trace Corbin out of her space.
The idea of having at least a tiny bit of protection from her own feelings and irrepressible reactions allowed her to breathe a little more easily.
Once she’d regained the majority of her equilibrium, she got in her truck and drove to her place. It was huge. Huge and empty. And lonely.
Trudging to her front door of her building, she did what she’d told Trace she would. She thought about it. Pondered the possibility of being on a bus with him, performing together, touring together.
Business-wise it made sense. There was a great deal of buzz around the both of them, their duet was a hit, and you couldn’t stand in line at the grocery story without seeing photos of either of them in a tabloid or two. But…
She just couldn’t put herself through that again. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. Not when seeing him for all of five minutes had nearly wrecked her.
She’d worked her ass off to make it in this business, and she’d only gotten this far by putting her feelings about him, about everything that had happened between the two of them, in a small, dark corner far away where no one could reach it. Not even her and sure as hell not him.
The label would just have to take no for an answer.
KYLIE WOKE up next to her guitar. She’d fallen asleep on her couch as usual. Despite the fact that the bed she owned was enormous, she rarely slept in it.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched, blinking until her eyes adjusted. In the distance, she heard a ringing sound. It was the standard ring she’d set her phone to. Scrambling to her feet, she dug it out of her purse and answered.
“Morning, sweetheart. I just wanted to remind you about the meeting at the label this afternoon. They’re pulling out all the stops today I bet, so don’t be late.”
“I got it, Chaz. All the reminders you put on my phone helped.” She chuckled until she caught her reflection in her bathroom mirror. She definitely needed to get her hair cut sooner rather than later. “Hey, do you think you could call Emelle and see if she can come by and do something with my hair today before the meeting?”
“Nooo, I can’t. Because I’m your manager, not your assistant. However, I was talking to my boss last week and she mentioned that on your next tour you need a day-to-day manager, kind of like an assistant. But since sleeping on a bus is not something I ever plan to add to my bucket list, we’re currently looking for someone who’d be a good fit. Any requests?”
“Hmm.” Kylie stared at her reflection in the mirror as she contemplated the prospect of having an assistant. Boy, life was strange sometimes. “I’m not really picky, I guess. Just as long as they’re not too like…perky. Just someone efficient and professional.”
“Sounds good. I’ll pass that along to the boss lady. See you at three.”
Since she didn’t have an assistant yet, she hung up with Chaz and dialed her stylist. Who thankfully was available to come over in a few hours and help her look presentable before meeting with Noel Davies and the rest of the peanut gallery.
Kylie knew she wasn’t exactly playing well with others as her manager had pointed out, but she also knew that she wasn’t going to be forced on some lame tour that would keep her out of the studio. The options the label had presented so far just hadn’t felt right.
Her biggest fear was that today’s meeting would be the one where they asked her to go on tour with Trace. And her second biggest fear was what she already knew to be true.
As much as it hurt to think about and as terrifying as it was, that was the one option that actually did feel right.
AFTER EMELLE had trimmed and highlighted her hair, Kylie felt better. Less world-weary and somewhat refreshed. The past few weeks had been draining, both physically and emotionally, and she’d needed the pick-me-up even more than she’d realized.
As she dressed for the meeting, a startling realization forced itself on her. If they were going to push the tour with Trace on her today, he might be there.
Suddenly every option in her entire wardrobe fell into two categories. Not sexy enough and trying too hard.
Standing in the center of her bedroom in her underwear, she texted Mia.
Meeting today. Pretty sure Trace will be there. Feeling a little nervous. Clothing suggestions?
She waited a few minutes and had almost given up and texted Lulu. But the then phone buzzed in her hand.
Wear good lingerie in case you guys do it in the parking lot afterwards.
Ignoring the excited panic that rose in her stomach, Kylie texted back.
You are not helpful.
Mia responded almost immediately.
Isn’t your BFF going to be your new stylist soon? Ask her.
Kylie sighed out loud. This was true. But she’d also made every effort to convince the whole world, with the exception of Mia—who’d seen her freak out firsthand—that her past involvement with Trace Corbin was a non-issue in her life. Admitting that she cared what she looked like around him seemed like a dead giveaway.
She stared at her closet once more. This was dumb. She was twenty years old and he’d seen her naked. She could pick out an outfit for a meeting for God’s sakes.
After three changes of clothing, Kylie settled on a short navy blue dress, a cream-colored wrap, and brown knee-length riding boots. It was a little shorter and tighter than what she’d wear to a meeting if he weren’t going to be there, but it wasn’t an overtly obvious cry for attention. At least she hoped not.
The last thing she wanted to do was send mixed signals.
Not that she could even send clear signals, because she hadn’t exactly figured out what the message was for herself.
“WE’RE GOING to get one shot at convincing her that this is a good idea. Y’all know that right? Because once she makes up her mind, there won’t be any telling her otherwise. From anyone.” Trace made eye contact with Pauly, Maude, and Noel Davies.
“Leave it to me. I can handle her,” Noel informed him.
Trace barely fought back a snort. Kylie Ryans was not the type to be “handled” by Noel Davies—or anyone else, for that matter.
Even Maude gave the Record Exec a doubtful smirk. “Again, if we just let her think it’s her idea, that it’s what’s best for her career, then none of us will have to convince her of anything.” The woman eyed each of them as if they were complete morons. “If any of you had half a brain, you’d bring her in here and tell her the label doesn’t like her new grown-up sound. That the only way to get fans on board is to have her tour with Trace and appear to be in a serious adult relationship with him. Present it as an opportunity instead of an ultimatum. It’s not that hard, boys.”
“It’s not that easy either,” a female voice broke in. “It’s the damnedest thing, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think I actually had a mind of my own and could just make decisions all by my lonesome.”
The sound of her voice, even her angry voice, softened something inside of Trace. For as steely as her solid glare at all of them was, he’d detected the note of hurt when she’d spoken. He met her stare and offered her an apologetic shrug. Like she’d said, she wasn’t the same girl. She knew how thi
ngs worked now.
A part of him hated that. That she’d lost that wide-eyed innocence about the music business. That this was no longer a dream come true for her, but a job. A minefield to navigate.
“Kylie, we weren’t—” Noel Davies began before she cut him off.
“Yes you were. But that’s okay. I suspected I was walking into an ambush. Looks like it’s a perfect day for playing Manipulate the Bitchy Artist into Submission apparently.” She walked all the way into the room with her manager close behind. Trace nodded at him as they sat across the table.
“So where were we then?” Noel said, eyeing each occupant at the table. “No, you know what? This is so formal and unnecessary. How about we all head over to my office and sit comfortably so we can discuss this like civilized professionals?”
Trace shook his head. He knew what was up. This was Davies whipping out his dick and putting himself at the head of the table. He would show Kylie just how big and bad his office was, intimidate her with his power. He couldn’t stand by and watch that.
“I think we’re good here, Davies. How about we just get on with it?”
“Are we keeping you from something, Mr. Corbin?” Kylie asked, turning to him with raised brows and a look of feigned interest.
What the hell was her problem? He was trying to move things along without the dog and pony show. For her benefit. So much for chivalry.
“Okay. Since you’ve all decided to play hard-asses today, how about I just give it to everyone straight?” Davies cleared his throat and when no one interrupted, he continued. “The label has decided that the best way to launch Trace’s comeback and Kylie’s Not a Nice Girl album is to send both of you on an arena tour. You’ll both have The Other Side of Me on your next albums, so that’ll be the headline for the tour. One bus, some promos hinting that the two of you might be romantically involved, joint interviews, and then afterwards, you’re both free to do whatever you want.”
Noel’s words hung heavy in the air and silence descended on the room. Until everyone began talking at once.
“That’s not even—”
“I don’t see how that will—”
“Maybe we should just—”
“Well then, I see you all have some things to discuss. Feel free to stay in here as long as necessary until these contracts are signed.” With that, Noel Davies stood, slid two stacks of paper to each side of the table, and left. Trace’s hatred for the smug bastard intensified.
Once the door closed, he took a deep breath and met the gorgeous blues of a girl he knew would wreck him. In more ways than one.
“What do you think, Kylie Lou? Can we do this?”
He could hear the voice of Gretchen Gibson in his head.
No. You can’t handle this. You aren’t strong enough and she’s not worth your sobriety. You’ll only be repeating the same mistakes.
Kylie was out of reaching distance, but it didn’t stop him from seeing the memories flicker through her expression. They were the same ones playing behind his eyes. The fights. The laughter. The lovemaking. The goodbye.
And when it ended, pure, unadulterated fear slipped past the bravado and she was as exposed to him as the first time they’d slept together.
A year ago, a look like that would have brought him to his knees. Even now, if they’d been alone, he would’ve dropped down and begged for forgiveness, pleaded once more for the right to kiss her, to hold her.
But as it was, they weren’t alone. And this was business. Kylie cleared her throat and broke their stare. Turning to her manager, she nodded.
The man nodded back and then at Maude. Suddenly Trace had the feeling it wasn’t Kylie who was being ambushed at all.
“So here’s what we have,” Maude began. “Kylie is open to this possibility. Contingent upon some specifications, she’s willing to co-headline on this tour.”
Trace felt his eyes widen. So she had just been playing reluctant for Davies? Or was Maude playing everyone? He wasn’t sure, but he damn sure wasn’t up for being played.
He stared at Kylie, but she kept her gaze focused out the window. He wondered what Nashville looked like through her eyes now.
“Let’s hear these specifications. I might have a few of my own.”
That got her attention. He leaned back in his chair as she turned towards him.
“One,” Maude began, “she wants it in the contract that there is to be no drinking on your part. And if you’re so much as one minute late to a soundcheck or a show, she walks.”
He cocked a brow and tried to pretend it didn’t sting that she still didn’t trust him. Not that he’d done much to deserve her trust. But he could work on that.
“Two,” Maude continued, “no fake promos about your relationship or lack thereof, and you are to have separate living spaces of equal size on the bus. And in any hotels you stay in during the tour.”
Tilting his head, he continued to listen as their agent discussed the rest of Kylie’s conditions. He did his best to put off an air of boredom. As if these things were inconsequential to him. But in reality? Separate living spaces or no, this was not something he was sure he could handle.
He’d been depending on her to shut this whole crazy thing down. Even if she agreed to tour with him, she was a big damn deal these days. Sharing a bus was the biggest fake promo there was.
It said to the world that they were practically living together. Which they would be. Sharing a bus with her, knowing deep down that what he felt for her was bound to burst through the surface any second, might be the death of him. He was going to have to risk hurting her feelings and saying so in a room full of people.
But when she stood and he got a glimpse of her tight little body in that tiny dress, those smooth, tan legs that he’d once had wrapped around his waist while buried so deep inside of her he couldn’t remember his own name, all he could think was, What a way to go.
“DON’T YOU think I know that?” Kylie said into the phone wedged against her ear as she balanced precariously on one foot while trying to put a boot on.
“It’s just, it’s him, you know? And after everything the two of you have been through…after how bad things ended last year, I’m not sure this is the best idea. For either of you.”
“Lu, I’m aware of this. Believe me. But he agreed to all of my conditions, and the truth is, I think this tour is what my fans want. So even though it might be hell getting through it, I owe it to them. Without them, I’d still be waitressing at The Rum Room.”
She heard her friend huff out a breath. “Kylie—”
“Remember when I called you from Nashville? The first time?” Her friend didn’t answer right away, so she rushed on. “Remember how worried you were? And what did I tell you?”
“That you were going to be okay. You promised.”
Kylie grinned even though her friend couldn’t see. “Right. And I am going to be okay this time, too.”
I hope.
“And this time I’ll be with you,” Lulu added. “So if you and Country Ken Doll get yourselves into a mess, I’ll be there to junk-punch the both of you.”
For the first time in days, Kylie laughed. “Well thank God for that.”
“So my flight gets in tomorrow morning. I hate that I can’t be there tonight.”
Kylie’s laughter died in her throat. Tonight was the kickoff party for the tour. At The Rum Room. And she was going alone. “Yeah, um, no big. Promise I’ll be fine.”
“You do realize what happened last time you said those words to me, right?”
She swallowed hard and secured her other boot onto her foot. “Yeah, Lu. I know. I ended up on tour with some hotshot country music singer in tight jeans.”
“And here we go again.”
A LOW whistle greeted her when she got out of the white SUV the label had sent to drive her to the party.
“Well I’ll be. If it isn’t our very own Kylie Ryans.” The manager of the bar stood next to the back entrance, shaking her head.
&n
bsp; “Hey, Tonya.” Kylie did her best to exit the vehicle without flashing Tonya her crotch. It was damn near impossible in the entirely-too-short red dress she was wearing.
“Hey, hot stuff. There’s quite a crowd in there. You ready?”
She looked up into Tonya’s eyes as she approached. “Can you really ever be ready for something like this?”
The woman bit her lip and gave her a sympathetic look. “Probably not. But on the plus side, you’re a big deal now, right? Equal footing and all that.”
“If you say so.” Kylie was grateful that they were alone. She could feel the blood rushing to her head, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe normally.
“Hey, hon. Seriously. You okay?” Tonya’s sympathetic look morphed into one of concern.
Kylie forced herself to nod as they entered the back of the bar. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Kylie, listen to me. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, shut it out. You are gorgeous, talented, and just as successful as What’s-His-Ass in there. Don’t forget that. You’ve worked hard and you deserve this. So go knock ’em dead.”
“Thanks,” Kylie breathed out. “Tonya, could you maybe grab me a water? With some vodka in it?”
The other woman let out a small laugh. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been manager for a year now. Probably about time I got fired for serving minors.” She reached in a cooler and grabbed a bottle of water, which she handed over without adding anything to it.
The walk down the hallway behind the stage felt like a death march. Her legs grew heavier with each step. Kylie shook her hands, stretched her neck, and sipped her water—trying to do anything for a distraction.
“So how’s the kiddo?”
At that, a wide grin broke across Tonya’s face. “She’s good. She’s three handfuls but I can’t complain. Starts kindergarten this year.”
“That’s awesome, Tonya.” A smidge of the tightness in her chest loosened. She was happy for her friend. Glad that the woman finally had the life she wanted, the life she and her daughter deserved.