Nashville - Boxed Set Series - Part One, Two, Three and Four (A New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by Inglath Cooper

  “Whatever hours I have to give away to support this gig, I’m not giving to either of them.”

  “They seemed nice enough,” CeCe says, and I can tell she thinks I might be a little nuts.

  We’re on 40, heading for downtown when I look at her and say, “How many jobs have you had?”

  She’s quiet for a few moments. “If you count the three day stint at McDonald’s, two.”

  My eyes go wide. I can’t help it. “Where was the other one?”

  “Beckner’s Veterinary Clinic.”

  I consider this and then say, “Seriously? So you have no actual waitressing experience?”

  “No,” she admits. “But I’ve watched a lot of them during shows.”

  “How are you planning to write that up on the app? Conducted observations of working waitresses in real-life settings? Or served breakfast, lunch, and dinner to canine and feline guests at Chez Beckner?”

  Thomas lets loose a bark of a laugh, as if it surprises him. He apologizes for it, looking at CeCe and saying, “Sorry. He’s an ass. But a sometimes funny ass.”

  CeCe doesn’t seem to think so. “I’ll be a great waitress,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Places like these usually don’t want to just take your word for it.”

  Thomas wheels the truck into the third place on my list, backing into a shady spot at one end of the parking lot. “Can you two finish your argument on the way in so I can catch some shut-eye, please?”

  I get out, pissed enough at CeCe that I start across the pavement without waiting up for her until I get to the front door.

  “I don’t have to apply at the same places as you,” she says, stopping in front of me, an expression of stubborn pride on her face.

  “I don’t care if you apply here or anywhere else,” I say. “I was just pointing out that you usually need some experience for places like this.”

  “I get that.”

  “Okay then,” I say while we glare at each other.

  I look away first, start to open the restaurant door, and then on impulse, turn back to her. “About last night–”

  “Wasn’t that a movie?” she quips.

  “Look,” I begin again awkwardly.

  She holds up a hand to stop me. “You really don’t need to go there. You have a girlfriend. Moment of weakness. No explanation needed.”

  Her straightforwardness surprises me. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “So we’re past it,” she says. “Moving on?”

  I’m not sure what I was expecting. It wasn’t this. The girls I’ve known are way more persistent. Or maybe it’s just my ego that’s feeling the air leak.

  I open the door and leave her to walk in behind me, just on principle.

  The restaurant’s foyer is low lit, and I blink a couple of times to adjust to the dimness. The dining room is big and circular, the walls a deep red, the tablecloths on each of the tables a rich gold. The bar is at the back. It’s enormous, carved walnut, I think, and it looks like the kind of place where major movers and shakers would want to hang out.

  “Wow,” CeCe says in a low, breathy voice.

  “Yeah. Wow,” I agree. There’s no one in sight, and so I call out a, “Hello?”

  When there’s no answer, CeCe says, “It doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

  Still ticked at her, I ignore her and walk toward the bar. I call hello again, but still no one comes.

  I look around the corner of the bar. There’s a long hallway that looks like it has two or three offices on either side.

  “Maybe we should come back,” CeCe says behind me, sounding worried.

  I’m anxious to get a job nailed down, and this looks like the place I was hoping for. I head down the hall, raising my voice again, “Hello?”

  I hear something and stick my head inside the next office doorway. CeCe bumps into me, jostling me forward just as I realize what I am staring at.

  A man on top of a woman on top of a desk, naked as Adam and Eve before the apple thing.

  I catch myself just before my forehead hits the opposite end of the doorjamb, CeCe grabbing my shirt to keep from falling.

  “Oh, my gosh!” she says, spotting what I’ve just spotted.

  Both the man and the woman look at us then, and amazingly enough, neither of them jumps up in alarm or embarrassment or anything resembling either one.

  My gaze snags first on her, fortyish, blonde, gorgeous, and then on the man, whose face is instantly recognizable. Case Phillips. Case-frigging-Phillips!

  I jerk upright and turn my back to face the hallway. CeCe does the same, and I guess we must look like two soldiers snapping to attention after a reprimand.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “We were looking for the manager or–”

  “Owner?” the woman asks.

  “Owner,” I agree, still not looking.

  “That would be me. And I’m a little–”

  “Occupied. You’re occupied. We can come back.”

  She laughs. “Why don’t you do that?”

  “Ah, are you looking for any bartending help?”

  A couple beats of silence pass. “I think I just might be.”

  “Good. How about waitressing? Need any?”

  “That depends on the waitress.”

  “That would be me,” CeCe pipes up, raising a hand and waving it in the air. She starts to glance over her shoulder, but I throw my arm around her and tuck her into my side, so she can’t.

  “Why don’t you two come see me later this afternoon when I’m not–”

  “Indisposed,” the man on top of her says with a chuckle. And in the notes of his laugh, I hear the voice I’ve heard on the radio a thousand times. Again, shit!

  “Indisposed,” the woman agrees, laughing.

  I hear feet hit the floor, just before the door behind us slams shut. And then Case Phillips: “Shoulda shut the damn thing to start with.”

  “Come here and let me make it up to you,” she says.

  Only then do I let myself look down at CeCe. She’s pressing her lips together, like laughter is about to explode out of her. I grab her arm and haul her down the hallway before she wrecks whatever opportunity we might have.

  By the time we reach the dining room, we’re both running full out, through the foyer, the front door, all the way to Thomas’s truck before we collapse against the passenger side door and can’t hold it back a second longer.

  We laugh until my eyes are watering, and we’ve woken up Thomas. He slides out and walks around to look down at us like we’re both insane.

  “What the heck?” he asks.

  I start to tell him, but I still can’t talk.

  “We just saw Case Phillips naked as a jaybird in there on top of the woman who owns this place.” She tries to stop, then starts up laughing again.

  “Was she naked, too?” Thomas asks, straight-faced.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say.

  “Well, all right then,” Thomas says.

  CeCe is giggling so hard now she can barely breathe.

  I glance across the parking lot and spot the black Ferrari tucked into a corner space. The license plate says JSTNCASE.

  I point at it, and Thomas lets out a low whistle. “That’s the life I want. The car and the girl.”

  “I hope I’m not the one that finds your bare linebacker ass on top of some hot babe,” I say, wiping my eyes.

  CeCe giggles a fresh giggle. “Don’t need that visual.”

  Thomas laughs. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  I get to my feet then, offering CeCe a hand up. She stands and for a second tips into my chest, her breasts soft and full against me. I feel the shock as if someone just stuck a hot wire to my back. Our gazes lock for a snap of a second, and I see the same awareness in her eyes.

  I step away, too quickly, and hang my running shoe on Thomas’s enormous cowboy boot. I catch myself before hitting the pavement, and grab onto the bed of the truck.

  “G
ood day, man,” Thomas says, “you are in such a world of trouble.”

  “Shut up, Thomas,” I say, climbing in. “All I pay you to do is drive.”

  Chuckling, Thomas shakes his head and pulls CeCe around to his side, waiting while she slides into the middle of the seat.

  I lower my window, keeping as close to the door as I can.

  ♪

  7

  CeCe

  So it’s decided once we get to the apartment that I will buy in as a roommate. Both Thomas and Holden say they don’t mind rooming together.

  “I already know how bad his boots can stink,” Holden had graciously said.

  “And I already know what kind of rattlesnake he is at six a.m.,” Thomas throws back, matching the dig.

  What it adds up to is the two of them throwing me a lifeline. Since I am now starting out in Nashville from negative ground zero thanks to the explosion of Granny’s car, I don’t have any choice but to take it.

  And I am grateful. I tell them both as much, promising to pay them every penny I owe them.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it,” Thomas says once we’re at the apartment, and I am again scouring the classifieds, Hank Junior asleep with his head on my lap. Holden had borrowed Thomas’s truck to go open up a banking account. I’m not holding out hope for the Case Phillips joint, considering that I’ve now seen the owner naked. Seems like a significant conflict of interest to me.

  “I will worry about it,” I say. “I like to pay my debts.”

  “In other words, you don’t like letting others do something for you.”

  “Only a fool rejects a helping hand when it’s needed, but I believe in keeping the slate clean, too.”

  “You and pecker head are more alike than you know.”

  I glance up from the paper, raise an eyebrow.

  “Holden,” he says, like who else would he be talking about.

  I refuse to acknowledge the comparison, and say, “They’ve got openings at the Olive Garden.”

  “Love the food, but how’s that going to help your music?”

  “By helping me pay my way around here, feed myself and Hank Junior.”

  “Holden’s right about putting yourself in a place where music stuff is happening.”

  “In Nashville, that could be at McDonald’s.”

  “True. But the odds are greater over there where Case Phillips is getting some.”

  “Girl here. You and Holden are going to have to remember this isn’t a locker room.”

  Thomas grins. “Spunk. I like it.”

  Just then the apartment door swings open, and Holden bursts through, his big white smile the first thing I see.

  “You’re not going to believe who I just saw in Whole Foods!”

  Thomas and I both stare at him, waiting.

  “Taylor Swift.”

  “Seriously?” Thomas throws out.

  “Picking out apples in the produce department.”

  “You suck,” Thomas says. “Did you ask for her autograph?”

  Holden tosses him a look. “Right after I taped that sign to my forehead that says ‘New to Nashville and gawking at every star’.”

  “Well, you’ve seen two already today. You might want to let someone else borrow your sign,” Thomas argues, sounding irked.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. The two of them are pretty ridiculous. “Y’all are like two old ladies at a bachelor auction,” I say.

  “I’ve got a lyric I want to work on,” Holden says, ignoring me and grabbing a Coke from the refrigerator before heading for the back of the apartment.

  “To give you a heads up on the vernacular,” Thomas says, looking at me, “that means don’t come anywhere near him until he comes out and gives the okay.”

  “Ah,” I say.

  “If you do bother him, I recommend a shield of some sort. A baking sheet works pretty well.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s gonna throw something at you.”

  I laugh again. “How in the world did the two of you ever get hooked up?”

  “Football was the original connect. He had a daddy to prove wrong. And I had a mama to prove right.”

  “How so?”

  Thomas digs his spoon into the half-gallon of chocolate ice cream in front of him. “Holden’s father didn’t think he had what it took to play ball.”

  “Why?”

  Thomas shrugs. “The real answer is he’s pretty much a jerk. He kind of thinks being a musician waters down any athleticism gene.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Heck if I know. Why does anyone think stupid stuff?”

  I find myself feeling a pang of empathy for Holden. My mama and I never had much, but if I said I wanted to fly to the moon, she’d start helping me make the wings. “What did you have to prove to your mom?” I ask.

  “That I was as good as she thought I was.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Better than Holden’s version for sure.”

  “How long has he been writing?”

  “Since kindergarten.”

  “I mean lyrics.”

  “Since kindergarten.”

  We both smile, and I say, “He’s the real thing, huh?”

  “As it gets.”

  “He’s lucky to have you to write for.”

  “Actually, I’m the lucky one. I can sing until the cows come home, but hand me a pencil and tell me to write something that’s gonna strike a chord with somebody, and my brain freezes up like lemonade in Alaska.”

  “You’re lucky to have each other then.”

  “I’ll go with that.” He looks at me a moment, and then, “What’s your dream, CeCe? Why are you in Nashville?”

  “To sing and write.”

  “If you had to pick one, what would it be?”

  “I love both, but unlike Holden, other than myself I don’t have anyone else to write for, so if I had to pick one, I guess it would be singing.”

  “You’re good, you know. Real good.”

  I hear the sincerity in his voice, and I start to brush off the compliment like it’s no big deal. Actually, it is. I bask in it for a second or two. “Thank you for that. I appreciate it.”

  “I guess you know there are hundreds of others here just like us. Fresh off the bus. Totally sold on their talent. Ready to share it with the world.”

  “Yeah,” I say, the seriousness in his voice instantly sobering me up from the high of his praise.

  “So you wanna know what the difference between me and them is?”

  Again, “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got the work ethic of a dozen mules. If someone offers me a gig down on the corner of Broadway at two in the afternoon, I’m gonna take it ‘cause you never know who might be walking by. Every single chance I get to open my mouth and sing, that’s what I’m gonna be doing. And I ain’t averse to shakin’ some hands and kissin’ some babies either.”

  Laughter bursts up out of me, part delight, part amazement. “You’re going the politician route then?”

  “It don’t matter what talent you’ve got if people don’t like you first. If you’re an ass, they won’t bother looking past that long enough to see any other good in you.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to be this wise?”

  “My granddaddy was in Georgia politics. By the time I was six years old, I’d watched him win voter after voter just by being nice to them. It wasn’t an act on his part. He genuinely liked people. Enjoyed hearing what they had to say. He taught me that you end up with way more in this world if you go at it by giving back first.”

  “You’re amazing,” I say and mean it.

  He looks surprised by that and practically blushes. “Naw.”

  “You are.”

  “Holden’s right about my boots,” he says, grinning.

  I laugh. “Even so.”

  He gets up to throw away his ice cream carton and put his spoon in the sink. I want to thank him, but the words stick in my throat, and I can’t f
orce them out. “Thomas?” I say, my voice cracking.

  “Yeah,” he calls back over his shoulder.

  “I’m really glad y’all stopped yesterday. I don’t know how I got that lucky.”

  He turns around then, studies me as if he knows just what I’m trying to say. And when he says, “No, CeCe, I think Holden and I are gonna turn out to be the lucky ones,” I know for sure Thomas would make his granddaddy proud.

  ♪

  8

  Holden

  CeCe hasn’t said a word since we left the apartment. I’m matching her silence beat for beat, determined not to speak first.

  “Don’t you think this is a waste of time?” she finally asks just as we turn in at the restaurant parking lot.

  “Actually, no, I don’t,” I say, swinging into a spot at the back. I glance at the corner of the building where the Ferrari had been parked earlier. “Looks like Case is gone anyway.”

  “Oh, good,” CeCe says. “I’ve seen enough naked country music stars for one day.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Quite.”

  “I mean we could ask her when he’s coming back,” I say, enjoying myself.

  “No, thank you.”

  We both get out of the truck, slam our respective doors and walk side by side into the main entrance of the restaurant. Unlike earlier, now all the lights are on, and wait staff bustle around table to table getting the place ready for evening business.

  A man in a dark suit and a blazing red tie walks up and says, “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Ms. Trace,” I say.

  “Is she expecting you?”

  I nod yes, hoping like heck she remembers.

  “Just a moment.” He walks through and disappears down the hallway behind the bar.

  CeCe and I stand poker still in the foyer, and if I feel like a fish out of water, it’s clear that she does, too.

  Ten minutes later, the blonde woman we’d met in her birthday suit just a few hours before walks in wearing a sexy-as-all-get-out black dress that leaves little to the imagination as to why Case Phillips hangs here.

  “You came back,” she says, looking directly at me.

  I sense, rather than hear, CeCe stepping up close behind me. I move aside so Ms. Trace can see her too. “Yeah,” I say. “We were hoping you’d have a moment to talk to us.”