Copyright © 2016 by Kristin Frasier
Copyright © 2016 by Bella Bentley
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Cover by Satyr Designs
Edited by Sloane & Faye Creative Services
Edited by Lauryn Doll
♥ ♥ ♥
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Southern Charmed Billionaire
Chapter One
Kate
"You little whore!" The buttery, harmonizing vocals set to dreamy acoustic guitars were interrupted by the stabbing, accusatory words from my cousin, Claire, the lead singer of her band Bloodties. The band continued with the folk melody, running wild and free without the lead singer’s crooning, infamous chops. I had heard this song a hundred times, and “You little whore” was definitely not part of the lyrics, nor some new rendition. Quite the contrary: this was their love ballad, a crowd favorite. As their manager, I had to fix things now. I grabbed my phone and whizzed out of the green room. Speed-walking down the hallway, I strained to listen to what was going down on the stage.
I had no idea what just happened or who Claire was talking to, standing there while live on stage at their biggest performance of the year. I had pulled major strings and worked my ass off to get them where they are today. I held my breath as I picked up the pace to a light jog down the long hallway.
Please tell me the “little whore” she was referring to was a broken guitar string.
I stopped in my tracks. There was dead silence. I closed my eyes, briefly praying. Hard.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you, you, you, you! Right there, there, there, there, there! You, you, you, you, you!” Claire’s voice echoed out over the reverbed microphone, her voice dozens of decibels louder than usual her baby-soft, Sarah-McLaughlin-like cozy tone.
Oh my god.
My heart stopped beating. Damage control was paging me. This did not sound good. At all.
I ran down the crowded hall filled with people who had special passes enabling them back in the restricted area for the festival. I was ready to take over and kick out of the venue whatever bitch was attempting to crash Claire’s big moment. This night was a big deal for them. With thousands of people in attendance at this event, we needed everything to run as perfectly as possible. As their manager and practically everything else to them, it was my job to fix any and all hiccups and nip them in the bud before they even thought about blooming into full-on problems.
I buzzed Stephen, the closest thing we had body guard right now—our only huge friend who would come to the “concert” and run security for free. Stephen was Andy’s best friend, and was currently in the football off-season. A 6’5” linebacker built of pure muscle, you didn’t mess with this three hundred-pound guy. "Steph, where are you? I need you, now."
I could hear glasses clambering, down indicating he was at the bar. Great.
“I need you to meet me right now by the side closest to Luke.”
“Who’s Luke?”
“The bass player. There's been an incident."
"That's the uh.... Guitar right?"
"Right."
“Roger that. Wait, Kate? There's like three guitars."
Shaking my head and feeling frazzled, I pictured the lineup on the stage. “Steph, just come to the right side of the stage. Show them your pass. Are you seeing anything?"
"No, did you Face Time me?"
Oh good grief! I rolled my eyes while plunging ahead with one goal in mind: get to the stage, asap. Was I the only competent actual employee they had? Yes.
“No, Steph. I did not just Face Time you. I am just asking if you are seeing the stage right now? Are you seeing what’s going on? There’s been a meltdown.”
I turned the corner with the blazing speed and intent of a Spanish bull after anything red. "Just follow the right side of the stage. Something’s happening and I need security. I-"
Suddenly, my cell phone flew into the air as I tripped over something hard, and now cold cement was on my face.
Ouch! The air was knocked out of me, and it took me a moment to come back to the moment.
Fuck!
The commotion was getting heated now, and Andy’s voice was audible in a loud amplification over the microphone.
“She’s not a whore, whore, whore, whore, whore!” Andy’s defense became public knowledge as it echoed in the theater.
“Great!” I muttered.
Flittering around me, raining down like light feathers, were thin pieces of moleskin paper with scribbled lyrics, and a guitar pick lay right by my face, compliments of the person I’d just crashed into. Well this person’s boots.
I heard him before I saw him.
Voice like smooth honey and a thick southern drawl delivered slow and sweet as sin.
“My goodness, m’am. Are you alright? Here, let me help you up, now.” The southern twang was as thick as they come, and I was expecting the voice to belong to an older man perhaps, decked out in a hunting camouflage shirt and old torn up jean overalls. Yes, I was stereotyping; it was South Carolina after all. The Deep South. I still hadn’t seen the face that owned the boots and lyrics as his firm grip helped me up. I caught the back of his fitted black t-shirt and smooth muscles retrieving my phone as he leaned down, revealing a cute ass outlined by tight jeans.
Okay, so this guy was not at all what I expected with an accent like that.
And then he turned around; I saw the face responsible for my fall.
Whoa.
Whoa.
Major babe with movie star looks, as in #JamesDeandaydream. He had the famous wavy thick hair that men with great product and style knew how to masterly achieve. He ran his fingers through his hair as his free hand steadied my shoulder. In the dimly lit hallway with shadows that danced crossed his face, his intense eyes looked over me. I held my breath coming into contact with such crazy good looks, all the while, his hand was touching me! His large hand covered my petite shoulder, and I just stood there, lost for words.
“Are you alright?” I blinked my eyes what felt like a hundred times as I fought to find words to speak. His perfectly chiseled jaw tilted sideways, waiting for an answer. I had never seen a more handsome face. But I came to my senses suddenly. With a face like that, he probably had an equal or larger ego to match. It's just the way the world seemed to operate.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring at a guy who looked just like a southern Ian Soomerhalder. A mischievous twinkle danced across his concerned eyes.
“You were quite in a hurry there. Here, your phone.” I felt his fingertips brush against my hand as I looked down at the shattered screen.
“Shit!” It was cracked in dozens of places.
I was suddenly snapped back into reality. I had a job to do, and handsome studs with dreamy accents weren’t a part of it.
Not even men with rich-looking pinkie rings, my meticulous eye for detail noticed.
I was on a race against the clock, and from the loud muffled rants of the ongoing very public heated argument going down on stage, I didn't have a second to lose.
Not looking up again, I made my way to the side of the stage, ignoring the handsome stranger and the feelings his touch stirred in my body. It’s just adrenaline,
just adrenaline.
With looks like that, I bet he never got ignored!
"I'm sorry about your phone. Are you at least okay?” The stranger called after me, and his footsteps were quickly behind me. I guess his secret notes weren’t that important. Lyrics were like hundred year old heirloom jewelry and firstborn babies, you do not under any circumstance lose them! They’re gold!
He probably isn’t a real musician then, just an amateur. My thoughts bounced around until I reached the side of the curtains like a stage mom surveying the scene of an audition. For Pete’s sake they needed to stop arguing like this!
The rash accusations rang louder as their vocals now were soloing; the band had stopped playing, and I, along with the audience was witnessing the band’s public implosion. Now thousands of people stood with eager eyes watching the two lovebirds, known for their incrediblly juicy song lyrics about laying under the stars and making love, to making jam and ham and breakfasts, to traveling the world posting exotic pictures to die for on Instagram. For the past three years, they’d made a full-time living with their music, fueled and inspired by their love. They had a huge underground following, and right now, they were taking a nosedive spiral, about to catch fire and burn to a crisp. I had to stop it.
The microphone slammed to the ground. My stunned eyes scanned the crowd to see how bad this situation was.
“I cannot believe he cheated on her!” I heard a girl say. Another said, “Yeah, I mean that sucks.” “I knew this all was an act.” Another said.
“Put down your phone! Stop recording this! Stop it!” Claire shouted at the crowd.
“Oh my God. Claire! Claire!” I shouted at her trying to get her to calm down.
“M’am, you can’t be back here.” A strong hand was on my back, and a man the size of Stephen frowned at me.
“Yes, I can! I’m with this band.” I held up my all-access stage pass.
“I’ve heard that a million times.”
I held up my pass for him to get another look, shaking it at him dramatically.
“Unless your name is Claire, Chris, John, Luke, or Michael, then you can’t do anything past this line.” I looked around for the line. It was an invisible line, obviously. I looked really hard at the air, shaking my head, totally annoyed.
“Look man, obviously they’re having a breakdown right in front of everyone’s eyes. I have to fix it. I’m Kate Longhouse. I should be on that list, too!”
But he wasn’t budging. Angrily, I reached for my phone, trying to pull up Stephen’s number, but my phone was so badly shattered, I couldn’t get the number to go through.
“Fuck!” I said so loud that I surprised myself and even Mr. Security Guard.
“Sir, listen. My job is on the line here. I’ll be unemployed. Heck, I think I just lost my job if this band does not stay together.”
“I’m really sorry, m’am. I’m just doing my job. Anyone can buy a pass like that and replicate it. I’m under strict orders to keep groupies off the stage after what happened last year.”
“I’m not a groupie! I’m her cousin!” I etched, craning my neck past him. “Claire!” I hissed at her. “Claire! Get it together, right now!” His big arms were now on me attempting to calm me down and move me away from the stage.
“Miss, you need to turn around now and go back the other way. You’re causing a big scene.”
“I’m causing a scene? Are you kidding me?”
There I was, being physically walked past the side curtains and back over the “invisible line.” Standing by the restricted area was the dark-eyed stranger that tripped me, staring at me very closely as if I were a wild animal that was just let out of a cage or something. Yeah, he was judging me. I could see the look all over his face. But I didn’t care. At all.
“You really are making a mistake, sir!”
“Just doing my job m’am.”
“I have to keep this whole scene under control from going viral on YouTube, Instagram, Snapchat! They’re breaking up! Can’t you see that? And those guys you just named like buddies you know from the local bar—John, Luke, and Michael—well, now we’re jobless! Yes, we! Because I’m their manager, and I need to fix this. Now!”
Echoing my disparity and only confirming what I just uttered, Claire’s voice sounded louder as her loud heels clanked off off the stage.
“There you have it! You've seen the last of us, y’all. Concert of the fucking year.” She mumbled.
I rummaged through the curtains to find an opening to peek at what was happening. I tore it wider with all the strength I could muster. This did not make the security man happy at all.
And then I saw her. Her heavily lined eyes were filled with tears. They glistened under the stage light.
My eyes landed on Andy, the culprit behind it all. He stood there with his guitar draped behind him, his guitar strap securely over his chest. He shrugged his shoulders in shock as he spun behind him to look at the band.
“Do you guys want to keep going?”
He reached for the microphone. “It didn't mean anything. I mean, who hasn’t had drunken sex? Times three.” This time the reverb was off and his statement was heard loud and clear.
“Fucking unbelievable. I knew it! I knew he was cheating on me! I should have never made this band a duo, but he just insisted we needed the harmony and the tale of our love story to sell to the public. Well, that’s what happens!” She yelled to no one in particular, just to herself as she stood off stage.
I waved at her. “Claire! Over here! Over here!” She shook her head and stormed over to me. She collapsed into my arms and began to sob as loudly as if somebody had died. Well, something had just died: them. Their image. As I comforted her, mystery man was speaking to the security officer.
My hand rested on her arm. “Claire, I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay. It’s—”
“Is that what I was? Really?” another voice joined the drama.
Oh my god.
“Is that her?” Claire’s head snapped up and her hands slid through the opening of the curtain, taking a look.
“Let me see!”
I crouched down and peeked through the slit as well.
“Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t know you were here. Of course, I mean,” he covered his microphone mouthing the words. “Let’s talk about this after the concert. Michael, pick up the beat. Let’s play Bare.”
The rest was a blur and broke down like a slow motion scene in a movie.
“Oh no you don’t, Michael! Do not start this song I wrote! I wrote this song!” Claire screamed as she tore the curtains, letting out her anger. Instead of walking back on stage the way she came, something in her—her fury and anger—decided this was the best time to re-appear back into the crowd. There was an audible gasp, and murmurs picked up as she tore the side curtain. Talk about a grand finale. I wish I never had made a my small slit between the curtains to peek because the vindication and wrath of Claire now had the attention of everyone in the room as she ripped open the curtain. She hurled herself into the crowd as a few received her carrying her. She body-surfed to a few drunken cheers before falling on her arm and screaming bloody murder, the types of shrieks reserved for childbirth. “You made me break my arm, you bitch!” While she rolled on the ground in pain, “I’m going to slap you, bitch! You fucking whore! I hate you!”
“What foul language for such a folksy songwriter.” The stranger who tripped me now stood beside me watching the entire scene with shock. These types of things were not supposed to occur in real life.
Yeah. It was happening to me right now. To me. I shook my head, feeling utterly in shock.
Stephen marched through the crowd with his hands out just the nick of time and carried her like a baby through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea. It was the dramatic scene of the year.
I shook my head and felt like I was watching a very bad dream. “Yeah, there’s no recovering from this. My job’s over. Fucking phone, work! Ugh! I have to get to th
em!” I took a mad dash back to the green room, but it was occupied now by another band, and a woman with red hair and more tattoos than towns in Texas glared at me.
“May I please come in? I’m with Bloodties. The folk band that was just—”
“That just aired their dirty laundry?”
“Yes, them.”
“Sorry, it’s our turn for the prep room now. You know the rules.”
“Unbelievable.” I exhaled, feeling lost, frustrated, and mad as hell at the whole scene that just happened, and I shouted, “This was the biggest indoor spring festival they’d ever played in their own town of residence, their home base!—”
“Yeah, not so happy fans either. I heard a few complaining wanting their money back. They only played two songs.”
I closed my eyes, and my head rested against a brick wall. I slowly slid down the wall my head collapsing in my head in my hands.
“Miss.”
“I know, I know. I‘m in the wrong place. Again.”
“Here.”
A card rested against my hand. It was pointy and poked my arm. Annoyingly. I shot open my eyes to glare at whomever was poking at me.
It was him. Again.
I suddenly felt really embarrassed by the frantic bizarre behavior he just witnessed from me.
“I’ve gotta go, because I’m up now. But hey, come here tomorrow. I think I may be able to help you with a job. And a new phone, at least.”
“Huh?…What…what type of job?”
“Oh, just a little manufacturing. They’re calling me. Gotta go. Sorry again about your phone.”
Chapter Two
Atticus
Running with a mission
With no inhibition
The concrete floor
Was her only door
To the new life she’d soon know
Yeah yeah
With those big brown eyes
And smile I know like a thousand watts light
I’ll see you grin
I’ll see you again
In the nude
Yeah yeah
Southern Charmed Billionaire Page 1