Might as well enjoy it.
On the opposite wall, a long table was covered with trays of pastries, fruit, and cheese. He almost took pictures for Heather—almost. She’d love to see this—the fancy sparkling water bottles in large glass bowls full of ice. Above that, three large televisions played, muted. The room and its occupants seemed to be on fast-forward, while he was stuck in slow motion.
He shook his hands out and did his best not to stand out.
His manager, Luke, was waiting with Mr. Zamora, looking almost as nervous as he felt. Jace had taken a gamble hiring him, but Luke had grown up in the business and knew all the right people. Like CiCi King. He had no idea Luke’s mother and Hank King’s wife played bunco together, but he suspected that was how he’d ended up here. His voice was only part of it—having the right connections sealed the deal. Still, standing against the wall as the room filled with the chart-breaking, award-winning King family and the entourage that cared for them had his insecurities kicking in. Sure he sang some, for himself—or at the bar in town. But he had nothing, nothing, like the talent in this room.
Sure, they talked and laughed just like normal folk—but there was nothing normal about these people. He didn’t belong here. This was not his life. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t be.
It didn’t help that Krystal kept glancing his way. Even standing there, talking to her brother, she radiated a sort of defiance that was hard to ignore. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to ignore her. He’d prop himself up right here, against the wall, and look his fill if he could. No woman should look this beautiful in real life. But she was.
Her eyes narrowed, the slight tilt of her chin baiting him. Damn it all, he couldn’t help it—he winked at her. And saw vibrant color bloom in her cheeks.
“Jace?” Luke waved him over.
Probably a better idea than staring at Krystal. With a sigh, he joined Luke. “What happens now?” His ears were buzzing from the noise of the crowd and the concert earlier.
“Hydrate, snack, relax until the Kings say it’s go time,” Steve Zamora said, tossing him a water bottle. “Through those doors, the big spenders are waiting. The kids mingle, rub elbows with the power-players or their die-hard fans, take pictures, then make their getaway. Thirty minutes, more if you’re having a good time. Just waiting on Emmy.”
“As always,” Travis sounded off.
“I’m here, Travis, be nice.” Emmy Lou King made her entrance. There was no other word for it. She sort of glided into the room, drawing every eye her way.
“You shake everyone’s hand, Sis?” Travis asked, making a show of checking his nonexistent watch.
“Course you did, darlin’.” Hank King draped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and steered her his way. “Emmy, this is Jace. Jace, Emmy. He’ll be singing a duet on the next album.”
Just when he thought he was getting a handle on things, he was knocked for another loop. First, he was standing in the room with a man he’d grown up idolizing—he’d stomped around in his daddy’s boots and hat singing Hank King songs until his parents had hollered for him to stop. Now he was shaking hands with the man. Meeting Krystal. Then Travis. And now the enormity of what was happening hit him. He was singing a duet with Emmy Lou King.
Hell no, this wasn’t his life.
“He’s new, so try not to dazzle him too much,” Travis said.
Jace chuckled. “Good to meet you, Miss King. Tonight has been…unreal.” He broke off, shaking his head. They’d grown up in the public eye, so they had no idea how surreal this all was.
“Daddy has that effect on people.” Emmy Lou did have an incredible smile.
Hank King looked at his daughter with true adoration. “I’m pretty sure he was talking about you three.”
“Or maybe he’s still thinking about the women crying over him. Oh, and the one holding on to him with a death grip. That gets to a man,” Travis said, biting into an apple.
He might be a little overwhelmed by all the introductions, but the thing that “got to him” the most tonight had nothing to do with his career and everything to do with a woman. Since he’d walked into Krystal’s dressing room and they’d locked eyes, he’d been trying to recover. That wasn’t what tonight should have been about. But, damn it all, he had no idea how to make it stop.
“We need to get you some security.” Luke frowned. “I’ll get on that now.” He was already typing something into his phone.
“The first time someone grabbed hold of me, I panicked,” Emmy said.
“You were sixteen. Being grabbed by a stranger at sixteen is panic worthy,” Krystal said. “Don’t let it get to you, Jace. Keep on smiling and, if it gets too intense, flag your guy over.”
His name had never sounded husky and sexy as hell until she’d said it. And she’d said it right this time. Jace. He cleared his throat and took a swig from his water bottle.
“Looks like you’ve already got your own fan base.” Hank scratched his temple. “I don’t know much about the show you won, but people seem to already know and love you. That’s a good thing.”
“Your sales are only as strong as your fan base,” Emmy Lou said. “They won’t buy you if they don’t love you.”
“Guess you all don’t have much to worry about,” he said. Three Kings were a fixture on the charts. And Emmy Lou King? She had an army of fans dedicated to her.
Emmy Lou shook her head. “I always worry. People are watching everything I do or say—it’s a lot of responsibility. I don’t want to mess that up.”
“That’s why people adore her.” Krystal’s gaze flicked his way. “She’s just as loyal to them as they are to her.”
Seeing the sisters side by side was a surprise. The sisters were identical twins, but he had no problem telling them apart. Krystal was in her signature black, tight and seductive. Emmy was in pale pink and white, lacy and flowing. But the attire wasn’t what did it. Maybe it was their mannerisms or their voices or the fact that one sister grabbed, and held, his interest.
Travis tossed his apple core into the trash. “And why she doesn’t have much of a social life.”
“Social life?” Krystal’s smile hardened. “Like you? I’m pretty sure taking groupies back to your place doesn’t count. Besides, they might not be a fan when the party is over.”
Jace did his best not to laugh, but damn, she was good. Even her father was laughing.
“Beware.” Travis leaned closer and pretended to whisper to him. “My sister has a razor-sharp tongue. Don’t get on her bad side.”
Jace had a sinking feeling he was already on her bad side—for reasons unknown.
“We really appreciate the time you’ve given us tonight, but we’ll be heading out.” Luke was shaking Steve Zamora’s hand. “We’ll wait for your call on the scheduling.”
“Monday morning, our Austin studio, nine a.m. Right, Hank?” Steve asked. “Let’s get this project in the works.”
Krystal missed a step, teetering enough so that she braced one hand on the wall. It wasn’t much—but it was enough for Jace. She didn’t want him singing her song. The look on her face only confirmed it. She really didn’t want him singing it. He had one choice: prove he’d do it right.
“Already set up,” Hank replied, nodding his goodbye and disappearing through the door.
“Jace?” Luke asked.
Jace nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Steve nodded and followed Emmy Lou through the door.
Krystal finished off her water bottle and turned to face him. Those eyes of hers were blazing. If he’d had time, he’d have tried to talk to her, to calm her fears. It was one of those songs—important, special. He’d damn well make sure anyone listening to it knew it, too.
The first time he’d read the lyrics, he’d been drawn in. After the soul-crushing loss he’d suffered three years ago, “Ashes
of My Heart” said all the things he’d never been able to. While he thought Krystal’s soulful rasp was a better fit for the song than Emmy Lou, it wasn’t his call. Something told him Krystal wouldn’t care about his opinion of the lyrics or her voice. She’d think he was sucking up.
Still he couldn’t help himself. “Meeting you…well, tonight’s been my lucky night. I hope I’ll see you again.” And he meant it.
She shook her head. “Do you? Guess we’ll see, Jack.” Without another word, she followed her family into the next room.
Chapter 2
“Aw shit.” Krystal heard Travis about the same time she slammed into his back.
“Travis?” she asked, pushing against her brother’s back. “What’s wrong?”
He turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “I need you to keep it together. There are witnesses.” He shook his head. “Are you listening to me?”
“Not that you’re making a lick of sense.” She brushed his hands off her shoulders and walked around him, into the room of waiting VIPs. Now she needed to get her mind off Jace, his light brown eyes, and all the witty comebacks she should have tossed his way before leaving him tonight. Chances were she’d never see him again. She chewed on her lower lip, unexpectedly disappointed. No, it was good. Jace Black was bad news, period. She had no use for him.
Unless it was in the bedroom. She’d give him whatever he wanted there… Her body ached to do just that. Contrary to what the media said, she wasn’t the sort of girl to have a fling. Still—she blew out a slow breath—that man had kicked her long-dormant libido into overdrive. Every time his heavy-lidded gaze drifted her way, the temperature seemed a good ten degrees hotter, and it had nothing to do with the anger she’d hoped to hold on to.
Someone bumped into her, their murmured apology a reality check. Here she was, in the middle of a room full of people, imagining Jace Black in her bed? Talk about bad timing. As Emmy pointed out, these were the folks who shelled out a minimum of twenty-five hundred dollars for tickets and deserved their attention. For that low, low price, they got floor seats, free drinks and food, an autographed picture, a picture with the band, and a guaranteed thirty minutes of cocktails and socializing. Some were true fans, others were big-spending friends of their family or the record label.
Unfortunately, her mother was also there. Because her momma never missed an opportunity to collect information that might benefit her later. Krystal had no illusions when it came to her mother: CiCi King was not a nice person. The only thing her mother cared about was keeping Three Kings on the charts and the front page. If there was a way to get Three Kings more press, she was all for it. Her big eyes, bright smile, and charming laugh might have the rest of the world fooled—Krystal’s daddy included—but she knew the truth about the woman who’d birthed her.
That was one of the reasons she and her momma had a…strained relationship.
Travis hovered beside her. “You look way too calm. It’s freaking me out.”
What was wrong with him? Had her mother done something she didn’t know about yet? Worse than handing off her song, that is? Somehow, deep down, she knew her mother had had a hand in that.
If she were the one singing the song with Jace, she wouldn’t be upset. She paused then. Of course she’d be upset. Jace’s talent was unknown. What if he couldn’t sing? What if he butchered her song? No one knew what the song meant to her—but she did. Soulful eyes, glorious black hair, and a killer grin could only do so much on the charts.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Travis. Give me some room.” But then she saw exactly why Travis was freaking out.
Mickey Graham.
The son of a bitch was here. Laughing with her mother and her friends. Drinking beer and rubbing elbows with her VIPs.
“What the hell? Why is he here?” she hissed, grabbing onto her brother’s arm.
“There we go.” He covered her hand with his. “I don’t know why. But he is. And people are watching.” He patted her hand.
Krystal stared down at the concrete floor, fighting for composure. Nausea and fury clamped down on her lungs and heart and stomach until it was hard to breathe at all. The last time she’d seen him in person had been at the Awards for Country Music. He’d had the nerve to try to get a picture together. That hadn’t ended well—for her. Apparently stomping your heel so hard it punctured his boot and sent him to the ER for a few stitches in his foot was press-worthy.
Of course there was not a single picture of his hand on her ass. Or a sound bite of what he’d said about how he considered her voice her second-best asset and what, exactly, he wanted to do to what he considered her best asset. Not one. Instead, every radio show and entertainment magazine and TV show said Krystal King was out of control with bitterness over their breakup. And she was, but not the way they thought. He’d used her, publicly, mercilessly, and managed to turn her into the bad guy.
But it was her fault. She’d let him in. Believed him. Trusted him. Let her hunger for acceptance, for love, blind her. If she’d kept her guard up, he’d never have been in a position to launch the campaign that made him and almost destroyed her. She knew better. She’d been a fool. Again.
Now he was here, invading her world again. And it made her blood boil. Travis was right to warn her. An audience might just prevent her from totally losing it. But it didn’t change the fact that he had no right to be here. How had he even gotten in without an invitation?
An invitation.
She knew. Damn it all, she knew. And the veins in her head began to throb so that she pressed her fingers to her temples. “Momma?” she asked, her throat so tight it hurt to say the word.
“She wouldn’t, Krystal.” But there was doubt in her brother’s voice. “No…she wouldn’t. Would she?” He glanced at her.
“She would. And you know it.” Krystal cleared her throat. “And we’re all going to find out why soon enough.” Because her momma knew doing things in public, with an audience of highly connected people, was much harder to undo.
“What are you two talking about?” Her daddy hugged her into his side. “Should I be worried?”
“I would, if I were you,” Travis said, nodding at their mother, her friends, and Mickey Graham.
“What the hell is that rat bastard doing here?” Her father’s whisper was lined with outrage.
That’s right. Her daddy loved her. He’d get offended on his little girl’s behalf. But what would he do if he found out his wife was the one who’d invited the rat bastard?
“Keep your distance, Krystal,” her daddy warned. “If you can’t hear him, he can’t say anything to set you off. And we both know the man lives to set you off.”
“Fine by me,” she replied.
And that’s when their mother spotted them. For a split second, her mother looked at her. In that blip of time, there was no doubting her mother’s excitement. Or her smug little smile of victory. Whatever CiCi King was up to, Krystal was at the center of it. And since Mickey Graham was smiling her way too, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it. Not one teeny tiny bit.
“Hank.” Her mother held out one perfectly manicured hand, diamonds sparkling. “You look good, honey.” She tipped her face so Daddy could give her the obligatory kiss on the cheek.
He did. “CiCi, ladies.” He was all smiles for the women circled around his wife. But he turned his back to Mickey.
And Krystal loved him for it. So, so much.
“Wanna drink?” Travis asked, steering her away from her parents and Mickey.
“No,” she said, arm tightening. “And don’t you dare leave me.”
He sighed. “Can we at least walk to the bar then, maybe talk to some people?”
“Sure.” She followed his lead and gave it her all. If Mickey knew she was ready to pounce, he’d love it. And she didn’t want to give him any more power
over her. She was done with that. With him. At least, she thought she was. Until Momma dragged him back into the mix.
Forget about Mickey. She smiled and turned all her attention to the fans and their questions. No, she’d never been to Alaska, but she was sure it was mighty cold in the winter. Yes, she had seen the new Tom Cruise movie but thought it was overrated. She did still have her three-legged Chinese crested dog, Clementine—an Instagram star with a huge following. And she was excited about the tour and how well tickets were selling.
At the moment, she wished she were back home in the rolling Texas hill Country. She could use a little peace and quiet, a long ride on her blue mare, Maizy, and lots and lots of wide-open space.
“Bad news about Josephine and Frankie.” His name badge said John. “Did you see it?”
Krystal had no idea what he was talking about. “Did I see what?”
“The arrest?” name badge Irma added. “Backstage, right before you went on.”
She blinked. Arrest? Josephine and Frankie? They were the opening act, a sweet couple who played a unique blend of bluegrass, folk, and classic country. They were low drama, something that was a rarity in the music world. “No…no, I didn’t see a thing.”
“It was all over the news, livestreaming,” John said, launching into the drugs found on their tour bus. Lots of drugs apparently.
“Who will be opening for you now?” Irma asked.
“No idea,” she said, but as soon as the words were out, she knew. No. No. No. Her momma wouldn’t do that to her. Mickey? She couldn’t. She was her mother, for crying out loud. The blood drained from her cheeks. Daddy wouldn’t let it happen. Surely. Her gaze flew across the room, searching for him.
Mickey Graham winked at her. He winked. And he smiled that lopsided smile that used to turn her insides to goo. Now it made her want to throw up. Preferably on his favorite pair of calf-skin boots. He loved those damn boots.
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