One Song: book two in the one series

by Best, Victoria J.

  One Song (One Series #2)

  Copyright © 2019 by Victoria J. Best

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published: Victoria J. Best 2019

  Victoria@victoriajbest.com

  Cover design: by Tiffany Black at T.E. Black Designs

  Editing by: All About the Edits (Jenn Wood)

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Natalie

  2. Rhys

  3. Natalie

  4. Natalie

  5. Rhys

  6. Natalie

  7. Natalie

  8. Rhys

  9. Natalie

  10. Rhys

  11. Natalie

  12. Natalie

  13. Natalie

  14. Rhys

  15. Natalie

  16. Rhys

  17. Natalie

  18. Rhys

  19. Natalie

  20. Rhys

  21. Natalie

  22. Rhys

  23. Natalie

  24. Natalie

  25. Rhys

  26. Natalie

  27. Rhys

  28. Natalie

  29. Rhys

  30. Natalie

  31. Rhys

  32. Natalie

  33. Rhys

  34. Natalie

  35. Rhys

  36. Natalie

  37. Rhys

  38. Natalie

  39. Natalie

  40. Rhys

  41. Natalie

  Epilogue

  Stay Tuned for Book 3

  One Chance-Prologue

  One Chance-Chapter 1

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Victoria J. Best

  Playlist for One Song

  Prologue

  Natalie

  “Are you ready?!” the singer and guitarist on stage yelled at the crowd in the packed arena.

  The response was screams and cheering, so loud it made me feel like my eardrums would rupture at any moment. For the tenth time that night, I wondered why I was there before looking at the man who sat to my right. Record executive. That was what my father told me was his title.

  Ralph Hernandez Jr. Even his name was pretentious.

  I looked down at my lap, so no one would see me as I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t having a good time, and I had only been here for fifteen minutes. My father convinced me to come on this atrocious date and I was already done with it, just as I was with all his setups.

  I snuck a glance to my left and rolled my eyes again. Ralph Hernandez Jr. was wearing orange-lensed aviators inside of the skybox where we sat in the dark arena. He looked like a fool, and I felt like one because I was with him. How had I fallen so far in society that I was forced to be on a date with a man who wore orange-lensed aviators in the dark, with a blazer that had actual sequins on it?

  Nausea pooled in my belly at the memory of being photographed with him as we walked into the stadium. I had wanted to dart from his side, but he pulled me against him, like we were a couple, and I couldn’t very well push him away in front of paparazzi.

  Music began playing on stage, the guitar and drums drowning out the mouth breathing next to me. Ralph Hernandez Jr. was all-around obnoxious and I figured I would wait another ten minutes before excusing myself for the restroom and never come back. He would tell everyone I was a frigid bitch, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t spend another moment in this box next to him as he kept trying to put a sweaty hand on my leg.

  The only saving grace was that the band was great. After only five minutes, I was entranced with the lead singer and guitarist—his voice was floating over me, around me, and inside of me, filling me with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. It felt like he was singing directly to me and I couldn’t look away. The cadence of his voice wrapped around me like an embrace, my heart pounding while I felt relaxed and uplifted, all at the same time. It made no sense how one song could fill me with such strong emotion.

  I was so lost in the song I didn’t realized my ten-minute window had expired. It helped that the singer was easy on the eyes, much more so than my actual date. I stood with regret, because I did actually want to see the concert, and excused myself.

  “Do you need some company?” Ralph asked me suggestively.

  I balked, taking a step back from him. “No, I’m fine.”

  The disgust I felt must have been evident on my face because he sneered at me. “Well, don’t bother coming back then.”

  I snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, as I grabbed my clutch and headed towards the door.

  The walkway of the skyboxes was deserted and I strolled slowly towards the stairs as I pulled my phone from my clutch. I was going to need a ride home, so I shot a quick text to my driver and hoped my father wouldn’t hear about me ditching on my date early.

  Seconds later, my phone rang as I made my way down the steps into the area they call the “nosebleed” section.

  I frowned at the screen before answering. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Natty, why are you leaving early? Wasn’t the concert any good?”

  My dad asked the questions like I was a three-year-old who didn’t want to eat her dinner.

  “The concert is amazing. Mr. Hernandez Jr. is not.” I sighed as I said the words and waited for the sounds of disappointment I would hear in his voice at his response.

  “Natty”—he said my name like a reprimand—“you didn’t even give it a chance.”

  “I gave it more than enough of a chance. I can’t do this, Dad.”

  I had to get out of this place before I suffocated on my own failure right in the middle of Madison Square Garden.

  “Fine. If you’re going to act like a brat after I set up the whole thing for you, I’ll send the car. He’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Half an hour?” My heart started pounding at his words. “No, no, I can’t wait that long.”

  I looked around frantically for an escape. I did sound like a brat, but the first set was going to be over soon, and people would be streaming out of their seats for restroom and refreshment breaks. I didn’t want to be spotted there, looking like a deer in headlights.

  “You’ll just have to wait, Natalie.” That was his final word and I had to accept it.

  Sighing again heavily, I headed towards the next set of stairs to look for a place to hide on the ground floor as I waited for the car to pick me up. My eyes flicked to my watch again—a platinum and diamond Movado my father gave me for my last birthday. Barely a minute had passed and I knew staring at my watch wasn’t going to make the car arrive any sooner. Moving swiftly, I made my way to the ground floor, my heeled boots clicking on the concrete floors as I walked around the empty halls. Bass and cheering filtered out of the entrances to the main stadium and my heart thrummed with the need to leave here.

  I sauntered to the main doors of the building and peeked out to the street to see if I saw my father’s car at the curb. The only thing I saw was evening traffic flowing by as people made their way to wherever in the city they needed to get to that night.

  Releasing a b
reath, I stomped away from the doors like a petulant child. I hated not being in control of my own situations. It made me feel frantic. I felt a panic attack begin to build in my chest as I made my way to the closest restroom to take a minute to breathe and regroup. Safely inside the largest stall, I locked the door and stood with my hands over my face while I directed my breathing to calm.

  The panic attacks were getting worse, even though I had been working with a therapist for the last five years. She assured me I would be able to overcome them if I stayed on my meds and continued therapy, but I didn’t know if she was right. The anxiety I experienced on a daily basis was magnified by my life in the public eye and every year, as I became more public, especially to promote the business, the anxiety increased.

  Taking a final deep breath, I pushed the stall door open, washed my hands, and exited the bathroom. I froze—people were everywhere. The opening band must have finished their set early. Balling my hands into fists at my side, my clutch shoved under my armpit, I kept my head down and hoped I’d blend in with the crowd as I made my way towards the doors again.

  I hated crowds, in addition to having social anxiety and generalized anxiety, and I could feel the panic begin to grip my chest again as I made my way towards the bank of door. I pushed through them, into the stifling July night, the humidity just as oppressive outside as the crowd was inside. But despite the soupy air, I gulped, filling my lungs with it, and moved away from the building like it was a predator stalking me.

  I looked around again for the car, but it wasn’t there. The urge to sit on the sidewalk and pull my knees to my chest to disappear struck me but I walked around the side of the building to find a dark corner where no one would see me as I disintegrated. The shadows enveloped me as I slinked around the side of Madison Square Garden, back by the service doors, which were deserted and inviting in their darkness and loneliness.

  I wondered every day why I decided to take over as head of my father’s public relations firm after grad school. This was what I studied for years to do and what he groomed me for. But being in the spotlight, being in charge of big-name accounts and promoting not only our company but theirs, in front of the camera, was not something I wanted. It was slowly beating me down into a pile of anxiety and depression, but I couldn’t tell my father I didn’t want to do it anymore.

  So, I took my inner turmoil out on everyone else. I was bitchy to the dates my dad set me up with, I was short and demanding with my staff, and I was rude and condescending to my friends and acquaintances. Mean was my coping mechanism and no matter how much shame I felt for it, I couldn’t stop.

  “Excuse me, is everything all right?”

  A voice interrupted my reverie and I pushed off the wall I was leaning against with my eyes closed, and spun around. I was met by an incredibly beautiful pair of blue eyes—so blue, they gave a clear, summer sky a run for its money. The eyes were attached to an equally beautiful man and I wondered where I had seen him before recently. His sandy blond hair was tousled, and a short beard of the same shade covered the lower half his face.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here,” I said as I worried my clutch between my fingers.

  “It’s okay. I just came out for some air before the next set.”

  He smiled at me and my stomach flip-flopped. It dawned on me where I’d seen him before. He was the gorgeous singer and guitarist from the opening band. My heart raced as I looked around for a way to get out without explaining my presence because being near him was scrambling my brain.

  “I needed some air as well,” I said, taking a subtle step back towards the street.

  I felt unnerved as he stared at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes, my stomach clenching in ways I hadn’t ever experienced before. The only good thing about the encounter was that it knocked the panic attack completely out of me.

  “You don’t have to go so soon,” he said, moving towards me.

  My stomach somersaulted as he stopped directly in front of me, so close we were almost touching. His scent of sweaty male and leather wound around me as we stared at each other for a minute, both of us unable to move. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, because nothing made sense as I stared into his eyes but everything made perfect sense for those few moments.

  “I, uh, I have to go.” I finally managed to croak the words out after minutes of being speechless.

  “Why?”

  The word hung between us, waiting for an answer as we stood there and eyed each other. I didn’t know his name or anything about him, but I didn’t want to go, and I could tell he didn’t want me to. His words on stage, beautiful and sorrowful, had captivated me inside the stadium, and outside in the dark of this alley, his eyes held me prisoner in the same way. I was lost in them, lost in him, for what seemed like hours, unable to find a reason why I shouldn’t be here with him.

  “I don’t know,” I responded, my voice low and husky with lust that snuck up on me as quickly as my panic attack had earlier.

  “Since you don’t know, maybe you should come with me back inside.” He held out his hand to me and I took it without thinking.

  We stood there, staring at each other again as I mulled his words over in my head. I wanted to go with him. I wanted to feel something other than anxiety and panic for a little while. But I eventually shook my head because I couldn’t go back inside the arena. That much was clear.

  “I can’t go back in there,” I said without explanation, still shaking my head.

  My hand remained nestled in his, both of our palms starting to sweat in the heat and humidity, but neither of us made an attempt to pull away. The same feelings, the ones I felt when I saw him onstage, began to wrap around me. Being this close to him, seeing him, and feeling his touch amplified it. This didn’t make sense because I didn’t know him, didn’t know his name, but I felt a connection with him nonetheless.

  “Your band was great,” I added, to make sure he knew the reason I couldn’t go back inside had nothing to do with his music and simply for something to say.

  “Thanks. This is our first tour opening for a band that other people actually know.” He laughed awkwardly after he said it.

  I mimicked his chuckle, though nothing felt particularly funny right now. All other thoughts escaped as his finger began to trace slow circles on my palm. I began to pant, the thick air harder to breathe into my lungs as the electricity of attraction crackled between us. This was stupid, unsafe, and yet, I didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

  “Come inside with me. We can talk,” he offered again after we stood there for what felt like hours, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “No. I can’t,” I repeated. I wanted him—to get to know him, talk to him, but more than that, I wanted him to touch me beyond where our hands connected.

  As if he could read my thoughts, he pulled me closer, slowly, agonizingly so, until I was flush against his chest. Our breathes were ragged, our chests heaving against each other’s as I looked into his eyes, their startling blue depths darkening with lust. Again, rational thought tried to break through, to tell me I was being impulsive with my decisions in a way I never was, but I silenced the voice in my head.

  There was a question in his eyes, one he wanted to ask out loud but didn’t have to. I wanted to silence his questions too.

  “Here. Right here.” My voice was husky with need.

  I needed a salve for my mental wounds, something to make me forget everything I had been feeling moments earlier. All my failings, and the hurt and anxiety that threatened to take over whenever I was alone.

  “Really?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, as if he didn’t expect my answer.

  “Yes,” I answered, and leaned further into him.

  Everything moved quickly after that as fireworks exploded with the contact. His arms were around my waist, my hands were in his hair, and my back was pressed against the brick wall. His mouth found mine and he devoured me, we devoured each other. I felt like I needed this connection to
breathe and I pushed all thoughts of shame or regret from my mind as he hiked up my already short skirt around my waist.

  My skin was alight with sensation as he ran his hands up my thighs and cupped my ass. My back chafed against the brick wall, but I didn’t feel it. The only thing I felt was him as he kissed down my neck, pulling the strap of my flimsy top down my shoulder until my breast was exposed to the stifling summer air. He captured my pert nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking, sending a zing of electricity straight to my clit. I moaned aloud, not worried about discovery as he covered my mouth his. His fingers moved deftly, pulling my panties aside and finding my center with them. I moaned again, against his mouth as he pushed two fingers inside of me, over and over again, until I was on the brink of combustion.

  When he disengaged from me, I groaned with despair at the loss of his touch, but the loss of contact wasn’t for long. He fumbled with his belt and pants, before pulling his erection out and plunging it inside of me. I cried out this time, loudly and without care, digging my nails into his shoulders through his t-shirt and hiking my leg up over his hip. He took me fast and hard, my back bruising against the rough wall as he pounded into me. My climax built, layer by layer, thrust by thrust, until I was on the precipice. The city outside of the alley fell away as my body convulsed around him and I fell apart in his arms. It didn’t take long for him to find his release once I had come, pushing into me harder as he growled against my hair.