The Right Man

by Mankin, Michelle

  Copyright © 2018 Michelle Mankin

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system without prior written permission from the owner/publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Edited by Pam Berehulke at Bulletproof Editing

  Cover design by Michelle Preast at Indie Book Covers

  Photography by Wander Aguiar from Wander Photography, Florian Tarpinian model

  Formatting by Elaine at Allusion Graphics

  Table of Contents

  * * *

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Other Books by Michelle Mankin

  Prologue

  * * *

  “Tell me about Cinderella again, Gran,” the little girl asked Alice as she reached to switch off the lamp.

  “It’s time for bed, sweetheart.”

  “Just one more time. Please.” Jewel blinked her big golden eyes. “I’ll go right to sleep afterward. Promise.”

  “All right.” Alice’s expression softened. Her granddaughter was the apple of her eye, and she could hardly refuse the child anything. Carefully, she tucked the ruffled pink comforter she had sewn for Jewel around her. “But how about a different love story this time?”

  “Another fairy tale?” Jewel lisped through her two missing front teeth. She was about to start second grade, not yet ready to set aside the happily-ever-after endings of her favorite childhood stories.

  “Much better than that.” Alice smiled, and nostalgia warmed her heart. “A real love story. The story about how your grandfather and I met.”

  “Oh, goody.” Eagerness bloomed in the seven-year-old’s peaches-and-cream complexion.

  “All right. Once upon a time—”

  “That’s how all good stories start,” Jewel said with a knowing nod.

  “Yes, you’re right, and this is a good one. The very best.” Smiling, Alice stroked her granddaughter’s silky hair. This nightly ritual was her favorite part of the day. “Once upon a time, there was a fall celebration in our little town, and everyone received an invitation. I just had to go. You see, there was a handsome boy who had caught my eye.”

  “Granddad?”

  “Yes, precious one.” She patted the girl’s small hand. “My best friend, Pauline, told me he and his friends were planning to attend. But there was one problem. I had nothing to wear.”

  “What did you do?” The little girl’s auburn brows knitted together. “Did you wish for a gown from your fairy godmother?”

  “Wishes are the seeds of desire within your heart. Sometimes to make them come true, you have to plan and take action. I knew Pauline’s sister was my size, so I borrowed a dress from her.”

  “And you went to the dance in an enchanted carriage?”

  “Nothing quite so fancy.” Alice chuckled. “I went in a rusty old farm truck.”

  “Oh.” Jewel frowned, and her bottom lip jutted out.

  Drawing her granddaughter back into the tale, Alice waved a hand in the air as if to sprinkle stardust. “Nevertheless, the night had plenty of magic. Excitement buzzed in the air. Fireflies twinkled in the field like fallen stars. Streamers fluttered from the barn’s rafters. The tables were laden with delicacies fit for any princess. I brought my mother’s famous peach pie.”

  “That’s my favorite!”

  “I know, sweetheart. When I set the plate down, I looked up and immediately found him. Your grandfather stood so tall, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. So handsome in his crisp white shirt and pressed jeans, he marched straight to me. People cleared out of his way as if he had given them some silent command.”

  “And then what happened?” Jewel asked.

  “He stopped in front of me and said, ‘I’m Eli. I’ve seen you around town.’ And I told him, ‘I’m Alice. I’ve seen you around too. I like your blue eyes.’ Then he said, ‘I like your honesty, Alice,’ and smiled at me, a smile so big and bright, it melted my heart.”

  “Did it hurt when your heart melted?” Jewel asked, her button nose scrunched.

  Alice laughed. “No, dear. It means it felt warm and happy. So then your grandfather said, ‘I have to confess something. I only came to the party tonight to see you. You’re pretty and sweet, and I’ve been watching you and hoping to meet you for some time now.’ Then he held out his hand, and I took it without hesitation. When his fingers closed around mine, I knew.”

  “What did you know?” the little girl whispered, her eyes as big and round as a harvest moon.

  “That he was mine. That I was his. That he was gentle, kind, and everything I needed.”

  “How could you tell?” Jewel asked.

  “Because his steady gaze was true, and his grip was sure. Because he was considerate. Because while we danced, he told me his plans for the future, and how he wanted me to be part of it. And then he asked me to marry him.”

  “After one dance?” The little girl’s expression turned wistful. “Just like Prince Charming in Cinderella.”

  Alice nodded. “Your grandfather was a simple farmer, just like his father and his grandfather before him. The passing of the tobacco farm from one generation to the next was the only part of his life that resembled royalty. He worked hard from sunup to sundown every day to provide the necessities we currently enjoy: food, clothing, and shelter. But the very best thing he gave me was his love.”

  Cupping Jewel’s cheek, Alice said, “Through that love came your mother, and then you. Carriages, castles, and crowns are fun to dream about, my darling, but having all that finery won’t make you genuinely happy. Only real love will. Real love will stay by your side, through thick and thin. Real love will make the good times better and the bad times bearable. Use your head to find love like that, Jewel, and trust your heart to do what’s right to keep it.”

  Jewel nodded.
“I know.”

  Surprised, Alice chuckled. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, Gran.” The girl studied her grandmother for a moment. “I know because you’ve shown me.”

  “I hope so, sweet girl. I hope you don’t forget, and that my example is enough. I hope you never have to learn the hard way about how difficult life can be.”

  “Like my mother?” Jewel’s lip trembled.

  Alice studied her granddaughter, surprised by the clarity of the child’s perception. She’d mistakenly believed Jewel had been too young to remember the circumstances of her life before her grandmother had adopted her.

  “Beauty is reflected in honorable actions, not pretty promises, not in what a person has or how they look on the outside.” She took and squeezed her granddaughter’s hand. “And the right man—a good man—is one who will look at you with love in his eyes. He’ll listen. He’ll be gentle. He will show he cares by the changes he makes in his life for you.”

  Alice smiled bravely, blinking back the tears that threatened at the memory of her Eli, and gave her granddaughter the best advice she could.

  “A good man’s arms, not a castle, will be the most perfect home you will ever find.”

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  Rush

  Naked and on my side, I was being worked over by three curvaceous women in the middle of my hotel bed. I weighed the supersize tits of the babe in front of me, not sure if they were fake or real, while the chick who pressed into me from behind ran her manicured nails around my nipples.

  Guys who tell you that isn’t a turn-on? They’re fuckin’ lying.

  Tension built inside me as the third woman worked my cock. She knew what she was doing. Determined, she kept at me as I lengthened in her hand, not stopping even when I was distracted by a phone call from my drummer, Jack Howard, about another argument between him and my bassist, Benton Kennedy. My bandmates had been at each other’s throats the entire week, ever since Ben had been busted having phone sex with Jack’s wife.

  I didn’t get the constant competition between them. Maybe the rivalry arose from their different backgrounds. Jack had been raised in an abusive low-income home, while Ben had a privileged upbringing where his physical needs were indulged but his emotional needs were ignored.

  But why poach another guy’s woman? There was plenty of unencumbered snatch on the road.

  Groupies at the venues. Groupies on the bus. Groupies at the pre-show hotel parties like this one. A never-ending surplus of them. They threw themselves at us constantly. The last stop on the tour tonight? No exception.

  Apparently noting my inattention, the groupie behind me pinched my nipples at the same time the one down low fisted my rod like a super-tight cunt.

  Refocused, I felt a tingle begin at the base of my spine. The chick crouched beside me shoved one of her basketball-sized globes into my mouth, and my body drew taut. Fake or real, tits were tits. I had a pair of fantasies to suck on, two pressed into my back, and two more shadowing my cock.

  I swirled my tongue around the globe in my mouth and sucked its elongated nipple between my lips, then bit down. Fantasy Chick liked that a hell of a lot. She moaned, and the hand working my steel-hard cock sped up.

  Finally, inevitably, it happened. Three bodacious babes, naked and writhing on my hotel bed with me? Yeah, that setup had the desired effect.

  Despite a bump of coke and too much whiskey, I groaned low in my throat and let go. My spine stiffened as I released my load. Spurts of hot cum coated the pumping hand fastened around my cock.

  “All right, darlin’,” I said as I sat up.

  Over and done, from the heights of make-believe to the depths of reality I crashed. Disappointment awaited me on the other side.

  “That’s enough. Hands off my junk.”

  As my dissatisfaction came roaring back, I didn’t bother pretending I was interested anymore. Because I was an asshole. But also because I knew what this was, and so did they. I got a reprieve from the hubris of my own headspace, and they got bragging rights that they had done it with Rush McMahon, Black Cat Records’ biggest rock star. An even exchange.

  And now I wanted them gone. Their clashing fragrances filled the air, searing my nasal passages and making my eyes burn.

  “Nothing personal,” I said as I carefully swept Fantasy Chick out of my way.

  The down-low chick was already on the floor retrieving her clothes. The ringleader of the trio, she seemed well versed with the fuck ’em and leave ’em drill.

  “Pick up your cell phones in the other room on your way out,” I said gruffly.

  “What about our VIP passes?” the ringleader asked, her voice shrill and her calculating eyes narrowed.

  “Those too.” I whipped the rumpled sheet off the bed and tucked it around my waist. “My manager will see that you’re taken care of. Go on. Move along.” Shuffling them toward the door without allowing them time to finish dressing, I explained. “I gotta get ready for the show.”

  I clicked the door closed behind them and turned to press my back against it, squeezing my eyes shut as the weariness of the nine-month-long tour slammed down on me. I was so fucking sick of it. Night after night, day after day, it was always the same. Show, long bus ride, hotel, chicks, booze, more chicks, more booze.

  “Be careful what you wish for, my boy.” My father’s words of advice rattled around inside my skull as clearly as the day he’d spoken them. “Dreams are great things—unless they’re misguided ones.”

  He’d thought mine were misguided. The way I felt today, I certainly couldn’t argue with his assessment.

  Don’t, I warned myself. Don’t you fucking feel sorry for yourself. You’re Rush McMahon, on top of the world. Top of the charts. You busted your ass, and you made it. And now you have everything you ever wanted.

  Yet, as I opened my eyes and glanced around the opulent suite, I knew I had nothing I really needed. Nothing that mattered. And no one in my life anymore who truly understood how I felt.

  I raked my hand through my hair. Bullshit! Introspection like this was a waste of time. It didn’t change anything.

  No, what was called for here was self-medication. At the proper dosage, it would suppress the brain’s tendency toward focusing on unproductive matters while keeping it coherent enough to be functional.

  With that goal in mind, I tugged the sheet tighter around me and pushed away from the door just in time to escape the rising sound of the irritated voices on the other side. Groupies never responded favorably to being forced to sign nondisclosure agreements.

  No signature? No cell phone.

  Yeah, I might feel like a loser at the moment, but I wasn’t a fool. No way in hell was I going to let some random chicks I’d just fucked screw me over with a viral video.

  Returning to the center of the room, I paused at the glossy mahogany table and grabbed the half-full bottle of Jameson I’d abandoned earlier. I lifted it into the air in a toast.

  “Here’s to you on your wedding day, darlin’. And here’s to me, myself, and I—and the fuckin’ success I am without you.”

  Fuck, that sounded lame. Apparently, banging groupies hadn’t gotten my mind off anything.

  Exchanging one rock star’s vice for another, I brought the bottle to my lips and knocked back an unhealthy swallow. My throat warmed, and the chill inside my chest receded.

  A pleasant numbness settled into my limbs as I snagged my cell from the charging cradle. I loaded some of my music and hit PLAY, needing some fucking sound to drown out the silence.

  Whiskey in hand, I headed toward the balcony on a mission for some perfume-free air. I threw open one of the French doors and slipped through the gap.

  The outside speakers crackled as they picked up the first track. My guitar chords streaked like a blazing comet through the darkness. It was some kickass ax work, if I did say so myself. And I did. Hearing it brightened my gloom.

  I set the bottle on a cushioned lounger—not that I wouldn’t hit
it again or tag another chick later. I just had a better option for now.

  With my own voice serenading me, I moved to the edge of the balcony to take in the view. Elbows propped on the iron railing, I surveyed the twinkling lights of LA from fifteen stories above.

  Jack’s drums pounded the melancholy from my chest. Ben’s snaky bass groove further improved my mood. A breeze gently lifted the layers of hair at my brow, soothing me.

  My lips curved. My twisted guts unraveled.

  Liquor and drugs were only temporary fixes. Music was my preferred therapy. The lifeblood of my soul. The rhythm of my heart. My unshakable foundation.

  Brenda had never fully understood that . . . or me. Like my dad, she’d thought my career was some post-adolescent phase. Even if I hadn’t screwed up with her, she and I would have never worked.

  On that depressing note of clarity, I finally noticed the cold of the stamped concrete seeping into the soles of my bare feet. The chill spread throughout my body, raising goose bumps on my skin.

  Sighing, I turned away from the view. At the lounger, I bent and snagged my bottle before reentering the suite. On my way to the shower, I shook my head as an unmistakable ringtone stopped me in my tracks.

  Shit. I walked back to my phone. My manager’s disapproving image lit up the screen.

  “Hello?” My gut tightened again as I braced for the inevitable lecture.

  “You’re not dressed yet, are you?” Bradley Marshall asked, sounding as stick-up-his-ass irritated as he usually did lately.

  “No, man.”

  “Pre-show meet and greets are in ten minutes.”

  “I know. Gotta shower first.”

  “I’ll bet you do. Hell, Rush, you probably need a hazmat unit to get clean after rolling around with that unholy trinity. The blonde had some video of you snorting coke off her tits. Must have taken it before we confiscated their phones.”

  “Uh, well . . .”

  “I deleted it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not smart.”

  “I know, it’s just—”

  Brad sighed. “Yeah, I know. Today’s been rough for you. But you didn’t really think she was going to wait around forever, did you?”