by Bowie, Emily
Whisky Moments
STEELE FAMILY SERIES
BOOK 4
EMILY BOWIE
Whisky Moments
Copyright © 2019 Emily Bowie
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photography, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Epilogue
Other books by Emily Bowie
Acknowledgments
About the Author
What happens when the legend you love becomes the man you hate?
CHAPTER 1
5 years ago
“Hey, Rhett.” The producer slaps me on the back as I walk in for my celebrity guest appearance, judging a singing competition in the number one seven o’clock slot on television right now.
Our handshake is firm, and I’m excited to be doing this. I’ve accomplished so much in my singing career that I feel like TV could be a great next step.
“The crowd is amped to have you here tonight.”
I match each of his steps as we walk down the long hall. The pace is swift as he brings me to where I need to be. Dressed up in my cowboy stage persona that plays into the image I’ve created for myself over the years, I’m eager to be briefed about tonight.
The producer and I go back a few years. We seem to be in the same circle most of the time. He’s a good guy. We’ve always gotten along great; I’d even go as far as saying we’re friends.
“I’m excited to be here,” I say honestly, already feeling the excitement vibrating in the building.
“One of our contestants is even singing one of your songs. She’s mentioned a time or two that you’re the reason she wanted to become a country singer.”
Hearing this always makes me feel good. I hope I can inspire more people.
“I’ll introduce you after the show, but I wanted to remind you—” His voice gets lower and he leans in toward me. “—that you signed a contract explicitly stating you’ll have no relationship with any of the contestants. This means of any kind, especially physically.”
“You’re preaching to the choir here.” I completely understand. I’m not even offended. He has to say this. “I’m here only to judge and not to have favorites. I catch ya.”
He blows out a breath he was holding before giving me a light slap on the back as he holds up one finger signaling he’ll be a moment, answering his phone.
*
My nerves are on fire. I do three quick mini jumps as I wait at the back of the stage, for my cue. I shake my hands out, hoping to remove my jitters, this is more than just singing to me. This moment is everything. For once I feel like someone is looking down at me, giving me what I want. I get to sing a Rhett Steele song to him. I have always loved the way he writes his lyrics right down to the melody he chooses to sing in every song.
His words are what kept me going some days. I would fall asleep to his songs, and wake up to his voice. Now, I finally get my chance to meet the man I have loved for years, all because of this show. I feel like this is my destiny.
Blowing out a deep breath, I go over my choreographed steps in my head as I hum my song. I try to push down the thought that this is my chance to finally get my dream. Reminding myself I have to take this one day at a time. If I get ahead of myself, that’s when errors happen. I expect perfection from myself. Tonight, when I walk onto that stage singing Rhett one of his own songs there are no other options. It has to be perfect.
*
As the new guy on the panel, I’m on the end with a glass of water propped in front of me. The lights shine down brightly on us, the heat of them making me hotter than expected. I’m used to stage lighting, but these lights I can’t move away from.
The theme for tonight’s show is country songs, and I’m looking forward to what everyone brings to the table. They saved my song for last, and I think it’s a marketing ploy to keep the favorite—some Canadian girl—for last.
She steps onto the stage in a pair of cute jean shorts. Her legs are long and toned; they stretch for miles. With her heels, she must be just under six feet tall. She has on a pink plaid shirt that’s tied in a knot in front, accentuating her hips. Her hair is long and dark, perfectly straight. She’s a knockout. No wonder she’s the favorite. A light melody flows into the air as the live crowd silences, and then she opens her mouth.
She is the perfect mix of Faith Hill and Carrie Underwood for vocals. This girl makes everyone else look like they’re from some small-town mall talent search. I’d been to a lot of them while growing up, so I know from experience. They have nothing on her. She hits the high notes better than most singers I know.
I watch as she pours her heart into this song, giving it her all as she dances around, hitting every note perfectly.
Then her eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. She sings to me as everyone else fades away. All I can see is her. I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to act unaffected. I honestly believe she feels my emotions with each word.
The song ends and all eyes dart to me, placing me in the spot. She’s hot as fuck and has a voice. She doesn’t even have to win this to make it in Nashville.
“Have you ever looked in the mirror while you sing?” I ask, trying slyly to adjust my hard cock by placing my elbow on the table in front of me, moving my hips for the reposition.
She is beaming, feeling like she nailed this performance. Taking in a deep breath, I know I’m about to crush her, because I wasn’t hired to be nice. I was hired to ruffle feathers and to give people something to talk about.
“You bare your teeth, making it look like you’re hoping there might be a hot dog vendor in the crowd.” What I wouldn’t do to find out how talented her mouth really is. Again, I try to stop those types of thoughts. “Yet, you’re as cute and innocent as Britney when she first stepped out on the stage. People love that image.” One bad comment, one good. After all, I am trying to be neutral in all of this, sort of.
She looks taken aback by my brashness. Her large dark eyes widen as she looks around as if silently asking if I can say these things to her. She must be too young to remember American Idol and all the comments Simon Co
well got away with. She needs tough skin to make it in this industry. I’m seriously giving her a helpful life lesson here.
“The good news, I can see you being remembered a year from now. I don’t think you’ll only get fifteen minutes of fame like most people here.”
“Thank you?” She says it like a question, forcing her smile. I hate that I had to be mean. But it was part of me coming on the show. I was prepped with what type of personality they needed, and too bad for her, this was it.
Her eyes narrow on mine with loathing, yet she takes my criticism with grace. I expected tears and crying. I think it’s a fair judgment to say anyone else would have cried and not thanked me for my input. I nod to her, looking toward the next judge for their advice.
“To be clear…” Her voice brings my attention back to her. “Did you hate the song, because it wasn’t you singing it?”
Out the corner of my eye, I can see the heads of the other judges go back in shock. I laugh her off as I bite back a smile, liking this girl even more. Her hand is on her hip as those pouty lips goad me, and I just sit here, unable to do a damn thing about her.
There is a challenge in her tone I feel obligated to answer. “The song wasn’t the issue, Ms. Black.”
*
Walking off stage, my manager is congratulating me, saying everyone is talking about tonight’s rating because of me and the new dimension I brought to the show. I walk through the sea of people until the producer stops me.
“Camilla Black, this is Rhett Steele.” I’m officially introduced to the beauty on stage I ripped apart.
I want to say sorry; it’s on the tip of my tongue. That is, until the producer walks away and this sweet, smiling, beautiful girl jabs her finger into me. “You could have just said you loved the way I sang your song, instead of being an ass.”
This girl has lady balls. I like her fire. Too bad I can’t do a single thing about it.
“Next time, get it right, and I won’t have to tell you the hard truths.” Because of her height, I look straight into her eyes—something I’m not used to doing with women.
“I’d also suggest wearing shorter heels. It makes dancing easier, so it doesn’t take all your breath, and you can hit those notes perfect.” I wink at her.
Those heels were not the problem. I want to see her in only them and nothing else.
“You know what? I was looking forward to meeting you. For some reason, I thought I looked up to you. Now I know you’re as awful as the media makes you out to be.”
“Now, don’t be making up lies just to hurt me. It’s the truth that hurts.” My career has never been better. Every song I put out hits number one. I won four awards last season. My fans love me—I have the love letters to prove it.
“I gave up my scholarship for this. I’m here for the long haul.” She looks determined as I look her up and down.
“That was your first mistake. You should have stayed home.” I dip my cowboy hat and leave her standing there. I have to; otherwise, I might tell her the truth. She’s the best singer I’ve ever heard. I’d be proud for her to sing my song.
Waiting till I’m safely in my car, I dial my producer.
“You watch the show tonight?”
He sounds bored with my inquiry. “Believe it or not, I don’t watch those shows.”
“I just found your next star. Make sure she gets signed no matter what.”
Now I know I have his attention.
*
I have been working on my new choreographed moves for next week’s show. Determined to get every step perfect like last week, I’ve worked for the past five hours nonstop. My feet hurt, I’m sweaty, and all I want to do is place my feet in an ice bath and sit my ass down.
I’m beyond shocked when I see Rhett walk into the small room I’ve been working in all day. I stand taller, my feet screaming in pain as I ignore their needs. I try to catch my breath, hoping to look like I’m not wheezing.
“Mr. Steele.” I fake my overly big smile as I greet him before redoing my stretches. His green eyes narrow on me, his face at a resting scowl.
My stomach feels uneasy as it swishes around. I’m not scared; it’s more nervousness, mixed with excitement. Trying to be indifferent, I ignore him, not wanting to give him the upper hand. Placing my leg on the bar, I pull my torso over my limb, stretching out my tired, overworked muscles. I count to ten before switching sides. Only after do I sneak a glance behind me. He’s still there, so I turn around, crossing my arms as I drink him in.
To say he’s sexy is an understatement. He has this confidence that radiates off him. His eyes, although narrowed, still look kind, even with him trying to hide it. The right side of his lips tilt upward in a cocky grin that can make any lady’s knees weak. Add in that deep, rich voice of his and he’s pure sex on legs.
He looks like he’s fighting with every muscle in his body. I can see a slight pulse on the side of his neck before he finally breaks the silence. “Do you know the reason I was asked to judge?”
To cause trouble.
I have a feeling Rhett Steele is Trouble, with a capital T. The way my body moves closer to him before I can demand my feet to stay where they are solidifies my feelings.
“My guess is to appease you in some way. Help heighten your ego, so you can perform on your own stage.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this to Rhett Steele. I’m fangirling everywhere but on the outside. I hold my breath while his eyes hold mine. He chuckles, allowing his lips to widen on that handsome face of his.
“I meant what I said; people are going to love you. You have this look to you that’s like catnip for fans.” Yup, that’s a real, live compliment. I’ll take it, even though the delivery is off.
“Don’t let this industry or anyone break your sass and you’ll do just fine. Maybe one day you and I will even share a stage.” He shrugs before placing his hand into his jeans pocket.
All I’m seeing is Rhett and I on stage together, singing.
“If you ever want to open for me, let me know.”
My heart plummets, but only momentarily. That’s two complements from a man who seems to fight his own smile.
“Why, keep being nice and your reputation of being a hard-ass on the show will be ruined,” I tease.
He taps on the wall twice like he wants to say something else but decides against it. “Good luck, Camilla.” He nods, that black cowboy hat doing wonders for my heart, before walking out.
I’m left staring at the empty doorway with my goofy grin, when Rhett’s manager pops his head in.
“You just missed him, Dick.” My head tilts in the direction Rhett left. This guy is Rhett’s shadow and seems to be all over the place since Rhett temporarily joined the show.
“I hope he wasn’t too rude this time.”
I shrug while I start to pack everything up in my practice bag, hoping to get out of here. Tomorrow is going to be another huge day.
“Say, how about I buy you dinner for having to deal with him?”
I wave him off while picking up my duffle bag. “No need, Dick. He was on his best behavior this time, but thank you.” I’m beyond exhausted, I’d fall asleep in my dish if I went out. All that keeps me going is the notion that I get to fall straight into bed when I get home.
“The offer stands if you change your mind.”
I nod in acknowledgment, hoping he leaves so I don’t have to walk down the hall with him. All I can think about is my bed and trying not to worry about tomorrow’s show.
CHAPTER 2
6 months ago
Jumping out of my car, I feel like a mess, and being ten minutes late doesn’t help this dreadful feeling that sits at the pit of my stomach. I’m going to have to come clean to the studio that I have no new song. My life has been nothing but hectic the last few months, with me trying to juggle my singing career in Nashville and the home life I once left behind in Texas. I blew all my money, and now I’m broke as hell. My manager Dick has been breathing down my neck abo
ut getting out there again. We need a comeback. A number one song.
It’s not that I was stupid with my money. I knew what I was doing. I was in it for a good time. For the memories. Each time my money supply would get down, I would write another song, and the bank account would rise for me to continue living the way I love. Fast, reckless, and fun.
But this time, the new song never came. My mind went blank, no more melodies swirling in my head, no more words calling to me. For the first time, I lost my mojo.
Dick blamed it on my life getting stagnant, doing the same thing over and over again. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I went off the grid. I went to the back road, lived in a cabin, and fished. It didn’t help. I couldn’t even come up with a damn drinking or fishing song.
I tried going back to where it started, to where Dick found me, putting on a concert, hoping for inspiration. Instead, my family sucked me back into their lives. Lives I have been absent from for more than a decade. I had to watch my brothers and sister find the loves of their lives, enjoying the life I left behind all those years ago. They were happy, truly happy.
I tried to write how I imagine them, coming up with what can only be described as a ten-year-old’s first attempt at poetry.
For the first time in my life, I was lost. I was back in the small Texas town of Three Rivers, with a tanking career, because I didn’t have it in me anymore. I was stuck in limbo. I felt like I didn’t belong here, and I had nothing tying me to Nashville anymore.
The only thing I knew was music and singing. It’s all I’m good at, all that I love. I loved it more than people. I have no other option than to find my next number one hit. I’m desperate. It doesn’t matter if I have to beg or steal it. I’m going to get that hit. I’m going to stay on top, because I’m lost without it.
Just as I’m about to pull the door open, it pushes into my hands and sexy Camilla Black shoves me back as she flees the building. Her tight jeans hug her ass while the white tank top fits every other curve of her toned body. She’s tall for a woman at what I’d gauge as five-foot-six, and then her heels make her chin come right up to my shoulders.
