Stepping off the elevator I am greeted by another busty blonde whose name is Monica. I spoke to her earlier this morning when she called to schedule the meeting. Monica leads me into a large conference room and lets me know to have a seat wherever I please.
“Harvey Grant will be a little longer than he anticipated, he’s still in another meeting.” Monica fetches me a bottle of water and lets me know that she has arranged for me to view some of the audition tapes for the contestants.
I’ve suffered through the fifth rendition of Cups when I hear the most beautiful voice I have ever heard in my life. I skip back a scene to catch the name and place a face to this captivating voice.
Fuck me.
Fuck me hard.
Peyton.
My Fancy.
Her nickname tattooed on my back burns across my skin. A permanent reminder of the one who got away.
“Hi, my name’s Peyton Mathews. I was born and raised in Nashville. This is a dream come true for me. I’ve never wanted anything more than this.” Hearing that my chest constricts. “When I was seventeen, I nearly died. I never thought I’d have this chance…”
I pause the video, unable to take my eyes from her, unable to hear anything else she has to say. I know the story. I was there. It was my fault.
Her hazel eyes stare at me through the camera lens and I feel like I can’t breathe.
She's still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s dressed in a dangerously short pair of denim cut offs and a scoop neck red tank top, with a red pair of cowgirl boots to match. Fucking A. She’s a ten, and the camera loves her. My girl has grown up. Her dirty blonde hair blankets her shoulders, hiding her breasts. I hit play after fast-forwarding through her interview and her choice of song surprises me. She has chosen to sing something she wrote herself acapella. She always was a rebel.
Goodbye my love
Goodbye my only friend
I gave you the best of me
All you brought me was misery
I shared all of my dreams with you
You made them into a nightmare
You keep saying I broke your heart
and you always will love me
Funny you should say these things
You’re the one who stole my heart away
You suck the very breath from my lungs
And yet I can’t stay away
I keep listening to your voice on the radio
I gave you all of me
I’ve got the scars
Goodbye my love
Goodbye my only friend
I need you to stop holding on
This love is not what I intended
But misery loves company
Pieces of the life we shared are…
drifting away
Goodbye my love
Goodbye my only friend
I want to reach through the screen and rub my thumb across her pouted lips.
I know this song is about me—about us.
Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake the past away. Peyton is getting married, and maybe making her dream a reality, can be my gift to her and the closure we both need.
Hitting play, I move on to the next contestant.
Next up is another contender, J.J. Reese, a good ol boy from Texas. He’s got a good deep voice; he’s the strongest male contender by far. It could be interesting to see him go head to head with Fancy in the end. I might be getting ahead of myself by putting the two of them in the front running so early on, but they feel so comfortable with their abilities. They have that spark about them.
Peyton has always stood out. Always had star quality even of the rest of the world couldn’t see it I could. I always knew. She never needed me. All she need was to believe in herself.
Moments later, I am joined by Harvey Grant and his people to talk potential judges. “Jameson, my boy, I have a list here of other artist chomping at the bits to get in on this show. Of course, I have the final say, but if there’s a name that sticks out to you, let me know. We need to sign the others on soon. I’d like to begin filming in time for fall sweeps. The plan is to do a few prerecorded shows, but once voting starts we are going live.” Harvey reaches me a list of names. He’s a gruff son of a bitch, a real tough old bird. Everything he touches is a hit so I have no doubts that the show will take off.
Harvey starts talking figures, budgets—things I don’t have a clue about and don’t need to worry about. I skim over the list of names. There are some fresh faces and some real pros. The show could use a good mix. “What are your thoughts on Jace Cyrus? He’s got some great connections and he’s been in the business for years.”
“We have been in talks with his manager. You’ve got a good sense to ya. Anyone else?” Harvey gives me a grunt of approval and lights up his cigar.
I look down the list again. One name in particular catches my eye but not in a good way. “Fucking she devil,” I mutter to myself, glossing over Viola’s name. Skimming further down the list, I find a good one. “What about Gwen Owens, she’s young, fresh and really popular right now.”
“I like the way you think. I’ll be in touch in a day or two. Oh, and I’m sure I don’t need to stress this, but no dating your costars, that goes for the contestants as well.” He laughs to himself as if he knows that he’s just challenged me to prove I can keep my dick in my pants.
“Yes, sir.” I smirk, as I make my way back to the elevator. He didn’t say anything about anyone else on the set. But my thoughts keeping going back to one voice, one face — Peyton.
Monica, perky tits number two steps into the elevator with me. Her perfume is a little strong but she’s still a looker. As soon as the elevator doors close, she rubs up against me like a kitty looking for a good scratch behind the ears. “I’m a huge fan, Mr. Lewis. I’d love to get your autograph.” She licks her lips and cocks her head to the side, giving me an invitation, as she slides a pen between her breasts.
“Um, sure,” I take a step back from her. I’m used to fans being forward, but I’m not used to such pushiness in this setting. She hits the emergency stop button, and the elevator comes to a halt. I let out a deep breath as she drops her dress to the floor. I’ll admit she is stunning, standing before me in her matching black lace bra and panties. “Aren’t there cameras in here?” I would hate to see her fired or better yet, security passing the tape around or it hitting the tabloids.
“This is Mr. Grant’s private elevator, no cameras.” She places a finger over my mouth and gives me a shush sound as she goes down on her knees. Tugging on my belt eagerly she says, “Here at Pure Country we aim to please, Mr. Lewis.”
Bending down I take her by her elbow and bring her back to standing. “Monica, I’m flattered, honestly. But this isn’t the time or place.” I reach around her and push the button, restarting the elevator. She appears wounded, but she will recover. I don’t need the problems that can arise with fucking the boss’s mistress. How do I know she fucks Harvey? Number one, she was wearing enough perfume to choke a horse — trying to cover the strong odor of cigar smoke. Number two, she was a little too comfortable getting down and dirty in the elevator.
Don’t get it twisted, I never turn down a good time, but even I have my limits. And hell, I’ve been known to be stupid, but even I’m not that dumb. And there's this nagging thought in the back of my mind that Peyton would be disappointed in me.
Sex has always come easy, it’s when feelings are involved you really get fucked.
I smile thinking about, my first time with Peyton. I had lied and told her that I had done it lots of times. I was an idiot and for some reason I thought that would impress her. It seemed to hurt her more than anything.
I was sixteen and she was fifteen.
We were kids and thought we were in love.
Maybe we were.
Flashback
“How long before anyone gets home?” I ask, my fingers roaming over Peyton’s stomach.
She chews on her lip thinking. “I th
ink we have another two hours before bingo ends.”
Her grandparents play a lot, but sometimes they come home early.
My palms are sweaty. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but I want to do it with Peyton.
“It’s Saturday, they won’t leave without playing the jackpot game and it’s the last game of the night.”
She leans up and claims my mouth. Ever since I asked Peyton to be my girl, we’ve not been able to keep our hands to ourselves. Her tongue slides against mine, tasting of popcorn and chocolate, from our movie snack.
My fingers glide along the waist of her jeans, daring to touch her underneath the denim, wanting to feel her skin under her white cotton panties. I’m so nervous my fingers are trembling. Her breathing nearly stops when I inch my fingers under her panty line.
I pause and look at her. “You want me to stop?”
She only shakes her head and then she kisses me deeper than before. We become a flurry of fingers and tongues. Touching, licking, exploring. Nothing has ever been slow with Peyton. She’s the lightning in a storm, and I’m the tree she’s about to strike and burn from the inside out.
Hurry lover come quick
Times not ours to waste
Hurry lover run to me
Feed my soul
I give you my love freely
What are you waiting for?
Give your heart to me
So come on love run, run, run
You belong to me and I you
I’m ready to stop fucking around
Go ahead and jump
Hurry lover come quick
Time, he waits for no one
Not even you
Run, run, run
Run to me my love
Time waits for no one
Chapter 10
Nashville Gawker
I have just confirmed that our favorite bad boy, Jameson Lewis, is indeed in town to film an upcoming reality show based around a music competition. But is he putting down Nashville as his new address? I have word that he’s been house hunting. Could he be ready to settle down? Sound off in the comments.
Chapter 11
Peyton
I cancelled lunch with the girls, but promised we’d do the rest of the weekend. I’m meeting up with an executive from Pure Country, the company producing Nashville Star, the reality show I may be throwing everything away for.
Wes and I had a long talk this morning. He told me he will support me, but the way he talked seemed as though he thinks I won’t go very far on the show, or he thinks I will give it up for him. Of course, when I told him that no matter what, I didn’t want to marry him, he looked as if he was going to hit me. Instead his face turned red and he stormed out of the apartment, with of course a parting shout of, “You will marry me, Peyton!”
It’s not gonna happen. For the past hour my phone has been blowing up from Barb. I refused to text her back. Instead I quickly texted my dad and told him I would explain more later, but to please get everything canceled for the wedding. He didn’t harp or get upset. He simply texted me back with an ‘Ok, Petty. I’ll handle it.’
After parking my car, I check my makeup one more time. I am wearing the red lipstick I bought for the wedding, hoping I look as I did in my tape. I opted to sex down my look though. I’m not comfortable using sex appeal to get what I want. Though I’ve never really had to.
I never needed any of that with Jameson. God, I have to stop thinking about him.
Shaking thoughts of the past away, I attempt to concentrate on this meeting.
Heading inside, I feel confident.
At the hostess podium I give them my name and let them know who I am here for.
“Wow, she’s lucky,” I hear the brunette whisper to a blonde server who asks me to please follow her to my table.
Maybe I am meeting a handsome executive instead of the woman I spoke with on the phone.
With a smile plastered so heavily on my face that my cheeks are hurting I follow this jealous chick through the dining room, feeling completely underdressed. It never occurred to me to look up the restaurant before coming.
I feel as though I should be wearing one of the cocktail dresses that I wear to Wesley’s black-tie affairs. He probably could’ve told me how to dress for lunching here. He probably comes here regularly. My engagement ring feels heavier at the thought of him. My heart says give the ring back and let him go, but my head says he’s a smart choice. I promised him I would wear the ring today, but I should have just cut ties and ended us for good.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I follow my heart or listen to my head?
I don’t get a chance to argue with myself, we’ve arrived at my destination, which now feels like an execution. The one person I didn’t expect to be here is and my mouth feels dry all the sudden. Jameson stands to greet me along with two other men in suits and one woman. Jameson is dressed more casual like me, but everyone else is in their Sunday or Saturday best I should say. I guess I should have known to dress up, but I prefer being comfortable and myself. Sucking in a deep breath, I recover from the shock of seeing him here. But I can’t help but wonder if he’s behind my being here. He looks so smug in his ratty jeans and Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and so damn sexy it isn’t even funny.
This is my own personal hell where my ex-boyfriend interrupts my daily life it seems.
The cocky bastard has the audacity to wink at me. The dimple in his right cheek pops out and I hate myself a little more on the inside for finding him so damn attractive. A tribal tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of his shirt and my fingers twitch to trace the intricate lines of black ink.
I glare at him and smile at the rest of our party.
“Peyton Mathews,” I introduce myself, wishing I had taken Wes up on his offer to come with me and act as my attorney.
I thought I could handle this. Clearly, I was mistaken.
“Please have a seat,” the oldest gentleman says with a pleasant smile. “I’m Harvey Grant, I own Pure Country. I know this is abrupt and unexpected, but I have one hell of an offer for you.” The man reminds me of a cowboy in a suit with his greying handlebar mustache.
Everyone is staring at me like vultures ready to descend and pick me apart.
“Harvey, let the girl have a drink and order before you jump on her,” the woman teases. She snaps a well-manicured finger and a waiter is at our table wanting to know what I’d like to drink before I can have a coherent thought.
I order a water and a salad. There’s no way I can handle anything heavy on my stomach right now.
“I’ll get straight to the point. We’re all aware that you have a history with Mr. Lewis. Before you get offended, he had nothing to do with your getting chosen, that was all you. We found the connection when we were drawing up the contracts. Normally, we would just rescind the offer we have made you, but I think we can use this to our advantage.” Mr. Grant stops speaking when the wait staff begins serving everyone their lunch.
I take a much-needed drink of water. My throat is the Sahara right now and no amount of water will quench my thirst. My first instinct is to run but Jameson shoots me a look that begs me to stay. I don’t owe him anything, but I’d be a liar if I said I’m not intrigued.
Everyone digs into their food, but I can’t eat. It doesn’t escape my notice that Jameson can’t seem to pick up his fork either.
“As I was saying before, we want you to keep it secret that you share a past with Mr. Lewis.”
“Why?” I ask glancing around the room, at anywhere but Mr. Lewis.
“Good question,” Jameson states, his face sharing the same confused expression as mine.
“Publicity,” the woman whom I still don’t have a name for answers with a greedy smile.
With a sigh, I push my chair back. I’m not for sale. “I’m not interested,” I state proudly.
“Actually, you are already contractually bound, you signed the release and contract when you submitted your audition,” she says. Th
e rest of the table has grown quiet.
I definitely should have had my father or Wes comb over the papers before I signed. I assumed it was a standard release. I assumed wrong.
“Mrs., what’s your name?” I question placing my palm firmly on the table in an attempt not to slap her.
“Call me Charlotte.”
“Charlotte, my father happens to be one of the most successful attorneys’ in Nashville, and I am sure he can find something that will squash the power you seem to feel you have over me.”
“That’s cute, sweetheart. Then you should know to have your attorney look over any papers before you sign anything that is legally binding. Now take your seat and listen. We’re about to make you a star.”
“Jameson?” I look to him knowing better than to count on his support.
He won’t even meet my eyes. Bastard.
Reluctantly, I return to my seat.
“Ahem,” Mr. Grant clears his throat. “Now back to business. When you pick a mentor, you will choose Jameson. Once live voting starts, we’ll start leaking photos making you appear cozier than the other contestants. A budding romance about to fully bloom. The public will go wild. Once you win the audience over and they want the two of you together…we reveal your shared past. The tabloids will go nuts.”
“I’m getting married in three weeks,” I grit fuming, and flashing my ring at them. It’s a lie, but these people don’t need to know I just called the damn wedding off. These people don’t own me. I’m not for sale
“Viewers will fall in love with your story. Teen lovers torn apart by tragedy, reunited and falling in love again,” Charlotte says talking over me.
“Did you hear me? I said I’m getting married in three weeks.” Panic sets in. I can’t be on this show and working side by side with Jameson as my fucking mentor. No way. No way in hell. I suck in a breath afraid my heart is going to burst. Tears build behind my eyes. When I get angry enough to cry that is when you know I am truly pissed off.
Jameson's Addiction Page 5
