Reach for a Star

by Kathryn Freeman

  Yet while his appearance lived up to her hopes, his impersonal greeting fell a long way short. If he was as cold and aloof as his PA, she was in for a bumpy week.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She tried to reply with equal formality. ‘And I go by Jessie. The last person to call me Jessica before this week was my old headmaster, which was quite a while ago now…’ She trailed off as it was obvious Michael wasn’t listening to her.

  ‘Thanks for holding the fort, Georgie.’ He gave his PA a smile. It was brief, and not particularly warm, yet a million times better than the guarded look he’d given Jessie. ‘I got tied up in a conference call with the tour publicist. Did you hear from Duncan about tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, the journalist will come to the hotel at nine a.m. It should be over in a couple of hours, but you never know with these magazine people.’ Georgina rolled her big blue eyes. ‘Is there anything else you need me to do?’

  Jessie watched as the two of them continued to discuss his schedule, totally oblivious of her. Feeling like an eavesdropper, the confidence she’d arrived at the studio with leaking faster than the overflow pipe Phil was supposed to fix this week, she cleared her throat. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

  ‘As I’m superfluous to requirements here, shall I go and get a coffee? Let you both discuss this in private?’

  Michael blinked. ‘Sorry, we won’t be long.’ It’s possible he felt bad. It was also just as possible he was annoyed at her for interrupting. ‘Why don’t you get us both a drink while I clear up a few things with Georgie? We can start when the film crew arrive. White coffee please, no sugar.’ With a curt nod of his head, he turned his attention back to Georgina. Or should she say Georgie? Though she suspected as she wasn’t rich, handsome or male, she wouldn’t be allowed to call her that.

  Jessie’s legs felt wooden as she walked out of the room. She tried to summon her anger, because wasn’t she the one out of her comfort zone here? The one they should be making feel welcome? Much as she tried though, the anger wouldn’t come; it was too swamped by her misery. Like a fool, she’d elevated Michael to an almost God-like status in her mind. Yet beneath the gorgeous exterior, it seemed he was more ill-mannered than average. In fact she’d go as far as saying his manner was pretty shitty.

  And this was all before he’d heard her sing.

  As Jessica left to get the coffee, Michael’s shoulders slumped. Why was it that when he was feeling uncomfortable or awkward, he turned into this cold, arrogant twit? Georgina waffled away in his ear, but Michael wasn’t listening. He was the star here. The one supposed to be at ease with the situation. It was his role to make his singing partner feel comfortable. Not treat her like a flaming gopher.

  When she came back, he’d be better. More charming. He winced – hard to be more charming, when he’d failed to be even a bit charming. She’d probably settle for him simply being polite. Even he could manage that. He just needed to think of this as another performance. One that went on for six, long days.

  Georgina finally stopped talking and as she headed out of the door, the film crew headed in. ‘Don’t mind us,’ the one holding the camera said cheerfully. ‘We’ll be wandering in and out from time to time over the week, charting your progress. Pretend we’re not here.’

  Michael smiled grimly. How the hell was he supposed to pretend two hulking men with microphones and cameras weren’t lurking in the corner, recording his shambolic attempts to both charm and train the woman he’d just sent off to fetch his coffee?

  Finally the door edged open again and Jessica pushed her way in, clutching two cups and saucers. Before he had a chance to catch it, the door fell back, bumping her elbow and sending coffee slopping into the saucers.

  ‘Thanks,’ he murmured, taking a cup from her. ‘I guess half a cup is better than nothing.’ He smiled awkwardly. And almost groaned out loud when he saw her eyes flash before she jerked her head away.

  Shit, he couldn’t even make a joke without upsetting her. Feeling more uncomfortable than ever, he decided to rope in the help of the film crew he’d been told to ignore. ‘Jessica, meet Ken and Mark. They’re going to be filming us now and again.’ As if the equipment they were holding didn’t make that bloody obvious.

  She threw the men a sweet smile. ‘I’m Jessie actually, not Jessica, though try getting these guys to remember that.’

  Michael stifled another groan at the dig, then watched as Ken, the big, bearded cameraman, chatted to her with all the warmth and ease Michael knew he should have shown. ‘I wouldn’t take offence, love. You should hear some of the names we’ve been called. Nice as it is to meet you though, from now on you need to ignore us.’

  Jessica – damn it, was it Jessie? – looked pointedly at the huge camera. ‘Kind of hard to.’

  ‘Yeah, I know it seems impossible at the moment, but I guarantee by the end of the week you won’t bat an eyelid when we walk through that door.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ She perched on one of the nearby chairs. ‘I’ve got enough to worry about with the actual singing element of the whole thing.’

  Ken and Mark laughed and for a few seconds, the atmosphere in the room rose above painfully strained to almost natural. Until Michael became aware of all eyes on him.

  He took a swig of what was left of his coffee. It was cold and had far too much milk in it for his taste but even he wasn’t crass enough to mention it. Placing it back on the table he tried for a smile. ‘While we finish our coffee, why don’t you tell me about your singing? Let me know what you think we’ll need to work on.’

  She nodded, and Michael took her responding smile as a sign she was as keen to move on from their painful start as he was. ‘I do all my singing at home or in the car. I’ve never been in a choir or anything.’ Now her smile held an apology. ‘And in answer to the second part of your question, there’s plenty that needs work. I’m afraid I’m really not very good.’

  Tell him something he didn’t know. Still, he lived in hope that he’d imagined her singing worse than it was; that nerves had got the better of her. ‘Why don’t you stand and sing me a few lines of a song you enjoy? Then I can see for myself what we need to focus on.’ He settled back into his chair and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

  She swallowed, twisting the cup around the saucer, glancing nervously at the camera crew. ‘Now? I mean you want me to sing to you right, umm, now?’

  ‘Sure. You’re going to have to sing sooner or later. This is a singing competition.’

  ‘I know.’

  Her sharp reply told him he’d upset her again. Bloody hell, was he being obtuse or was she far too sensitive? ‘Okay then, give it a go. I promise not to run away screaming.’

  Once again, his joke – if he could call the lame attempt that – failed to raise a smile. Instead she stood and carried her cup over to the table, clattering it down with hands he was shocked to see were trembling.

  Then she swallowed, took in a breath and started to sing.

  ‘At first I was afraid, I was petrified.’

  The more she sang, the more his eardrums complained bitterly at the onslaught. With every cell in his body wincing, Michael’s fears came crashing back to the surface. They were going to be a ruddy laughing stock.

  Midway through the chorus, just as she was starting to screech out ‘I will survive’, he motioned for her to stop. ‘You might survive, though I’m not sure how long the audience will.’

  She clearly didn’t appreciate his brand of humour at all, because now two splashes of red blotted her cheeks.

  ‘It’s my understanding the purpose of the competition is to see how much I improve, rather than how well I can sing right now. By rights you should be rubbing your hands with glee. There’s clearly lots for you to work on.’

  Was she challenging him? Because he might know how to sing, but he had no bloody clue how to teach it. ‘You’re not wrong there,’ he murmured, feeling the beginnings of a cold sweat. The conversation was unravelling agai
n. And this time in front of the sodding film crew.

  ‘We’re supposed to be on the same side, working together.’ She looked straight at him, her anger, her bitter disappointment, vividly clear in the glare of her hazel eyes. ‘For some crazy reason, I thought this would be exciting and fun. But if all you want to do is mock, I’m afraid you need to find yourself another partner.’

  Michael looked on in horror as she reached for her bag and walked towards the door, head high, shoulders straight, her body rigid with anger. Ken following her all the way with his blasted camera.

  Shit.

  The conversation he’d had with Robert earlier came crashing back. Damn it, the man had been wrong. He wasn’t the right person to do this show. He didn’t do warm, natural or easy. He did gruff, blundering. Defensive. And that was on a good day. ‘Jessie.’ Thank Christ he’d finally got her name right. ‘Please, wait.’

  He swung his eyes towards Mark and Ken, silently pleading with them to leave. They already had some dynamite material. If he had any chance of salvaging something with Jessie, it had to happen in private.

  To his utter relief, Ken put down his camera. ‘I reckon we’re done here. You’ve given us some cracking footage. The viewers go wild for all that love-hate stuff.’ As he and Mark walked past them, Ken leant towards Michael and whispered. ‘Good luck, mate. From the look of things, you’re going to need it.’

  Chapter Four

  Jessie stood by the door, heart pounding, as she watched the film crew troop out. She’d imagined this day a hundred times, yet even her bleakest imaginings hadn’t gone like this. Worse case, she’d thought Michael would be reserved and her so in awe, she wouldn’t be able to talk to him. Best case… how naive it seemed now that she’d harboured hopes of building a rapport with him. Laughing together over her singing.

  Instead he’d laughed at her, and she’d never felt so horribly inadequate.

  She was a pharmacist, not a flaming singer. She shouldn’t be judged on her voice like that. But you’ve entered a singing competition. In hindsight, an unbelievably insane decision.

  She jumped as Michael placed a hand on her arm. It was a light touch, not enough to stop her from opening the door, just enough to show her he was there. Not that the citrus tang of his expensive aftershave, and the sheer imposing size of him, weren’t already a dead giveaway.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been a shit.’ Shocked, she stared up at him, past his prominent Adam’s apple, over the tense mouth and up into his earnest blue eyes. ‘I’m not good with people. Ask anyone who knows me well.’

  Sighing, he moved away, taking his hand off her arm to thrust it through his short dark hair. ‘Michael Tennant the singer’s not a bad bloke. It’s the man behind him who has trouble. I should probably stick to the stage,’ he added ruefully, hanging his head, his shoulders slumping. One deep inhale later he stared back at her, his expression full of apology. ‘I really am very sorry.’

  Jessie found herself caught in his eyes. Mesmerising shades of blue – sapphire and cobalt with flecks of bright azure – they looked surprisingly vulnerable. Glancing down at his tanned hand, now hanging loosely by his side, she made a snap decision.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Michael. I’m Jessie.’ She held out her hand. Surprise flickered in those blue orbs before he took the hint and shook it, his fingers feeling warm and strong as they clasped around hers. ‘I should warn you, I’m a really terrible singer.’

  There was a beat of silence and Jessie steeled herself against another comment. One that would send them hurtling back to square one again. But then Michael did something unexpected. He smiled. Not the small, awkward thing he’d done earlier, but a proper one that touched his eyes, transforming his face from coolly attractive to vibrantly compelling.

  ‘Hi, Jessie, I’m Michael,’ he replied, keeping their hands tightly clasped. ‘I’m a decent singer, but I should warn you I’m probably a terrible teacher.’

  So a sense of humour did lurk behind the formal façade. Relieved, she smiled back. ‘I guess if I’m still as bad at the end of the week, we’ll know your prediction was right.’

  With a nod of amused agreement he let go of her hand and motioned for her to sit down. ‘It might help us feel more at ease if we get to know each other a little. Would you mind telling me a bit about yourself?’

  Though his body language was still stiff, and his words tortuously formal, at least now she knew it wasn’t arrogance, but a surprising unease. ‘You wouldn’t be putting off the moment when I have to sing again, would you?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  His face was impeccably straight, yet there was enough amusement in his eyes for her shoulders to relax. ‘I’m a pharmacist, divorced, with two beautiful boys, Jack who is twelve and Luke who is ten. In fact, it’s their fault you have to put up with me this week.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The devils applied for me to go on the show behind my back. Said they hoped it would improve my singing.’ She decided to keep quiet about the other reason they wrote to the show. Their start was rocky enough, without her turning all fan girl on him.

  Michael brushed at what she was sure was a non-existent fleck on his elegant dark trousers. ‘That sounds very enterprising. I don’t think I could have done the same at their age.’ The small smile he directed at her looked like it was a conscious effort. ‘Do you sing a lot at home?’

  ‘I suppose so. I’ve always got music on in the house.’

  ‘Who do you admire as a singer? Who are your favourites?’

  Jessie felt the hot blush start from her neck and spread with alarming speed across her face. Swallowing hard she gazed at the wall behind him. ‘I like most music. Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, Queen, Adele, Robbie Williams, James Blunt.’ She paused. Now he’d asked her directly, would it be lying to keep quiet? Looking him straight in the eye, she added, ‘You.’

  Surprise raced across his face. It was quickly followed by embarrassment and something that looked a lot like what the hell do I say to that. Coughing, he shifted in his seat. ‘Thank you, I’m honoured to be in that list.’ His eyes darted round the room before settling back on hers. ‘I was going to ask what you liked about them.’ Another small, uneasy smile. ‘But perhaps we’ll skip that question.’

  ‘And what about you, Michael,’ Jessie asked, desperate to move the conversation on so her face could stop clashing with her fuchsia blouse. ‘Can I ask about you?’

  ‘Sure. I’m a singer, single, with no children,’ he replied, copying her original response.

  She waited for him to elaborate, but instead he sat there looking woefully uncomfortable. It was like watching a beautiful koi carp floundering on the side of a pond. When the silence became painful, she tried a different angle. ‘As you obviously weren’t set up by your children, do you mind me asking why you agreed to take part in this show?’

  ‘Ah.’ He hesitated, rubbing at his chin. ‘My manager, Robert, thought it would be good publicity for the tour which starts next week in the US.’

  ‘And you?’

  He blinked. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think singers should stick to singing.’ She thought he was going to keep it to that, but then he sighed and the next words seemed to be dragged out of him. ‘These days it seems fashionable to dig around in people’s private lives. Find out about the person behind the voice. But it’s the voice, maybe also the image, that captures the interest, isn’t it? What if finding out more is a let down? Do you go off the music, even though they still look and sound just as they did before?’

  What the heck? Was he trying to tell her he was worried his fans would go off him after seeing him on the show?

  With a sudden, jerky movement, Michael rose to his feet. What was he doing, telling her all that? Here he was, a Grammy winner, for God’s sake, and he was acting like a soppy, insecure prick. ‘I think we’ve put off the singing for long enough.’ Read into that, he’d made enough of a fool of himse
lf. Time to move on to what he was good at. ‘Let’s try your song again, only this time I’ll accompany you. It’s always easier to sing to music.’

  He strode over to the piano, sat on the stool and ran his fingers along the keyboard. As he picked out Gloria Gaynor’s iconic tune, he felt some of the tension leave him. Music always did that. Soothed him, calmed him. He’d go as far as to say completed him, if it didn’t sound too sappy.

  Even as he started to relax though, he was aware the woman standing next to him was doing the opposite. From the corner of his eye he saw her wringing her hands. Hell, he could almost feel the tremors coming from her. Funny how the tables had turned. During the conversation, when he’d been a wreck, she’d been all breezy and collected. Now he was in his element, and she was trembling. Though he definitely didn’t like to see her so nervous – he knew how it felt, and it sucked – he was relieved to finally be the one in control.

  Turning his face towards her, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, inviting her to join in with a nod of his head.

  He heard her inhale a shaky breath.

  ‘First I was afraid, I was petrified…’ and on she went.

  Desperately Michael tried to school his features. It seemed that getting back to his comfort zone had given him a rather unfortunate high. And listening to her had suddenly become the funniest thing he’d heard in a long time.

  As she fumbled the next line, he became aware of her eyes on him. ‘Sorry. It’s just I thought I saw you… Were you smirking?’

  ‘No, of course not. No,’ he added again, as if the emphasis would make up for any hint of laughter she might have seen in his expression.

  ‘Was I bad again?’

  How the blazes did he answer that? He stared down at the keyboard, praying for inspiration. ‘I’m not sure how to reply without upsetting you,’ he said finally, forcing himself to look up at her. ‘Can we just say I think I’ve found your level?’