That had been seven years ago and despite being kicked off the tour, Shay's career had taken off. The publicity that had nearly killed my career only boosted his. It hadn't been overnight success, but he'd climbed the charts steadily. It wasn't until the last couple of albums that his career had gone supernova. Now, everywhere I looked, there he was with his sexy grin and intense blue gaze, reminding me of the amazing night we'd spent together and its devastating aftermath.
But he’d also gained a reputation around town. He ditched gigs, showed up drunk or hung over to others, trashed hotel rooms, crashed a tour bus he should never have been driving and was frequently caught in photos with groupies that made my walk of shame look like we’d been at Bible study together. He’d embarrassed the label over and over again and it was starting to cost him fans. I’ll admit to getting a little twinge of satisfaction about Karma doing its job every time a new story hit the blogosphere.
There was no way I was touring with him. He was unreliable professionally and personally, well, he was my own personal Three Mile Island and my career did not need another meltdown. My sales might be in the toilet, but I did have some pride left.
"Michelle, wait," Robert said, standing. "I know there's some bad blood there, but please reconsider."
I opened the door and turned to look at Robert. "I won't work with him, Robert. I told you that seven years ago and I'm telling you now. He’s a joke and I refuse to be the punch line."
I turned to breeze through the door, head held high, and slammed right into a wall of flesh.
I glanced up and found that Shay Rogan's hard body and devil-may-care smile hit me with a wave of awareness, just as it had years earlier. Damn it.
"I'm happy to see you, too, darlin'." He let his gaze glide from my face, down to my lips and straight to my breasts. I knew he was remembering the same thing I was—hot, desperate kisses and the fire that leapt between us once I was bound to his bed. The way we came together so hot and hard and out of control.
He brought his eyes back to my face and winked. "Heard you're tagging along on the road with me. Maybe I'll even let you finish the tour."
I wrenched free of his grasp and had the urge to slap the smug grin right off the hard, angular jaw that sported about a day's worth of beard.
He let me go but didn't stop smirking.
"Shay. You're late. As usual." Robert indicated the chairs in front of his desk. "Please sit. Michelle, you, too."
I stood with my arms folded over my chest, angry and indignant that Robert would even think of trying to send me out on tour with Shay. I had given the label years of my life. Platinum records, ACM awards, CMA awards, Grammys. I was a freakin’ member of the Opry. And this was how they repaid me?
"Leave us for a minute, will you, guys?" Robert said to my manager and agent. They looked to me and I nodded.
"Don't agree to anything," my agent whispered. "And for Christ-sakes, don't sign anything. Understand?"
I nodded. I wasn't the new kid on the block and even though I might not be up on the latest digital rights negotiations my agent handled, I had been around the business long enough to conduct myself for a few minutes without counsel present. But that's what I paid him for, so I nodded solemnly and satisfied, he headed back to the waiting area.
The door closed behind the two men, leaving just Robert, Shay and me. I took the seat farthest from Shay, leaving an empty chair between us. Childish, sure, but I didn't want there to be any doubt about where I stood.
"So you're wanting me to rescue the little lady, huh, boss?"
Shay leaned back in his chair and put his dirty boots up on Robert's desk.
"I don't need rescuing." I bit out, not looking at Shay. "And don’t call me 'little lady'."
"Well, that's not what I hear."
I glared at him. "Oh, yeah and what exactly did you hear?"
"That your career is sinking fast and you're wanting to tag along on my next tour." He put his hands behind his head and smiled. “Just so happens I'm inclined to let you open for me. For old time's sake."
He was playing the cocky prima donna to the hilt, baiting me. It galled me that even after all this time, he could still get under my skin with just a few words and a drop-dead-sexy grin. I opened my mouth and closed it again, so angry I couldn't find words to tell Shay just what an arrogant bastard he really was. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I actually felt my blood pressure spike.
"I don't know who told you you'd be the headliner, but you're going to co-headline the tour," Robert said.
Shay's boots hit the floor and he leaned forward in his chair.
I couldn't stifle a smirk of my own.
"My album is doing just fine. “Ain't Got a Care" got all the way up to number 14."
"Then dropped right off the charts once that business about the woman in Las Vegas broke. And the Playgirl pictorial. And the Hooters twins in Cleveland. Not to mention the busted-up hotel rooms I got bills for in Baltimore, Memphis and New York. And the no-show in Dallas."
Shay grinned and gave a little shrug. "I explained about that. Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, man. Once in a lifetime opportunity."
I snorted.
Shay glanced at me. "Did you get the copy of the Playgirl centerfold I sent over, babe? I got some in my truck if you need another one."
I rolled my eyes. "Puh-lease." I'd gotten the magazine all right and it had gone straight in the garbage, unopened. Well, maybe I’d opened it a little. Just a quick peek. But then it’d gone straight to the recycling bin.
"You should take a look. I hit the gym and filled out a little since you saw me last." He winked.
"My point is," Robert said before I could get in a verbal rebuff. "You're shooting yourself, and us, in the foot, here. Radio stations are threatening to pull the single from their playlists because you’re turning off your listeners with all the shit you get into. If that happens, we're going to lose a bundle."
"There's the Facebook page, too," I offered sweetly. "Fans of Boycott Shay Rogan".
Robert flicked his gaze at me before focusing on Shay again. "Think of this as one long PR event. You need Michelle's wholesome image."
"Did you hear that? Looks like I'd be the one doing the rescuing. If I let you join my tour."
Robert turned his gaze on me. "And you need Shay's relevance and younger audience before you're put out to pasture for good." He sat back in his chair. "I don't give a damn what you think of each other personally or what happened in the past. The label has invested a lot of money in the two of you. Your careers are crashing faster than the Hindenburg. This is your last option.” He tapped his desk for emphasis. “You can take it or leave it.” Robert was as angry as I'd even seen him. He wasn't messing around.
I swallowed hard and for once Shay didn't have a smart-ass come back. He even managed to look a little sheepish.
Robert glared at us both for a second before gesturing to a pile of letters and CDs on his desk. "Do you know how many singers and songwriters there are in Nashville who would give their right nut to be where you two are? I should cut you both loose right now because maybe you forgot what it's like to be so hungry you'd do anything, go anywhere for that one chance to make it." Robert shook his head, his face taking on a decidedly red tone. "Go on the road together. Make nice. Play good shows. Keep your record contracts. That's the deal."
Robert was right. I'd worked hard, but I'd been fortunate to get a break most musicians who flocked to Nashville never got. I glanced at Shay and found him looking back at me.
"Truce?" he offered, cocking one eyebrow.
There wasn't a trace of mockery in his expression now. He looked almost serious, in fact, and that was something I'd never seen in him before. Maybe he had changed. Changed enough to put up with for a few weeks, anyway. And I could always just stay away from him. We could work out the details of the tour through our managers. There was really no reason to even talk to him much once we were on the road, let alone spend any time with h
im.
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms.
"Good." Robert tented his hands. "This will be good. This is going to work." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But the tone of his voice made it clear that even he didn't buy what he was trying to sell us. "I want you to be on the road in a month."
Shay stood up and held out his hand to me. "Sounds good to me. How about you, partner?" He waited, grinning slightly, his eyes crinkled in the same sexy, heavy-lidded way that had gotten me in trouble the last time we'd toured together.
I ignored his hand and strode towards the door. "We start rehearsals on Monday. Don't be late," I tossed over my shoulder and made my way, entourage in tow, to the elevator.
Chapter Two
"I told you, the lights have to come up right at the beginning of the second line," I told the production manager for the umpteenth time. Why couldn't people just listen and follow directions? Life would be so much simpler that way.
"All the lights? Or just the spot?"
I stifled the urge to reach out and put my hands around the poor man's neck. It wasn't his fault, after all, that I had been so edgy during the two weeks of rehearsals with the full stage set in the practice space we’d rented.
"The spot."
"All right, Miss Waters. You got it."
I looked at the hastily assembled stage set in disgust. It was basically a truss with a big screen in the center and a couple white shapes on each side that kind of looked like tall boxes half falling over. They would be lit with different colors of gels during the show, but that would only make them look cheaper.
Clearly, with Shay paying for half the tour, my dream of a custom-designed Michael Cotton set with moving props suspended from wires, stunning video graphics, magical lighting and multi-level performance platforms were out of the question. This stage looked like a rented set last seen at an insurance convention in Cleveland.
Despite the ridiculously short amount of time we were given to prepare for a tour and hit the road, it had taken my team of lawyers two weeks of negotiations, compromises and written contracts between Shay's people and mine before we'd ironed out the details of how our partnership would work.
We had finally agreed to split the tour expenses 50/50. Though the label fronted the bill, we'd have to pay back that loan from royalties the concerts generated...assuming there were any. We'd alternate who opened the show and we each would employ a joint tour manager. I had wanted Daddy to manage everything, but Shay wasn't going for that. I couldn't blame him, really. Daddy had been the one to tell him to hit the road after things went south the last time so it was no wonder that the two men didn't want much to do with each other now.
Sweat dripped between my breasts and I mopped at it with the tank top that clung to my damp flesh like a second skin. I always got a little bit antsy during the last few rehearsals before a tour kicked off. After logging tens of thousands of miles during the course of my career, I kept expecting it to get easier, but it never did.
"Let's try it one more time," I said with a forced smile. "Start at the lead in to the bridge.
The production manager nodded and I took a deep, cleansing breath, just as my therapist had taught me. I cleared my throat and took a sip of tepid water from the bottle Kaylee, my personal assistant, handed me.
I strapped on my guitar, gave the band a few last minute instructions and strummed the lead-in. My voice echoed through the empty space and that time the lighting guy managed to get the spot on in the right place. I finished the song on autopilot—it had been one of my big hits a decade earlier and I'd played it hundreds, if not thousands of times.
That number ended and the band transitioned to the next, an upbeat tune I had gleaned from the slush pile of demo tapes songwriters sent to my manager all the time. I took a deep breath, locked it in and hit the first, drawn-out note perfectly. The lights were cued at the proper juncture on the first try and I gave the overworked production manager a thumbs-up.
Despite a couple of hiccups, the number turned out pretty good and we finished to a smattering of applause from the crew members, back-up singers and assorted other crew members hanging around the stage.
"Great job, guys," I called back to the band. "I just want to work on my choreography a little and then we'll break for lunch."
Other than a few marks they had to hit, most performers didn't bother mapping out their moves on stage. But I wasn't most performers. I needed to know exactly where I would be for each part of each song and I practiced it over and over again until I hit each mark perfectly. I didn't dance, but I worked with my choreographer so that I could work the whole stage and make each member of the audience feel like I was giving them a personal experience. From the moment I walked on stage to the last wave as I exited, each move was planned and executed to perfection.
It took almost an hour to map out my stage direction, the lights and the back-up singers, but it was the finale of my set and it had to be perfect. By the time we had run through the number six times, I was mostly satisfied. It wasn't perfect——the back-up singers sometimes were a tad out of step. But they would have one last chance tomorrow during the full rehearsal to work out any last minute bugs.
I was happy with how rehearsals had gone. And the best part was that avoiding Shay had been pretty easy, since we'd agreed I would get the rehearsal space in the mornings and Shay would get it afternoons.
"Thanks, everybody. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, letting the band go. I just had to try on some reworked costumes and I'd be done for the day, too. Of course then I had meetings with Daddy, with my agent, and a hundred other business-related things to attend to. It would most likely be another very late night before I crawled between the sheets of my bed.
"What can I get you for lunch, Michelle?" Kaylee asked, handing me a towel.
"Would you mind getting me a salad? Romaine and iceberg lettuce. Cherry tomatoes, a small scoop of bacon bits, but only if it’s real bacon and not the fake stuff. Sunflower seeds, cucumbers and a hard-boiled egg, but only the whites. Raspberry vinaigrette."
Kaylee scribbled down my order, nodding all the time. I always ate healthy, but I was even more careful with my diet when I got ready to go out on the road. Not for my weight so much—I worked out religiously for an hour three days a week—but for energy. Touring was hard on the body and you had to give it the right fuel to survive the abuse.
"Do you know if the wardrobe arrived yet?" I asked Kaylee.
"Yes, it just got here."
"Great. Bring my lunch by in about 20 minutes, OK? I want to make sure all the stage costumes arrived in once piece. Is Daddy here?"
"No. He's meeting with Shay's manager. They had some differences on a few topics to discuss."
I could only imagine what Daddy was having to put up with on a daily basis and thanked my stars again I had him to take care of things. "OK, thanks."
Kaylee nodded and scampered out the door to hit a nearby deli for my salad.
I headed towards the room where the costumes were stored. The production manager was walking the same way and I smiled at him, still feeling a little bad about being so testy earlier. "Sorry we ran over today. I hope it doesn't put a kink in Shay's rehearsal time."
The man shrugged, not looking up from his clipboard. "He's not as particular as you." He looked up in horror, thinking he'd just insulted me. "I mean—not that you're picky or anything. He's just more of a laid back guy. Shay just does a quick run-through of a few of his songs and says we'll work out the rest on the road."
I stopped in my tracks and looked sharply at the production manager. "Work it out on the road?" I enunciated each syllable through clenched teeth.
"That's what he said."
I felt my blood pressure spike. Shay just didn't get it. This was my last chance to show the label and the fans that I still had it and there was no way I was going to let him put on a half-assed show. I'd put in hours of blood sweat and tears to make this the best show possible, despite the crap
py set and limited rehearsal time. I expected Shay to pull his own weight and do the same. Maybe it was time to clarify the situation, face to face.
"Where is he?"
*****
Shay Rogan grabbed another beer out of the small cooler, popped the top and tipped back on the legs of the chair in the small, make-shift dressing room. He took a sip and sighed when the first ice-cold swallow hit the back of his throat. If there was one thing he loved about touring, and there were many, it was that everywhere he went, people went out of their way to provide what he wanted in one magic little list called a contract rider. Beer, food, whatever he and the band required were always waiting in his dressing room ready for him.
Heck, he wasn't even on the road yet and people were catering to his every need. And the pizza man was due any minute. He just hoped this wouldn’t be his last chance to enjoy the lifestyle because it sure beat the hell out of playing smoky bars and county fairs.
A knock sounded at the door and Shay put his chair back on all four legs. He pulled out a crinkled wad of cash and headed for the door. That large pepperoni with extra onion and mushroom was sounding really good about now.
The door vibrated as the pizza man pounded again.
"Hang on, man. I'm coming."
Shay opened the door, money outstretched, but instead of a box of juicy hot goodness, he found Michelle. And even though she was a box of juicy hot goodness of a different kind, she didn't look all that happy to be there.
"We need to talk," she said and marched into his dressing room.
Shay took the opportunity to check out the way her jeans hugged her ass when she walked. Damn, but she was one fine woman, no matter what a stuck up princess she was. She wore a tiny white tank top that was damp and clung to her breasts, showcasing every scrap of the lacy sky blue bra beneath.
Nashville Boxed Set #1-3 Page 31
