STEALING GOLD
by
Sally Clements
Stealing Gold
By Sally Clements
Kindle Edition, Copyright © 2016 Sally Clements
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Editing by Cindy Davis
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Other books by Sally
Copyright
Chapter One
The wooden stage beneath Stacy Gold’s feet shuddered.
Tiny arcs of light swept from side to side in the darkness, and the relentless chant, Stacy, Stacy, Stacy, filled her with adrenaline, making the blood fizz in her veins. There was nothing in the world like this, nothing like connecting with her fans, giving them what they wanted.
How would she live without it?
She glanced behind her to her band waiting in the wings, and snatched up her guitar. It was time to deliver the final encore.
“Stace.” Her bodyguard, Apollo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He leaned close enough to be heard through the noise of the crowd, who were now stomping on the ground in unison, creating human thunder. “Lester says when you come off stage, just follow his lead. Ignore the camera, smile and run with it. He’ll explain later.”
“Okay.” She glanced behind her to her band, “Let’s give ’em what they want, boys.” Then she ran back to the one place in the world where she felt truly alive. On stage.
Beams of light fanned out over the audience. A roar rose in the air. She strummed the opening chord, and then the rest of the musicians joined in. She smiled wide, and began to sing.
They left the stage for the last time fifteen minutes later. Keyed on adrenaline, she hugged the members of the band she’d spent the past eight months with, wishing it didn’t have to be over.
They were all session musicians, assembled for the tour; now the tour was over she’d wouldn’t see them again for a long while.
What had Apollo said about her manager, Lester?
Something about ignoring a camera and smiling. The auditorium lights came on, and the crowd started to disperse. She started down the long backstage corridor to the dressing rooms.
Lester was at the end of the corridor with a cameraman next to him, filming her. As ordered, she ignored the camera and kept walking. When she was close, Lester twisted off the top of a bottle, and held it out to her, the way he had thousands of times before.
She took it, and drank, remembering just in time to smile, rather than pull a face, which was her instinctive reaction.
“Good, good,” said a stranger behind the cameraman. He handed her a pineapple. “Hold this and smile.”
Stacy shot a look at Lester, who was nodding like one of those dog dolls in the back of car windows. She did as he asked, and then handed it back.
Lester had a brief conversation, then took her arm and walked her away from the strangers into her dressing room.
“What the hell was that?”
“Just some…uh…local press.” Lester looked shifty. “You did great out there tonight! Wonderful show!” He avoided her eyes, and his smile seemed strained.
“That was an ad for a product. A particularly nasty product.” She examined the bottle she still held, which contained a sugary, fizzy pineapple drink. “Are they going to use that footage? I didn’t even get a chance to clean up. I’m sweaty and my makeup must be running down my face…”
“You look great.” Lester angled her away from the mirror. “Come on, get changed. We have to get to the airport.”
The high of being on stage faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
The last few months had been crazy—flying from country to country with barely time to catch her breath. She missed her home in Nashville. Wanted nothing more than to crawl onto a plane and fly back.
But there was still an appearance at the Teen Choice Awards to make. And an award for Best Song to hand to some lucky artist. Then she’d be free.
Digging deep to gather the last of her energy, she stepped behind a screen and took off her dress. “Did you listen to those songs I sent you?” She’d finally achieved a lifelong ambition—to write her own songs, between shows.
“Yes, I like them.”
She dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater, then rounded the screen.
“Songwriting is a different direction for you,” Lester said. “A couple of the songs would be perfect for Morgan Deville.”
Stacy frowned. “Morgan?”
“Yeah. Trisha, Carrie, and Faith would be good candidates too.”
She wiped her face clean, making eye contact with Lester in the mirror. “I wrote these songs for me. No-one else will record them.”
Lester rose an eyebrow. “They’re not your sort of songs. I know your market. I know your fans. They expect light, cute songs from you. As the princess of country, you have to play to your strengths.”
“I’m older now. My musical tastes have changed. I want to make more music like, His Heart.” She’d written the song just after her Vegas wedding, and had persuaded Star Records to add it to the album. “Last month you said you’d send my new songs to Clint.”
Lester held out her jacket. “I changed my mind. I don’t think Clint would be willing to let you record an entire album of your own songs. We have to consider the market.”
“Will you at least ask him?” With hands on hips, she held Lester’s gaze. “Please? ”
Lester picked up her bag and headed for the door. “Let’s talk about it later. We have a plane to catch.”
*****
There was a knock at the door. Adam Logan moved the giant bowl of popcorn from his lap, and placed it on the coffee table. He muted the TV, strode across the floor of his apartment, and peered through the peephole.
His sister Amy stared back. With a sigh, he opened the door.
“Are you watching?” Amy grinned.
“It’s work.”
“Bullshit.”
“It is. Mitta Jewel is nominated for an award. She’s the voice of our singing squirrel, remember?”
Amy gave him the look she’d perfected at six years old. The don’t-give-me-that-crap look. She pushed past him and took his spot on the sofa. “And the fact your ex-wife is presenting is immaterial, I guess.” She turned off mute, and reached for the popcorn. “I haven’t missed much, have I?”
“It’s only just started.” He settled next to her, and reclaimed the popcorn. “This is the last time I’m going to watch her.” Amy was the only person he felt able to talk to about this stuff.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’m serious.” He reached for the can of beer, and drain
ed it. “You want a beer?”
“I’ll get you a fresh one too.” Amy retrieved a couple of cans from the fridge.
He’d resisted thinking about Stacy for months. Had even started dating again, if you could call dinner and booty calls dating. But tonight he was in wallowing mood. Because today was…
“Are you okay?” Amy dropped next to him again, her eyes full of concern. “It’s just, I know today is your anniversary.”
“It shouldn’t matter.” He cracked the can, and took a swig. “She and I are water under the bridge. Ancient history.”
Amy tipped her beer to his. “The family is looking forward to having you home.” She glanced around. “Shouldn’t you be packing?”
“I’m not moving for a few days. My assistant is dealing with all that.” After four years living stateside, he was ready to move on. He’d sold his tech company for a fortune, and had ploughed all his resources into Boxfield Animation, a new company he’d formed with his old friend Sean. Ireland was calling him home. There was nothing—no-one—for him here any more.
“How are things progressing with the film?” Amy mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn.
“Good.” He was excited about their new project. “Sean has signed a deal with Plaxair, and Mitta has signed to be the voice of Bibi Squirrel. She’ll have to join us in Ireland to do the voice work. As you know, my role is to render the CGI—I’ve been getting some great results with my new physics engine—”
Amy stopped him with a raise of her hand. “They’ve just announced Mitta.”
He stared at the screen. Mitta Jewel was perfect for the role of Bibi Squirrel, a sweet, innocent rodent who leaves the forest and travels to the big city to make her fortune. The pre-teen audience were bound to love her.
Raunchy music played.
Adam frowned.
Mitta, wearing a minuscule silver bikini, strode on stage, then faced away from the audience and started twerking.
“Oh, Jesus,” Adam groaned. “I don’t believe it.” Their investors were watching this performance, and they wouldn’t like what they were seeing. With every roll of her teenage hips, Mitta was destroying any chance of their animated film being made.
“She picked a fine time to throw a Miley.” Amy stared at him. “Did you have any idea she was going to do this?”
“Of course not. I don’t know what on earth she’s thinking. There’s no way in hell she’s suitable for the role now.” Mitta bent over and wiggled her bottom in the air. Adam’s mouth gaped. Sean must be having a fit. “We’ll have to find someone else.”
The song was ending. Mitta whipped off her bikini top and tossed it into the crowd.
“We’ll definitely have to find someone else.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it now. Forget it. Now, on to more important things.” Amy turned to him. “Stacy’s not up for an award this year?”
For a moment, Adam considered pretending that he didn’t know whether his ex was a contender for an award or not, but there seemed little point. His sister knew he would have checked—he didn’t seem able to help himself where Stacy was concerned. “No. She’s just reading one of the nominations.”
“Her manager won’t be happy with that.”
Adam gritted his teeth at the thought of Lester Jones. The guy was a snake. A clever, charming snake who had wound himself around Stacy so cleverly and so completely that she couldn’t take a step without him. “I don’t care how happy or unhappy he is.” He shoveled in a mouthful of popcorn, and chewed. “No doubt now her tour is finished he’ll have her in the studio again, working on a new album.”
He rubbed the knotted muscles on the back of his neck. Why did he keep doing this to himself? She’d shown more clearly than anyone could how she didn’t want anything else to do with him. After three months of marriage, she’d ghosted him from of her life—moving out of their apartment, changing her cell phone number, and serving him with divorce papers in a matter of days. When he’d tried to see her, she’d had her bodyguard warn him off.
The bodyguard who’d been a constant fixture in their lives, and had become a friend. Apollo had taken him to one side and explained he had his orders—he had to tell Adam not to try to contact her again. That their marriage was over.
He should hate her.
“Best song.” Amy poked his side, and wriggled on the sofa. “Oh! They announced her name.”
Stacy walked onto the stage. The long, silver dress hugged her curves. Her hair was longer, and darker than the last time he’d seen her. The more natural tone suited her. Pain twisted in his stomach. I should hate her.
She smiled into the camera. “Here are the nominations for best song.” She announced the names of the category contenders. “Before I open the envelope”—she held it aloft and hesitated for a beat—“I want to say something.”
The crowd quieted.
“I wrote a song a while back for someone special.”
“Is she…” Amy’s head whipped around to his. Her eyes widened. “She’s wearing—”
The platinum and diamond ring sparkled on her finger. Not on her wedding finger, but on her right hand.
“Before I open this envelope I just want to say, thank you, Adam.” Her perfect smile slipped a notch. Then she breathed deep. “And now, the winner.” She ripped open the envelope and delivered the news to an ecstatic crowd.
“What the hell?” Amy whispered. “She wants you back.”
Adam turned off the TV.
“She wants you back,” Amy said in a stronger voice. “You love her. I knew she’d realize how stupid she’d been. Where are they filming the awards, is it LA?” Amy jumped from the sofa, her whole body vibrating with excitement. “We need to find out where she’s staying—you could fly to LA and…”
“No.” Adam drained his beer. “That’s not going to happen.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” Anger made his tone harsher than intended. “It’s damned easy to stand on a stage with my ring on her finger and thank me. But words mean nothing. I’m not interested.”
For months she’d ignored his every attempt to contact her. She’d broken his heart clean in two, and there was no way she would do it again. His ex-wife could stand before him, and beg him to take her back—a small, mean part of himself wanted her to, just so he could tell her no to her face.
*****
“What the hell are you doing?” Lester grabbed Stacy the moment she walked off stage, and dragged her into a private corner. “For Christ’s sake, Stacy, this was an opportunity for you to talk yourself up, not to mention your ex.” He spat out the last word through thin lips. He grabbed her hand. “And you’re wearing his ring—I thought you got rid of it. You should have been getting an award this evening, not handing one out. You had an opportunity on stage tonight to let your fans know you’re going back into the studio to record songs they actually want to buy.” His lip curled.
She tugged her hand away and crossed her arms. Had he always been so controlling? “I’ve never spoken about my inspiration for His Heart. I wanted to acknowledge him.”
“No one cares. The song was a misstep better forgotten. And acknowledging Logan? Well, that’s crap, and you know it. The guy was a cheating bastard.” Anger turned Lester’s face red. “He did nothing for your career. Nothing but try to control you.”
The irony of Lester’s words almost made her crack. Almost. “I’m an adult, Lester. I make my own decisions.”
Lester puffed out a breath. “Sure.” His expression told a different story. “Okay.” He patted her arm. “You’re tired. You need to take a break.” His teeth clenched together in a smile so tight Stacy feared they might shatter. “Why don’t you relax in your dressing room for a while? I’ve organized a car to take you back to your hotel.”
“Hey, Stacy!” Cole Tempest, the winner of the Best Male Artist Award strode toward them, a grin on his handsome face. He enveloped her in a warm hug. “It’s so good to see you.” He held her a
t arm’s length, and scanned her head to toe. You look fantastic as always. Can I give you a lift to the after party?”
She never went to after parties. Lester said there were too many opportunities for bad press at them.
Lester shook his head. “She has to catch a flight back to Nashville early tomorrow…”
“Hey, it’s not every day that my ex-backing singer wins best Best Male Artist, I’d love to go with you.” Stacy smiled at Cole. “I’ll just grab my stuff.”
She left her fuming manager behind, and a few minutes later joined Cole and a couple of members of his entourage in a stretch limo. He handed her a glass of champagne. “Lester seemed uptight. I’m glad you decided to kick back and party with me tonight.”
Cole had been her backing singer for three years before he decided to step out from behind her shadow and take the spotlight. Working together day and night and spending long hours on the road together they’d become closer than family—closer than she was to her own family anyway. She held her glass aloft. “Here’s to you—and your well-deserved success. Your album is fantastic.”
Cole slung an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, babe. How did the tour go?”
“It was hard work, especially without you to drink with after the shows.” She sipped.
“And I’m guessing Lester has you booked into the studio to record another album straight away.”
“Yeah, well Lester and I are coming to blows on that one. I’ve been working on some new material.” She glanced at Cole.
His eyebrows rose. “Writing it yourself?”
“I managed to persuade Star Records to allow me to record one of my own songs on my last album. His Heart.”
“You wrote that one?” Cole nodded approvingly. “That’s the best song on the entire album; you should have released it as a single.”
“I wanted to, believe me. But the record label wasn’t convinced. I had to practically throw a fit to get the song on the album.”
Cole was an artist she respected—one with real music savvy. The fact that he rated the song was invaluable feedback.
Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4) Page 1
