by Jenna Sutton
Now he really was intrigued. “Like what?”
“A contest. A reality TV show. A magazine cover.”
“Hmm. Those ideas don’t sound crazy or stupid.”
In fact, they sounded like good ideas to Beck. Maybe she wasn’t the right person to represent Trinity if she was unwilling to consider them.
“They are crazy and stupid,” she insisted, her voice rising. “The contest is ‘Win a Date with Ava Grace’ and the reality TV show would follow me around while I went out on blind dates.”
Her expression clearly conveyed her disgust. She looked as if she’d just smelled a skunk.
“That’d definitely increase your visibility among males.”
He’d said it tongue in cheek. He understood why she was upset. He’d be upset too if he were in her position.
Ava Grace obviously didn’t hear the facetiousness underlying his statement because she exclaimed, “He wants to pimp me out!”
Beck burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it.
She glowered. “He wants me to pose for the cover of Rule.”
Beck’s laughter died in his throat. Holy shit. He’d love to see her all tousled and rosy and wearing next to nothing. But he hated the thought of the whole damn world seeing her like that.
“You’re…” Arousal made his voice husky, and he cleared his throat roughly. “You’re right. Those are not good ideas.” She transferred her bag to her other arm, and he held out his hand. “Give me that. I’ll hold it for you.”
She hesitated for a moment before passing the leather bag to him. “Thanks.”
Tucking her bag under his arm, he said, “Partnering with Trinity would give you access to a new audience. The overwhelming majority of our customers are men. Most bourbon drinkers—most whiskey drinkers, for that matter—are men, age twenty-five to fifty-five.”
He gave her a moment to digest that information. “I honestly believe a partnership between you and Trinity would be mutually beneficial. I promise we won’t try to pimp you out.” He smiled when her lips twitched. “So what do you think, Miz Landy? Should we grab a couple of cans of Dr Pepper and drink to our new partnership?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ava Grace stroked a hand over her guitar’s cocobolo body. The handmade instrument had very little in common with her first guitar, a cheap, factory-made model with enough scratches to prove she hadn’t been the first person to own it.
Her dad had given it to her during one of his infrequent visits. It was an “I’m sorry” present to make up for missing her ninth and tenth birthdays and the Christmas in between. She’d been too angry and hurt to take any pleasure from the gift, and the beaten-up guitar languished in her closet for months before she picked it up and strummed her fingers over the strings.
“I need a break, Ava Grace.”
Ava Grace glanced at her favorite songwriter, Mercedes Guthrie. They were hanging out on the back porch of Ava Grace’s old farmhouse, working on her next album. She’d written some of her best songs while sitting on the porch swing.
“We’ve only been out here a couple of hours, Mercy.”
“I’m hungry. And you know I can’t concentrate when I’m hungry.”
A lot of great songwriters lived in Nashville, and Mercy was one of the best. She’d won a Grammy a couple of years ago for Best Country Song, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, and most of big names in the industry wanted to work with her. Despite her success, she remained the same funny, down-to-earth woman Ava Grace had met at the famed Bluebird Café on Hillsboro Pike.
After Amelia had moved to San Francisco, Ava Grace’s friendship with Mercy deepened. They spent a lot of time together, usually at the farmhouse so they wouldn’t be hounded by the media or aggressive fans.
Mercy tossed her notepad and pencil on the cocktail table where Ava Grace’s feet rested. Using both hands, she tugged loose the elastic band holding her long hair in a ponytail. Shiny curls the color of licorice fell past her shoulders.
As Mercy massaged her head, she said, “I need something to eat. Do you have anything to snack on?”
“I made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing last night.”
Ava Grace was a decent cook, but she could whip up cakes, muffins, scones, cookies, and other assorted sweets with an expert hand. And when she had the time, she made bread too. Baking relaxed her, and it also made the people around her happy because they got to enjoy some tasty treats.
Mercy rose from the wooden patio chair. She was on the short side, around five-three. Some people would call her chubby, but Ava Grace thought curvaceous a more accurate description since most of Mercy’s weight was concentrated in her boobs, hips, and butt.
“No cupcakes.” Mercy adjusted her fuchsia T-shirt to cover the waistband of her cut-off denim shorts. The bright top outlined her DDs and complemented her dark bronze skin. “Brian wants me to lose some weight before the wedding.”
Ava Grace had to bite her tongue to keep her thoughts to herself. Mercy’s fiancé was an arrogant, self-aggrandizing asshole. Somehow he’d convinced her that she was lucky to have him. Ava Grace hoped Mercy would realize the truth—Brian wasn’t worthy of her—before they walked down the aisle.
Hearing the squeak of the screen door, she and Mercy looked toward the noise. Kyle Hood’s tall frame filled the doorway. He’d worked for Ava Grace for about five years, starting out as her driver-slash-bodyguard after leaving the Marine Corps. More often than not, she drove herself, but when she needed protection, Kyle was there.
Several months ago, the former Marine moved into the farmhouse to help with Ava Grace’s father, Chuck. He suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s, and it was advanced enough he needed round-the-clock care.
Usually, Chuck was mild-mannered, almost docile. But when he wasn’t … well, it was good Kyle was around. Chuck wasn’t overly tall, but he was thickly muscled from years of hard labor on oil rigs.
“How’s it going out here?” Kyle asked.
He stepped onto the porch, using his body to keep the screen door open. He still cut his dark hair in a military high-and-tight, with a short mohawk quiff on top that faded into shaved sides.
His regular daily uniform consisted of jeans or cargo pants and T-shirts that either promoted the Marine Corps or his favorite bands. He wasn’t a fan of Ava Grace’s music, as evidenced by the T-shirt he wore today—a black Avenged Sevenfold tee printed with white skulls and bat wings.
The short sleeves revealed tattoos that illustrated Kyle’s past as a military sniper. Army green cargo pants and scuffed hiking boots concealed his lower body.
“You need anything?” he added.
As usual, Kyle’s timing was perfect. Ava Grace didn’t know how he did it.
“We could use a snack,” Ava Grace replied. “Something healthy. We’re being good girls today.”
Kyle’s bottle-green eyes moved from her to Mercy. “You’re always good girls. That’s the problem.” He flashed a teasing smile. “Hang tight. I’ll get your snack.” He disappeared back inside the house, catching the old-fashioned wooden screen door behind him so it didn’t bang against the jamb.
“I still don’t understand why you haven’t stripped that man naked and had your way with him,” Mercy whispered, her midnight gaze staring after Kyle.
There was no question Kyle was a good-looking guy, but he didn’t do it for her, unlike Jonah Beck. When Beck looked at her, her skin tingled and her belly warmed with desire. She wished she could strip him naked and have her way with him.
Ava Grace tucked her guitar into its case and fastened the latches. “I’ve told you a million times,” she said, nudging the guitar case to the side with her foot, “there’s no spark between me and Kyle.”
In truth, she suspected he had a “spark” for Mercy. But he was too honorable to make a move on her when she belonged to another man.
Mercy shook her head, visibly mystified by Ava Grace’s lack of romantic feelings for Kyle. As his employer and his friend, she
cared for him in a purely platonic sense and trusted him implicitly. She’d do anything for him, and she knew he felt the same way about her.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Mercy announced. “Back in a minute.”
Alone on the porch, Ava Grace placed the tip of her red ballet flat on the whitewashed planks and set the swing in motion. As it glided back and forth, she let her gaze wander. The farmhouse was situated on several acres filled with tall trees, lush grass, and colorful wildflowers.
It was nothing like the landscape where she’d grown up. There were a lot of beautiful places in Texas, but the town of Electra was not one of them. Located in the Texas Panhandle, the town was flat and dry, and the vegetation was limited to the occasional tumbleweed.
It was scorching hot in the summer and bitterly cold in the winter. That probably was why fewer than three thousand people lived there, and the population decreased every year.
She had wondered if she’d ever get out of her hometown. But then she’d auditioned for American Star.
She and Amelia had been so excited to shake the Texas dust from their boots. When Ava Grace had first seen the old farmhouse nearly six years ago, she’d known it was perfect for them. With its bright white paint and dark green shutters, the farmhouse always gave her a sense of peace.
Her phone chimed, and she scooped it from the coffee table. The text came from Wally: “It’s a go. Lex loves the idea. He’s a big fan of Trinity.”
Now that she had Lex’s blessing to partner with Trinity, nothing stood in her way. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Mercy returned from the bathroom and stopped next to the porch swing. “Is that Amelia?” she asked, tilting her head toward Ava Grace’s phone.
Mercy’s question was nosy, but Ava Grace didn’t mind. She was just as nosy. Oh, alright, she would admit it … she was nosier than almost everyone.
“It’s Wally,” Ava Grace replied. “He says Lex gave the green light to partner with Trinity.”
“That’s good news.” Mercy arched her eyebrows. “Right?”
After a moment, Ava Grace said, “I guess so.”
Trinity wasn’t the first company to ask Ava Grace to promote its products or services. In fact, Wally fielded requests every week, from birth control pills and bicycles to shampoo and skis.
Companies tried to lure her with millions of dollars. Occasionally she said yes, but usually she said no.
Ava Grace Landy, country singer, was a brand, and the integrity of that brand had to be protected. She never signed on with a company if it could damage her brand or if she didn’t use its products or services.
Of course, the situation with Trinity was different. A partnership with a bourbon distillery would be a better alternative than any of the ideas Lex had proposed.
“You don’t seem very excited,” Mercy noted. “Are you worried Beck is a crook like his father? Or that his family history might reflect badly on you?”
Ava Grace shook her head emphatically. “No. Not at all.”
At her request, Wally had researched Beck’s background and shared the highlights with her. She, in turn, shared them with Mercy.
According to Wally’s research, Beck had ties to some of the wealthiest and most prominent families in Kentucky. His father’s family, the Becks, made a fortune from bourbon, while his mother’s family tree was heavy with senators, congressmen, and even a governor.
Beck grew up in the heart of Kentucky’s bourbon country in a place called Bardstown, the only child of Sibley and Jonah Lawson Beck, known by family and friends as Law.
When twenty-five million dollars went missing from the family distillery, Law was the prime suspect. But his younger brother was the real culprit.
“Beck’s dad was not a crook. He was cleared of any wrongdoing. And Quinn trusted Beck enough to invest millions in his company. Quinn is a good judge of character.”
“So what’s the problem?” Mercy asked.
“There is no problem.”
Except I keep imagining how Beck’s hands would feel on my skin … on my nipples … between my legs …
Mercy studied her for a moment before plucking her tablet out of her satchel. She flipped open the cover and tapped the screen a few times.
“Damn,” she breathed. “Those Trinity guys are hot with a capital H.”
Mercy stuck the tablet in front of Ava Grace’s face, so close she had to lean back to get her eyes to focus. A picture of the Trinity guys covered the screen. Beck stood in the middle with Gabe and Ren flanking him. All three wore burnt orange T-shirts with the Trinity logo and dark-washed jeans.
Beck was a big guy, close to six-four she’d guess, and his partners were about the same height. They weren’t as gorgeous as Beck, but they still were extremely good-looking. All three had similar builds: broad shoulders, lean waists, and long legs.
“Is Beck the one in the middle?” Mercy asked, scrutinizing the photo.
“Yes.”
“Does he look that good in person?”
“Better.”
Mercy gave her a sideways glance. Whatever she saw on Ava Grace’s face made her mouth kick up in a smile.
“You like him.”
“No, I don’t,” Ava Grace protested.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
She could feel her face turning red. Mercy laughed.
Flipping the tablet shut, she said, “Yes, you do. You like Beck.”
“I barely know him.”
“Well, now you have the opportunity to get to know him better.” Mercy waggled her dark eyebrows. “Like really get to know him.”
Mercy shoved the tablet back into her satchel and plopped down on one of the chairs around the café table. “You’re always complaining how it’s impossible to meet a guy who you can trust.” She pursed her lips. “Or is it whom you can trust? I never get that right.” She lazily waved her hand. “It’s not like country songs are grammatically correct.”
Ava Grace joined her friend at the table. “It’s hard to know if a guy wants me or Ava Grace Landy, country singer.”
She’d always been selective with her sexual partners, but now she was selective and suspicious. She didn’t want to let down her guard and trust the wrong guy. That was a sure way to end up with the details of her sex life splashed across the tabloids and the money drained from her bank accounts.
“You just said Beck is trustworthy, and you already know he wants Ava Grace Landy, country singer, to promote his bourbon.” Mercy crossed her legs and let her leather flip-flop dangle from her toes. “He might want you too. You just need to feel him out.” She snickered. “Or should I say, feel him up.”
Kyle’s arrival interrupted their conversation. He carried a tray with two tall glasses of sweet tea, plates, a platter of colorful veggies, and a big bowl of guacamole. Carefully balancing the tray on the table, he unloaded the contents.
“You haven’t been on a date in forever. Do you even remember the last time you had sex?” Mercy asked before taking a sip of her sweet tea.
“It’s been a while,” Kyle said as he placed a turquoise Fiesta plate in front of her. “Almost six years.”
Mercy choked on her tea. “What?” she gasped, wiping droplets from her mouth and chin with the back of her hand. “You haven’t had sex in six years?”
“That’s an extremely personal question. Why do you care?” His lips twitched when Mercy’s face turned as pink as her T-shirt. “I was talking about Ava Grace. I don’t think she’s had sex this decade.”
“Your hymen is going to regenerate,” Mercy warned Ava Grace. “Like a lizard growing a new tail.”
Kyle guffawed, and Mercy’s lighter laughter joined his. Ava Grace shot them her legendary death stare. Kyle responded by winking and spooning a dollop of guacamole onto her plate. He added a handful of baby carrots, red and yellow peppers, and black olives before serving Mercy.
“You’re going to turn into an organism that reproduces asexually—like a copperhe
ad,” Mercy said, laughter threading her voice.
“Copperheads reproduce asexually?” Kyle asked, clearly astonished. “I didn’t know that.”
“Shut up,” Ava Grace ordered sourly. “Both of you. This conversation about my sex life—”
“Or lack thereof…” Mercy inserted before popping a black olive into her mouth.
“—is over,” Ava Grace finished.
Kyle loaded guacamole onto a carrot and bit into the veggie with a loud crunch. After he swallowed, he said, “Chuck should be up from his nap soon. I’m going to sit with him so he won’t be alone when he wakes up.”
Kyle and Ava Grace agreed it was best to call her father by his first name at all times and to never refer to her as his daughter. His Alzheimer’s was advanced enough he didn’t recognize her any longer, and it upset him when someone mentioned Chuck had a daughter.
Ava Grace took a drink of cool, sweet tea. “I don’t know what’s worse. When he doesn’t take a nap, he gets overtired and belligerent, just like a toddler. But when he takes a nap, he wakes up scared and disoriented.”
“And violent,” Kyle chimed in.
“He’s deteriorating faster than Dr. Hanna expected,” Ava Grace lamented. “He told me it would be years before the disease progressed to this point. But it’s only been months.”
Mercy nodded. “I know.”
“I’ll bring Chuck out when he wakes up,” Kyle promised before heading back inside the house.
“You’ve done more for your father than most children would,” Mercy said. “You renovated your whole house so he’d be comfortable, and you’re paying for round-the-clock care.”
“It’s not a hardship. I have the money.”
“You’re a good daughter.” Mercy patted Ava Grace’s hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know this is hard for you.”
“It is hard. But it’s hard for everyone who has a parent with Alzheimer’s. I had no idea how horrible this disease is.”
Just before Ava Grace had won American Star, Chuck was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. She didn’t know he was sick because he didn’t bother to contact her until his doctor in Texas forced the issue. That was two years ago, and he moved in with her three months later.
