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by Melissa Pearl

  Parker gave me quizzical look.

  “I was just thinking she sounded like the woman who originally sang this song.”

  Parker grinned. “Yeah, she does.”

  “This place is so cool.”

  He leaned toward me with a twinkle in his eye. “If you ask me, I think Club Liberation’s cooler.” He winked, making me giggle.

  I sat back in my chair and soaked it all in—the buzzing crowd, the stage lights, the beautiful costumes. It was all so magical, and then there was the song she was singing. It spoke to me somehow. In that moment I was exactly where I was meant to be, and if Aren was willing to give me a contract, I would most definitely sign it.

  *****

  “I have a contract for you.” It was the first thing Parker said when I opened my door to him on Monday morning.

  I squealed and jumped out of his way to let him in.

  He chuckled, sliding the bag off his shoulder and taking a seat at the small table. Pulling out a thick pile of papers, he then placed it on the table and gave it a tap. “Here you go.”

  My eyes bulged before I could stop them. “That’s my contract?”

  “Yep.” Parker winked. “I spent yesterday afternoon going over it with Aren and making sure you’re getting the best deal possible. It’s pretty standard and exactly the same as the contract that his previous singer signed in February, so as long as you’re happy with it, we can move forward.”

  I sat opposite him and flicked my thumb through the pages. “It’s like a book.”

  He grinned. “Aren likes to cover all the bases.”

  “I can see that.” The stack in front of me must have been at least thirty pages. The writing was small, making the ‘book’ seem like an epic novel. I scratched the side of my neck and tried to smile at Parker.

  “Don’t be overwhelmed, I do this for a living. Let me walk you through it.” He shuffled his chair around so he sat closer and lifted the first page. “This is a standard industry contract, and most of it will seem like mumbo-jumbo, but basically what it’s saying is that you agree to let Aren train and prepare you for a recording contract while working at Club Liberation. You’ll perform six nights a week and will be required to practice daily, as well as be available for any marketing and promotional requirements. Aren is obligated to train you and invite producers to watch you perform. If they like what they see, Aren will set you up with an audition and help you with that process.” He pointed at his chest. “I will also be available to help you negotiate any contracts, and I’ll be working to get you auditions, as well. If Aren, or I, can’t secure a label for you within twelve months, then you are free of the contract. However, we’ve never had that happen before.”

  My insides were buzzing so fast and strong I could barely hear what he was saying.

  He flicked through the pages, briefly going over things, pointing out paragraphs here and there.

  “This just says that you’ll take Aren’s advice with performances, song selections, and wardrobe. Think of him like a coach or tutor.” Parker flicked over to the next part. “This is your income.”

  My eyebrows rose as I looked at the figure. Someone pinch me!

  “Minus, of course, the housing Aren provides and other necessities, like utilities, clothing for performances, travel, things like that.”

  I nodded, still too stunned stupid by the idea of earning close to eighty thousand dollars in a year.

  Parker turned the page before I could read more. His finger breezed down the paper. “This is just legal jargon to protect both parties,” he mumbled.

  I scanned the paper, trying to absorb the words, but I barely understood the two sentences I read. I was not a top of the class kind of gal. Hell, I missed close to a year of school when I was homeless and then recovering. Josh’s uncle made me do twelfth grade at the school just out of town. It was torture, and I barely scraped through with straight Cs. I’m not necessarily proud of that fact. School just wasn’t for me. Music was the only class I did well in and even then, I only got a B, because the teacher had it in for me. Stupid wench.

  “Okay, the final page is for you to sign.” Parker pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket.

  I gazed at the fat ballpoint in his fingers.

  “Unless you have any questions.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I mean, it’s hard to understand all the phrasing, but I get most of what you’re saying.”

  “It must seem overwhelming, and if you want to keep this for a few days and read it over, you’re more than welcome. Do you have a lawyer you want to show it to?”

  “Do I need to do that?” I wound a curl around my pointer finger.

  “Well, no, but some people like to.” Parker placed the pen on the table and threaded his hands together, resting them lightly on top of the contract. “This document is here to protect all the parties involved. If you sign it, you’re giving yourself the opportunity to become the singer you deserve to be. When we sign, we are committing to helping you reach that goal. It’s mutually beneficial. If we succeed, then you succeed, and if you succeed, we’re all going to make ourselves some music and some very sweet cash.” His wink and sassy smile settled my nerves. “Trust us, Rachel. We’re going to make your dreams come true.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, reaching for the pen.

  “Just sign here.” Parker pointed to the page, and I scrawled my John Hancock with a flourish.

  He then collected up the pages and knocked them against the desk to straighten them before sliding them into his bag.

  “Congratulations, Rachel. I know Aren’s really excited about working with you.”

  “Me, too.” An unexpected laugh popped out of me.

  “Fantastic.” Parker rose from his seat. “Why don’t you get yourself packed up. I’ll go check you out of the hotel, and we’ll head to your new place.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He walked out of the room. Once again, I waited for the door to click shut before jumping from my chair with a squeal.

  “Mama, I’m on my way!”

  I thought about calling Josh right then, but I was worried his silence or cynical remarks might kill my euphoric moment. I’d call him later once I was settled into my new apartment.

  Snatching my stuff together, I proceeded to shove it into my bag and then collect my guitar. Ten minutes later I was down in the lobby, just in time to see Parker strolling toward me with a grin. He took my suitcase and ushered me out to his car.

  “I asked the hotel to scan the contract for me, so it’s already on its way to Aren. He’ll sign this afternoon and it’s a sealed deal.”

  “All right.” I slid into the car and buckled up while he closed my door and walked to his side. “So, where’s my new place?”

  “Downtown. We house all our girls there.”

  “Your girls?” My nose wrinkled.

  He laughed at my scrunched up expression. “In training. Singers who are doing a similar thing to you. It’s just easier for them to be near the club and gives you a sense of family, knowing your neighbors are in a similar boat to you.”

  “Aren’t they my competition, though?”

  Parker grinned but kept his eyes on the road. His aviator shades took over half his face anyway, so I couldn’t really tell what he was thinking.

  “We select our clients very carefully.” He raised his pointer finger. “We only take on those we know we can promote successfully and who have the talent to make it.” He raised his next finger. “We like to have variety in our mix, so while we’re trying for a country-pop label for you, we’re looking for other things for our other clients. Don’t think of it like competition. You’re all there to help each other succeed.”

  “I like that.” I nodded with a smile, a thrill buzzing through me. I couldn’t wait to meet the girls.

  *****

  The drive took some time, thanks to insane traffic, but eventually Parker pulled into an underground parking garage and led me to the elevator. We went up to t
he fifth floor, and I followed him down a dimly lit corridor. It was a far cry from my swanky beach hotel, but at least it was clean.

  Parker stopped outside door 505 and wrestled a key from his pocket. The door was a yellow-white kind of color, and the handle was a little rickety. I didn’t say anything, of course, and my insides didn’t start deflating until I walked into the cramped studio. There was a single bed in the corner, a dusty lamp perched on the floor beside it. A small kitchenette with a two-seater table taking up most of the floor space sat in the corner of the room.

  The TV, perched on top of a broken bookshelf, looked like it came straight from the 1980s.

  “The bathroom’s through that door.” Parker pointed.

  I opened it to find a shower over a bathtub. The sink had yellowy-brown stains around the plug hole and the mirror was scratched. I opened the medicine cabinet and found a few supplies on the narrow white shelves.

  “Nice.” I forced out the word.

  I caught Parker’s brief smile in the mirror. “I know it’s not the Hilton, but you’re going to be so busy, you won’t be spending much time here anyway. Most of the girls get ready at the club each night. The dressing room’s huge, and there’s always drinks and snacks available.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  Parker pulled out his phone while running his gaze over the paisley wallpaper. “So, I’m going to leave you to get settled in. I’ll come back and get you at eight, and we can head over to the club. Aren wants to show you around.”

  “Sounds good.” My smile was tight, but Parker didn’t notice. He was too busy texting on his phone as he walked out the door.

  I gazed around the room, my face crumpling. Flopping onto the bed, I nearly jumped at the loud squeak of the springs. The mattress was kind of lumpy, and it made me miss my bed…I mean, Josh’s bed.

  Clearing my throat, I shook the thought aside. So what if I had to make small sacrifices. This was hardly that anyway! I’d had much worse.

  “Whatever it takes,” I muttered.

  With a determined huff, I rose from the bed and hefted my suitcase off the floor. I flung back the lid and Josh’s postcard fluttered out of it, landing upside-down on the floor.

  I collected it up, running my fingers over his address. That was as far as I’d gotten. I didn’t know what to say to him.

  A loud siren wailed outside, making me flinch. Looking over my shoulder, I turned and walked to the window. The view outside was a brick wall. If I opened the window and leaned out as far as I could, I might have been able to touch it.

  The card in my hand started to feel heavy, so I placed it on the table.

  I’d write Josh later.

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to him in that minute.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Josh

  I was worried about Rachel, but I couldn’t peg why. I’d been haunted by our last phone call, and something about that particular day was making me uneasy. I wanted to hear from her, to know she was okay, but my stubborn ass couldn’t find it in me to call her. I had to wait until I could pretend happy, but I just wasn’t there.

  “Well, this night sucks.” Brock swigged his beer and pointed his glass at the stage. “Talk about drowning in sorrow. What’s this guy’s problem anyway?”

  I looked to the guitar-playing soloist. He was from a few towns over and came to play every now and then. I didn’t mind so much. He had a great voice, and his music usually soothed me. So he sung about heartache a lot. I could relate!

  Unlike my best friend, we didn’t have ourselves the perfect life.

  “Would you go home,” I spat. “You’ve got a pretty woman waiting for ya.”

  “She does the late shift on Mondays. I don’t got anywhere else to be.”

  “It’s only Monday?” I drooped my head. “I feel like it’s been a year since she left.”

  “Would you stop? It’s been less than a week, and I’m already sick of hearin’ ya.” Brock slapped his beer down and swiveled on his seat so he could stare me down proper. “You have to get over her.”

  “I can do twelve months. We’re just going long distance for a while.”

  “Yeah, sure. Long distance. That always works for people.” Brock rolled his eyes, scratching the backwards cap on his head.

  “We’re different,” I muttered.

  “Right, because your last phone call went so damn well.”

  I clipped him over the back of his head. I would have done more if I hadn’t been forced to fill an order.

  With a tight smile, I took the money from a lady I’d never seen before and poured her and her husband a couple of beers. She waited by the bar to take them back herself. Even though it was a quiet night, Harriet was still rushed off her feet. I had to give her the next day off, there was no two ways about it, but I couldn’t run the bar on my own.

  Maybe if I rang and told Rachel that, she’d come home.

  She knew how much I loved this place, how much it meant to me. She’d hate for it to go under. Maybe I could guilt her back.

  Yeah, it was cruel to even think it, but I was a desperate man.

  The guitarist finished his song with a final strum and received a pitiful round of applause for his efforts. He smiled anyway. “Okay, folks, I’ve just got one more song in me for tonight.”

  “Praise be to God,” Brock muttered.

  “This is a favorite of mine by the legendary Keith Urban.”

  A soft cheer went up from table nine and then he started strumming. I closed my eyes, knowing the song immediately.

  “Stupid Boy”… of all the songs. My fingers pressed into the wood of the bar, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy.

  The song dug into my very soul, crippling me.

  Was I that man? The stupid boy clinging for all the wrong reasons?

  I sure as hell was acting like him.

  Brock tried to say something to me, but I couldn’t hear him. I hated the idea that I’d been holding back a treasure. My beautiful Rachel was finally seeing her dreams come true, and I couldn’t even be happy for her.

  I felt like shit.

  The song mercifully came to an end, and I was pulled out of my stupor…well, mostly. I couldn’t raise a smile for anybody, and maybe that’s what emptied the bar out so fast. I was plagued by my bad behavior. Rachel had struggled so hard and long to get to this point. She deserved it.

  The jukebox clicked over and “Smile” by Lonestar began to play. A wry grin crested over my lips. The bigger man. That’s what I needed to be.

  I pulled the phone from my back pocket and dialed Rachel’s number.

  It rang seven times. I don’t know why I counted, but she never answered. So I listened to her sweet voice.

  “Hey there. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave me a message. Say something that’ll make me smile.”

  I grinned and I was glad for it, because I’m sure it came through in my voice. “Hey, baby. I was just calling to tell you—I guess I want you to know that—” I squeezed the back of my neck, feeling like a prize idiot. “Hell, I’m not good at this.” I huffed. “Baby—I—I want you to be happy. I know how long you’ve dreamed about this kind of thing happening and I…I’ll support you, okay? I guess…I…Yeah, I’ll support you.” My voice petered off, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I hung up.

  In spite of my rambled message, I felt better for leaving it. Rachel would appreciate the call. I’d done the right thing. Picking up a chair, I set about stacking them onto the tables so I could sweep up and head to bed. The idea was lonely, but I had to get used to that.

  Duke’s claws scraped against the wood as he trotted into the main bar. He’d been trained to wait for the noise to die down, and his body clock seemed scheduled to wake from his evening nap at just the right time.

  He wandered over to me, still looking a little sleepy as he nuzzled my hand.

  “Hey, boy. At least I still got you, right?”

  I scratched hi
s oversized skin and he snuffled.

  “You ain’t thinking of leaving anytime soon, are ya?” His response was to lean against my leg, his long tail whipping back and forth like crazy.

  I grinned. “That’s my boy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachel

  Parker knocked on my door at eight sharp. I scuttled over in my heels. Since we were going to the club, I dolled up again. I was wearing a sleek red dress that I’d bought on Sunday. Parker had handed me a wad of cash and told me to go snazzy up. I wasn’t comfortable taking the money from him, but he assured me it was a loan and I could pay him back with my first paycheck. It still felt weird but I couldn’t resist, so I went a little crazy.

  My red dress looked perfect with my sparkly, new pumps. It was a little strange getting used to strutting around in the higher shoes, but I figured I could do it. Parker had let me know what kinds of clothes to look for.

  “You have to dress to impress in this town,” he’d said.

  I think I’d done a pretty good job.

  My ankle rolled when I got to the door, but I managed to hide my wince behind a friendly smile.

  “Hey there.”

  “Wow, Rachel, you look beautiful.” Parker’s dark eyes drank me in, an appreciative smile on his lips.

  I dipped my hip. “Why thank you, sir.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “Shall we go?”

  “Of course.” I took it and he led me out of the building.

  My day had been spent battling doubts as I unpacked in my tiny, bleak apartment, and I was looking forward to seeing Club Liberation. Hopefully it’d make me feel better. If it was anything like the club Parker took me to over the weekend, it would be amazing. I couldn’t wait to see the stage I’d be performing on and get a feel for the place.

  Butterflies made from fairy dust and electricity purred in my stomach, making me giddy and a little lightheaded.