“Good,” Maude said as she placed a hand on the door. “So will I.”
Trace groaned and leaned back in his chair. Damn. This was not good. This was the opposite of good.
Pauly cleared his throat as he stood. “As your manager, I’d say Kylie Ryans might be the best thing for your career at this point. As your friend, one who actually gives a damn about you and your sobriety, I’d say she’s probably the worst person you could involve yourself with—personally or professionally.”
“Thanks, Pauly. That’s real helpful.”
His manager squeezed his shoulder lightly as he passed. “I know. But I also happen to know she’s recording at Bluebird Studios tonight if you wanted to swing by there. Maybe a heads-up from you would come across better than Maude or the label blindsiding her.”
Maybe. Or maybe she’d tell him to go straight to hell where he belonged.
BLUEBIRD STUDIOS was empty save for a few cars in the parking lot. Trace let himself in the entrance for artists and nodded at Molly at the front desk.
“Hey, sunshine. Would you happen to know which studio Kylie Ryans is in this evening?”
“Hm. Well, Mr. Corbin, that depends. Is she expecting you?”
He gave the blonde a wink and a grin. “I don’t know if anyone could ever be expecting me, darlin’. I’m kind of hard to handle.”
The receptionist eyed him appreciatively. And then her face transformed into a mask of disappointment. “So the rumors are true then? About you and her?”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, sweetheart. Is she in D? I know she prefers D.” He was guessing, but he preferred it. He figured she probably did, too.
“Yeah, she’s in D. Go on back. But you snuck in if anyone asks. And you owe me,” she called out after him.
He made a mental note to send Molly some flowers or chocolates. She was a sweet girl. Pretty, too. Just not the one he wanted.
Once he’d reached Studio D, he stepped into the listening booth and nodded at Kylie’s manager, a guy with glasses he’d seen around a few times. Before he had time to introduce himself properly, her voice filled the room.
I’ll set your night on fire. I’m a live wire. I’m a live wire.
Boy, was that the truth.
He watched as she belted out the rest of her song, a fast one about how she was untamable. Watching her while being surrounded by her sultry voice made it hard to swallow. Or think. Or breathe. So he glanced down at his phone and pretended to give a shit about something on it until the music stopped.
“Mr. Corbin?” Kylie’s manager came over and shook his hand. “Chaz Michaelson. Kylie’s manager. What can I do for you?”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Michaelson. Kylie’s said nothing but good things about you.” The man cleared his throat and Trace grinned. “Don’t feel bad if you can’t say the same thing to me. I deserve it, whatever she’s said.”
“She has a bit of a temper,” her manager said, glancing back to where she stood glaring at them on the other side of the glass.
“That she does.” Trace raised his hand in a small wave that she didn’t return. The force of her stare should’ve shattered the glass between them. “Listen, I was wondering if I could speak with her privately for a few minutes. No doubt she’ll be filling you in on every aspect of the conversation once we’re done. Or you can stick around and hear it through the door when she yells at me.”
“Think I’ll sit this one out, if it’s all the same to you.” The manager opened the door as Kylie came through.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Trace greeted her. His heart began beating in overtime at the sight of her.
Her blue eyes gleamed in the lights of the studio. He didn’t know if her face was flushed from singing her heart out or from seeing him. Either way, she was beautiful as always.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s nice to see you, too. I was in the neighborhood.” Trace leaned against the side wall as Chaz and the other men in the room let themselves out quietly.
He watched as Kylie chugged half a bottle of water. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m all done for today, so if you need the studio, knock yourself out.”
“Actually I need you. I mean I need to talk to you.” Jesus. Sometimes he wondered if his life would be easier if he’d just cut out his own tongue years ago.
Kylie raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Talk.”
“Here? You don’t want to go get some dinner or something?”
She snorted. “No, thanks. Steven took me out for a late breakfast and I’m not hungry.”
Shit. That did not feel good to hear. It felt as if she’d socked him as hard as she could right in the chest. He lowered himself onto the couch and looked up at her. The lights surrounded her, making her look like a vision he was having. His hands twitched, aching to reach out and touch her. It was an urge more intense than the need to drink had ever been. And she was even more off-limits.
“Thanks for performing at the benefit. I appreciated that.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she seemed to shake off her reaction before she spoke. “You’re welcome. Is that what you came to the ‘neighborhood’ to tell me?”
“No. I came because…” Because I love you. I miss you. I need you and I can’t stand having to be on the same planet as you if I can’t have you. The words stuck in his throat. What he actually said was, “Because the label has some ideas for us. They’re pushing hard and I wanted you to hear it from me, wanted you to know it wasn’t my idea.”
Her brows dipped downward and she took another drink before responding. “What wasn’t your idea? The tour?”
“So you know then?”
She wiped a drop of water from her perfect mouth and then glared at him. “Yeah, I know. I’m not the same girl I was...before. I’m not all wide-eyed and excited about the opportunity to tour with Trace Corbin.”
The way she said his name, with false enthusiasm, made his stomach churn.
“All right. Well, I didn’t figure you’d be too thrilled. Gotta say, I’m not sure why the hostility is directed at me though. I just told you it wasn’t my idea.”
Her glare intensified before she finally looked away. “I knew this was coming when they asked me to do the benefit. It was pretty obvious that you didn’t want me there.”
Trace opened his mouth to tell her that wasn’t exactly how it was, but she rushed on before he could.
“Chaz and I kind of talked it out. In a way, it makes sense. The media thinks there’s something going on between us—or that there was—and you can’t turn the radio on without hearing that damn song. We’d probably sell out every venue.”
“There’s a but coming.” He could see it on her face, in her stance.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. There is.” Her eyes met his, only for a moment, but long enough for him to see that she could hardly believe he’d had the nerve to ask. “Just because it might be the right move for our careers doesn’t mean I want to take a tour down memory lane. I’d rather be bound and gagged and dragged naked through town than share a bus with you. Again.”
If it didn’t hurt so much to hear, he might’ve laughed. He barely resisted the urge to tell her that if she said yes, he’d be happy to get her naked and tie her up. But as hard as she was trying to stonewall him, he could see the hint of pain flashing in her beautiful eyes, tugging at the corners of her perfect mouth.
“Say no more. Message received. Well, that’s that then.” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and stood to leave, but there was one more thing he had to say. “For the record, I didn’t come here to talk you into it. I came here to tell you that if you did decide to go through with it, for professional purposes only of course, then I would do my best to make it as easy for you as possible. I know what you think, but I promise, I’m not the same person either. I wouldn’t stand you up or bail on shows and leave you to deal with the fallout. And I wouldn’t cross all those lines like I did before. You’re with someone else now. I can respect th
at.”
He could tell her breathing was becoming labored even though he was staring into her eyes. Her entire body seemed to tighten. He figured it was a result of her effort to keep any of her actual emotions from showing. His hand reached out to stroke her smooth cheek, but he pulled back at the last second. He’d just said he wouldn’t cross lines and here he was, wanting to trample all over them.
“Kylie Lou, I—”
“Don’t. I heard what you said. I’ll consider it. I’ll talk to the label and let them know I’m thinking about it.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for.” He shrugged. “You sounded great in there, by the way.” He nodded toward the sound booth. “And at the CMAs, and at the benefit. I know I haven’t had time to tell you, but I’m really pro—”
“I have to go,” she blurted out. Before he could finish his sentence, she grabbed her belongings from the couch and barreled past him out of the room.
HE’D JUST appeared at her recording session without warning. She couldn’t handle Trace Corbin without some time to prepare herself. And then he’d been all “Hey, pretty girl.” And then nearly telling her he was proud of her? It was too much. Way too much.
She struggled to breathe normally as she leaned against her daddy’s truck and tried to steady herself. Damn Trace Corbin to hell for making her feel this way. He hadn’t even looked as if talking to her in such close proximity had affected him in the least.
Well, up until she mentioned Steven.
Steven, she realized, was her ace in the hole. Her shield that backed Trace Corbin out of her space.
The idea of having at least a tiny bit of protection from her own feelings and irrepressible reactions allowed her to breathe a little more easily.
Once she’d regained the majority of her equilibrium, she got in her truck and drove to her place. It was huge. Huge and empty. And lonely.
Trudging to the front door of her building, she did what she’d told Trace she would. She thought about it. Pondered the possibility of being on a bus with him, performing together, touring together.
Business-wise it made sense. There was a great deal of buzz around the both of them, their duet was a hit, and you couldn’t stand in line at the grocery story without seeing photos of either of them in a tabloid or two. But…
She just couldn’t put herself through that again. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. Not when seeing him for all of five minutes had nearly wrecked her.
She’d worked her ass off to make it in this business, and she’d only gotten this far by putting her feelings about him, about everything that had happened between the two of them, in a small, dark corner far away where no one could reach it. Not even her and sure as hell not him.
The label would just have to take no for an answer.
KYLIE WOKE up next to her guitar. She’d fallen asleep on her couch as usual. Despite the fact that the bed she owned was enormous, she rarely slept in it.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched, blinking until her eyes adjusted. In the distance, she heard a ringing sound. It was the standard ring she’d set her phone to. Scrambling to her feet, she dug it out of her purse and answered.
“Morning, sweetheart. I just wanted to remind you about the meeting at the label this afternoon. They’re pulling out all the stops today I bet, so don’t be late.”
“I got it, Chaz. All the reminders you put on my phone helped.” She chuckled until she caught her reflection in her bathroom mirror. She definitely needed to get her hair cut sooner rather than later. “Hey, do you think you could call Emelle and see if she can come by and do something with my hair today before the meeting?”
“Nooo, I can’t. Because I’m your manager, not your assistant. However, I was talking to my boss last week and she mentioned that on your next tour you need a day-to-day manager, kind of like an assistant. But since sleeping on a bus is not something I ever plan to add to my bucket list, we’re currently looking for someone who’d be a good fit. Any requests?”
“Hmm.” Kylie stared at her reflection in the mirror as she contemplated the prospect of having an assistant. Boy, life was strange sometimes. “I’m not really picky, I guess. Just as long as they’re not too like…perky. Just someone efficient and professional.”
“Sounds good. I’ll pass that along to the boss lady. See you at three.”
Since she didn’t have an assistant yet, she hung up with Chaz and dialed her stylist. Who thankfully was available to come over in a few hours and help her look presentable before meeting with Noel Davies and the rest of the peanut gallery.
Kylie knew she wasn’t exactly playing well with others as her manager had pointed out, but she also knew that she wasn’t going to be forced on some lame tour that would keep her out of the studio. The options the label had presented so far just hadn’t felt right.
Her biggest fear was that today’s meeting would be the one where they asked her to go on tour with Trace. And her second biggest fear was what she already knew to be true.
As much as it hurt to think about and as terrifying as it was, that was the one option that actually did feel right.
AFTER EMELLE had trimmed and highlighted her hair, Kylie felt better. Less world-weary and somewhat refreshed. The past few weeks had been draining, both physically and emotionally, and she’d needed the pick-me-up even more than she’d realized.
As she dressed for the meeting, a startling realization forced itself on her. If they were going to push the tour with Trace on her today, he might be there.
Suddenly every option in her entire wardrobe fell into two categories. Not sexy enough and trying too hard.
Standing in the center of her bedroom in her underwear, she texted Mia.
Meeting today. Pretty sure Trace will be there. Feeling a little nervous. Clothing suggestions?
She waited a few minutes and had almost given up and texted Lulu. But then the phone buzzed in her hand.
Wear good lingerie in case you guys do it in the parking lot afterwards.
Ignoring the excited panic that rose in her stomach, Kylie texted back.
You are not helpful.
Mia responded almost immediately.
Isn’t your BFF going to be your new stylist soon? Ask her.
Kylie sighed out loud. This was true. But she’d also made every effort to convince the whole world, with the exception of Mia—who’d seen her freak out firsthand—that her past involvement with Trace Corbin was a nonissue in her life. Admitting that she cared what she looked like around him seemed like a dead giveaway.
She stared at her closet once more. This was dumb. She was twenty years old and he’d seen her naked. She could pick out an outfit for a meeting.
After three changes of clothing, Kylie settled on a short navy blue dress, a cream-colored wrap, and brown knee-length riding boots. It was a little shorter and tighter than what she’d wear to a meeting if he weren’t going to be there, but it wasn’t an overtly obvious cry for attention. At least she hoped not.
The last thing she wanted to do was send mixed signals.
Not that she could even send clear signals, because she hadn’t exactly figured out what the message was for herself.
“WE’RE GOING to get one shot at convincing her that this is a good idea. Y’all know that right? Because once she makes up her mind, there won’t be any telling her otherwise. From anyone.” Trace made eye contact with Pauly, Maude, and Noel Davies.
“Leave it to me. I can handle her,” Noel informed him.
Trace barely held back a snort. Kylie Ryans was not the type to be “handled” by Noel Davies—or anyone else, for that matter.
Even Maude gave the Record Exec a doubtful smirk. “Again, if we just let her think it’s her idea, that it’s what’s best for her career, then none of us will have to convince her of anything.” The woman eyed each of them as if they were complete morons. “If any of you had half a brain, you’d bring her in here and tell her the label doesn’t like her new grown-up sound. That the onl
y way to get fans on board is to have her tour with Trace and appear to be in a serious adult relationship with him. Present it as an opportunity instead of an ultimatum. It’s not that hard, boys.”
“It’s not that easy either,” a female voice broke in. “It’s the damnedest thing, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think I actually had a mind of my own and could just make decisions all by my lonesome.”
The sound of her voice, even her angry voice, softened something inside of Trace. For as steely as her solid glare at all of them was, he’d detected the note of hurt when she’d spoken. He met her stare and offered her an apologetic shrug. Like she’d said, she wasn’t the same girl. She knew how things worked now.
A part of him hated that. That she’d lost that wide-eyed innocence about the music business. That this was no longer a dream come true for her, but a job. A minefield to navigate.
“Kylie, we weren’t—” Noel Davies began before she cut him off.
“Yes you were. But that’s okay. I suspected I was walking into an ambush. Looks like it’s a perfect day for playing Manipulate the Bitchy Artist into Submission apparently.” She walked all the way into the room with her manager close behind. Trace nodded at him as they sat across the table.
“So where were we then?” Noel said, eyeing each occupant at the table. “No, you know what? This is so formal and unnecessary. How about we all head over to my office and sit comfortably so we can discuss this like civilized professionals?”
Trace shook his head. He knew what was up. This was Davies whipping out his dick and putting himself at the head of the table. He would show Kylie just how big and bad his office was, intimidate her with his power. He couldn’t stand by and watch that.
“I think we’re good here, Davies. How about we just get on with it?”
“Are we keeping you from something, Mr. Corbin?” Kylie asked, turning to him with raised brows and a look of feigned interest.
Girl in Love Page 7
