Hillbilly Rockstar

by Christina Routon

  She flew through the document, gathering all paperwork necessary for a client contract. As she rushed around the office, that voice would rear its head, the voice that said, you can't do this. You're not smart enough, you're not good enough. It began to yell at her, sounding suspiciously like her Danny, her ex. The voice grew louder, started to drown out her ideas and slowing her pace.

  "Shut up," she yelled into her empty office. She stalked to the gold-framed mirror on the wall over the low file cabinets, placing the documents she carried on the cabinet in front of her. Lisa looked at her reflection, stared right into her bright green eyes. "You shut up," she said to Danny's voice in her head. "You," she pointed at her reflection. "You can do this. Charlie believed in you. He was going to promote you. Now, give yourself a promotion. This is an opportunity you can't pass up. So put on your big girl panties and go for it."

  She took a deep breath, let it out, then smiled at her reflection. It felt great to say that, to finally get those feelings off her chest. "Never again," she told herself. "You will never again let someone tell you you're not good enough."

  She turned from the mirror, picked up the documents and she walked out of the office toward the fax machine behind the reception desk. She had work to do.

  ###

  Trace sat across from her at the large conference table, Patrick next to him. Lisa had brought a sheaf of papers, clipped at the top, with her along with a massive amount of more paper he was dreading having to sign.

  "Trace, here are the details of the offer Patrick mentioned to you. The offer is to co-host a performance-based television show titled The Next Country Star. The previous co-host had to back out for health reasons. This is the second season, and they've already started filming, but they need someone right away -- as in, starting tomorrow for taping on Saturday. You're being offered a hundred thousand dollars, paid in installments, and the show wraps in ten weeks."

  Trace couldn't keep his eyes off her as she read the offer and started detailing the terms. She wore her blonde hair up today, in a messy bun just behind her right ear. She wore another dress, this time a deep blue that hugged those wonderful curves and a v-neck that didn't go low enough, in his opinion. And the boots. She was wearing the black heeled boots again, not the cowboy boots she'd worn Saturday night. There was nothing he liked better than a woman in boots.

  "Mr. Harper?"

  He felt Patrick nudge his arm and came out of his daze.

  "Sorry, all this stuff makes me zone out. Say that again."

  Lisa sighed, and despite knowing she was ticked at him for not paying attention, he was happy to watch that v-neck go up and down as he took that deep breath.

  "First, you'll be co-hosting the show with Michelle Nelson. She's been the primary host for the past two years."

  Trace leaned back in his chair and adjusted his hat back. "Michelle Nelson? She just won female entertainer of the year at the CMAs."

  "That's right. I know you wrote some of her award-winning songs a few years back."

  "Yeah, we worked together for a while, when she was just starting out. It must be about ten years ago now. I don't have a problem working with her."

  "Second, there are a couple of shows during the ten weeks where you and Michelle would be able to perform and plug whatever you have coming up."

  "Okay, sounds good so far. Let's sign." Trace fidgeting, tapping his knee, then his foot. Even Patrick telling him to sit still didn't help. Get going already. He needed to get the bank paid back and get the mortgage off his back. He was not going to lose his grandparents' farm.

  Lisa took another deep breath, and Trace stilled, enjoying watching her chest rise and fall once more. "There's one more thing. There's a morality clause. You have to stay squeaky clean all the way through the season. No drinking, drugs, any type of bad behavior. The producers don't want bad publicity, so you need to clean up your act. No more nights like this." She took some papers from another stack near her and fanned them on the table. "Look familiar?"

  They weren't papers, they were photographs, printed off various Internet sites. He had to admit the pictures did not show him looking his best. He picked up one in particular and studied it. In the photo he was draped around a buxom blonde with teased hair and too much makeup, a beer bottle in each hand. He wore his usual black cowboy hat, pushed back from a sweaty, slack face and glazed eyes.

  "I took this Saturday night at Six Guns."

  Trace looked across the table at her, into her green eyes. "I remember," was all he said.

  ###

  Lisa felt her face flush as a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. The memory of his touch was burned in her mind. Even though it had lasted only a few seconds, and even though she'd pushed him away, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

  "Mr. Harper --" she started to say, trying to gather her thoughts.

  "Call me Trace," he said, still smiling that wicked grin that reached his brown eyes.

  "Trace," Lisa said, and a shiver traveled down her spine at the sound of his name spoken from her lips. Don't lose your cool, you have a job to do. She shook her head, gathered her thoughts.

  "I did need to mention a few more things regarding our management relationship. This is pertaining to your representation, specifically, and not what The Next Country Star wants you to do." She took more papers from the stack to her right.

  "This is an itemized list of what we have done for you since Mr. Cahill became your manager sixteen years ago." She passed a copy to Trace and Patrick, taking care not to touch Trace's hand when he took the paper.

  "As you can see, there are many instances where you did not follow through on your end of the contract, but it's been more prevalent over the past six years. Charlie booked appearances on talk shows, radio, television, you canceled. Your agent scheduled performances, you turned up drunk. We did our jobs, Trace, but you didn't do yours. If you want me to represent you, that has to change. I need you to do your part." She settled back in the leather office chair, waiting for him to look through everything.

  "What about the contract for the show? Can I see it?"

  "Of course." She passed a copy to him and Patrick. They started to read and discuss the different sections.

  Trace reached the morality clause and read it out loud. "The Artist may not commit any act that may bring Artist into public disrepute, contempt, scandal, or ridicule or what may reflect unfavorably on Artist or Manager, Network, Program or sponsor of Program and will not injure the success of the Program. Artist will conduct himself with the highest standards of morality and honesty." Trace looked at Lisa, an eyebrow cocked. "Is this necessary?"

  "The network is requiring it of everyone on the show, but when I looked through the paperwork Patrick sent over, they did specifically state that if you agreed to do the show you had to agree to the morality clause. The rumor is you're difficult to work with."

  "Well, I told Patrick I wanted this gig before I found out about the morals clause. Everyone has a stipulation for me, so I have a few requests of my own."

  "Okay, what are they?" Lisa had her pad on her right, pen in hand, ready to take down anything he said.

  "You need to promote this. I want you to keep my schedule, let me know what I need to do and where I need to be."

  He wanted to work with her, directly? Not the way she was feeling right now. "Trace, I'm not a personal assistant, I'm a manager." She set her pen down.

  "I don't mean assistant stuff. I'll have someone else fetch coffee and bagels. I mean I want you to manage me, one-on-one. Patrick will do his part getting me booked, then you come in and make sure I'm in the right place at the right time. What do you say?"

  He looked at her with those beautiful brown eyes and Lisa felt another shiver tickle up her back to her neck. Could she work closely with him, arrange his schedule, get promotion work done and not act on this attraction to him? She also had to manager her job in addition to managing him, and she had no idea how that would work. But as Tanya would s
ay, don't pester me with facts. It'll all work out.

  "Fine," she said, folding her hands on top of the table and returning his stare. "I'll do it."

  "Pen?" Lisa handed him the ballpoint and he dashed his name across the bottom. "Here." He handed the contract and the pen back. "It's done. Now what?"

  "Now I'll contact the production team and get a promotion schedule set up to run through Patrick."

  "I've already contacted the production team. They want to meet tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. They'll have our checks and the rest of the paperwork." Patrick said. "They have a promotion schedule already, it just needs to be tweaked to fit Trace instead of the previous host."

  "Great. They can fax me over one to go over tomorrow." Lisa stood, nodding at the two men. "I guess we're done?"

  "Looks that way." Patrick rose to go and headed to the door. "Coming, Trace?" he asked, holding the door open.

  "In a minute." Trace watched Patrick exit through the heavy wooden doors before making his way to Lisa on the other side of the table.

  As he stepped closer to Lisa felt her body vibrate. Closer, and he reached out, touching her arm. An innocent touch, but his fingers on her bicep felt scalding hot.

  "Was there something else?" Stay about business. Don't let him know what he's doing.

  "Yes, there is. Why don't you bring the promotion list and your ideas to my apartment tonight? We can discuss a few things before the meeting tomorrow." He ran his fingers up her arm and it felt like he left a trail of fire behind.

  "I don't think that's a good idea. We can talk tomorrow." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  "I think it's an excellent idea." Trace stepped closer and rested a hand on her hip. This time, she didn't push him away. "I didn't get enough time with you Saturday night," he whispered in her ear. "I want to see you again."

  "I'm not sleeping with you, Trace," she said, also in a whisper. She took a deep breath and stepped back, saying it again with more force behind her words. "I'm not sleeping with you. This is business." And she meant it. No matter how he was making her feel right now, he wouldn't use her. No man would, ever again.

  "I'll be a gentleman. I promise." He removed his hand from her hip and took a step away, raising his hands high like a criminal surrendering. "Just bring your ideas for promotion and the schedule when you get it today. That's all. Around seven. I'll get your number from Patrick and text you my address." He continued walking backward, his hands in the air. "Nothing funny, I promise. See you then."

  He turned and left the conference room before she could say no.

  Chapter Six

  "You're doing it? You're using my idea? I can't believe it." Tanya sat on the edge of Lisa's bed, watching her as she tried on one outfit after another.

  "I hate everything in this closet," Lisa said, throwing another dress into the pile on her four-poster bed. The clothes covered her floral bedspread. "Why am I even changing? This is for work." She chose another dress, this one a deep purple. Nope, too low cut. She tossed it on top of the others.

  "Well --" Tanya said, and Lisa glared at her. "Why not? He's hot."

  "He's a jerk, that's what he is. He hit on me again today."

  "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," Tanya offered the pithy Shakespeare quote.

  "I am not protesting. He has me in a corner. He's agreed to follow the morality clause and take the job, meeting my expectations of behavior as well, if I work with him personally to promote the show. I need a client, he's my client, so I don't have a choice."

  "You always have a choice, Lisa. You know that. So what's the plan? I assume you have one. You always do." Tanya picked up the purple dress and held it in front of her, looking at her reflection in the floor length mirror near the door. "Yuck, purple does not mix well with red hair."

  "Try that dark green one. It may fit you better anyway." Lisa pointed to another cast off dress hiding deep in the pile of clothes, only a sleeve poking out. Tanya laid the purple aside and fished out the green dress, then holding it against her body. "To answer your question, I don't have a plan. Well, I kind of have one. I did tell Mr. Waters I was looking for another position, and that's true. I spoke to the headhunters today, followed up on resumes, and got nothing. But when Patrick Mitchell called and thought I had been trying to reach Trace because I was replacing Charlie, your idea clicked and I went with it. Now I'm not sure what I'm going to do except see it through."

  "And what does that mean?" Tanya shimmied out of her jeans and t-shirt and pulled the green dress over her head. She spun in a circle, enjoying the silky material sliding over her skin.

  "I'm going to manage Trace. I'll get promotions set up, talk shows, bookings. I'll make sure the financial side of his life is covered. Cahill-Waters handles that through an accounting firm, but I need to hire someone else. I'm not using anyone from Cahill-Waters to do this. By the time the show is over I'll have proven myself. I can tell Trace the truth, leave my job, and be on my own." And I will prove myself, she thought. Danny was wrong. I can do anything I want to do.

  "You can't do too much on fifteen grand. That's all you're going to get from Trace until he gets another gig."

  "Then he'll get another gig. That's part of working with his agent. And once I'm no longer working at Cahill-Waters, I'll get other clients too." Lisa grabbed the purple dress again and pulled it on, adjusting it over a black slip. She pulled on a pair of black knee high dress socks and her dress boots before walking over to the mirror to stand next to Tanya. She pulled a brush through her shoulder length blonde hair before twisting it up and to the back, securing it with a clip.

  "Are you going to redo your makeup?" Tanya asked, fiddling with the spaghetti straps of the green dress.

  "Nope. It's not a date, it's work."

  "If you say so." Tanya turned again, checking out her backside in the mirror.

  "The green looks good on you. Keep it." She headed towards her bedroom door. "Lock the door when you leave, okay?" Lisa left Tanya in the bedroom behind her, leaving before she could change her mind.

  ###

  Lisa paced in front of Trace's apartment door, carrying her binder holding the promotion and taping schedules she'd received from the production office late that afternoon. This is work, that's all. Then why did her throat feel tight and her stomach queasy? There shouldn't be any reason to be nervous. Lisa paced in a circle in front of the door. Oh, good grief. Be honest with yourself. You can't wait to see him again.

  She couldn't get him out of her head. His deep brown eyes haunted her. That wicked, sexy grin made her shiver. The black cowboy hat he never took off -- it just made her curious. Was he hiding something under there? Did he ever take it off? Her imagination ran wild, beginning with her removing his hat just before he removed her dress.

  Cutting off those thoughts, she knocked again, impatient. She was ready to get everything moving forward. The sooner they went over the schedules, the sooner she could leave.

  "Coming, hold on a minute," she heard Trace call out. He answered the door and she was struck speechless -- not from seeing him barefoot, shirtless and in sweat pants, although that was a large part of it -- but from seeing him hatless. His thick, wavy brown hair was wet, messy -- and very sexy.

  "You're not wearing a hat," Lisa blurted out, and immediately felt her face heat in embarrassment.

  Trace blinked. "Neither are you. Please, step into my hat-free zone." He stepped aside so she could walk in. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower."

  Lisa entered, unsure where to step. Empty pizza boxes littered the carpet. Beer bottles covered the glass-topped coffee table. Clothes were hanging in every conceivable corner of the room where something could be hung or thrown. Not sure where to go, she stood still just past the tiled entryway.

  "Here, have a seat." Trace moved a pizza box and a t-shirt from an overstuffed chair across from the couch. Lisa smoothed her dress and sat on the edge of the chair, too scared to scoot back into it. "Sorry, my cleaning lady quit on me agai
n."

  "I'm sorry about what I said. I've just never seen you without your hat."

  Trace laughed, settling on the couch across from her, his arms resting on his knees. His muscles flexed as he bent his arms, and she could clearly see the tattoo on his left forearm, part of another on his right bicep. "That's okay. It's kind of my thing, that's all. Everyone knows me with the hat, but if I want to go out, just hang loose, I don't wear it."

  "That makes sense." She continued looking around the room, clutching her binder close in her lap. She didn't want to lay it down for fear it might be carried off by whatever else lived in the mess.

  "I bet you thought I was covering up a receding hair line or something, weren't you?" He laughed again and Lisa felt the mood shift. "Everyone does. It's part of the mystery of Trace Harper."

  "I don't know that you're all that mysterious, Trace." She looked over at him and smiled, trying not to stare at his bare chest or the way the sweats hung low on his hips. All it would take was a tiny tug on the string -- nope, not going there. She cleared her throat. "I brought the promotion and production schedules." She cleared her throat again. "Could I have some water?"

  "Sure, just a second. Let me put a shirt on." He left, heading right, where she assumed there was a kitchen and bedrooms. Despite the mess, the apartment was impressive. It was as large as her small house on the quirky east side of Nashville. He had good furniture. The couch was either leather or faux, she wasn't sure. There was a brick fireplace with gas logs in front of the couch with at least a forty-two inch flat panel television hanging over it. The walls were covered with photos, framed album covers, and his gold and platinum albums.