Real Sexy: Book 2 of The Real Dirty Duet

by Meghan March

  I never thought I’d see the day that arrogant asshole Karas let his schedule be dictated by a baby, but damned if it doesn’t make me like him better.

  Lines of concern bracket Holly’s eyes. “She is? Why didn’t you say something?”

  Karas looks at his wife and tucks a lock of wavy hair behind her ear. “Because this is important to you.”

  Tana rolls her eyes. “Damn, you two are so sweet, you’re gonna make me puke. Mick and I are staying. I’ll let you know if I hear any more gems, babe.”

  I don’t stick around to watch Holly and Tana say their good-byes because I’m already off in search of Ripley.

  I catch sight of Hope behind the bar, and she must know exactly what I’m after because she points me in the direction of the employee break room.

  Shoving open the door, I find Ripley putting the guitar in a case. I wait to speak until she turns around, but any words I intend to say are erased when I see the tears tracking down her face.

  “Sugar, what’s wrong?”

  Ripley’s head jerks up as though she just realized I’m standing here.

  When she swipes her hands over her cheeks, trying to hide the evidence, I cross the room and pull her into my arms.

  “You killed it. Why are you crying?”

  With a snuffle, Ripley composes herself. “I always wanted to play onstage with my mama’s guitar, but Pop smashed it when I was thirteen and finally worked up the courage to ask for lessons. He told me there was no way in hell he was going to let me parade myself on a stage like a stripper begging for dollar bills.”

  I could kill that old man. Straight up kill him.

  “I’m so sorry. I wish I could get it back for you.”

  “He’s going to be so pissed when he finds out I’m playing and singing, and I’m not gonna care this time. I’m done letting him control my life. He ran Mama into the ground. Chased her into another man’s arms. That was on him. He did that. I’m not letting him run me down anymore. I’m done.”

  That’s when I realize just how big of a deal it was for Ripley to take this step, and it explains why she never pursued it before. She wasn’t just bogged down with work at the bar—she had an asshole of a father who shoveled years of bullshit on her.

  “I’m really fucking proud of you, Ripley. You nailed it. Holly wants to sign you. She said you’re the sound she’s been looking for.”

  Ripley’s eyes go wide. “What?”

  “This is your shot, if you want it.”

  “If I want it,” Ripley repeats in a whisper. “This would change everything. My whole life.”

  “Not everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I reach out to take her hand. “What’s happening between us isn’t changing no matter what you decide. I don’t care if you’re Ripley Fischer, hot new country artist, or Ripley Fischer, bartender, as long as you’re mine.”

  She swallows, her eyes searching my face. “Are you sure? Because right now, I have no idea what I’m going to decide.”

  “Am I sure that I’m crazy in love with you either way? Damn right I am.”

  Ripley’s other hand comes up and presses to my lips. “Don’t say that. You can’t be. It’s not—”

  I kiss her fingers and move them out of the way. “I can. I am. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and I knew that for a fact before I ever heard you sing. It’s okay if you can’t say it back. I don’t want to hear it until you’re ready.”

  The door to the break room opens, and the sound of the crowd in the bar filters in.

  “Rip, we need you behind the bar. Sorry, girl. Shit’s getting crazy now that the security people have left. Everyone heard that celebrities are here, and they’re wanting inside.”

  Ripley looks over my shoulder to whoever is speaking. “I’ll be right out. Just one more minute.”

  When the door closes again, Ripley turns back to me. “I gotta go. You should probably get out of here. They’re already on the hunt for you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m not going anywhere until it’s time to take you home.”

  “You’ll be mobbed. They won’t leave you alone.”

  I pull a shirt out of my back pocket. “Hope hooked me up.”

  I hold up the black T-shirt. It’s an inverse of Ripley’s white tank top with the White Horse Saloon logo, and when I flip it around to the back, she bursts into laughter. It reads Security.

  “Really?”

  “Consider me your personal security tonight.”

  34

  Ripley

  I roll over in bed to find a note on Boone’s pillow instead of the man I planned to ravage.

  Where did he go? My vision still fuzzy from sleep, I blink until the blue ink comes into focus.

  * * *

  Sugar,

  Had an early radio station interview and didn’t want to wake you. Expect a call from Homegrown Records this morning. Holly wants to set up a meeting. I’ll be home by noon.

  Love you,

  Boone

  * * *

  Holy. Wow. A rip current of emotions threatens to drag me under as I reread the note. Being the mature adult that I am, I pull the covers over my head and consider what in the world I’m going to do.

  Holly wants to set up a meeting.

  I knew it was coming, but to see it in writing is a completely different situation.

  This is my shot. My chance at a life I never let myself dream about. The one my mama wanted but couldn’t have because her life was cut short by someone who literally got away with murder.

  Skip rip current; this is a tsunami I’m dealing with. But I can’t hide under the covers all day and wait for the decision to make itself.

  And then there’s the rest of the note. I’ll be home . . . Strangely enough, I feel almost as comfortable in Boone’s house as I did in my old apartment above the bar. Actually, I feel more comfortable here than I do taking up space in Hope’s living room on her futon. But that doesn’t mean it’s my home.

  You’re stalling, Rip. And yes, I am, because the last part of the note could bring me to my knees if I were standing.

  Love you.

  How is it possible that this incredibly generous, talented, kind man is in love with me? It feels like the cosmos is playing some kind of joke on me, but it’s real, and that’s crazy. Crazy amazing, though.

  My phone vibrates from the nightstand, and I throw off the covers, shoot up in the bed, and reach for it. The number is one that I don’t recognize, but I clear my throat and answer it in the most professional tone I can muster.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Ripley Fischer?”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Wonderful! I’m Etta with Homegrown Records, and Ms. Wix would like to schedule a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Preferably today, if possible. I know this is a little unorthodox, but she said you’d know what it pertains to. When would be the first available time in your schedule to come in? Ms. Wix is happy to accommodate you, as her schedule is still largely clear today.”

  “Oh. Wow. Okay. She wants me to come in today?”

  “If possible. She’s going to be here by eleven o’clock, unless you’d like to meet earlier.”

  I glance at the clock on the table. It’s already eight thirty, and I need to shower, get back to Hope’s to change into something resembling professional attire, and make the trip to Homegrown’s office, which I’m pretty sure is right on Music Row, so not too far.

  For a moment, I think about waiting for Boone and seeing if he wants to come with me, but then I straighten my shoulders. This is about me. I can do this on my own. I’m a strong, independent woman.

  “I can be there at eleven. That would work great. Is your office on Music Row?”

  Etta relays the rest of the pertinent information, and we confirm that I’ll be at Homegrown Records’ office to meet Holly freaking Wix at eleven o’clock.

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Fischer.
We’ll see you this morning. I’m really looking forward to meeting you. I saw your videos, and Ms. Wix hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

  When I hang up the phone, it feels like the grin on my face may be permanent. I run from the bed to Boone’s shower and hop inside.

  The whole time I’m washing up, I can’t stop thinking, Holy crap. This is really happening.

  * * *

  At 10:55, I step into the outer office of Homegrown Records, and I’m suddenly worried that I’m overdressed. The weathered wooden boards of the floor look like they were salvaged from an old barn somewhere, and the giant green shag rug under the brown leather furniture resembles grass you’d see in a barnyard.

  The reception desk also looks like it’s made of the same reclaimed boards, and it’s topped with a heavy live-edge slab of wood.

  Silver letters are mounted on the wall behind the desk in a whimsical arrangement.

  * * *

  Homegrown Records

  * * *

  A woman with short blond hair and an angular chin pops up from behind the desk.

  “Hi! You’re Ripley Fischer. I recognize you from the videos. I’m Etta. We spoke this morning.”

  I nod. “Thank you so much for setting this up. I know I’m a few minutes early.”

  “Not a problem. Ms. Wix just came in with Princess Rose, so she’s getting her settled in the nursery, and then she’ll be ready to talk to you. We’re really excited you were able to make it. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? Water? Tea? Smoothie? Espresso drink? We have the most amazing coffeemaker, so if there’s anything you want, I can get it for you.”

  Her solicitous attitude almost throws me off my game, because I’m used to being the one who’s serving up drinks and making sure people are comfortable. To be on the receiving end of that treatment is completely different.

  “Water would be great. Thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  She ducks down and produces a bottle of water with the Homegrown Records label on it from what must be a mini fridge beneath the desk.

  “Please have a seat. Ms. Wix shouldn’t be but a few minutes.”

  I make my way over to the seating area, and my boots sink into the plush green shag carpet. I didn’t exactly know what to wear for this meeting, so I went with black slacks, a white blouse, and a black jacket that is as close to a blazer as I own. It zips up at an asymmetrical angle, and the cuffs sport thick silver buttons. My boots were the only footwear that looked remotely right with the outfit, so that’s what I picked. I haven’t had a lot of excess funds lately, so shoe shopping has been at the bottom of my priority list, not that it was ever near the top.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” Holly’s familiar voice fills the reception area as she crosses the room.

  I’m glad I didn’t go any fancier, because Holly’s outfit is purely Nashville casual. A cream-colored sweater cinched at her waist with a thick brown belt, and skinny jeans tucked into brown heeled leather boots that come up to her knee. Gold earrings dangle to her shoulders, peeking in and out of her blond mane that looks just as good as it does on TV.

  “Not at all,” I say, finding my voice. “I was early. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I appreciate you coming today. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have you here. Come on back. We can get comfortable and talk.”

  I follow her through a door to the left of the reception desk, and find the inner offices of Homegrown are just as rustic as the outer.

  “Creighton had the entire place redesigned and remodeled while I was out on maternity leave. I have no idea how in the hell he managed it, but he did. I wondered why he wouldn’t let me come back to Nashville for weeks, but as always, that diabolical man had bigger plans. He knew once I got in this town, I’d find a way to get into my office.”

  The rough wood, heavy silver accents, and pops of red weren’t what I’d expect with Creighton Karas heading up the project, but Holly continues.

  “Would you believe he found my Dream Office Pinterest board that had all the pictures for inspiration? Seriously, I swear he must have worked for the CIA at some point. That board was secret, and still he managed to sniff it out and make it real, right down to the rose accents for our baby girl.”

  While her words would suggest she was marginally annoyed, the giant smile on her face belies them. It’s clear she loves her new digs—and her husband—very much.

  He’s freaking terrifying, if you ask me, but then again, no one did.

  We reach her corner office, where three of the four walls are solid glass. Two look out over Nashville, and the third into a nursery where a woman sits in the corner watching a tiny pink bundle sleep.

  “That’s Rose. Her daddy made her a princess nursery where I could watch over her while I work. The glass will frost at the touch of a button, but Crey knew I’d want to have her with me as much as possible.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.”

  “He’s incredibly sweet, but don’t tell him I told you. He prefers people be scared of him.”

  Mission accomplished, I think, but keep that to myself.

  “Have a seat and we’ll get down to business.” She motions to a small seating area with a distressed leather love seat and two chairs.

  “Thank you.”

  Holly grabs a file off the desk and takes the love seat, which makes me glad I picked one of the chairs.

  “I know this seems kind of sudden, but that’s the way this business goes. So many people become stars ‘overnight’ when they’ve actually been playing the bars and small venues for a decade. Still, when it does happen, it moves fast. So, first things first.” She pins me with a direct look. “Do you want to be an overnight star? Because that’s what we’re fixing to do for you. Now, I have to say there are no guarantees, but in reality, with the money Homegrown is prepared to invest in you and your brand, you will be everywhere. Since Crey acquired the label, I haven’t been focused on adding new talent, but more shoring up everything else. You’re my first, and I refuse to have you be anything less than a major success. Get me?”

  Even with her drawl, she’s still talking fast enough that my brain is stumbling to keep up.

  My brand?

  Without waiting for an answer, Holly continues.

  “Before you answer that question, let’s talk about a couple other things, like do you write your own songs, or would you plan to only record songs written by others? We don’t care either way, because honestly, a big chunk of the artists in this town don’t write a word of their own music. But if you do write your own songs, I want to hear some of them, and will probably set you up with a seasoned songwriter so we can make sure they’re all top-notch and sort out which ones could go on an album.”

  I nod and finally speak. “I do write songs. Not a lot lately, because I’ve been busy . . . and frankly, this has never been something I’ve had to think seriously about before. It’s never even been in the realm of real possibilities.”

  Holly smiles and crosses one leg over the other. “Honey, I know. If you do this, you’re still going to have trouble believing it’s real six weeks or even six months from now. This is life-changing. That’s why deciding whether you want to go for it is the biggest hurdle. The YouTube videos you’ve got out there are still getting hundreds of thousands of hits a day, especially the one of you and Frisco, so right now you’re a mystery and people want to know more. If we jump on that, get you the right press and interviews, we ride the wave and keep you relevant while we prep your first album. But if you decide you don’t want to do this, then it’ll eventually fade after your fifteen minutes are up.”

  I take a deep breath and run through the thoughts that have been speeding through my mind all morning. “I don’t have any other solid plans for my future right now. Literally none. I’d be an idiot not to give it a shot.”

  Holly leans forward on the couch. “It may seem hard to believe, but I know some of what you’re fee
ling right now. Before I went on Country Dreams for my shot at a recording contract, I was deep fryin’ pickles in a bowling alley in Kentucky. There’s not a damn thing wrong with that because it’s honest work, but I was going nowhere fast. I knew I needed one shot to get out and make something of my life, so when that chance came around, I took it. From what I understand, you’ve been working in a bar so long you probably don’t remember what it’s like to do anything else. There’s also nothing wrong with that. But if you’ve been waiting for a chance, I’m gonna be real blunt—this is it.”

  She pauses for a moment before continuing.

  “I’m not saying Homegrown is the only label that’s going to try to sign you, but I’m saying this moment, this exposure, is your shot. The other labels may not be as generous or as driven to make you a success as we are, though. I’m not trying to pressure you into choosing Homegrown, but I would be making you my personal project. And, Ripley, I don’t fail when I set out to prove myself. You don’t have to buy into anything I’m saying, but it’s the truth. Homegrown Records will soon be a major force in this industry, and it will be my mission to take you to the top.”

  I wrap my arms around my middle, not sure why I feel the need to protect myself. Probably because this level of vulnerability isn’t something I often show to strangers.

  “It’s a little scary to think of how everything would change.”

  “I know. I get it. But think about this.” Holly studies me. “I also know what it’s like to have a man at your side who is larger than life and has access to resources that seem impossible to comprehend. Crey and I will never be equals in the financial arena because he’s so damned filthy rich, but I’m no slouch at earning a paycheck and standing on my own two feet. It’s hard when you’ve got a man in your life who would happily step in and take over everything for you. But you’ve been doing it all on your own for so long that I can’t imagine you like having to lean on Boone for help without being able to give it in return.”