Don't Let the Music Die (The Storyhill Musicians Book 2)

by Annmarie Boyle

  She forced out a smile. “How about something like I’ve never let a man stand in my way and I shouldn’t start today? That probably would have worked.”

  Celeste matched her smile and pivoted on her three-inch heels toward the door. “I thought that went without saying.” She held the door open for Avery to pass through.

  Avery laughed. It normally did, but she wasn’t a skilled enough liar to convince herself that Matt Taylor was just any man.

  Avery pushed open the studio door and strode over to her chair, keeping her eyes off the beautiful man sitting across from her. The spot where he’d touched her shoulder still tingled, and she couldn’t afford any more distractions.

  She punched a button on the board in front of her. “Is he ready to go, Ajay?” she said into the intercom.

  “You can ask me that. I’m right here.” His voice, the soft one she’d heard in her dreams for years after she’d broken it off, floated across the desk. “And you’ll have to look at me eventually.”

  She readjusted her already perfectly positioned microphone. She straightened the single sheet of paper in front of her. Someone, probably Ajay, had printed out some Storyhill facts.

  “Amy-Lynn.”

  Her head jerked up. “Don’t call me that.”

  Matt lifted his hands in surrender. “No need to snap at me. We both want this to work.”

  “Oh really? You’ve been working for this moment for the last nine years?”

  He held her gaze, unflinching. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” His blue eyes flashed, deepening to the sapphire color that appeared when he was angry—or aroused.

  She stared back and did everything she could to dial her expression back to neutral. “It’s just you cannot call me that on-air. Branding and all.”

  “Yeah, it’s about the branding,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Avery, we’re live in five minutes.” Ajay’s voice filled the studio, interrupting their staring contest. “Everything okay in there?”

  She would not be the first one to break eye contact. She held Matt’s gaze while giving Ajay a thumbs-up through the window. “I know this is an unwelcome surprise for both of us, but today is extremely important to me.” She pointed a finger at him. “Now is the time to pull out the infamous Matt Taylor charm. You help me get through this first show, and you’ll never have to think about me again.”

  He stared at her. One beat. Two beats. Three beats of silence. He sighed, dropped her gaze, and fisted his hand in his hair. “That’s unlikely, Mac. You’re the face of my past.”

  Her body flinched as she sucked in an involuntary shudder. Calling her Amy-Lynn would be better than calling her Mac.

  “Fifty-nine seconds, Avery,” Ajay announced.

  “Amy-Ly—” She grimaced. “Avery,” Matt corrected, lacing the name with something cold. “I won’t ruin this for you. But just so we’re clear, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for my band—and for me.”

  Why did that statement bother her so much? It shouldn’t matter. It’s just that at one time he’d have done anything for her.

  Never mind. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. She was Avery Lind, the new national voice of country radio. She dug down and pulled out the persona that had gotten her here.

  The man sitting across from her was just one more test. A test she would pass, just like she’d passed all the others.

  She looked up at the clock and caught Matt’s eyes. She made a zipping motion across her lips and counted down from three on her fingers. The ‘on-air’ sign lit up and her familiar intro played and faded into the background.

  “Good morning country music fans,” she said into the microphone, letting a little of her Oklahoma twang slither through. To her ears she sounded natural, relaxed. She’d practiced this opening hundreds of times. She glanced at Ajay, and he gave her a thumbs up. “If you’re a regular listener to the Avery Lind Show, you know today is a big day. Today, we get to share our love of country music with listeners across the country.

  “We might have a few more people tuned in this morning, but our commitment to interviews, concert reviews, and quality music remains unchanged. However, most days Ajay and I—Ajay Bansal is my longtime producer and friend—say hello Ajay—soak up that luscious accent—are not going to be alone in the studio anymore. Starting today, we’re bringing in country’s biggest and rising stars to spend more time with us. We’re giving you what no other show offers, a chance to really get to know the people behind the music.

  “Today we’re thrilled”—she caught Matt rolling his eyes— “to have one of those rising stars. Matt Taylor, member of country a cappella group, Storyhill, and fresh off a sold-out show at the Ryman, joins us in studio today. Matt, good morning.”

  She motioned for Matt to continue the conversation.

  “Good morning, Avery. Or is it still the middle of the night?”

  She forced out a laugh. “I realize it is early for you musician types, but much of our audience is up getting ready for work or getting their kids ready for school.”

  “Poor kids. My mom had to resort to filling a skillet full of bacon and making sure it wafted toward my bedroom to get me out of bed.”

  She laughed. For real this time. She remembered his mom joking about investing in companies that produced bacon—and almost said so.

  Her smile dropped, he followed suit.

  “I know you were expecting Addison May,” he continued effortlessly. “Unfortunately, she has laryngitis and now you’re stuck with me. I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.”

  Stuck with him. There’d been a time when that had been her dream. She pinched her thigh and willed her attention back to the show. She ran a finger down the page of bullets about Storyhill and stopped at one, tapping her finger.

  “If you are one of the million people who’ve viewed Storyhill’s videos on YouTube, you know this man is hardly disappointing.”

  His expression shifted to something unfamiliar, but his voice came out steady and smooth. “And I sing as good as I look.”

  He laughed, but not enough had changed that she didn’t know it was fake.

  She shook off the desire to make sure he was okay. “We’re going to hear all about Matt’s experience at the Ryman last night, but first let’s sample a couple of tracks from Storyhill’s first all-original album.”

  Avery clicked her mouse and slid a headphone off one ear.

  “Nice crack about how I look,” Matt said, scrubbing his hand down his face.

  “Isn’t that the secret to your success?” She meant it to be teasing, but it came out sharp.

  “What would you know about my success? You bolted before I even got started.”

  She stiffened. She supposed she deserved that, but she didn’t have the luxury of letting this conversation escalate. “Looks like we both did okay for ourselves,” she said, trying to pull this conversation back from the edge. “In fact, that is a great place to start. “In”—she eyed her computer monitor— “eighty-seven seconds I’ll ask you some questions about where you got your start. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He didn’t look fine, but she didn’t have time to worry about it.

  “Welcome back. I’m here with Matt Taylor from the band, Storyhill. We just listened to a couple of the group’s newest songs. They sound great, Matt.”

  “Thanks. Written by my band brother, Andrew Hayes and songwriting royalty, Grace O’Connor.”

  “Well, they clearly make a good team.”

  Matt nodded. “So good in fact, that they got engaged onstage last night at the Ryman.”

  So that was the proposal Celeste mentioned. Avery quickly pulled up Storyhill’s Instagram account. A screen full of pictures flashed up. Photos of the proposal at the Ryman. Photos of the group’s bass and the songwriter who broke her silence after the death of her husband to write for Matt’s band. She should ask about that. It would be the easier thing to do. But her
curiosity about Matt overwhelmed her judgement.

  “We’ll get to that proposal. It’s clearly gone viral,” she said, sounding like she knew all about it. “But you’re here, let’s get to know you. Our listeners love a good origin story. Inspire us. Tell us about the path that brought your band to the Ryman last night.”

  “I’m a bit of a late bloomer,” Matt said, pulling the pop filter and microphone closer to his mouth without dropping his gaze from hers. “I didn’t really get started in the business until after I graduated from college. I went to the University of Oklahoma, majoring in—wait, don’t I remember reading you also went to O.U.?”

  Avery narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I did. But we’re not here to talk about me.”

  “I bet your story is inspirational too.” Matt raised an eyebrow, a clear challenge.

  Avery laughed. Inspirational is not the word she would choose. “I have a strict rule here at the Avery Lind Show, I don’t spill my secrets until the guest spills theirs.”

  “Do you have secrets, Amy—Avery?”

  Long ago memories wrapped their fingers around her chest and squeezed. Secrets? Oh, she had secrets all right. Was that why Matt had showed up in her studio today? So that she could finally unburden herself. She normally didn’t believe in serendipity, but . . .

  “I want to hear about Dollywood,” Ajay interjected, snapping Avery back to the present. She’d gone silent. Thank goodness Ajay never let dead air happen.

  Matt seamlessly picked up the thread, shooting Avery a look that said he’d circle back around. His voice crackled through her headphones, muted by her swirling thoughts. Single words and short phrases punctuated the fog. Pigeon Forge. Dinner theater. Buy the album. Post questions at @AveryLindShow.

  She tried to string them together, but the word ‘secret’ silenced all the other words. Was Matt fishing? Or looking for confirmation? Had he found out? No. No, that wasn’t possible. The only person who knew was Momma, and she’d be the last person to spill Avery’s secrets.

  “Avery?”

  She jumped, her eyes flashing to the man standing beside her. “What are you doing in here?” she asked her producer. He was on the wrong side of the glass.

  “I cued up a few more cuts from the Storyhill album.”

  She scanned the studio, her eyes landing on Matt’s empty chair.

  “I sent him to get coffee,” Ajay said, reading her thoughts. “What is going on with you?” he whispered. “I’ve never had to cover for you, much less twice. If I do it again, Celeste will be in here.”

  She blinked up at him. Matt and Ajay were carrying her show—her newly syndicated show. She needed to snap out of it. Now.

  “I’m fine, Ajay,” she lied. “Just first day jitters.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her. “Your first day of jitters ever?”

  Avery snorted. “Maybe?” The anxiety that plagued her disappeared the minute the ‘on-air’ light illuminated—and they both knew it. “Don’t worry, I got this. Really,” she added. She pasted on a smile designed to be reassuring, but based on Ajay’s expression, she failed miserably.

  “Sure, boss,” he said, sounding anything but sure.

  She’d just have to prove him wrong. “How long is this break?”

  “Two songs, one’s already played, and four ads. About five minutes remaining.”

  “Great,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll grab another cup of coffee, and I’ll be back to my normal charming self.”

  “Charming? You better make that coffee a double . . . or a triple,” he said, poking her shoulder.

  She smirked. “Hey, I do a great imitation of charming.”

  She moved to exit the studio and turned directly into the man who was melting her brain.

  He shoved a cup at her. “A splash of cream and two sugars. Unless that has changed, too.”

  Her eyes traveled from his face to the cup and back again. She shouldn’t be surprised, he’d always paid attention to the details.

  “No,” she said, taking the cup, “that’s still the same. Thank you. And I’m sorry about the last segment.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “I spaced out there for a couple of minutes.”

  He smirked. “No worries. It’s not the first time someone’s been distracted by all this.” He gestured to his face and body.

  “So humble.” She punched him in the arm. And ran into solid muscle. It took everything in her not to wrap her hand around his bicep and squeeze. “Plus, I’ve seen it all before. Nothing new for me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow but remained silent.

  Why had she said that? Fire rushed up her chest and warmed her face. Way to keep it professional, Avery.

  “I guess the magnitude of going national got to me for a bit,” she blurted, trying to backpedal.

  “Forty-five seconds,” Ajay announced, saving her again.

  Matt reached for her, wrapping his fingers around her forearm.

  She fought the urge to yank her arm away. He really needed to stop touching her. Why did he still have this effect on her?

  “You’re doing great, Mac. I’m sure no one noticed.”

  She noticed and that was all that mattered. She needed to shut down the Matt Taylor memories. And the touches. And the nicknames.

  She ignored his compliment and dropped into her chair. A long list of listener questions popped up on her monitor—enough topics for the balance of the show. Thank you, Ajay. She could follow this trail of breadcrumbs, no heavy thinking required.

  She pushed the slider to bring up her microphone. “Welcome back. If you are just joining us or are new to our program, I’m Avery Lind and in the studio with me today is Matt Taylor, one-fifth of the country a cappella band, Storyhill.

  “Matt, it looks like you’ve struck a chord—pardon the pun—with our listeners. We’ve received a lot of questions, but there is a clear winner. Country music fans are curious whether you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” Much as she hated to admit it, they weren’t the only ones.

  He stared at her until she squirmed under his gaze.

  “You’re quiet, Mr. Taylor. Is it taking you that long to count all your girlfriends?”

  He chuckled. “I never was very good at math,” he said, expertly evading her question. “But, no, I currently do not have a significant other. Though if it would help the show’s ratings, I’d be happy to set up an application process. Should interested candidates tweet you?”

  Oh no, he didn’t. He did not just suggest she vet his next lover. “That’s sounds like a full-time job, and I already have one of those.”

  “Too bad,” he said, clearly biting back a smile. “Maybe a less complicated question, then?”

  Avery scrolled through the questions. Was it normal for him to receive so many marriage proposals? “Let’s see if I can find one,” she said, buying time. “Okay, here’s one. How did you come to be a member of Storyhill?” That seemed innocuous enough.

  “The guys found me via YouTube. I went through a bad break-up right after graduating from college.” His eyes locked on hers and all the air siphoned from her lungs. “I channeled the pain and emptiness into music. I wrote a few songs, covered a lot more, and posted the videos to YouTube. They found the videos and asked me to audition.”

  So not innocuous at all.

  Steady, Avery. “It sounds like this break-up enabled your career. Something good coming out of something bad, right?” If he agreed, her plan had worked. Please agree.

  “I don’t think that’s exactly how I’d describe it.”

  No way she was asking him to unpack that—on national radio.

  “Let’s bring this back around to music. Do you have a favorite song on this new album?”

  Matt’s shoulders slumped, but he answered the question and talked about how the group worked with their new songwriter. Nothing loaded. Nothing hinting at their history.

  And that’s the way it went for the final hour, a little music followed by listene
r questions until Ajay announced the successful end of their first ever syndicated show.

  She dropped her headphones on the desk and sighed. She’d done it. She’d taken the first step to making herself a national name. And she’d done it with Matt Taylor across the mic from her. If she could do it in this circumstance, she could do it no matter the challenge.

  Celeste appeared at the door with champagne and red plastic cups. “Time to celebrate,” she said, lofting the bottle. “Join me in the break room?”

  Chapter Four

  Celeste sent the cork bouncing off the break room walls, and Avery wanted nothing more than to rip the bottle from her hands, tip it back, and let the bubbles flow down her throat. But that would signify she was out of control. And Avery Lind was never out of control. Well, not on the outside, anyway.

  She’d never run a marathon, but she expected this is what it felt like at the finish line. A sense of accomplishment anchored by extreme exhaustion.

  Thankfully, it was over. A couple of sips of champagne, some cursory words, and she’d escape out the back door. Matt Taylor would go back to being just a memory.

  Celeste poured the champagne, the foam effervescing over the side of the first cup, pooling onto the laminate table below. She passed out the glasses and lifted hers in the air. “To an absolutely amazing first syndicated show!”

  Amazing? Maybe Matt was right. Maybe no one had noticed her missteps.

  “I have reservations for the four of us this evening at Chez Louis, but until then—”

  Wait, what?

  “Four?” Avery asked, taking a sip, and paying attention to each bubble pop on her tongue.

  “Oh, yes, Matt”—Celeste turned to him—“I hope you can join us.”

  Avery swallowed her midday champagne. She needed to pace herself, but Celeste wasn’t making it easy. “I’m sure Matt is busy this evening.”

  “Nope. I’m completely open,” he said, turning to the station manager and blessing her with one of his signature smiles.

  Seriously? Did this man have more teeth than the average person? If she had a dollar for each time she’d seen him get out of trouble with nothing more than that smile, she’d . . . she’d . . . well, she wouldn’t have had to work so hard for this opportunity. At one time it was cute, now it was just annoying.