“Oh, I understand.” She looked him in the eye. “I intend to help you make your decision. And choose us, of course.”
“Intriguing.” His lips quirked and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips for real.
“Song of the Heart is a reality show.” His voice gave her a tiny shiver up her back. “Ten singer-songwriter contestants live together in a luxury setting, write songs and compete for a million-dollar music contract.”
“I love it,” she said.
“I’m very familiar with reality shows. We can help yours be a success,” Jeff said as a nod to his past career as the host of Secrets and Sheets, a hidden camera critique of luxury hotels. “Let’s look at the resort blueprints and see where the contestants would spend their time and where you could set up the camera crews. The resort will be ready for guests in eight months, but if your show needs it earlier, Harper Industries will make it work...”
As Jeff talked, Nicolas studied the plans while Chloe studied him.
He had a cropped beard and his hair was dark, thick and cut short. His shoulders were broad. Her schoolgirl crush had matured, but his gaze still had the power to turn her insides to mush.
Nicky M had always been more than a poster boy to her. She’d fancied herself a singer-songwriter once and had truly appreciated Nicky M’s talent. He’d drawn a young, scared girl out of her dark place and lit up her imagination. He’d lifted her heart with his lovely words and beautiful melodies. She owed him more than he’d ever know.
But she didn’t have any business fantasizing about Nicolas now. She wasn’t hooking up with anyone until she got her own life under control. She had to learn how to love herself before she could love anyone else. Until that happened? She wasn’t sleeping with any man. Not even super sexy Nicky M. She had a job to do.
Her father had tasked her with showing their guest all that Plunder Cove had to offer so that he’d agree to film his show at the new resort. Her dad’s exact words were, “Don’t let the man leave without signing the contract, Chloe. I’m counting on you.”
She’d been desperate to please her father her entire life and had failed at every turn. A small part of her still wondered if that was why he’d banished her from Plunder Cove years ago, sending her to live with her mother after the divorce—because she wasn’t good enough to be a Harper.
In the past, her parents had crushed her spirit. They’d broken her family, sent her away and taken away the music she’d loved. But she’d found her own path through yoga, and she was doing everything she could to heal herself. She’d even returned home not too long ago and reestablished a relationship with her older brothers. She was determined to prove she was worthy of her family’s famous name.
She wouldn’t fail at this.
How hard could it be to keep her hands and lips to herself and get a man to sign a few pieces of paper?
Even if he was the sexiest man on the planet.
* * *
Nicolas stopped listening to Jeff Harper’s spiel about the building plans the moment he noticed the gostosa eyeing him.
The gorgeous activities director had a stunning figure. A brown skirt molded to her hips like dark chocolate on a strawberry. Her red crepe blouse dipped low in the back and was not quite see-through but made him want to strain his vision. The long blond braid intrigued him, but it was her aquamarine eyes that really got to him. When they locked on to his, he saw golden feathers within the blue irises. Amazing and deeply magnetic.
Strange. He wasn’t usually so poetic. Not anymore. “The resort will be ready in time for your show.” Jeff’s voice drew Nicolas’s gaze away from Chloe. “We guarantee it.”
Of course he’d say that. The man was a Harper. RW Harper, Jeff’s father, had the reputation for being a scheming, sneaky bastard. But also a savvy one. This hotel empire would be the most luxurious one in the nation, maybe the world. That was why Nicolas was here. He was after a contract for a big beautiful property to showcase his show. Funny, in the past he would have been looking for a quiet, beautiful spot on the beach to sit and write music. He wouldn’t be on the phone or in meetings making deals, no, he would have been making music. Those days were over. He’d moved from making his own songs to making stars.
“That’s about it. I’d better get back to the site. I’ll leave you in Chloe’s capable hands.” Jeff walked out the door, leaving Nicolas alone with the beauty.
She stepped closer, moving with the poise and grace of a dancer. He was fully aware of her soft curves and was intrigued by the toned muscles in her arms and back. She had an athlete’s body.
“I’ll show you to your room,” she said.
Nicolas enjoyed the sound of her voice. It had a rich, pure tone, with a slight emotional crack in it—fragility mixed with strength. Leather and lace.
“As the man said.” Nicolas grinned. “I am in your hands.”
“I’ll do my best to handle your, uh...” A pretty pink blush traveled up her neck. She cleared her throat. “...needs.”
He looked forward to seeing what her best was.
She led him down the hallway, her stride matching his. “I like the concept of your show, Nicky—excuse me—Mr. Medeiros.”
“Nicolas. I do, too. I support singer-songwriters and am looking for talent that is different, unique.”
“Brilliant,” she sighed. “Helping young artists is exactly what I thought you’d do when you got old.” She covered her mouth. Her pretty eyes were wide. “I mean, you’re not old now, just, you know, mature. Handsome.”
“Thanks.” She was a tongue-tied and adorable fan. He was used to woman falling over themselves around him, but he wanted Chloe to relax and treat him like a regular guy. He smiled. “People gave me a hand when I got started. I work hard to give back to the industry.”
They passed a grand hall. Soft music played in the background. When they walked under one of the largest chandeliers he’d ever seen, the fractured light cast dancing stars across the tiled floors. Enchanting, yet hard to compare to the brilliance in Chloe’s blue eyes. She led the way up a winding stairway, her beaded sandals snapping with each step. He noticed her toenail polish. Purple. His favorite color. His gaze traveled from those beautiful feet up to her toned legs.
Santa Mãe, she had a great figure. He wouldn’t mind spending time with this beauty, nothing serious, of course, just short-term, hot sex.
“You’ve such a lyrical gift for storytelling. Those contestants are lucky to have an amazing songwriter like you to mentor them,” she said.
He used to have the gift, but the muse had left him without any good stories to tell. Now he made money, not poetry. He was okay with that, and if he sometimes missed songwriting, he just reminded himself of how far he’d come. His success was worth the price of any small dissatisfactions. He would never go hungry again. But why tell her all that?
Instead he said, “Thank you.”
Did she know how he’d been discovered? Most of the tabloids had reported some version of the truth. None knew all the nightmarish details about why he’d spent every moment from age ten to this day supporting his mother and four sisters. Singing was the only thing he had been able to do to repay his bottomless debt. Every penny he’d made went to his family. Until he’d had more than any of them would ever need.
And yet somehow it never felt like enough.
Still his mãe loved it when he sang and he loved to make her smile. “Your songs are made of stardust, Nicky,” his mother had said as her tiny cracked fingers hand-washed clothes for other families. “A blessing from the saints!”
An American music manager had seen him perform for tourists on Ipanema Beach and promised to make him a star. He’d been sixteen then, full of drive and blind trust. He’d allowed the manager to record him, and the first song hit all the charts. Nicky M was a sudden sensation. He flew to California on the back o
f that one song, trusting that riches were right around the corner. He’d planned to buy his family a home and get them out of the slums. Mãe wouldn’t have to work so hard and his sisters could focus on school.
It was a poor-boy success story. The tabloids loved it.
But they hadn’t printed the whole truth. How could they? Some secrets were too shameful to tell.
The manager he’d trusted siphoned money from Nicolas’s bank accounts until there had been nothing left. Only months after leaving home, he’d been sixteen, scared and alone in a country where he barely spoke the language. There was no money to send home. He didn’t have enough funds for an airline ticket. His mother and young sisters had been forced to find extra jobs cleaning rich people’s homes to survive. They all went hungry.
The experience had hardened him.
It was the first of many painful disappointments. The industry battered him and taught him the most important lessons of his life: people lie, steal and use one another to get what they want.
It had taken cunning, luck and persistence to move from a pop star to the music producer who called the shots.
Nicolas trusted no one but himself. He worked his ass off to stay at the top. In those early years, lyrics had swelled up from deep within him, and music pulsed through his bloodstream. He had the natural ability to create eternal truths that people loved to listen to. He didn’t have to work at writing music. It just happened, like breathing. The press had called him “the greatest Latin songwriter of our time.”
But songwriting had become music production, the business, and star-making. He’d exchanged lyrics for the constant buzz of his phone, the high of making millions on others’ stories.
And then...the music stopped.
The stardust had blown away, and the silence was like a death. He didn’t have time to grieve the loss. Instead he spent every waking moment looking for the next star. He’d found fame, money, women—a lifestyle most people could only imagine.
There was no joy in it. But he told himself joy didn’t make millions.
“Mr. Medeiros, we’re going to be together a lot this week...” He wanted to imagine the breathiness in her voice wasn’t solely from walking up the stairs. “I feel, um, I should tell you something.”
He leaned closer. “Chloe has a secret?”
Her blue eyes shimmered. “I had a tiny crush on you when I was a girl.”
Every now and then his past came in handy, especially when a beautiful woman seemed to appreciate his talent. Or, at least, the talent he used to have. Maybe this sexy blonde with the long braid and “kiss me” lips still remembered who he used to be.
They were on the landing on the top floor.
He pressed his hand to his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Only tiny? Not a man-size crush?”
“Honestly, it was more than tiny.” She chuckled. He loved the richness of the sound. “I named my iguana after you. Little Nicky M.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Was he a handsome lizard?”
“Very. A red iguana with pretty eyes. Almost as amazing as yours.”
Perhaps she would be his beautiful distraction for a few days. He needed a break and sleeping with a sexy fan would help him feel like himself, not the high-powered producer, for a while.
“We are going to get along fine, Chloe. Remind me to thank RW.” It was a stroke of genius to send Chloe his way. But if Harper thought a sexy woman would drive Nicolas wild enough to instantly sign a contract, the man was wrong.
Nicolas could be as ruthless as RW when it came to the music business.
“Oh, no. My father can’t know!”
Father? “You are a Harper, too?”
“Yes. I thought you knew. Didn’t I say so? Sorry. I got a little excited when we met.” She bit her lip. “Way too excited. Even now I’m having trouble—” she fanned herself “—getting my words out. Which is exactly why my father might not want me to work with you. If he knew about my huge...” Her gaze dipped toward Nicolas’s crotch and bounced back up to his eyes again. Her cheeks flushed. “Uh, infatuation. When I was younger.”
He spoke, his words low. “It will be our secret, then.”
“I’ll be completely professional with you—I promise.” She crossed her heart, which had the effect of drawing his gaze to her chest.
“Que pena. Are you sure there’s not any infatuation left?” Stepping closer, he looked into her eyes and pinched the air with his thumb and forefinger. “A flicker?”
Her breath hitched. She tried to play it straight, but her full lips seemed to want to turn up of their own accord. He liked the dimples in her cheeks. They reminded him of sideways smiles, and he had the urge to caress one of them with the back of his hand.
She blinked, clearly flustered. “A flicker, sure, but I want you to trust that I’ll be...”
“Professional?” he finished for her.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. The way her gaze locked on to his told him she was into him, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
He noticed they’d stopped in front of a door. “Is this my room?”
“Yes.” She took a key ring out of her pocket, unlocked a door and held it for him to step inside. “Mine is just down the hall. Let me know if there is anything you need.”
When he passed her, he inhaled the coconut scent of her shampoo. Did she taste as good as she smelled?
She licked her bottom lip as if she’d heard his thoughts.
The suite had a large sitting room, wet bar, overstuffed leather couch, full-size desk and large patio.
“There is something I need,” he said circling back to her.
He could hear her swallow. “Name it.”
Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms. “A date for dinner tonight. Will you be mine?”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Me?”
He was thoroughly intrigued by the blush traveling up her neck. What was she thinking? Whatever it was, he liked it. He usually avoided starstruck fans, but she was too tempting for his usual caution.
“Yes, gata, you.”
She blinked. “Did you call me a cat?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Gata is a term of endearment in Brazil. Gatinha, as well, which means kitty. Would you prefer I say sexy?”
“Gata,” she tried the word on for size. “I like it.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Pure heat flashed between them.
He wanted to kiss her. Tasting a stranger was nothing new for him. Women still threw themselves at him. Wild hookups came with the territory as a musician. As a producer, he still had his pick of women, though he was careful not to mix business with pleasure. He enjoyed sex. But as he’d gotten older, he started to think he was missing something—a real life with deep, loving relationships.
But he wasn’t the picket fence, loving wife and two kids in the yard kind of a guy. He’d left Hollywood for Plunder Cove because of the show and because he had a rather public breakup with a supermodel. It was better for him to stick with short-and-sweet-while-it-lasted flings. A pretty blonde fan might be exactly what he needed right now.
“Seven o’clock?” he pressed.
Her lips parted but no words came out. Some emotion he couldn’t read passed over her face. Worry? Sadness?
Droga. Was she going to decline?
“Say yes, Chloe.”
“Nicolas, there’s something I should tell you...” she began in a tone that did not bode well for him.
His phone rang. “Merda,” he cursed. “Sorry. Give me a moment to take this.”
To his disappointment, Chloe used the phone distraction as her chance to walk away from him. For some reason, that hurt.
Just before his door closed, she said the word he desperately needed to hear.
“Yes.”
Copyright © 2019 b
y Kimberley Troutte
ISBN-13: 9781488046629
From Mistake to Millions
Copyright © 2019 by Andrea Laurence
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
From Mistake to Millions Page 16
