The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  Then she pulled her hand back, laid it over her heart, and in the snarkiest, most over-the-top dramatic way possible, said, “You had me at ungrateful dick.”

  He couldn’t help but bark out a big, booming, gut-busting laugh. The sound of it shocked even him. He hadn’t laughed like that in, shit, had it been years? Probably.

  Another thing he had Kendall to thank for.

  He started to do just that, but stopped when he caught her staring at his mouth. And she wasn’t laughing. She looked hungry. As hungry as he felt for her.

  There was really only one way this was going to end. And that was with her naked, flat on her back, and spread out on his dining room table on top of all of her meticulous research like a buffet.

  Then? Regret. Lots and lots of regret.

  Jackson cleared his throat, which seemed to snap her out of her stupor. She blinked up at him a few times, before giving him a tight smile.

  “The rescue event is step two in my master plan,” she said. “Are you ready to discuss step three?”

  Nope. Not even a little. “Sure. Why not?”

  Chapter 16

  Ray had already told her that step three of her plan was going to be the biggest hurdle.

  Jackson hadn’t performed live in a really long time. And the whole time he had been performing live, he’d either been high as a kite or drunk off his ass. It was amazing he’d been able to sing a note on stage in the state he’d been in while touring with Maelstrom.

  Ray wasn’t sure if he still played the guitar regularly, or if he even sang in the shower anymore. And even if she could get him to go along with it, this part of the plan was dicey.

  And dicey was assuming everything went right. If not? Dumpster fire was probably closer to the truth.

  But things were going her way tonight, so why not push her luck a little? Hell, she’d even made him laugh. That had to count for something, right?

  Other than making her wet, of course.

  Jackson raised a brow at her expectantly. Ah, yes, the plan.

  She cleared her throat. “For the live entertainment portion of the event. We’ll bring in some great local bands. And…”

  The brow inched up a little more. “You aren’t planning a Maelstrom reunion, are you? I’m pretty sure none of those guys ever want to speak to me again, let alone take the stage with me.”

  “Oh, God, no.” She shook her head. The logistics of working that out would be horrifying. She shuddered. “We don’t want the attention on Maelstrom, anyway. We want the spotlight on you. I’m thinking just you, a guitar, and a couple of cover songs. Four songs, tops.”

  He rubbed his jaw like he was thinking it over, which Kendall took as a good sign. At least he hadn’t started yelling at her yet.

  “What songs were you thinking?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you want. Anything that can be stripped down to just one guitar, preferably acoustic. I don’t even want backup singers or other musicians near you on that stage. Is that a problem?”

  Do you still play? Can you still play? Can you even still carry a tune after all these years?

  But she kept those questions to herself. She’d just have to trust that if he couldn’t do this, he’d tell her.

  Not that trust was easy for her these days. It at least seemed worth a try in this instance, though.

  Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, looking a little irritated, a little nervous, and all kinds of hot. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Shouldn’t be made her edgy. She wasn’t going to lie.

  “When are you thinking you can pull this whole thing together?” he asked.

  “Normal promoters? A year, minimum. Me? I can do it in a few weeks.”

  Cocky? Yes. Ambitious? Hell yes. True?

  You bet your ass she could pull this off.

  She’d have to call in every last favor she had in the entertainment industry, but she’d get it done. She didn’t have a choice. Not with both her career and Jackson’s hanging in the balance.

  That brow inched up again. “Weeks? All this in a few weeks?”

  No hesitation. “Yep.”

  “And you want me to have up to four songs, stripped down and stage-ready in a few weeks? When I haven’t played live in fifteen years?”

  Tiny little hesitation. “Yep.”

  He stared at her for a solid minute like she’d just sprouted a second head. Then he blew out a harsh breath and said, “You swing for the fences, Kendall Quinn. I’ll give you that.”

  She gave him a sheepish shrug. “I’ve been told it’s endearing?”

  “By who?”

  “Um…my mom. Maybe my nanna one time?”

  There was that laugh again. The one that seemed to shoot like an arrow from his mouth, right to her panties. “OK, fine,” he finally said. “I’ll do it. Four songs. No more.”

  She raised her right hand. “Hand to God, that’s all you’ll need to do. I’ll take care of everything else. It’ll be great.”

  He held his hand out to her, and when she took it, lightning shot straight up her arm. How the hell did he do that to her? She’d met plenty of celebrities before. No one else had ever given her lightning arm. And she’d met Hugh Jackman, for fuck’s sake!

  “We have a deal,” he said, giving her hand a shake.

  “Deal,” she agreed. “Trust me. I can do this, Jackson.”

  “I believe you, Kendall.”

  Wow. She’d finally earned his trust. This was momentous. And humbling. Probably the biggest victory she’d ever had with a client.

  Now all she had to do was not fuck it all up.

  And, of course, not fuck her client.

  Kendall crossed her legs. Hard.

  Chapter 17

  The next couple of weeks were grueling. Kendall questioned her sanity many, many times. But everything was coming together exactly as planned.

  She had a great local band lined up for the event. Everyone in town adored them, and when she met with them and heard a few of their songs, Kendall had been impressed.

  And Kendall was not easy to impress. So, she’d signed them on right away.

  Then, she’d cashed in about a hundred favors to line up merchandise vendors and food trucks. She’d also made a bold decision not to have alcohol at the event, which could backfire horribly (if the live entertainment didn’t go over well). But it also saved a ton of money and enough logistical headaches to make Kendall feel pretty good about taking the risk and making it a “dry” event.

  Contacting shelters had been the easiest and most rewarding part of the whole process. Every shelter she contacted was more than happy to participate. A few employees had even cried when she’d told them that the old dogs, disabled dogs, and so-called “un-adoptable” dogs would be welcome.

  Lining up transportation to get the dogs there wasn’t a problem, either. Her cousin owned a trucking company, and most of his employees were animal lovers who were happy to donate their time to give dogs their ride to freedom. And most of Jackson’s employees had readily volunteered to transport in-state dogs from all over Montana to the event.

  Port-O-Potties, clean-up crews, parking attendants, and security guards were all lined up. The local cops were onboard to help direct traffic. And her ads for the event across social media were drawing huge numbers, and were being widely shared by all of the event participants. Ticket sales climbed so fast it made Kendall’s head spin. Pretty soon, she’d have to announce that they were sold out.

  Kendall worked full, twelve-hour days, and in the daytime, she didn’t see Jackson once. He spent as much time working on his set list in his basement studio as she spent on her phone. But at night?

  Ah…at night.

  The evenings were the very best parts of her days. Because that’s when she’d finally take off her headset, put on her comfy pants, and crawl onto the couch to recover from the day—and Jackson would join her.

  They never talked about the event. They never talked about his set list. They
just…talked. About everything and nothing.

  She heard all about his childhood, and about how he’d stumbled into fame after Maelstrom was discovered playing an open mic night at a West Texas dive bar.

  He told her all about his recovery process, and how it was sometimes still hard not to turn to drugs or alcohol when things went wrong in his life.

  He listened while she told him all about her rotten luck with men, which dated back to her first date at age fourteen when Lyle Laundry ate too many Twizzlers at the movie theatre and puked on her favorite ballet flats.

  Then he rubbed her back while she cried talking about losing her nanna to lung cancer when she was nineteen. And he confessed to not feeling much of anything but relief when his abusive father died of cirrhosis.

  They talked about silly stuff, like their fantasy “free hall pass” choices. The celebrity he’d sleep with if given the option? Halle Berry. Hers? One hundred percent Jensen Ackles.

  Kendall now realized that it had only taken Jackson Hale a couple of short weeks to worm his way completely into her heart. He now knew more about her than any man who’d ever been in her life. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

  And the sexual tension that always sizzled between them?

  Stronger. Then. Ever.

  When this event was over and Jackson was well on his way to getting the job of his dreams, she was going to have to tell him how she was feeling. She couldn’t keep up the charade of being nothing more than his PR manager for much longer. She was already way more attached to him than was strictly professional, and it was only getting worse.

  Was it even possible that he felt the same way?

  With her luck? It sure as hell didn’t seem likely.

  And if not, well, she supposed she’d just have to blow that bridge up when she got to it.

  Chapter 18

  Kendall Quinn had been a damn drill sergeant in a past life. There was no other explanation for it.

  When she said jump, a legion of workers asked, “How high?” When she told them to make the impossible happen, they said, “Yes, sir!”

  Jackson was a little ashamed to say he’d had a moment of skepticism when she said she could pull this whole thing off in a few weeks. But she’d come through, and she’d made the whole thing look easy.

  It was damned impressive, really.

  She was damned impressive.

  What should have been chaos was running like a well-oiled machine, and the little lady with the headset and clipboard was in complete control of it all.

  Every inch of his farm was packed with people. News crews, pet owners, pet lovers, people looking to adopt dogs, music fans, folks just looking for something to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon…they were all here. They’d come from far and wide, and they were adopting dogs like Jackson had never seen before.

  The day was only half over, and most of the imported shelter dogs and every one of his dogs had already been adopted. Well, except for Howard Hughes, of course. He still refused to come out of his house to see anyone. But that was OK. He couldn’t blame him. There was a lot going on. If Jackson could crawl into a tiny house and hide, he probably would.

  But that wasn’t an option for him. Not when Kendall had him in front of a reporter every five minutes, talking about the shelter and the importance of adopting versus shopping.

  The interviews weren’t really bothering him, though. It was the upcoming performance that was hanging over his head like the grim scepter of death.

  He’d be following a local band who had a sizable fan base, closing out the live entertainment portion of the evening. And even though he’d been practicing nonstop for the past few weeks, the thought of getting out on that stage—in front of thousands of people—had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

  He’d been so sure of his song choices. But now, shit, he wasn’t sure of anything. Maybe he should’ve worked out some songs he could play on the piano instead of the guitar. He could hide behind a piano—physically and musically. A piano could be manipulated to cover up missed and sour vocal notes. A guitar couldn’t. With a guitar, he was totally exposed.

  Jackson glanced at his watch. And he was going to be totally exposed in less than an hour.

  Fucking great.

  It wasn’t too late. He could still back out. If Kendall could pull all of this together, surely she could get him a meeting with the studio without him having to perform in front of a live audience.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Jackson turned as Ray slapped a hand on his shoulder in greeting.

  “Don’t even think about what?” he asked.

  Ray made a pfffttt sound. “I know you better than you know yourself. You’re thinking about bailing on the performance.”

  Jackson glanced out at the gathering audience from his spot backstage, behind the curtain. “I was not,” he lied.

  Ray straightened his T-shirt, which said, “I love dogs more than people” across his chest, and raised an incredulous brow at him. “You’re full of shit. You’re ready to run. I can see it all over this stupidly perfect face of yours.”

  What a stupid, perceptive jerk his brother was. “It’s been a while since I’ve performed anywhere, Ray,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

  “You’ve tanked performances before,” Ray reminded him, completely unnecessarily. “Everyone has. What are you afraid of?”

  I don’t want to let her down.

  The thought popped into his head, catching him completely unaware. There were so many things about this performance that bothered him. It’d been such a long time since he’d had anything to lose. But as much as he’d love to say his nerves were related to losing an opportunity to get a meeting with the studio, now that he was standing here, talking to his stupid, perceptive jerk of a brother, he was finally able to see that he mostly just hated the thought of letting Kendall down.

  She had faith in him. This was a big deal for her, too. She’d worked so hard. If he went out on that stage and sucked, all her hard work would be wasted.

  And she’d stop looking at him like he was somebody she could be proud of.

  Disappointing her, letting her down, would be devastating.

  He had to shake this off, get his shit together fast, or he was going to ruin everything for both of them.

  Not going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

  But his song choices were all wrong. He was completely sure of that now. Kendall would know what he should play, but he’d stubbornly refused her help over the past couple of weeks. She had enough on her plate and didn’t need him clinging to her skirts like a scared kid.

  Ray handed him his 12-string. “Here. It was a little off, so I tuned it. It’s ready to go.”

  “Thanks, man.” He could do this. He could pull this off. All it’d take was the right song choices. It’d have to be stuff he knew by heart, but hell, he knew a lot of songs by heart. “Hey, what’s Kendall’s favorite song?”

  Ray frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m thinking of changing up my set a little.”

  His brows inched up into his hairline. “You’re going to change up your set less than an hour before you go on?”

  He shrugged, trying for an air of nonchalance that he totally wasn’t feeling. Fake it until you make it, right? “I used to do it all the time.”

  “And your band doesn’t speak to you anymore,” Ray reminded him dryly.

  “No band this time. It’s just me. I can do whatever I want.”

  Ray sighed and shook his head. “It’s true what they say. The pretty ones are always the craziest. So, do you want to know the song that she tells everyone is her favorite, or the one she’s ashamed to admit turns her on?”

  Well, wasn’t that the question of the hour?

  “Give me both. I’ll decide when I get out there.”

  Chapter 19

  Everything was going exactly to plan. The scheduling of this event was almost surgica
l in its precision.

  The news crews were salivating. Jackson had been charming and gorgeous and humble on camera while talking about the rescue and the importance of adopting over shopping for a pet. He’d done better than she ever could’ve imagined.

  She’d been ready to step in and rescue him if he got flustered, but he never did. He handled everything like he hadn’t been laying low in the middle of nowhere for the past fifteen years.

  So why did he look like he was going to puke?

  From her position backstage with Ray, she could see Jackson on the other side of stage, behind the curtain. He was pacing, appeared to be talking to himself, and looked like he was trying to choke the life out of the guitar he was carrying around by the neck.

  Was he afraid the audience wouldn’t be receptive or something?

  Kendall glanced out at the crowd. There were thousands of people out there, and they all seemed to be loving the local band that was currently onstage. Their music was kind of folksy, somewhat funky, but altogether cool and fun.

  Even without alcohol the crowd was cheering and swaying to the music. So, she couldn’t imagine Jackson was worried about a cold audience.

  “Ray,” she said, “why does Jackson look like he’s going to puke?”

  Ray stopped eye-fucking the band’s super-cute lead guitarist long enough to glance over at his brother. “Oh. Probably because he is. He has stage fright. Always has. It’s damn-near crippling, especially right before he goes on. Sometimes before a Maelstrom show, a roadie had to shove him out on stage. But he’s always fine once he gets out there. I’ll shove him if I have to.”

  Kendall’s eyes widened and her blood ran cold. “And no one thought to tell me this beforehand?”

  He looked down at her, smartass brow raised. “Why? He did it for years. He’ll do it tonight. He’s got this.”

  “You’re useless,” she grumbled, making her way around the stage to Jackson.

  It took a few minutes to work her way through the crowd, but when she eventually made it to him, her worry level ratcheted up several notches.