Entangled Hearts

ENTANGLED HEARTS

BY: Yahrah St. John

Entangled Hearts

Copyright © 2013 by Yahrah St. John. All rights reserved.

First SmashwordsEdition: 2013

 

Cover and Formatting:
Streetlight Graphics

 

This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To my right hand, assistant and friend Melonie Hancock.

 

Dear Reader,

 

Fans always ask me where my ideas come from. Well, the idea for the Harts of Arizona series came from chatting with a friend over dinner about a trip she and her husband took to a dude ranch. I sat on the idea for a couple of years and then decided on the twin's angle of trading places. I wanted to tell their love stories simultaneously rather than as 2 separate books and an e-book was the perfect vehicle. After writing for Arabesque and Harlequin for nearly 10 years, this is my first series on my own but I'm very excited about the stories ahead and thanks to some help from the folks at Westgate River Ranch, I hope will feel authentic. Given the complexities of the story, I turned Entangled Hearts into 2 volumes and ended Volume 1 with a teaser to leave readers dying to know what happens next. Entangled Hearts - Volume II will be forthcoming in December 2013. Thanks for your support.

 

Yahrah St. John

Chapter 1

“G
reat show, Chynna!”

“Way to go, Chynna!”

“Love your music.”

Chynna gave one of her megawatt smiles to the screams of adoring fans, who were calling out her name and giving her “attaboys” backstage at the Staples Center in early February. The adoration used to be the part of show business she loved zthe most, but over the years, her love for it all had started to fade. Too much time on the road, too many concerts, too many failed relationships, and she'd become jaded.

“Thank you, thank you.” Chynna stopped to sign autographs as she made her way down the long corridor to her dressing room, even though her bodyguards tried to spur her along.

“Just a second.” She gave a fan a huge hug, and the young girl took a photo with her cell phone.

Who would have ever thought I would've gotten this far?
She and her mother had traveled across Tennessee hitting every bar and nightclub hoping for “the big break” until, finally, she was discovered singing the national anthem in a mall in Memphis. She'd signed a record contract before she had time to think about signing with another agency. Her first single had hit the Billboard Hot 100 instantly and propelled her into superstardom. Her next four singles had hit the top of the charts, and her debut album had gone Platinum.

Then her second album had come. It was a departure from her artistic and highly acclaimed first album because Elias Ross, “Eli” for short, had pushed her into making songs that were more commercial. Eli was one of the owners of the record label and had appointed himself the head of artist development. His vision couldn't be further from what Chynna wanted, but she was still new to the business and tried to make every effort to get along. She didn't want to be considered a diva.

Chynna hadn't been happy about it.
Why change a good thing?
“The public wants more sex appeal, more heat,” they'd said. If she wanted to compete with the Beyoncés and Rihannas of the world, she had to up her game. And so she'd begun dressing in bustiers, stilettos and cut-out swimsuits and splashing around with hot guys in pools to sex up her image. She'd had to hit the gym hard with a personal trainer to keep herself fit and feel comfortable showing off that much skin.

Her next album had built on the success of the first two and had gone Multi-Platinum. Chynna James had her pulse on what was current, the industry had said. Now she was on a twenty-city tour promoting her third album, hoping to make it as successful as her previous work. The first two singles had already hit number one on the charts. And tonight, she'd debuted her third single. The crowd had seemed to enjoy the up-tempo song and had jumped to its feet and danced in the aisles of the stadium with Chynna and her male backup dancers.

Now the fans were complimenting her. “Loved the new single,” another fan yelled as she finally made it to Chynna's dressing room.

“Thank you.” Chynna smiled and slid inside the quiet of the room.

She glanced at all five foot six of herself in the mirror. Her big honey-blond hair was still holding up after a two-hour concert. Beads of perspiration dotted her overly made-up face. The outfit she wore was one of many spiked-out and bedazzled getups she paraded in onstage.

Penelope Banks, her personal assistant, handed her a towel and a bottle of Evian, which Chynna immediately started chugging. Then she wiped the sweat off her brow with the towel and tossed it aside.

“That was a great show,” her manager, Deacon Clark, said as he knocked on her dressing room door and entered without waiting for a response.

“Did you hear the applause? Apparently, they loved the new single,” Chynna responded, glancing up at him.

Deacon wasn't much in the looks department. He was bald, five foot seven with a slender build, and wore glasses; but he had a good heart. Deacon had been her manager from the beginning. When Eli had sent managers over for Chynna to interview, it was her mother who'd said Deacon was the one. And Chynna found him to be a straight shooter ever since.

“See?” Deacon said. “And you were worried it was too much of a dance single.”

“True, but I don't want the fans to forget that I can sing too.”

“And they won't,” Deacon promised.

Chynna didn't think that was true, but she dropped the subject. “What's on tap for tomorrow?”

“You have dance rehearsal for the music video for your second single, and you have reading of the script for the movie,” Penelope answered.

Penelope was one of many, from Deacon to her publicist, Fiona, who kept Chynna on task. How else would she remember the endless duties of being a Multi-Platinum phenomenon? Although taller than Chynna, Penelope was a full-figured black woman but was afraid to show it. She dressed simply in a silk blouse and trousers. Her only true sign of personality was that she kept her hair natural in funky twists, contrasting Chynna's endless weaves and wigs.

“Do I really?” Chynna sighed dramatically as she laid her head back on the sofa. For her first movie, she'd been given the coveted role of a down-on-her-luck superstar in need of a comeback. She'd been pushed into doing the film by the record label in order to expand her horizons and raise her profile. She wasn't very good at it because she didn't really like acting. Chynna suspected Eli had pulled strings to get her the gig over better, more established actresses. The gossip certainly was that there had been some shenanigans and Chynna wasn't up to snuff.

The film required her to be vulnerable yet gritty, and Chynna wasn't altogether sure she could do it; but if nothing else in this business, she'd learned to fake it until she made it.
So what if I'm not the best actress in the world?
She was taking acting lessons as instructed by Lucas Kingston, the man behind R&K Records. “R” stood for Eli Ross and “K” stood for Kingston.

“Yeah, you do,” Deacon stated firmly, backing up Penelope on Chynna's obligation to show up for the dance rehearsal and script reading.

“If you insist.” Chynna rolled her eyes upward.

“I do. Acting is the next logical step in your career and your brand. Your signature perfume is almost ready, and we're already in talks with a designer for your clothing line.”

“Now that idea,” Chynna said, pointing her finger at Deacon, “I love.” She'd always had an affinity for fashion, and her style was copied by millions of her fans.

“Good, because we'll need you to meet with them in a couple of weeks to review their designs,” Deacon replied.

“Good. Now leave me be so I can shower and get changed.”

Deacon departed, but Penelope remained behind long enough to say, “I've laid out your favorite velour jumpsuit.”

“Thanks, Penelope. You're a doll.” Chynna waved her hand so Penelope could depart.

After she left, Chynna let out a heavenly sigh. She was finally alone. She'd struggled getting through the concert, and her entire entourage was oblivious to the fact that she was burned out. She'd been on the road for the better part of the last two years, trying to get over Lamar Hobbs, the man who'd broken her heart. She was exhausted mentally and physically.

Lamar had been one of her backup singers, and Chynna hadn't noticed him at first because she'd been so focused on her first album and making it a success. But eventually, Lamar had wormed his way into her heart
and
her bed. With being discovered so young, she'd had very little time to date, so Lamar was her first real relationship. He had a sexy grin and a body for seduction. It had been all hard lines and angles, and the sex was so damn good. Lamar had been Chynna's first, which meant she'd fallen head over heels for his smoothing-talking ass.

She'd been devastated to learn he'd been playing her long enough to get ahead. Once he'd obtained his own record contract, he'd given her the kiss-off. His timing couldn't have been worse because she and her twin, Kenya, had learned their mother was dying of terminal cancer. Losing Lamar and her mother had been a double whammy, and Chynna had never taken the time to properly grieve. Eli had insisted the best way to avoid depression was to work on another album, so she'd thrown herself into her work. And now ... now Chynna wanted out, but how? She didn't see a way out, but when the time came, she would take it. The consequences be damned.

 

“Again.” The director, Carter Wright, motioned with his hands for Chynna to reread her lines on Monday afternoon. “For Christ's sake, I need more heart, Chynna. More passion.”

“I'm trying,” Chynna said, frustrated. She'd read through her scene twice already, and he still wasn't satisfied. She jumped out of her seat in the conference room where she and the entire cast were doing a read-through of the movie. She flipped over her chair in the process, then fled the room for some air. She heard the whispers of “diva” as she left.

Her co-star and love interest in the movie, Blake Cooper, followed her. Blake was classically handsome, with caramel-colored skin as smooth as a baby's bottom. He was over six feet tall with deep-set brown eyes, curly lashes and a killer smile. All the ladies adored Blake. He'd been named the sexiest man alive by
People
magazine the previous year and women were lined up to get next to him. Chynna wasn't one of them and that seemed to make Blake all the more interested in her. He was too clean-cut for her. She needed someone manly, a little more ... rugged.

Chynna glanced sideways at Blake as he followed her down the corridor. “You really needn't have followed me.”

“You looked upset,” Blake said, peering down at her.

Chynna kept walking until they were outside of earshot of any of the other actors. She stopped in front of the bench outside the production building and took a seat.

“I'm not upset,” Chynna stated emphatically. “I just don't understand what he's looking for.”

“Acting can be hard.” Blake touched her thigh as he sat down next to her. “You have to know when to be subtle and when to put it all on the line.”

“I thought that's what I was doing.”

“Hmm ... not so much,” Blake admitted. “But I would be willing to run lines with you in private if you'd like.”

“Is that so?” Chynna said, glancing up at him through mascara-coated eyelashes.

“I was nominated for a Golden Globe and SAG award last year,” Blake replied.

Chynna smiled. Actors were just like singers—you had to stroke their enormous egos. “Oh, that's right. Running lines might help, because Carter doesn't think I know anything. Maybe he's right.” It was the first time in her life she'd ever doubted herself. Music she knew. She knew what was expected of her, but acting was something different altogether. She wanted to be the best, but she was tanking the reading.

“Carter can be a hardass,” Blake admitted, “but that's only because he wants you to give your best performance.”

“What if I can't give it?” Chynna asked, looking over at Blake.

Blake reached out and tucked a wayward strand of Chynna's honey-blond hair behind her ear. “You can do this,” he said. “You just have to believe you can, and everyone else will believe it too.”

Chynna looked up at Blake and felt complete faith and trust in him. He seemed so kind, so understanding and so compassionate, which is why it came as a complete shock when he lowered his head to brush his lips softly across hers in a gentle, yet persuasive kiss. Blake was attractive, but he was also very married and his actions repulsed her.

Chynna pulled away and jumped off the bench. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Blake seemed startled by her outburst. “Kissing you, which I thought was going rather well until you interrupted us.”

Chynna ran her hands through her honey-blond hair and searched around to see if anyone had seen them. “Blake, you're married.”

Blake shrugged. “In name only. Giselle and I don't have a real marriage. We're like two ships passing in the night. One of us is always eager to one-up the other in our career.”

“Well I don't want to be in the middle of your drama,” Chynna replied, “so leave me out of it.” She stormed away, oblivious to the photographer hidden in the bushes who'd just photographed their entire encounter.

“Chynna, Chynna, Chynna!!” Hearing the screams of someone calling out her name was usually a welcome sound to Chynna James, but not now. Several muscled bodyguards chaperoned her as she rushed from her chauffeured Jeep into her ten-bedroom mansion to escape the reporters who'd been cataloguing her every move since the story of her supposed affair with Blake had broken several days ago. They were like vultures, ready to pick her bones bare if she gave one inch.

Blake had misconstrued her self-doubt in her acting ability as a reason to plant a smooch on her that the press just so happened to catch on camera. Now she was being touted on every entertainment television show and newspaper rag as a slut and homewrecker, which she absolutely was not. She would never dream of doing the same thing to another woman that her father had done to her mother, Ava James.