Played (Elite PR) (4 page)

“Isn’t it great?” she said proudly. “I have this same getup in five colors. One for each day of the week.”

“Does it work?” Mel asked, wondering if maybe she should’ve deployed that strategy with her own more handsy clientele.

“Depends on the client,” Gennifer said. “There are some hard up men in this city who even an ugly suit can’t keep at bay. That’s why I jumped at the chance to join the group. What about you?”

“I’m here courtesy of the Ice Queen.”

“Ah, yes.” Gennifer nodded. “I’ve heard of Miranda Wells. So
she
made you join?”

“Yes…after she demoted me.” Melody grimaced, doing a quick scan around the lobby to be sure nobody else heard her. “Can’t believe I said that out loud. This is usually the one day a week I can pretend that I’m not such a failure.”

“What happened?” Gennifer leaned in and put her hand on Mel’s arm. It was a simple gesture that almost brought her to tears. Viv had really been the only person that Mel could let her guard down with. She didn’t realize how much she needed that.

So in their remaining seven minutes, Mel gave her new friend the abbreviated version of her demise at Elite.

“I
don’t mean to be a weirdo or anything,” Gennifer said as she pulled Mel aside after the conference let out. “But would you want to go out for happy hour?”

Hmm, go for a drink with cool chick or go home and try to hide from the guy across the hall while feasting on the crumbled cookies from her purse?

“Love to.” It was no contest, and Mel had a tiny bit of room on her credit card for a small bar tab. Not really, but she’d make do.

“Okay, hang on,” Gennifer said, dashing toward the bathroom. “I need to
freshen up
a bit before I’m seen in public.”

“You’ve been in public all day.”

“Oh,
this
doesn’t count, silly,” she took off her blazer, revealing a tight little body Jillian Michaels would envy. “Be right back.”

Mel took a seat in the hotel lobby and checked her email. She had a few ideas on one of the campaigns she was working on and thought she’d run them past Miranda. She was feeling unusually optimistic about her job. Maybe she really could turn this thing around and begin to demand the respect she knew, deep down, she deserved.

Oh, that Frankie Fink was good.

Mel was feeling so upbeat, she was ready to tackle the sure-to-be-awkward call with Kevin. He picked up on the second ring, completely out of breath.

“Mel,” he said, huffing away. “Hang on, I was running.”

“I can call you back.” Suddenly, she was second-guessing Frankie’s take-the-world-by-the-balls strategy. Avoidance had always worked in the past, why change now?

“No,” he barked.

“Okay, then,” she said, unsure how to launch into the conversation.

“Sorry, I just really want to talk to you. Hang on.”

There was some rattling on his end, and Mel practiced what she wanted to say in her head. She’d tell him it was fun, not that she remembered much from the night. But he didn’t need to know that. Then she’d go on to say she never wanted it to happen again. She realized she was definitely not in the market for a friends-with-benefits situation. From here on out, she’d take care of her needs like most available women her age—a hookup with a safe stranger or her battery-operated friend.

“Mel.” He was back, this time without all the heavy breathing. “About the other night.”

“It was fun.” Mel sat up in her seat and cleared her throat, ready to launch into her speech.

“Fun?” He released a dull laugh that weakened her resolve. She knew she was out of practice, but dang. It couldn’t’ve been that bad, could it? “Sweetie, you were comatose.”

“I know I passed out after and I’m sorry—”

“After what?” he interrupted, his voice growing more concerned. “Wait, you don’t think we
did
anything that night, do you?”

“Didn’t we?” Mel whispered, as if Atlanta’s finest could hear her as they chatted in small groups and traded business cards on their way out of the seminar. This conversation was beginning to sound a little like a
Who’s on first?
joke, and Mel suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to know the punchline.

“God no, Mel,” Kevin said in that warm way of his before she could stop him. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He answered what she thought was a silent question in her head. Damn him. She was hanging her hat on the fact she finally did something naughty, only to discover she…hey, wait a minute.

“Nice try,” she accused. “But I woke up in your bed
naked
.” Crap, turned out some ladies could hear the one-sided conversation. An older woman with a short cap of white hair and red lipstick glanced over, shaking her head.

“Don’t remind me. It was quite a show,” Kevin said between fits of laughter. “Incredibly determined, I’ll give you that. Or you were, until you passed out.”

Mel hung up and buried her head in her hands. The hits just kept on coming. Scarlett would
so
not be impressed.

“S
o you didn’t
do it
with Kevin?” Genn asked from her perch on a bar stool at the corner high-top table. They were three shots into a discussion about her sex life, so yeah, nicknames had already been established.

“Nope,” Mel said, distracted by the bartender pouring martinis from a stainless-steel shaker behind the long mahogany bar while two women at the table to her right were doing everything shy of stripping to attract his attention. So this was her competition? Hmm, it seemed to be working. The bartender flashed his dimples and flexed his biceps as he slung the drinks—which, in her opinion, was a little cheesy. But hey, this was the nature of the game. She should’ve been taking notes.

Genn had snagged them a prime spot for people-watching at The Red Eye—a little place one floor below street level in the Hotel District—and it was packed with herds of men in suits. Mel appreciated the diversion. Still, even as she answered Genn’s question, she was unable to believe that she hadn’t sealed the deal with Kevin. Upset at first, the disappointment had now faded under the dim lights of the corporate hot spot. In fact, she wasn’t feeling much more than the pleasant buzz from the not-in-her-budget tequila. Thankfully, the first two rounds were picked up by some businessmen from Ohio.

“I don’t get it. You’re not happy with this news?” Genn licked the salt off her glass and tipped back another one. Suit Number Eight gave her an impressed nod and a high-five.

“I am.” Mel toyed with her full shot glass. “He’s a great guy and I don’t want to mess up our friendship, especially with Viv gone. But—”

“But you wanted to be the girl who could do that. Have some fun with no strings attached?” Genn’s green eyes warmed in sympathy…or understanding, Mel wasn’t sure which. And actually she didn’t care. She was in need of both.

“I did,” she admitted. “But it’s more than that. I wanted to finally
do
something. Take some kind of action for a change. Not because I should or because it’s expected. I wanted to take a chance. Live a little. But when the opportunity landed in my lap, I blew it.”

In between shots one and two, Mel had told her new friend all about Teddy and his email—which had led to the embarrassing situation with Kevin. But she didn’t stop there. Nope, once she started talking, it all came gushing out. The non-proposal, Germany, her move to Atlanta. She hadn’t told the story since she met Viv, and it irked her that it was just as painful to talk about it this time around. And, dang it, it had been years. She should
so
be over this by now! But on some gut deep level she acknowledged that it wasn’t so much Teddy as everything he stood for—that perfect life she’d envisioned, which had all been one big illusion. Not to mention the fact that her daddy had been devastated by the blow. He had been more excited when Teddy gave her a promise ring after high school than he was about her college graduation. So when he dumped her in such a public way, her father took it hard. She knew he hadn’t mean to hurt her, but his expectations for her had always been so low that it made it difficult to believe otherwise.

“It’s not too late to do something, you know,” Genn said. “When are you supposed to meet Teddy for the romantic reunion?”

“In exactly three weeks and five days.” Mel cringed. Saying it aloud made it seem real. “But I don’t know if I’m going to meet him.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She pulled out her phone and opened the notes app. “You’re going home for the Last Hurrah, and he’s going to be there, so we use that as our deadline.”

Genn Foley was pretty amazing. Not surprising. Mel had a knack for picking friends, and she knew right away that Genn was one of the good ones. And with her transformation from corporate mouse to sex kitten in the hotel bathroom in less than five minutes? Well, they were kindred spirits.

Under the ridiculous blazer she had on earlier, Genn was wearing a kelly green sleeveless blouse that set off her auburn hair and pale skin tone beautifully. She kept the same skirt, but swapped out the fashionless footwear for a pair of high wedges.

Genn pushed the lonely shot glass toward Mel, who, in turn, downed it in record time. Three shots and it was only six o’clock. Amazingly enough, she wasn’t sloppy drunk. That was the trick, Genn had told her. Get your drink on early, so you can still function the next day. Plus, this was the perfect bar time to meet dependable guys—the kind with jobs and lives. Poor Genn, Mel discovered, had her share of deadbeats in her past.

“So what did you want to accomplish when you moved to the city?” her new friend asked, ready to take notes. “What were your goals?”

“Hmm.” Mel thought back. It was the lowest point in her life, that was for sure. She’d felt rejected, and stupid, and mad as hell. “I wasn’t so methodical about it. I didn’t have a list or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Genn said, waiting. “Let’s make one now.”

“Okay.” Mel started ticking them off on her fingers. “I wanted a good job. I didn’t want to be dependent on a man in case the rug was pulled out from me again. I wanted to go out and have fun and be wild and crazy. To try new things out of my comfort zone. And I wanted to gain experience out in the field, you know?”

Genn winked. “Oh, I know, hon.”

“I guess I just wanted to become important. Someone who wasn’t so easy to throw away.” And there it was, the honest truth. What she’d been too proud to admit for years.

“Can I just say what an ass this Teddy was?” Genn’s face twisted. She was clearly disgusted by Mel’s admission. And she should be. It was pitiful, but it didn’t stop it from being true.

“You sure can.” Mel wiped a stray tear that managed to escape, but Genn didn’t point it out. Definitely one of the good ones.

“Assss-holllllle,” she sang, cupping her mouth.

“Yeah, I know.” Mel did that laugh-cry thing, while Genn waved to the waitress, signaling another round.

“Don’t you worry,” she said, raising her glass when the drinks arrived. “I could have you married off in three weeks if you wanted. I’m great at fixing up other people. It’s my own life I can’t get a handle on. See anyone you like?”

Mel didn’t doubt Genn’s matchmaking skills. Yet when she asked the question, the only man who popped into her head was Mr. Posturepedic and his annoying guitar. He was the things fantasies were made of, but getting mixed up with her neighbor was not a smart move either.

“Hmm?” Genn teased, jiggling her shot glass with one hand and pointing with the other to a svelte guy with Clark Kent glasses and a gorgeous tailored suit. “What about him? Or him?” She redirected their focus to a muscular guy in a blue button-down.

“I’m not sure,” Mel said. “But I’ll know when I see him.”

“Then, here’s to seeing
him
tonight.” She clinked her glass and another shot went down the hatch. Her belly warmed for a fourth time.

“So now that we’ve got the guys taken care of,” Genn said. “Let’s talk about work. Two brilliant women like us? Why aren’t we ruling the world yet?”

“We should be ruling the world, dammit.” Mel slammed her hand on the table.

Okay, so maybe the tequila is finally starting to kick in.

“Right, and to do that, we need to follow Frankie’s advice—engage and become invaluable.” Genn waved away another suit before he reached their table. Shit was getting serious.

“Become invaluable. I do like the sound of that.” Mel imagined what it’d be like to be in Miranda’s good graces for once instead of being summoned then dismissed again without so much as a look in the eye. “But how?”

“Well…” Genn tapped a finger to her lips, deep in thought. “What is one thing your boss wants more than anything?”

“New clients.” Mel didn’t even have to think about it. The Ice Queen’s client list was revered by every agency in the South. It was Miranda’s claim to fame.

“So bring her one,” Genn said simply.

If only it were that easy.

Chapter Four

“I
’m not going back to Nashville,” Aaron said in response to his manager’s latest attempt to push him back into the life he left behind. Rita Taylor, one of the biggest agents in Music City, had balls the size of Texas, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. But she was also reasonable, and had a bit of a heart, which was more than he could say for the rest of the industry. And that was why he went back to her. Though at the moment, he was seriously regretting that decision.

Holding his guitar by the neck, he paced in front of his living room windows, praying for the conversation to end.

He’d re-hired Rita just two months ago, well after the new single was written. He’d waited as long as possible before bringing her in because he knew she’d be on him like stink on a skunk once he told her he wanted back in the game.

It was worse than he’d predicted. And not only with Rita. Oh, she was hungry—that was for damn sure. But the labels weren’t as desperate. Source Records loved his single. They even seemed impressed by a few of songs on the album, but they weren’t ready to take him on without a test drive—especially when the album wasn’t finished. It was his own fucking fault. He’d proven to be a liability and was now left to grovel.

“Can’t you just stay here until the single drops?” Rita asked, working every angle. He’d probably be disappointed if she didn’t. That’s what he’d loved about her the first time around—her tenacity. And if he wanted to make a comeback, he needed her. The music industry, particularly the country music industry, could be forgiving if his situation was spun just right. That’s what Rita did best. She was one of the few people from the past he kept in contact with, one of the few who would be part of his future.

Jayden Jones was the other.

“Rita, I want you to listen to me,” Aaron said, slowly, to be sure she’d listen. “I’m not going back to Nashville.” Not now, not ever. “That place brings out the worst in me. Why would I want to be there during the most important week of my year? I thought you were with me on this.”

“But Jayden’s here, the label’s here, everyone is here,” she argued. “You could get so much done. Release the single and write a few songs with your partner during your free time.”

“Jayden’s not my partner,” he growled, insulted that even his manager didn’t believe he could do this on his own.

“Calm down. You know what I mean.”

Aaron’s relationship with his former guitar player and co-writer was…complicated. And selfish. Though it was Aaron with the ulterior motive this time. It was Aaron who’d decided to go solo, despite Jayden’s interest in joining him. That didn’t go over well, but Aaron held firm because he knew it was the only way he’d be able to play music again. He needed complete control. Yet so far he’d only managed to get through a few songs without Jay’s help.

He had always believed that it was the partying and the lifestyle that had got him into his ruts the first time around. But here he was—older, experienced, and stone-cold sober—and he hadn’t been able to write himself out of a paper bag. Sure he wrote the single, and it was great. But it had taken him almost a year to finish it. The other two songs took almost as long. So if he wanted to finish his comeback album in this century, he’d have to bring in Jayden. Hell if that didn’t sting. The guy had always been his crutch. His biggest ally and worst influence.

His best friend.

“I’m calm, I’m calm,” he told Rita. “But did you ever think I might not need Jay for this?”

“Are you writing again?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” He wouldn’t tell her that his new, untouchable neighbor had become his muse. Or that the song was nowhere near done.

“How many songs have you finished? Do we have an album yet?” She fired off her questions. “Send them over so I can—”

“Hold up there,” he interrupted. “I said I was writing again, not that I finished any songs yet.”

There was a long sigh on the other side and then a long pause. “How about if Jayden comes down to see you?”

His head ached at the thought. They’d been inseparable since they were kids, but he rarely saw him these days. Back in the day, they were both in trouble constantly. Jayden simply loved living on the edge. He had a restless spirit and an addiction to the wild side…among other things.

For Aaron, it was because of a lack of any sort of parental guidance. His mom was a singer as well, on the road for most of his childhood and all of his kid brother’s formative years. She only came home after his daddy lost the fight with his kidneys. He’d been sick, on dialysis, for years until one day, he just didn’t wake up.

His mama was not happy to return home, especially once it was clear she could no longer go out on the road. So she dedicated her new life to the bottle. It didn’t take long for the money to dry up and, well, the rest of Aaron’s childhood made for helluva good lyrics.

In the end, music was the only way out for him. By the time he and Jayden were out of high school, they had a record deal. But man, it sure didn’t take care of everything. Growing up without anyone looking out for him… It leaves a kid empty. And he tried to fill that space with everything imaginable. It was easy to do with all the money and fame. But as rough as it was for him, it was worse for Jayden. His family had given up on him long ago, only showing up when they wanted something.

They’d both crashed hard and damn near lost it all—the band, the label, most of the money. Shoot, they were lucky to make it out alive. But for Aaron, he had something to snap him the hell out of it. Someone who needed him—his little brother, Graham.

Jayden wasn’t as lucky.

“Just think about it,” Rita encouraged.

Aaron grumbled. He wanted to play music more than anything, but he needed boundaries. He wasn’t strong enough otherwise, he knew that. With his mama’s genetics and his own track record, he needed stability. And hell, he was on shaky ground. Source Records was the only label willing to give him any kind of a shot.

The only way he’d make it was by following the rules he made up before jotting down the first note on the single: no Nashville, no band, no distractions. Because if this didn’t work, it was back to small time gigs and a struggle for both him and his brother.

“Look, I’m trying to save your career,” Rita said, while Aaron stared out the window, only half listening now. “Isn’t that what we agreed on? One more shot. Well, this is it, baby, and if you don’t grab it now, I’m not sure there’s going to be another.”

“I’m grabbing my shot, don’t you worry,” he said, right before a raucous screaming started outside his apartment. “But I’m going to do it my way.”

“I know, I know,” Rita conceded, as Aaron moved to the window to see what was going on out front. “Okay, Atlanta isn’t that far. Others have managed to do it living in different locales, but you’ll have to be flexible. For once in your life.”

Aaron tried to ignore the ruckus outside and focus on Rita. This was important stuff. But he wasn’t able to turn away. He watched an extremely pissed off woman mix it up with a taxi driver out on the street. Man, she was ticked all right. Her hand gestures told him that much. The black high heel kicking the cabbie’s door told him something else. Shit, of all the places to move, he had to end up sharing a building with a party girl. That was all he needed.

Just walk away, Major. Do
not
get involved.

“Aaron? Hello?” Rita’s voice pulled him to the task at hand.

“You act like I can’t be accommodating,” he said, stretching his neck. It’d been a long two days, and he was tired and achy. That’s all this was. Exhaustion. They’d need to table this discussion until he could concentrate for more than two minutes at a time. “Listen, I need to go. I have a bunch of unpacking to do. Let me get settled and we’ll finish this discussion later.”

“Fine. But just a friendly reminder, if you don’t have your launch party in Nashville, the label won’t pay for it. So you’re going to have to figure that out. And you need an event to kick this thing off, Aaron. I’m not going to budge on that point.”

He cringed, thinking about the dwindling status of his bank account.

“Mmm-hmm.” He pulled the phone away from his ear.

“Also, don’t forget about the image consultant,” she yelled as if she could see what he was doing. “I’m done with that lumbersexual thing you have going!”

Aaron didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about. He made it his business not to know. He also didn’t understand the need for all the bells and whistles. Why couldn’t he just make music for the people without having it turn into such a goddamn production? There had to be a better way.

But at that moment, all he could think about was the show going on in the front lawn, and whether his new neighbor was okay out there. He took another look…just to see if she needed help.

It didn’t seem like it. She was livid, still yelling at the cab driver. Man alive, did she come in any other flavor?

Aaron wasn’t sure if he said good-bye to Rita, because the angry gal on the street demanded his full attention. She was spectacular with all those blond curls bouncing around her flushed face. She scowled and quite possibly cursed. He wasn’t sure; he couldn’t make out the words.

Her silky top was in the same state as her hair—disheveled and misbehaving. It was untucked from a pair of sleek black pants. They hugged her gentle curves, and hell, it made his mouth water. Then she said something else to the taxi driver and flipped him off. That had Aaron busting a gut. If anything, she was good entertainment.

He resigned himself to going outside and getting a front-row view of the show in one of those comfortable chairs on the front porch. And help her out, if she needed it.

Turned out he didn’t have to, because seconds later the show came to him.

She was mumbling as she made her way up the stairs. He moved to the door to listen and was rewarded with the click of her heels on the wooden steps…a curse word in between each stride. If their first two meetings didn’t do it, this sure as hell did. He was absolutely enthralled by the foul-mouth belle.

“Take a seat at the table, my ass,” she muttered. “Who the hell does that woman think she is? Oh shit, there are so many stairs.”

He had his eye to the peephole, waiting to see her. It was torture, but he didn’t want to reveal himself. Not yet. Then it was still. No clicking. No swearing.

Aaron couldn’t help himself. He had to know what was going out there. And more than that, he had to officially meet this woman who could put his dirty mouth to shame. He. Wanted. Her. Name.

Just as he was about to open the door, he caught a glimpse of her. She messed with her door for a moment and then launched into a full-blown hissy fit.

“That cheap bastard!” she screamed. Aaron looked on as she pounded on the door to her apartment. But it was no use. It was paddle-locked shut, a shiny lockbox hanging from the doorknob.

Oh, hell no. She was a rent dodger? Strange, she didn’t seem the type. Though why else would her apartment be locked up without her apparent knowledge? And when had that happened, anyway? He hadn’t heard a peep across the hall since their morning run-in. Then again, he had been writing all day.

He cracked the door open to find that she’d dropped to the ground. And she was crying—the one thing he couldn’t handle.

“What am I going to do now?” Her body shook in a sad little puddle. His insides twisted, remembering that feeling of helplessness. He’d been there.

Aaron gritted his teeth and opened the door. He had no choice. He couldn’t just leave her out there. He would, however, keep his hands off her. No matter how difficult it may be. The last thing she needed to deal with now was his depraved fantasies.

“I can’t do anything right,” she cried.

“Hey,” he said, walking out into the hall. “What’s going on? It can’t be all the bad, can it?”

“It is,” she said, wiping her nose on her arm, just like he did in elementary school. “It so is. You can go ahead, make your fun.”

“Hey now, I don’t kick people when they’re down. Why don’t you come into my place, and we’ll figure this out.” He extended a hand and pulled her upright. Evidently a little too hard, because she fell into his chest, her lush lips grazing the side of his neck as he caught her. He went instantly hard, feeling an immediate and desperate urge to get her inside and show her
his
kind of fun. Instead, he set her on her feet and opened the door. “Go on in.”

Aaron told her to have a seat and then went to the kitchen to buy himself some time. For two days he had allowed this girl to consume his every waking thought—she had him so jacked up it was physically painful. Now she was in his apartment with no place to go. The big guy upstairs must really hate his guts.

“What are you doing in there?” she called out.

Good question.

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the coffee pot. “Making coffee,” he said. “You look like you could use some.”

“I’m not drunk,” she slurred, just a bit.

“Mmm-hmm.” He went about making a full pot, extra strong. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like a frat party on Cinco de Mayo.”

“That’s because someone spilled a drink on me,” she spat.

And there was the firecracker. That was better—he could deal with her.

“What about the tears and all the babbling?” he asked, rounding the corner with two hot mugs. She was curled up on his couch, the top buttons on her blouse undone, and showing more tanned skin than should be legal. They must’ve popped open when she took to kicking the taxi. He tightened his grip on the cup handles, working to keep from spilling scalding coffee on his hands.

“I’ve been kicked out of my apartment and am royally screwed, I think I’m entitled to a little pity party.” She took the cup he offered and wrapped her hands around the cup. “Thank you…”

“Aaron.” He filled in the blank for her. “Aaron Major.” He raised a brow as he looked down at her.

“Melody Sharp.” She answered his silent question with the tiniest of smiles. “It’s nice to finally have a name for the man who’s been keeping me up for the past two days.”