Hillbilly Rockstar (6 page)

"If you say so." Tanya turned again, checking out her backside in the mirror.

"The green looks good on you. Keep it." She headed towards her bedroom door. "Lock the door when you leave, okay?" Lisa left Tanya in the bedroom behind her, leaving before she could change her mind.

###

Lisa paced in front of Trace's apartment door, carrying her binder holding the promotion and taping schedules she'd received from the production office late that afternoon. This is work, that's all. Then why did her throat feel tight and her stomach queasy? There shouldn't be any reason to be nervous. Lisa paced in a circle in front of the door. Oh, good grief. Be honest with yourself. You can't wait to see him again.

She couldn't get him out of her head. His deep brown eyes haunted her. That wicked, sexy grin made her shiver. The black cowboy hat he never took off -- it just made her curious. Was he hiding something under there? Did he ever take it off? Her imagination ran wild, beginning with her removing his hat just before he removed her dress.

Cutting off those thoughts, she knocked again, impatient. She was ready to get everything moving forward. The sooner they went over the schedules, the sooner she could leave.

"Coming, hold on a minute," she heard Trace call out. He answered the door and she was struck speechless -- not from seeing him barefoot, shirtless and in sweat pants, although that was a large part of it -- but from seeing him hatless. His thick, wavy brown hair was wet, messy -- and very sexy.

"You're not wearing a hat," Lisa blurted out, and immediately felt her face heat in embarrassment.

Trace blinked. "Neither are you. Please, step into my hat-free zone." He stepped aside so she could walk in. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower."

Lisa entered, unsure where to step. Empty pizza boxes littered the carpet. Beer bottles covered the glass-topped coffee table. Clothes were hanging in every conceivable corner of the room where something could be hung or thrown. Not sure where to go, she stood still just past the tiled entryway.

"Here, have a seat." Trace moved a pizza box and a t-shirt from an overstuffed chair across from the couch. Lisa smoothed her dress and sat on the edge of the chair, too scared to scoot back into it. "Sorry, my cleaning lady quit on me again."

"I'm sorry about what I said. I've just never seen you without your hat."

Trace laughed, settling on the couch across from her, his arms resting on his knees. His muscles flexed as he bent his arms, and she could clearly see the tattoo on his left forearm, part of another on his right bicep. "That's okay. It's kind of my thing, that's all. Everyone knows me with the hat, but if I want to go out, just hang loose, I don't wear it."

"That makes sense." She continued looking around the room, clutching her binder close in her lap. She didn't want to lay it down for fear it might be carried off by whatever else lived in the mess.

"I bet you thought I was covering up a receding hair line or something, weren't you?" He laughed again and Lisa felt the mood shift. "Everyone does. It's part of the mystery of Trace Harper."

"I don't know that you're all that mysterious, Trace." She looked over at him and smiled, trying not to stare at his bare chest or the way the sweats hung low on his hips. All it would take was a tiny tug on the string -- nope, not going there. She cleared her throat. "I brought the promotion and production schedules." She cleared her throat again. "Could I have some water?"

"Sure, just a second. Let me put a shirt on." He left, heading right, where she assumed there was a kitchen and bedrooms. Despite the mess, the apartment was impressive. It was as large as her small house on the quirky east side of Nashville. He had good furniture. The couch was either leather or faux, she wasn't sure. There was a brick fireplace with gas logs in front of the couch with at least a forty-two inch flat panel television hanging over it. The walls were covered with photos, framed album covers, and his gold and platinum albums.

He came back in a few minutes, wearing a t-shirt and carrying a bottle of water.

"Here you go." He handed her the bottle. As she took it their fingers touched, and it a shock of lightning ran down her arm.

###

Wow, was all Trace could think when he opened the door and saw her standing there wearing a gorgeous deep purple dress and those boots. His eyes had trailed down her chest and he noticed the small pendent she wore, resting in her cleavage, and he'd wanted to follow its path, first with a finger, then with his tongue.

It took all he had to not pull her to him then and there, but he'd made a deal. Nothing funny, he'd said. God, he wished he could take that back. But she was there because of the show, because of the deal they'd made, and he wasn't going to let his attraction to her ruin his chances of getting his property out of foreclosure.

He felt the spark when he handed her the water bottle, saw her jump. He'd seen her looking at him, too, standing close to her in his old sweats with the loose elastic. He hadn't worn them on purpose. He'd planned to be dressed and clean up a bit before she showed up. He should have guessed that she'd be the type to be early or on time.

He glanced down at his dark leather sofa covered in junk and the glass-topped coffee table, littered with trash. "Just another second and we'll get started." He headed into the kitchen and returned with an expandable trash bag. In seconds, pizza boxes, bottles and cigarette ash was cleared from the table and couch and tossed down the chute to the basement.

"Okay, let's get to it." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded wrong. "Let's get to work," he said, and was pleased his words caused her to blush again. He loved knowing he was causing a reaction. Maybe there could be something there after all, something they could explore as they worked together over the next few weeks.

###

With a clear spot to work and a goal to reach -- go over the schedule and get out -- Lisa opened her binder and pulled out the faxed copies she'd received from the production office.

"Tomorrow morning at nine we're meeting with producers, the director and Michelle. You'll sign whatever paperwork they have for you and we'll get more specific information about the taping schedule. Right now rehearsal is done during the week with a full dress rehearsal on Friday afternoon with taping on Saturday evenings."

"Sounds pretty simple to me."

"There was promotion originally scheduled for your predecessor, so I made some calls to get some interviews and other things tweaked for you. We'll have a more detailed schedule in the next few days, and I'll be adding a few things specifically for you."

"Sounds like you know what you're doing."

She looked up from her schedules met his gaze. "That sounded like a compliment."

"Well, maybe because it was. But I guess you're pretty good at your job, otherwise you wouldn't be replacing Charlie."

Now would be the perfect time, the perfect time to tell him that she wasn't a manager at Cahill-Waters -- she refused to call it by its new name. But the compliment, his obvious interest in her as a woman, that was unsettling. She'd dated since leaving Danny, since her divorce, but this man brought out unfamiliar feelings she wasn't sure how to handle.
He's just a guy, Babe, like the rest of us, and you know what we want,
she heard Danny's voice say inside her head. No, she told the voice. No, not Trace. He said what he meant. Charlie had told her that often enough, and based on what she knew of him by reputation, even with some media bias thrown in, she was going to trust her gut and believe him.

"What?" Trace said, and Lisa realized she'd been staring at him for a few moments too long. She couldn't tell him everything, but he deserved to know at least part of the truth.   

"Trace, you're my first client. On my own, I mean." She smiled, hoping it looked natural and not strained. "I worked with Charlie for six years. He trained me and I assisted him with other clients. I would meet with them sometimes, go over contracts and paperwork, discuss the financial side of the business with the bookkeepers, but you are my first actual client."

###

Trace wasn't sure why she told him. Patrick must not know that she'd never been a full-time manager, but he'd recommended her so Trace was going along with it.

"The way I see it, we've all got to start somewhere, so you may as well start with me. It's not an issue, Lisa."

She visibly relaxed at his words. This wasn't the woman he'd met at Six Guns or the woman from the meeting earlier today, the one who laid out her stipulations for accepting him as a client. This was a woman who wanted -- no, needed -- to be accepted. Man, someone must have really done a number on her.

"Since you're coming clean with me, I'll come clean with you." He leaned forward, as if they weren't alone and he was about to tell her a big secret. "I hate reality television. I hate the dancing shows, I hate the singing shows, I hate the pseudo-celebrities who're only famous because of their money or their looks."

Lisa moved back slightly. "So why did you accept the show?"

"Because I need the money. I can't tell you why, but I'm doing it for the money."

She was quiet for a moment, then shuffled through some of the paperwork until she found a few sheets of paper clipped together.

"I figured something like that. I don't need to know what's going on, that's your business. But part of Charlie's job was keeping up with the financial portion of your career. I got this statement from our bookkeeping office this afternoon." She handed him the statements and he saw the same thing she'd seen -- he was completely and officially broke.

"You've been losing money gradually over the past six years from what I can tell. You stopped touring, stopped performing except for the odd gig locally. That also seems to be around the time your reputation took a nose dive, although rumors of your temper have spread for years." She paused for a second before asking the next question. "What happened?"

Anger shot through him, anger that hadn't been there a second ago. Anger at himself, anger at her for bringing up the past, anger at Trixie for making everything worse. "None of your business." Trace said, looking her in the eye, his voice cold and hard.

She held his stare for a second, then broke it off, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry, Trace. You're right, it's not my business." She began gathering the paperwork and placing it in her binder. "That's all I have for now. I'll see you tomorrow at nine at the studio's production office." She rose from the chair and walked toward the door.

"Wait." Trace followed after her, stopping her just before she opened the apartment door. Lisa turned around to face him, and he saw the soft and gentle woman from a few moments earlier had disappeared. The businesswoman was back in her place.

But he didn't want either of those women. He wanted the one he hadn't met yet -- the one she was trying to keep hidden, the one who responded to his touch and he knew wanted to touch him in return.

He leaned into her, touching the dimple on her cheek. His finger trailed down her cheek, down her neck. He gave into his desire from earlier and followed the path of the necklace. Her skin was soft, just as he'd known it would be. Trace felt her shiver, felt her start to back away. But he wasn't going to let her, not this time.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. He touched his lips to hers, gentle at first, then kissed her with abandon, his tongue probing into her mouth. In the distance he heard a
thunk
as her binder hit the floor, then her hands were moving, exploring, running through his hair. Trace grew hard at her touch. He slid a hand down her back and cupped her butt.

Lisa froze, her hands on his chest, and pushed him away. "Wait, stop. I can't do this."

"Lisa," Trace began, but she kept her hands pressed against him.

"No, I can't do this. I admit I'm attracted to you. I admit I felt something from the first time you spoke to me at Six Guns. But I can't be with you like this."

"Why? I was a jerk before, I know. I just have my reasons --"

"And they're your reasons, and that's fine. You had every right to tell me to butt out. That's not the reason I can't do this. Trace, I have a job to do. You're my first client and I need to prove myself. I can't do my job if I am feeling --"

"Feeling what? Desire? That's normal. That's what I feel every time I look at you."

Pain washed over her face, a pain he didn't understand.

"What's wrong?"

She didn't answer. Her green eyes clouded and she turned away from him.

"Goodnight, Trace." Lisa pushed her way out of the circle of his arms and bent to pick up her binder. She grasped the doorknob and opened the door and left the apartment.

Trace watched her run-walk down the hall toward the elevator like the devil himself was running after her. Why the hell had he said that? No wonder she'd left. Lisa Jenkins was not a hook-up, let's-have-a-fling kind of girl. He closed the door, locking it behind him. It was for the best, anyway. He wasn't a let's-have-a-relationship kind of guy. The past couple of years had proven that to him. After his marriage to Trixie, he'd sworn he would never get involved that deep again.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled on the couch, flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch, but he couldn't get Lisa out of his head. Her brilliant green eyes, her soft skin, the taste of her mouth, the curve of her leg in those boots. Yes, he desired her. But he needed this job and he needed the money. He wasn't going to screw that up and lose his property. Lisa Jenkins was off limits.

###

Lisa leaned against the elevator wall, thankful when the doors closed and it began moving to the lobby. Danny's voice laughed inside her head.
Told you so
, it said.

She'd pulled herself together by the time she sat behind the wheel of her car. It was for the best, anyway. Trace was a client. He was off limits.

Chapter Seven

Lisa came into the Cahill-Waters around seven to get some work done before the nine o'clock meeting. She was glad that Boyd was going to be gone the rest of the week. There was no way she would have been able to get any of the preliminary meetings set up if he'd still been in the office. Even with the current staff still in the office, she was going to have to watch her step.