Face the Music (3 page)

The kids groaned.  “
Aw, Miss Banks!  You’re so mean!
”

I chuckled and gave them a dismissive wave.  “You have no idea.  See you all later, have a great afternoon.”

“Sam,” Chris called.  He wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders and said something I couldn’t hear.

Sam nodded.  “I know!  Dude, I
told
you!”  They both looked at me and laughed.

I had to wrestle
down a wave of irritation. 
I
didn’t
appreciate
being
laughed at.

I was gnawing the inside of my lower lip when Chris turned to me.  “Nice to have met you, Allie.”  Before I could respond, he and Sam were out the door.

I needed to get a grip.  My heart was
racing,
and my
knees were
actually
weak
.  I
went to
my desk,
dropped
my head in
to
my hands, and sat
in silence for a few minutes.  What
was I so worked up
about? 
Even before I became the butt of some inside joke, I was r
eady to jump out of my skin. 
I
t was so out of character.  I’d
never been the type to swoon over guys.  Experience
had taught me first hand that love-at-first-
sight and happily-ever-afters
didn’t
exist.  Sure, I looked at men and could appreciate a good one when I saw
one
,
and Chris was definitely a fine specimen,
but who had time for anything more?  Certainly not me. 

Chapter 2

The first time I ever
laid eyes on
Chris
was a few weeks ago,
during the show’s premiere.  The host, a tall and dark-haired man named Bradley McKnight, stepped out onto the wide, semi-circular stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he called over the roar of the audience.  “It’s my great privilege to present to you the final contestant of the night.  From the lovely state of Virginia, singing a rock-and-roll remake of the old Johnny Cash song,
I Walk the Line
, is twenty-seven year-old Chris Knots!”

Waves of applause rolled off the crowd as the band began playing slow, rhythmic beats.  Plumes of thick, white fog swirled against the darkened stage.  An orange strobe light flickered, illuminating his silhouette as he walked out. 

“Whoa.”  The syllable was barely audible as it escaped my lips.  This was no ordinary man, not by any woman’s standards.  Graced with broad, confident shoulders, strong arms and chest, his face was one that I could very easily lose myself in. 

In the spirit of Johnny Cash, Chris was dressed in all black, but the look was personalized with a studded belt and
a
long, silver chain.  Throwing an intense stare out into the audience, he gripped the microphone between both hands and
in a soft
and
deep voice,
began the first verse. 

The camera circle
d as he sang.  I was mesmerized,
unable to pull my attention away from the TV screen.  Everything from his dark, chocolate brown eyes to his thick, brooding eyebrows drew me in.  A thin, perfectly angled beard shaped the frame of his square jaw, contrasting his smooth, clean-shaven head.

Though the lyrics hadn’t been
changed
, the music was completely different from the original
version
.  Chris had transformed it into something much more c
ontemporary.  Featuring electric guitars and
drum solos, I wondered what Mr. Cash would think of the remake
.

Strobe lights flashed
as
the music quickened. 
Chris licked his lips, took another deep
breath, and began the chorus.  His voice, now quite loud, had
a gritty, gravelly edge to it.

Time stopped for those two minutes.  Cheers and screams could be heard throughout the entire performance, but after he finished, the audience simply went wild. 

The lights came back on as the camera pulled away, releasing me from my trance.  I took
a deep breath
and looked around my cluttered living room as I tried to reclaim control over my pounding pulse.

The camera settled back on him as he stood before the judges.  His chest heaved while he worked to catch his breath, and his dark eyes sparkled with excitement.  Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he reached up to wipe his
brow with the back of one hand.  After some time, the
audience quiet
ed
down enough to let the first judge speak.

Eddie Ortega, a short, skinny Hispanic man
who ran a large radio network
, was almost as entertaining as the performers.  “Chrisss,” he said, dragging out the syllable with his heavy Spanish accent.  He brought his elbows together on the tabletop and cocked his head in his hands.  “That was, without a doubt, the best performance of the night.”

The crowd roared their approval, and he waited for them to quiet down before continuing.  “
Y
ou aren’t afraid to push your limits.  You know your boundaries well and took this performance right to the edge.”  He
walked his first two fingers to the side of the table, as if illustrating his comment
.  “
Simply amazing!  I’m in love with you already.”

Eddie winked, and Chris wasn’t successful in hiding a look of bewilderment.  “Um, thanks?”  He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the second judge.

Lucy was a senior editor for
Billboard Magazine
.  A
woman
of Asian descent
with long, silky black hair,
she
gave Eddie an annoyed look.  “Would you
stop it?  We’re here to judge.  Flirt on your own time
.”  She turned to Chris.  “Just ignore him.  The rest of us do.”
 

Eddie sat back in his chair, a pout on his lips.  “You just suck the love right of everything, don’t you?”

Lucy
didn’t respond.  Instead, she
reached back, gathered her hair, and pulled
it over one of her shoulders.  “You pa
ssed the chill test,” she said.

Chris stood there, looking confused.

She laughed.  “You gave me goosebumps!” she said, holding out her arm. 
“You really have a strong stage presence, Chris.”  Screams from the audience made her pause.  “Your ability to excite the room is that of a well-seasoned professional.  I think you’ll go far in this competition.”

Chris bowed his head.  “Thanks.”

“
Oh no, thank you!”

Stella’s
comments were
usually
direct, even rude at times, and everyone was silent as
the producer for MTV
gathered her thoughts.  She stared at Chris over the thick fra
me of her black cat-eye glasses.  Her curly red hair was secured in a clip on the back of her head, though some frizzy tendrils had escaped and framed her face.

“You have a raw, natural talent,” she finally said, her voice deep and rough like that of a heavy smoker
.  “You’re really quite good.”

The audience applauded. 

“However,” she interjected, raising her voice and straightening up in her chair.  “I’m just not sure you’re as good as you think you are.”

People booed.  Chris pressed his li
ps together into a tight line and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Come on,” Eddie complained, leaning over the table to glare at her.  “He was incredible.  You don’t have to abhor everyone.”

“I don’t
‘
abhor
’
him,” she said, casting a sharp glance at Eddie.  “I just think he needs to be more emotionally connected to his songs.”  She raised a penciled eyebrow and returned her stare to Chris.  “You have the voice, and you’ve certainly got the look.  But you lack the
passion
.”  She paused.  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

The pre-recorded anthem of the show blared, indicating it was time to wrap things up.  Bradley joined Chris on the stage.  “So Chris, this talk about passion, what do you think?  Are you lacking in that department?”

Chris narrowed his eyes and ran a finger across
his bottom lip
.  “Me, personally?  Hell, no.”  He laughed and winked at Stella, who shifted in her seat.  “My music?  Maybe.”

My skin tingled as he flashed a stunning
,
heart-stopping
smile into t
he camera.  F
rom that moment forward, I was no longer in control.  I was addicted.

***

A familiar whistle
brought me out of my trance.  I blinked a few times and looked up when
Jake
came in the room.

“Hey ya, gorgeous!  How’s my favorite blue-eyed gal?” 
Jake wa
s
Sam’s old
er brother. 
He
was also a genius when it came to technical stuff
.
  He was offered his job here before Sam had
even
auditioned.
  Word around the studio was that Sam only got on the show because of Jake, but I didn’t agree.  Sam was full
of
talent.

He propped his foot up on one of the chairs and brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes, flashing me the same crooked grin I had seen on Sam just minutes before.
 
Like his brother, Jake
fit
the California stereotype
to a T
.  He was tan, slender, and quite the ladies man. 
At the age of twenty-six
Jake
had
a more solid build
than Sam
, but the two brothers truly resembled each other. 

“Hi!”  I flashed him a grin
.
  “Tell me, how are you holding up?  Is this cold weather killing you yet?”  The frigid Chicago February had to be a shock compared to the warm, sunny climate of Los Angeles.

“Nah, it’s not so bad.  Whenever I need warming up, I come find you, babe.”  He walked over to my desk, stood behind me, and pressed his strong fingers into
the space between my shoulder blades
.  I felt his warm breath on my neck as he leaned forward and whispered, “Got plans tonight?  We c
ould pick up where we left off.
”