Love Revolution (Black Cat Records Shakespeare Inspired trilogy) (2 page)

Sara Daniels walked offstage after the encore, taking the chilled bottled water and a hand towel from her manager’s outstretched hands. Lifting her straight light brown hair up off her sweaty neck, she blotted away the moisture.

“Sold out venue again, girl. Preliminary numbers on merchandise looks to double the ticket take, easily. How you holding up?”

“Good Leann.” Sara managed a weary smile. “Just worn out. Wanna get a shower and unwind, you know?” Patting her manager on the shoulder, she started to walk away.

“Not so fast.”

Sara froze and turned back around. “What?” she groaned. “What is it? Not another meet and greet. Leann, please.”

“No.” Leann’s brow furrowed. “Mary Timmons is here and wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, crap.” She should have made it a priority to return those calls. Mary Timmons, the high powered no nonsense CEO and owner of Black Cat Records, was not a woman to keep waiting. Sara had hoped to get through tonight’s performance before having to deal with her. Well, now it was time to face the music. “Where is she?”

“In your dressing room.” Leann raised a brow. “She’s everything they say, isn’t she?”

“No doubt,” Sara nodded.

“Good luck with that,” she said, walking away with a parting wave over her shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sara said, mumbling to herself. “I’m gonna need it.”

Sara’s boots clapped against the tiled floor as she wound her way through the confusing maze of dimly lit cinderblock corridors following the signs put up by the road crew. Nodding to the security guard outside her door, she entered her temporary dressing room almost knocking Mary over. The beautiful, petite exec had been standing near the door, deep in conversation, her ever present cell phone pressed against her ear.

“Ok, Beth, make it happen. Hey, I gotta go. Sara’s here. I’ll talk to you later.” Mary ended the call, dropping her cell into a brief case before pinning Sara with a disapproving look. “You haven’t been returning my calls.”

It was a statement, not a question, but it clearly demanded a response. Although only in her mid-forties, Mary’s maternal tone made Sara swallow nervously. She felt garish and underdressed in her black leather vest and rhinestone embellished Miss Me jeans juxtaposed against the well put together Black Cat exec. Impeccable in a flatteringly tailored eggplant suit with matching five inch platform pumps, Mary was every single inch the unruffled professional, looking as though she’d just bounded off the cover of a business magazine. She gave Sara herself a run for the money in the confidence exuding, don’t-mess-with-me category.

Sara couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about Mary that made her feel like a peasant in the presence of royalty, but she did nevertheless. Sara gave herself a mental shake.
Snap the hell out of it
. She was no easily intimidated newbie after all. She was Sara Daniels. Thirty-two years old and at the top of her game as country and western’s top grossing female singer… the past five years in a row. Yet still, underneath the pressure of Mary’s haughty gaze, she somehow found herself rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mary. I planned to…”

Mary cut her off with a dismissive wave. “I’m calling in the favor you owe me.”

Hell.
She didn’t waste any time, did she? Forget royalty, being in debt to Mary was like owing the devil himself. You sure as hell knew she was going to collect. “Okay,” she drew out. “I’ve got a two week break, starting tomorrow. What can I do for you?”

All business, Mary crisply nodded and handed her an envelope. Sara took it while glancing back at her with raised brows.

“That’s a first class seat nonstop to Vancouver at ten thirty tonight. You’re sitting next to me.” She spun regally on her royal heel and glided away without any further explanation. The sound of her pumps clacking on the concrete flooring kept time as “Hail to the Chief” played in Sara’s head.

“Wait a minute. Tonight?” Sara protested. “I can’t just up and leave that quickly. I need to clear that with my staff. ”

“I’ve already spoken to Leann.” Mary stopped with her hand on the door. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and change. I’ll tell you what I have in mind en route to the airport.”

At Black Cat, Chris Alex stopped in the studio doorway and stared at the woman inside.
Holy hell.
Mary had failed to mention that this country and western chick she was bringing in to sing on his album was smoking hot. Leaning his shoulders back against the doorframe, his gaze raked over her form. The corner of his mouth lifted in silent appreciation. She was tall, around his height, maybe a couple of inches shorter. Probably five foot ten if he wasn’t mistaken. Long, extremely well shaped legs were accentuated by skin tight denim. Boobs weren’t anything to write home about, but big enough to make him wonder what they would feel like cupped in his hands. They more than adequately filled out the form fitting red western shirt she had on.
Meh,
he was a leg man anyway.

His pulse kicked up as he took in additional details about the southern goddess standing in front of him. Light brown hair with highlights that were almost blonde hung straight and long around her sun kissed face. Her lips were light pink and glossed up. He wondered how they tasted.

Apparently sensing his perusal, she glanced up from her cell phone, and he looked into smoky grey eyes that were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. A jolt of desire hit him like a lightning bolt. The world seemed to shrink and magnify in that moment. Her eyes widened slightly before she blinked and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Shrugging himself out of whatever the hell that had been, Chris sauntered into the room past her and set his guitar case down on one of the stools. While undoing the latches, he tried to sneak a peek at her ass. Just as he was imagining grabbing it, she turned in his direction and leveled him with a steely, disdainful stare.

Maybe this chick didn’t realize who she was dealing with. His brow rose. Obviously, introductions were in order. “Hey, babe. I’m Chris…”

“I know who you are.” She cut him off with a husky boudoir voice that literally gave him a chill it was so damn sexy. “Shelve the come on. I’m not interested. The name’s Sara Daniels.” She said her name like it should mean something to him. “And I’m not your babe or anyone else’s.”

“Fine,” he replied, sarcastically. Something inside of him immediately rose to the challenge of her confrontational attitude. He continued to hold her stare, carefully formulating his next words. “Sweetheart, I don’t recall saying I
was
interested. Barbed tongued old harpies like you are not my type.”

Sara stiffened, back going ramrod straight. No one could ever talk to
her
like that, especially a guy who had just mentally undressed her. The longest line at Wal-Mart during black Friday was shorter than the amount of time he’d been checking her out.
Arrogant ass
. Well ok, if that’s the way he wanted to play. “Old huh? Take a look in the mirror, you geezer. You’re the one who needs help getting your motorized wheel chaired carcass back in the game.”

“Hey wait a minute, witch. I’m not the one who asked you to come here. I don’t need this kinda crap from you or anyone.” He pointed. “There’s the door. Why don’t you hop back on your broom and fly back to your double wide mobile home lair?”

“You, you, arrogant ingrate,” she sputtered.

Turning his back, Chris bent over and picked up his guitar case. He was about fifty shades of pissed off now. When he turned around to face her, she jumped and her gaze popped back up. A telling rosy color stained her cheeks and her lips were parted.
Well, well, isn’t this an interesting development,
Chris thought, cocking his head. He’d bet good money that she’d totally been checking out
his
ass.
Hmmm, what to do with that.

Grinning, Chris thought it only fair to return the favor. Lowering his eyes, he made a big show of running his gaze slowly over her body, starting at her black cowboy boots and working his way back up to her face. He stopped to linger in certain areas, delighting in the fact that he seemed to be making her uncomfortable.

Sara’s blush deepened.

Chris decided it was time to turn up the voltage, and gave her his should be patented Chris Alex megawatt smile. “Babe, I could teach you a couple of things, if…” He paused, wiggling his eyebrows. “I was into older women.”

He watched her hands clench and her grey eyes smoke into a fiery blaze. “I’m thirty-two, you mummy. What are you, like sixty or something?”

“Forty-four,” he retorted. He was pleasantly surprised by her age. He’d thought she was much younger, actually. Setting back down his guitar case, he talked himself into giving this another try. This one had claws, but man she was a fine piece of ass. “Listen, Sara. I’m sorry. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Can we rewind this whole deal and start over?”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Ok. Sure. I guess.”

“I mean if it’s possible for you to use that sexy voice of yours for something other than insults?”

Sara arched a brow. So the man candy with the tight bod, perfectly mussed up brown hair, milk chocolate eyes, and smoldering smile thought she had a sexy voice did he?
Sweet.
She could work with that.

“Have you seriously never heard the name, Sara Daniels?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you mean to tell me that you’ve never seen a commercial for ‘Wild Texas Rose,’ my signature perfume?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, making the stylishly long layers of his brown hair slide appealingly across his face.

“You geriatric rockers don’t get out much, do you?”

“Well, why don’t you play me one of your redneck songs,” he asked smugly. “Maybe I’ll recognize it.”

“Alright.” Sara took a sip of bottled water and set it down. She dried her hands on her jeans before lifting her guitar off the stand where she’d placed it earlier. She took her time, carefully clipping it on. She gave him an I-am-the-diva-you-are-a-lowly-minion look, before launching into a rocking country tune.

Shit,
Chris thought as soon as she began singing. No wonder she had a huge ego. He did recognize the song. It was a huge cross- over hit. No way in hell was he going to let her know that, though. Her voice was incredibly strong and brassy. No perceptible hillbilly twang, just a slight and extremely sexy southern drawl. “Awesome,” he admitted when she finished. And although she was no Avery Jones, she did know her way around a six string. Competent and confident.

She acknowledged his compliment with a curt nod, some of the previous tension seeming to uncoil from her spine. Taking another sip of water, she asked, “Did you have something in mind for this so-called collaboration Mary insists we do?”

“Hold on. Wait a second there, Calamity Jane.” He raised both brows. “No one said anything to me about a collaboration. We’re just supposed to sing a tune together. Period. End of story.”

Her grey eyes flashed and her back appeared to bow up again. “I don’t do backup vocals any more, you old fart. Mary said…”

“I don’t care what she said. It’s not her album.”

“Ok. Listen.” She rubbed her temples. “You’re giving me a terrible headache.” She started packing up her guitar, her movements herky- jerky. “I’m done here. If you figure this all out,” she picked up her case and paused in the doorway, “give me a call. Mary’s got my number.”