Nashville by Heart: A Novel (2 page)

She
took another good look at him. A stranger who was familiar.

Maybe
it was his confident air, or maybe he was a famous country singer. Who knew in
Nashville? He even had a scruffy Keith Urban quality that kept throwing her
off.

“Steady,
there.” His low drawl resounded in her ears in a pure Tennessee accent. Well,
he wasn’t Australian, so definitely not Keith Urban. Her world rocked sideways
even though he held her steady. She felt anything but as he stared at her with
that crooked smile.

She
noted his glance down, eyes quickly taking in her outfit from the wobbly shoes,
grazing up her long legs and silky blouse before resting on her stained-red
mouth, and, finally, her misty eyes. She looked away, wishing she could dash
back into the safety of the bathroom, but he still held her. It was a good
thing, too, with how off-kilter she was at the moment.

She
really wished she’d worn her boots. One thing was for sure, Cinderella was
wrong about the impression a fancy pair of shoes can make. She was now swaying
like a bad line dancer.

“I’ve
got you.” He definitely did. Gathering her dignity, she hoped he couldn’t see
how he made blood rush to her head.

“You
need to sit down or something, darlin’?”

So,
he was one of those guys. The kind who called women darlin’, as if there was
already some kind of connection between them. She hated the type, at least
usually. There didn’t seem to be anything especially creepy about this guy
though. His voice echoed concern.

She
opened her mouth, and for the first time since she’d come to Nashville, she was
speechless.
Really? Now?
Since thinking of something to say was impossible,
she snapped it shut before she resembled Loretta, her pet goldfish.

“No…
thanks. I’m OK,” she finally said, regaining her balance. He cautiously let go,
then offered his hand to shake.

“Will
Adams. And you are?”

She
blinked.
The
Will Adams she’d come here to meet? Her heart drummed, and
she could’ve sworn she heard a clang in her ears. Will Adams. Get yourself
together, girl, she told herself, and she did.

“Gillian.”
She stuck out her hand as calmly as she could, thinking maybe her luck was
turning around—or getting worse. At this point it was hard to tell. He
responded by wrapping his fingers around hers. They were warm, and he didn’t
immediately let go, which gave her time to study his face. His relative success
in the music business, and pictures she’d seen of him, had led her to assume he
was at least in his forties. Up close, she could see he was only five or six
years her senior, maybe around thirty or so.

“Do
you have a last name, Gillian?” His gaze locked on hers.

“Heart.”

He
squinted, apparently pondering her name. His fingers, still wrapped gently
around hers, made her forget for a split second why she was there.

“Gillian
Heart,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Are you lost?”

“Lost?”
Yes, but no. She shook her head. She wasn’t lost, even though he obviously
didn’t remember cancelling their appointment not fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe
she
had
misunderstood.

“I
had an appointment with you,” she muttered. “Or at least I thought I did.” She
stared at their hands, his grip gentle, but still securely holding hers in
place.

He
smiled, his blue eyes drawing her in like magic. She thought she might swoon
with all the butterflies flitting around inside her chest, so she reached for a
nearby countertop. He let her go. She closed her fingers into a fist, trapping
the warmth inside.

“
You
had an appointment with
me
?”

“I
thought so.”

“Hmm.
I don’t recall havin’ you on my schedule,” he drawled. He didn’t mention
rescheduling. “Unfortunately I gotta run though. I’m havin’ lunch with—” He
aimed a thumb toward the door, and Gillian suspected a brush off. She could see
it now. He’d been interested in her, but as soon as he found out she was trying
to get signed by him, he was finished.

“Audrey,”
she said, inching toward the door. He inched after her. “Josie told me.”

He
smiled again, making her knees turn to jelly. Trying not to wobble, she looked
for a new place to rest her hand. The exit wasn’t close enough to grip, so he
held his arm out like a dashing prince. This was very much like a fairytale,
but it didn’t seem to be headed toward a happy ending at all.

“Right.
Lunch with Audrey,” he said, staring at her hand for a minute, seeming to be
pondering her presence in his lobby. “But hey, Gillian. You sing, right?”

“That’s
why I’m here,” she said with what she knew was a goofy smile. She was
definitely not in flirting mode. She reluctantly let go of his arm and took her
chances, knowing it was pointless to hope he would be either a manager or a
date now. Warmth filled her cheeks yet again. She was having quite the
embarrassing day.

“Thanks,”
she said. “I’ll let you get to your meeting now.”

“Why
don’t you get some music to me?” he called after her. “I’ll give it a listen,
as an apology for cancelling our meeting.”

She
stopped short. “Really?”

Holy
cow. What should she do? She patted her tiny skirt pockets, as if the answer
could be in there, then remembered her purse.

“Oh,
then in that case I have something now.”

She
dug through her purse like a mad woman, her heart pounding, until she produced
a CD with her name written on the case in red permanent marker.

He
chuckled. “Old school, are we?”

Her
face, already flushed, was now like a flame lighting a watchtower. Stupid,
stupid, stupid. Of course, probably nobody used CDs any more. They’d email a
digital file or something. Maybe hand him a thumb drive. Send him to a website,
which she didn’t have. She’d listed herself on some aspiring artist sites but
couldn’t even remember which ones they were. She took back the CD. No wonder
she didn’t have a record deal yet. Heck, do they still call them record deals?

“I’m
sorry.” She attempted to stuff the CD back in her purse. “I recorded it at
home… uh… back in… my hometown, you know, we didn’t have a… never mind. I guess
it is old school.”

“You
don’t say.” His eyes softened. “I like old school.”

She
wondered if he saw through the makeup to the scared little girl behind it. She
hoped not.

“I
like it a lot,” he said, indicating for her to give the CD back to him. “I’ll
let you know what I think. We can talk about it over lunch some time, if you want.”

Her
heart raced, and she couldn’t think of a single word, even though all she
needed to say was yes. After being humiliated by her encounter with his
assistant, this was the last possible thing she’d expected to happen. And
forget about those tiny little leaps her heart had been making when he looked
at her; she was now weak in the knees from more than attraction. He wanted to
meet with her about music, after all. How lucky could she get? And after making
so many amateur mistakes in one day.

“What
do you say?” he was asking. “I know a great sushi place.”

Her
nose wrinkled involuntarily. What kind of Southerner was he?

She
thought about joking with him that anyone who’d eat raw fish was crazy, but she
didn’t want to offend him, especially if he was going to listen to her music.

“Does
that sound good?” he asked.

It
sounded awful. Maybe she was just a bundle of nerves, but the very thought of
raw fish made her stomach turn. In her world, fish were meant to be battered
and fried.

“Maybe,”
she said, giving him a smile that felt as wobbly as her feet in those
ridiculous shoes.

Please,
she thought—
anything but
sushi
.

Holy
smokes. Will was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from the girl
standing—no, wobbling—in his building’s lobby and telling him that
maybe
they could have sushi together. Everything about her appearance was incredibly
distracting, including her green eyes sparkling even brighter than her glittery
eyeshadow and all that blond hair hanging like silk across her shoulders. He
didn’t know where to look that didn’t send his mind into a swirl of thoughts
that had nothing to do with music. Tearing his gaze away from her mouth, he
focused on what she’d said.

Maybe.

He
grinned. “Maybe
you’ll have lunch with me? Or maybe you’ll have sushi?”

She
opened her mouth to say something but immediately snapped it shut.

“Don’t
tell me,” he said. “Sushi not your thing?”

The
way she wobbled in those crazy shoes convinced him she wasn’t accustomed to
wearing them—or eating sushi.

“Sushi’s
definitely not my thing,” she said in a quiet voice. He couldn’t help but
smile. She made him think of his sisters who still lived where they all grew up
in a small town outside of Gatlinburg. Sushi wasn’t their thing either—too
citified, they always said—although every time they visited, he begged them to
try it.

“Forget
the sushi,” he said.

“But—”
She looked panicked, and her voice hit an odd high note. “I’d still like to
see, er, meet with you.”

She
was clearly nervous. Wannabe clients always were, and he didn’t blame them. In
his mind, he was still Will, a country boy from a big family, but to aspiring
musicians, he was a genie who could grant their wishes if they didn’t rub him
the wrong way. He didn’t think Gillian could rub him the wrong way at all.

Of
course, he hadn’t heard her sing, but he’d like to.

“It’s
a date,” he said.

He
hadn’t realized how the word “date” might sound until he’d already said it and
she’d turned an enchanting shade of pink. To be honest, if it turned out she couldn’t
sing a lick, he’d happily take her out on a real date, but only if she traded
in those crazy-looking heels for some regular shoes, preferably a pair of
boots. But she could keep that skirt.

“OK,”
she said, standing a little straighter despite her obvious discomfort.

He
wished he could put her at ease. The playing field was not level at all, but he
sure would like to toss off his agent hat and get down on her level. As soon as
he thought it, he mentally slapped himself for being such a rake. There was a
time when he wouldn’t have had any problem mixing business with pleasure, but
he was a gentleman now.

“What
about fried catfish?” he asked. “Chicken?”

She
laughed, the sudden lilt in her voice making him grin wider. He listed a half
dozen Southern foods, all fried.

“And
we can talk about your music,” he added.

“I
guess I like anything, if we’re talking about music,” she said.

Her
shy smile gave him a glimpse of a woman more down-to-earth than her makeup and
outfit suggested. He wanted to know that person.

“Anything
except sushi,” he said, grinning.

“Except
for sushi.”

“Then
it’s settled.”

She
nodded agreement but said nothing as she fiddled with the fringe on her purse.

He
knew he should say goodbye and get going—Audrey would be ticked at him for
being late—but instead he stood rocking on his heels like a school boy about to
ask a girl to the dance. He could definitely imagine taking her out on the
dance floor, rocking the night away, but first they’d have to do something
about those shoes. Not that he completely hated them on her. They were sexy.
She just couldn’t stand up in the damn things.

“It’s
settled,” she said, the pink filling her cheeks again. He’d like to think it
was all because of him, but he knew better. A chance to share her music with
him would feel like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even though there was
something about Gillian Heart that made him want to know more on a personal
level, he had to admit there was some star quality about her, too, and it
wasn’t only because she was gorgeous. Call it his agent’s sixth sense, but he
knew better than to ignore that feeling.

He
smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “You haven’t been in Nashville long, have
you?”

“About
three years.” She took a deep breath, perhaps to calm her nerves, but she looked
about as calm as a pressure cooker, and to be honest, about as hot too. And
there he went again, needing to mentally slap himself.

Trying
to be a gentleman, he kept his eyes focused on her face. He was used to his
presence making potential clients nervous, but he wasn’t accustomed to them
making his mind spin out of control.

“In
Nashville time, you practically just got here,” he said.

She
offered a smile, and he thought it could light up a whole crowd. “I guess so.
Sometimes it feels like forever.”

He
nodded, understanding how she felt. He’d seen a lot of girls in her shoes.
Well, maybe not
those
shoes, he mused, but she might not realize how
common it was to be in Nashville for years and not have a record deal. He knew
a slew of musicians who’d been performing in Nashville for twenty and still
didn’t have a deal.

“Well,
don’t ever give up,” he said, despite the fact that statistics told him she
would. He hoped she wasn’t one of them and was pleased to see a flash of hope
in her eyes. There was a time when he had that same look in his own eyes,
before he got into music management.

“Thanks,”
she said, and her smile reminded him of someone he knew. He knew a songwriter
by the same last name. Maybe they were related, but before he could ask, she
glanced toward the doors, obviously ready to leave.

“Looks
like the rain’s quit.” He thought a look of relief crossed her face.

“Before
we go, what’s the plan?” he asked. “We don’t even have to eat. We can meet back
here in my office later. Or how about a drink? I know a little bar around the
corner…”

He’d
been thinking a drink was more informal and less intimidating than lunch or a
meeting in his office, at least that’s what he told himself, but her nervous
look was back. She was ready to bolt, and he wasn’t ready to let her.

“I
have to work.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m a waitress.”

“Of
course you are,” he said, smiling. They were always waitresses. “Just give
Josie a call. She schedules everything.”

“I
will.”

He
waved the CD. “And I’ll listen.”

She
nodded, but he couldn’t tell if it was a yes or another maybe. Taking her hand
in a goodbye shake, he realized she was trembling. Giving her what he hoped was
a calming smile, he let her go, noticing her smooth pale nails as her hand
slipped from his. They were completely void of polish, which didn’t match the
tone of anything else she was wearing. He smiled to himself, pretty sure that
if she were to wipe off all that makeup, a natural born country girl would
emerge. That’s what he liked to see in a client, but rarely found any more. So
much of country music was all about being flashy these days.

“Thanks
a bunch,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

His
heart raced at the thought of seeing her again, but unlike her, his experience
as an agent had taught him how to hide his emotions. He glanced at his watch—a
vintage gift from his parents—remembering he had to get going too, but couldn’t
help stealing another minute. His music agent side wondered how she’d look on
stage as he surreptitiously glanced at the string of beads draped across her
chest, the only thing at all country about her outfit, then the man side of him
glanced down a little lower before raising his gaze to meet her eyes.

Caught
staring, he cleared his throat and looked at his boots. He was a jerk, but that
skirt and those silly high heels sent his mind in directions they shouldn’t go
if he was thinking about giving her a chance as a client.

She
smiled then, making him wonder if she knew the effect she was having on him.
She had to.

“I
know you’ve gotta get going,” she said. “So do I.”

But
he didn’t want her to go. In fact, he wanted to take her home right in broad
daylight, but somehow he knew that underneath that sexy outfit, she wasn’t the
type. And then he wouldn’t be able to pursue her as a client. It was a
frustrating, and enticing, quandary he found himself in. Fortunately, even
though he was having trouble curbing his roaming thoughts, he was a changed
man. His former womanizing ways went all the way back to when his preacher dad
kicked him out for trying to steal his girlfriend’s virginity in the back of
the church van—as well as for stealing the van and a long list of other things.
As a thirty-year-old man, he’d redeemed himself to his father a long time ago,
but sometimes, when he was around a beautiful woman like Gillian Heart, he
turned back into a bit of a Casanova.

“Right,
I do need to get out of here,” he said, wishing it weren’t true, but glad too.
“I’ll see you soon. Just call Josie.”

She
nodded, bobbing a little sideways.

He
grinned, watching her rush toward the revolving door that spun her out of the
Adams Music offices and away from Music Row.

From
the window he could see her hurrying down the sidewalk, toward the bus stop he
presumed. Holy smokes. The jut of her cute little chin and the maddening wiggle
of her hips from walking in those terrible shoes was delightful—even if he did
prefer cowgirl boots on a woman.

He
hurried through the doors himself and stood staring after her. He was just in
time to see her stop and remove her shoes. She looked back, giving him the
tiniest wave before disappearing around the corner.

He
cocked his head and smiled, glad he’d kept her CD, if for no other reason than
to have an excuse to see her again. He hoped he didn’t have to break her heart
about her voice, which would completely mess up any possibility of taking her
out. Then again, if she could sing, that would mess everything up too.

~~~~

Will
glanced at his buzzing phone. It was a text from Audrey. Her time was precious.
Everybody’s time in Nashville was precious, but since she was his most
promising new star, he obeyed her summons. Climbing into his brand new black
truck, he left to meet her at The Sweetest Tea Café, but he slowed his truck
when he spotted Gillian at the bus stop around the corner, standing
beautiful—and steady—without those blasted shoes of hers. He chuckled, watching
her disappear in his rearview mirror, then pressed down on the gas pedal. He
was already late.

On
cue, his phone rang. “Yep, Audrey. I got your message. On my way.”

Audrey
was his ticket to get out of this mess the business had fallen into. And even
though she was the newest big name in Nashville, she’d paid her dues by singing
back-up for an impressive list of country music stars and performing at the
best honky-tonk bars in Nashville. She was his sure thing when it came to
clients. Even if some of her recent stardom had gone to her head, her years of
experience in the industry made her a hell of a lot easier to work with than
the boy and girl scouts who tried daily to get an appointment with him.

He
flipped on the radio. Of course, Audrey never made blood gush to his head like
Gillian Heart had. That reminded him of the CD he’d tossed onto the seat beside
him. He popped it in just for kicks, and about thirty seconds in, slammed on
the breaks, nearly causing an accident. He pulled into the closest parking lot
and turned up the volume.

Holy
smokes.