Southern Charmed Billionaire (2 page)

“You really are making a mistake, sir!”
 

“Just doing my job m’am.”
 

“I have to keep this whole scene under control from going viral on YouTube, Instagram, Snapchat! They’re breaking up! Can’t you see that? And those guys you just named like buddies you know from the local bar—John, Luke, and Michael—well, now we’re jobless! Yes,
we
! Because I’m their
manager,
and I need to
fix
this. Now!”
 

Echoing my disparity and only confirming what I just uttered, Claire’s voice sounded louder as her loud heels clanked off off the stage.
 

“There you have it! You've seen the last of us, y’all. Concert of the fucking year.” She mumbled.
 

I rummaged through the curtains to find an opening to peek at what was happening. I tore it wider with all the strength I could muster. This did not make the security man happy at all.
 

And then I saw her. Her heavily lined eyes were filled with tears. They glistened under the stage light.
 

My eyes landed on Andy, the culprit behind it all. He stood there with his guitar draped behind him, his guitar strap securely over his chest. He shrugged his shoulders in shock as he spun behind him to look at the band.
 

“Do you guys want to keep going?”
 

He reached for the microphone. “It didn't mean anything. I mean, who hasn’t had drunken sex? Times three.” This time the reverb was off and his statement was heard loud and clear.
 

“Fucking unbelievable. I knew it! I knew he was cheating on me! I should have never made this band a duo, but he just insisted we needed the harmony and the tale of our love story to sell to the public. Well, that’s what happens!” She yelled to no one in
particular, just to herself as she stood off stage.
 

I waved at her. “Claire! Over here! Over here!” She shook her head and stormed over to me. She collapsed into my arms and began to sob as loudly as if somebody had died. Well, something had just died: them. Their image. As I comforted her, mystery man was speaking to the security officer.
 

My hand rested on her arm. “Claire, I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay. It’s—”
 

“Is that what I was? Really?” another voice joined the drama.
 

Oh my god.
 

“Is that her?” Claire’s head snapped up and her hands slid through the opening of the curtain, taking a look.
 

“Let me see!”
 

I crouched down and peeked through the slit as well.
 

“Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t know you were here. Of course, I mean,” he covered his microphone mouthing the words. “Let’s talk about this after the concert. Michael, pick up the beat. Let’s play
Bare
.”
 

The rest was a blur and broke down like a slow motion scene in a movie.
 

“Oh no you don’t, Michael! Do not start this song I wrote!
I
wrote this song!” Claire screamed as she tore the curtains, letting out her anger. Instead of walking back on stage the way she came, something in her—her fury and anger—decided this was the best time to re-appear back into the crowd. There was an audible gasp, and murmurs picked up as she tore the side curtain. Talk about a grand finale. I wish I never had made a my small slit between the curtains to peek because the vindication and wrath of Claire now had the attention of everyone in the room as she ripped open the curtain. She hurled herself into the crowd as a few received her carrying her. She body-surfed to a few drunken cheers before falling on her arm and screaming bloody murder, the types of shrieks reserved for childbirth. “You made me break my arm, you bitch!” While she rolled on the ground in pain, “I’m going to slap you, bitch! You fucking whore! I hate you!”
 

“What foul language for such a folksy songwriter.” The stranger who tripped me now stood beside me watching the entire scene with shock. These types of things were not supposed to occur in real life.
 

Yeah. It was happening to me right now. To me. I shook my head, feeling utterly in shock.
 

Stephen marched through the crowd with his hands out just the nick of time and carried her like a baby through the crowd that parted like the  Red Sea. It was the dramatic scene of the year.
 

I shook my head and felt like I was watching a very bad dream. “Yeah, there’s no recovering from this. My job’s over. Fucking phone, work! Ugh! I have to get to them!” I took a mad dash back to the green room, but it was occupied now by another band, and a woman with red hair and more tattoos than towns in Texas glared at me.
 

“May I please come in? I’m with Bloodties. The folk band that was just—”
 

“That just aired their dirty laundry?”
 

“Yes, them.”
 

“Sorry, it’s our turn for the prep room now. You know the rules.”
 

“Unbelievable.” I exhaled, feeling lost, frustrated, and mad as hell at the whole scene that just happened, and I shouted, “This was the biggest indoor spring festival they’d ever played in their own town of residence, their home base!—”
 

“Yeah, not so happy fans either. I heard a few complaining wanting their money back. They only played two songs.”
 

I closed my eyes, and my head rested against a brick wall. I slowly slid down the wall my head collapsing in my head in my hands.
 

“Miss.”
 

“I know, I know. I‘m in the wrong place. Again.”
 

“Here.”
 

A card rested against my hand. It was pointy and poked my arm. Annoyingly. I shot open my eyes to glare at whomever was poking at me.
 

It was him. Again.
 

I suddenly felt really embarrassed by the frantic bizarre behavior he just witnessed from me.
 

“I’ve gotta go, because I’m up now. But hey, come here tomorrow. I think I may be able to help you with a job. And a new phone, at least.”
 

“Huh?…What…what type of job?”
 

“Oh, just a little manufacturing. They’re calling me. Gotta go. Sorry again about your phone.”
 

Chapter Two
 

Atticus
 

Running with a mission
 

With no inhibition
 

The concrete floor
 

Was her only door
 

To the new life she’d soon know
 

Yeah yeah
 

With those big brown eyes
 

And smile I know like a thousand watts light
 

I’ll see you grin
 

I’ll see you again
 

In the nude
 

Yeah yeah
 

Cause I wanna know what makes your world spin
 

I wanna know what treasure lies in
 

The heart
 

That fell
 

Across my boot
 

Didn’t know what to do
 

And now I need to see you more
 

See you more
 

The words flew out of me more smoothly than any lyrics in my life with a soulful melody that invoked wonder and that feeling of “what if” paired with nostalgia. I grabbed my guitar and quickly strummed out a few notes, feeling the jive from John Mayer’s freshman album
Room for Squares
, and the song “Why Georgia Why.” My head nodded to the groove; this was killer!
 

“God, yes! Finally!” I called out. Writer’s block sucked, and I’d had for longer than I could remember. But music was my outlet. It let me be someone else for a while. I recorded the melody on my phone so I wouldn’t forget it before I was due on stage in five minutes for my small meager set of cover songs. Which was miracle in itself, but money does wonders, and so does a famous last name.
 

After singing cover after cover, my blood boiled and yearend for inspiration like this, where I’d write about something that mattered, something interesting. Something that made you want to know more. It actually sounded coherent, and somewhat clever sounding.
 

That girl, the perfect stranger. She ran into me like a freight train the other night. She was in such chaotic turmoil and obvious pain with her frantic choice words. I caused her phone to get banged up, and felt horrible about it. I wish I had had cash on me to fork over an immediate replacement.
 

I thought of her dire choice of words: “now I don’t have a job!”
 

Well, I knew one thing for certain. If I saw her tomorrow, she’d have herself a new job.
 

The way she earnestly sought to fix things, that passion was something that shown about her like a halo.
 

I hope she’d come by my office first thing in the morning.
 

I needed to see her again. That was for sure.
 

If she didn’t, I’d have to track her down. Kate Longhouse was her name.
 

When the muse lands, you don’t let it go. You hold on tight.
 

But when the muse is a sexy little curvy number, with a different air about her, well, you make plans, alright.
 

I just knew today was going to be a lucky day.
 

Kate
 

After finally phoning Claire down from a kind stranger’s phone, I took an uber to the hospital where she was waiting in the emergency room to be seen. The $60 ride was an excess expense I desperately did not want to make, especially now since the band was falling a part.
 

“I’m really sorry, Kate, but I’m not going to be able to pay you for this month.” She slid her cellphone to me, showing me dozens of e-mails of angry fans demanding their money back.
 

“And I don’t have insurance. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this visit.”
 

But I knew.
 

I’d pay with the money I was owed for a job I busted my ass for.
 

“Well, looks like I won’t make this month’s rent then. Sorry.”
 

Atticus
 

Sweat poured down my back beneath my sweatshirt as I sprinted the last stretch of my run before slowing to a cool down. It was an abnormally chilly March, but the cold air was exactly what I needed.
 

I inhaled the crisp morning air and felt alive and free in moments like these, with the view of the rolling mountains in the distance. Out here I was just another man in the woods. Instead of zooming traffic and horns outside my office high rise, bald eagles soared, bears roamed, deer galloped, and I was a man in his castle here. It’s where I belonged.
 

My moment of peace and tranquility was soon interrupted as my cell phone buzzed.
Kim
. My publicist.
 

It was not even 7am. This couldn’t be good.
 

“Hi Kim. Bad news, is it?”
 

“Well, good morning, Atticus. I have good news and bad news,” her cheerful voice cooed.
 

“Let me have it.”
 

“Good news is you’re on the best-dressed list again for Charleston Luxury Magazine.”
 

“Yay,” I commented sarcastically.
 

“Oh Atticus, it’s an honor to be voted well-dressed. The names are dropping today. The bad news is, I hate to tell you this, but there is a colorful rumor going around about you.”
 

“What rumor?”
 

My heart sank. Was it my music? Were people saying I sucked?
 

“Well, the rumor is going around that you’re gay.”
 

I sighed and rolled my eyes as my running shoes hit the gravel.
 

“Going around or printed around?”
 

“It’s both. We have to do something to combat this rumor. Especially if you want to cultivate your brand correctly. I mean, it works for you if you really are gay. But I know that you’re not. And you’ve hired me to take care of these things for you. So, I’ve
come up with a plan.”
 

“Yeah?”
 

“Let’s have you hire an assistant to accompany you this gala season. Same girl on your arm for every picture. Then, we can spin the story that she had to go away on business. And there is your long-distance relationship. Which, honestly, Atticus, you’re so handsome. If only I were ten years younger.”
 

“Kim, you look amazing. You don’t need to look ten years younger.”
 

“You’re good looking, well-dressed, and sweet. Why on Earth are you still single at almost thirty?”
 

It was a question I got a lot. Especially from Granddaddy and my cousins practically every week. But it’s complicated.
 

And our newfound life in the public eye thanks to my narcissistic, attention-seeking twin sister Brittany only grew more complicated. She just had to do this ridiculous reality TV show a few years ago in Charleston that exploded into a cultural phenomenon.
 

Before that, I could have attended events with the Branch name being admired, but now, I attended events to basically keep my sister in check. I made it known from day one that I was to not be featured and filmed. But when sister dear is making a ridiculous scene, a simple slap on the wrist via text message was not going to do the trick. I had to physically step in quite often because I was the only person in the world she would listen to. Somewhat. Besides Granddaddy, and he just looked at her with disappointment.