His eyes narrow as he shakes my outstretched hand. “I’ve heard your name. Why have I heard your name?”
I’m stunned that there’s even a hint of recognition in him. My stomach turns in big flopping waves, and Tana jumps in, saving me from bumbling whatever explanation is about to fall from my lips.
“I picked up Holly in the checkout line while we bonded over how much it blows to see yourself on the front of a gossip rag.”
Mick’s gaze narrows further before it lights with knowledge. “Wix. You’re the hot young thing JC Hughes has on his arm these days.”
I cringe at the description, because that’s not how I want to be known. But that’s what happens when you sign a deal with the devil.
Tana slaps his thigh from her seated position. “And she’s touring with Boone Thrasher because she’s the hottest new talent to hit the stage since Carrie and Miranda.”
Her adamant statement throws me for a loop, and those nervous waves in my belly glimmer with pride.
Mick rocks back on the heels of his tooled black leather boots. “Ain’t heard her sing yet, but I’ve sure seen her picture.”
I wince, pride doused.
“And that’s the problem. The label has backed her into a corner, and they’ve made the JC situation a requirement. She can’t get out of it,” Tana explains.
Mick studies me. “Who you with, girl?”
“Homegrown. They signed me when I won Country Dreams.”
“Ah.” Mick nods twice. “Now I know where I first heard your name. And you probably signed a devil’s bargain to get your ‘million-dollar recording contract’ after you won.”
It isn’t even a question. Mick knows how the game is played.
“It was that or keep working at a bowling alley in BFE, Kentucky, and never taking my shot. At least this got me to Nashville.”
He raises a hand. “No need to get defensive. I’m not judging. We all take the route we need to take to get here, but that means living with the consequences. How long are you stuck with this JC bullshit? I’m assuming you have to suck it up and smile on his arm to help shine up his image and get some good press. Besides, we all know he’s been on the edge of casino-playing retirement for a more than a few years now.”
Dang. Mick really does know how the game is played. I guess you couldn’t be in Nashville as long as he has without learning all the pitfalls.
“Six months,” Tana offers. “And it’s not like when our managers hooked us up. JC doesn’t seem to care either way if he hurts Holly’s career.”
I swivel my head around to stare at Tana. “I didn’t know that you . . .” I glance back to Mick. “Really? Your relationship started out as a publicity stunt?”
Tana laughs. “Of course it did. Why else do you think I’d get involved with such a man-whore? I needed some street cred, and he was getting all the wrong kinds of press for sleeping with everything with tits.”
“Jesus, baby. That’s ancient history—and we kept that shit quiet for a reason.”
“I’m just saying that sometimes it actually works out fine,” Tana says.
Mick shakes his head. “Back to the point of this conversation.” Aiming his stare at me, he continues. “You could be fucked in six months if JC keeps this shit up. You’ve got sympathy on your side right now, but if you keep laying down and taking it, you’re just going to look like a fool.”
Tana slaps his thigh again. “Not helping.”
Her husband reaches down and grabs her hand. “Quit, woman, or I’ll spank your ass even harder tonight.”
Tana’s face flushes a bright red, and I decide to let the comment go without trying to figure out exactly what they’re talking about.
Mick releases her hand and grabs the magazine shoved between the wine bottles. “This the rag with the cheating dick?”
Shaking her head, Tana grabs it from his hand. “Nope, that’s the one with the hot billionaire dick I’m going to marry if you decide to leave me for some country starlet.”
I catch a glimpse of the cover. It’s a copy of Forbes, and there’s a stupidly handsome dark-haired man on the cover.
The headline reads: CREIGHTON KARAS CRUSHES COMPETITION.
“What are you talking about, woman? You’d bury me out back if I so much as looked at another woman,” Mick grumbles.
Tana’s lyrical laugh echoes off the walls. “Damn right, and don’t you forget it.”
I snatch the magazine out of his hand to get a closer look.
“Whoa, girl. Calm down.”
I wave him off, the wine dulling the instincts that would otherwise have me continuing to bow and scrape in his country-music royalty presence.
“Shhh. I need to look at him.” I’m not sure why I need silence to do that, but apparently the large bottle of wine I drank says I do.
The man is gorgeous, but he looks cocky and arrogant. I flip the magazine open and page through it until I find another picture of him.
I win because losing isn’t an option.
—Creighton Karas