Heartstrings: The Complete Collection

1. Mack

Chapter 1

Mack

“What do you mean, the record company wants a duet?” I demand, glowering at my manager.

“Well, technically, they want three duets on the album,” Harry says, holding my gaze.

I rub a weary hand over my face. “I did the whole boy band gig. I’m a solo artist now.”

“That whole boy band gig is what launched you and earned you millions,” Harry reminds me.

“Yeah, and it didn’t come without an emotional price tag,” I mutter darkly, aware I sound like an ungrateful asshole.

Every kid dreams of being a rock star, and I was no different.

I hit the big time with the boy band Dynamite when I was twenty. I drowned in booze, drugs, and women until I forgot my own fucking name. Life was one huge non-stop party, and I was riding high on the fame roller-coaster.

It was cool for a while—the buzz of being famous, the screaming fans, life on the road. But as Dynamite's songwriter and lead vocalist, I burned out quickly. Fame got old real damn quick. After five years of giving everything to the industry, I wanted out. I wanted sleep. Oblivion. And space.

My mom dying was the biggest wake-up call imaginable. It left me hollow and empty. I didn’t even know about the cancer. She kept it a secret from me. She knew I’d drop everything to be with her, and she didn’t want to stop me from “living my dream.” She said her weight loss was related to her Crohn’s Disease, but in reality, she had bowel cancer.

After she died, I took two years off to take care of my stepsister, who was only fourteen at the time. But it wasn’t long before I wanted back into the music scene—this time, on my terms. Not writing boy band jingles and prancing around on stage to choreographed dance routines but composing from the heart. Music that touched people’s emotions and left an imprint on their souls.

I was picked up by Rumors record label as a solo artist, and a handful of Platinum hits followed. Then the passion for music that’s always driven me dried up. The songs and lyrics weren’t coming from the heart anymore. Something disconnected inside me, taking the magic with it. Twelve years I’ve given to my music career. I’ve given everything I have, and I’m not sure why I’m doing it anymore. The industry has almost drained me dry.

And now the record label has changed the goalposts. Even they don’t have faith in me as a solo artist anymore.

I stare out at the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows in Harry’s office. “So let me get this straight. I either bring in a singing partner for three of the songs on the new album, or the deal is off with Rumors.”

Harry leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk. “Rumors has a vision for you. As a record company, they see your talent. They love your voice, but we both know the lyrics have been… less forthcoming lately. So, they want to bring in a female artist to mix things up a bit.”

My head pops up. “Wait. The record company wants to team me up with a female artist? What the fuck, Harry? I’ve never sung with a woman before. I’m supposed to change everything, my whole setup, to fit in with the record company’s ‘vision?’”

“If you want to tour and secure your deal with Rumors for another two years, yes,” Harry says bluntly. “The record company has already held some preliminary auditions, and?—”

“They’ve already done auditions?” I shift forward in my chair, fury burning through me. “When the hell was I gonna be told about this? Don’t I have any say in who I’m going to be forced to sing with?”

Harry holds up a placating hand. “These are only suggestions, Mack. Of course, you have the final say on who you partner with. If you like any of the girls I’m about to show you, we’ll pull them in for a live audition.”

“And if I don’t like any of them?”

“Then we’ll go back to the drawing board. Just listen, please, and we’ll go from there.”

I don’t want to jump through hoops for the record company, and I sure as hell don’t want a singing partner, but it appears my options are limited. Rumors are effectively saying, “toe the line, or we’ll find someone who will.”

I lean back in my chair with a frustrated sigh, which Harry takes as an assent. He turns the screen on his desk to face me, where he has a video cued and hits the play button. I reluctantly turn my attention to the screen and spend the next half hour listening to choreographed auditions from a range of hopefuls singing renditions of their favorite Dynamite songs. One girl looks about twelve, another is dressed in some weird-ass outfit that looks like ostrich feathers glued to her body, and one has a python around her neck as she sings. Some of the voices are good, some are great, but none of them move me in any emotional way.

The video ends, and I turn my shocked gaze on Harry. “You seriously expect me to choose someone from that horror show?”

“The girl with the feathers had a good voice, and she’s blonde and pretty,” Harry points out, ever the opportunist.

I push to my feet. “I’m done with this fucking shit. I won’t be emotionally blackmailed, especially when it comes to my career. I spent five years being someone else’s puppet.”

“Mack, wait. I have one more for you to listen to,” Harry says urgently.

I reach for the door handle as strains of music fill the room once more, stopping me in my tracks. The sweetest, clearest voice I’ve ever heard weaves into the air, wrapping around me and making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I turn in a trance and plunk my ass back in my seat, leaning closer to the screen.

The woman sitting at a piano in what looks like her living room has long, blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a pretty mouth. If she’s wearing makeup, I can’t tell, but she clearly doesn’t need it with her flawless skin and deep brown eyes.

She’s utterly lost in the song, my song, Visions of Her. But she’s the vision, radiating an innocence so refreshingly different from the pushy, jaded women I meet on a daily basis. All the other girls chose Dynamite songs, but this woman is making the ballad I wrote her own. Slightly different arrangement, but it works beautifully as her fingers fly over the piano keys. She holds a note so pure, the backs of my eyes prickle.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?

As the final notes fade, I turn to Harry, my heart thumping. “Who is she?”

Harry smiles like a fisherman reeling in a particularly big fish. “Her name is Harmony Sinclair.”

Harmony. How appropriate.

“Age twenty-two from Pembroke, Virginia. She works at Mountain Ridge Resort as a barmaid. Parents died when she was four, and she was raised by her grandparents, but they’ve since passed.”

“So she’s all alone,” I murmur.

I never knew my father or grandparents and lost my mom to cancer at the height of my fame in Dynamite. If it weren’t for my stepsister, Jessica, I’d be all alone too. I’m not sure why, but I feel a sudden connection with this woman. I have an overwhelming urge to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will be okay and I’ll take care of her.

Harmony’s voice has unlocked something inside me, and melodies are composing themselves in my head with her voice front and center. I need to get home, pull out my guitar, and get these notes down on paper.

I frown as a thought occurs to me. “How do you know so much about her?”

Harry shifts uncomfortably as I fix my gaze on him. “I may have reached out to her last week. I commented on this video, and she replied. We’ve been messaging since. I had a feeling you’d like her voice.”

An irrational jealousy stirs in my gut knowing Harry and Harmony have been messaging. Harry is a womanizer and charms his way through women like a knife through warm butter. Harmony is far too good for the likes of Harry Summers.

Not that I’m an angel. Being in a boy band for five years brought all kinds of benefits, and I indulged in every one of them; women, booze, drugs. I was on a self-destruct course, and I’m pretty sure I still would be if Mom hadn’t died. Losing her forced me to reassess my priorities.

I glare at Harry. “So why did you make me sit through the horror show if you already had Harmony lined up?”

“She was the ace up my sleeve,” he says with a smirk. “I knew you’d resist the whole duet thing, so I saved the best for last. A card player never shows his hand too early.”

Prick. Admittedly, a prick with the right connections, but still…

“So what happens now? The tour starts in three months. Doesn’t give us much time.”

Harry leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “I’m confident everything will come together quickly once you two get in the recording booth tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You said she’s in Virginia.”

“I said she lives in Virginia, but right now—” he checks his watch “—she’ll be getting on a flight to JFK.”

“You’re an asshole.” I glower at him.

“Why? Because I knew you’d agree in the end?” he asks smugly. “I’m your manager for a reason, Mack. I know what’s best for you. And I think I’ve found a real gem in Harmony Sinclair.”

I narrow my gaze on him. “You’ve been my manager for three years, Harry, and you’re good at your job. But you signed off on this behind my back, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

Harry doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. “Any decisions I make are for the benefit of your career, Mack.”

“Yeah, well, next time, be sure to include me in those decisions, or you and I will be parting company.”

Harry tips his head. “Noted.”

I push to my feet and head for the door. “I’m outta here.”

“I’ll bring Harmony to your place tomorrow morning,” Harry calls after me.

I turn back to face him. “Who’s collecting her from the airport?

“I am,” Harry replies a little too quickly.

I don’t miss the anticipatory gleam in his eye, and my hackles rise. He likes her. No fucking way. Harry is getting his hands on that little tidbit over my cold, dead body.

“I’ll call Max and go get her in the limo,” I say, referring to my driver.

Harry’s eyes narrow. “A little conspicuous, don’t you think? You’ll get mobbed.”

“If I’ve learned anything after twelve years in the industry, it’s how to be in conspicuous,” I tell him with a smirk.

“I think it’s better if I?—”

“Do I need to remind you that you went behind my back with this little plan?” I cut across him, my voice devoid of humor. “If I’m going to be singing with her, the least I can do is pick her up from the airport.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, I head for the door.

“Don’t you want to know which hotel she’s booked into?” Harry calls after me.

“Nope. She can stay in the guest house at mine,” I reply as the door thuds closed behind me.

It makes sense for Harmony to stay at my place in the Catskills as I have a recording studio there. Plus, she can meet Jessica. At twenty, Jessica is twelve years younger than me, the same age I was when Dynamite broke onto the music scene. I practically raised her after Mom died, and she’s been my PA/Assistant for the past two years. She’s damned good at her job, and there’s no one I trust more, so I’m eager to hear her thoughts on Harmony.

I’m still not happy at being played by the record company and my manager, but there’s no denying Harmony’s talent. Since I watched her video, notes and chords have been playing on a loop in my head. I pull my notepad from the pocket of my leather jacket, scrawling lyrics as I make my way to the elevator.

I’m not sure what kind of spell Harmony has cast on me, but she’s unleashed something inside me that’s lain dormant for far too long.