Chapter 2
My muscles strainand scream as I drop to my toes, finishing my carousel spin. The silver pole is warm in my hands, and I grin, tightening my grip before stepping back.
There’s no pole class today, leaving my studio empty, silent besides the throaty RB coming from the speakers spread throughout the pink-tinted space. It’s late, probably too late to still be here straining myself, but I needed it today.
Beautifully Bold, my pole studio in the heart of downtown Cherry Peak, has gone a full week with no hot water. For a business I take pride in knowing makes every person who steps in the doors sweat buckets, this has become quite a nuisance. What’s the point in having two shower stalls in the bathroom if there’s no hot water?
The answer is that there isn’t one. My landlord doesn’t seem to care much, though. Stubborn as a mule, the old man won’t budge on getting a plumber out, claiming we can make do with the cold.
“You do get warm when you . . . exercise, right? Wouldn’t cold be better?” he asked over the phone this morning.
Shit, the judgment in the way he said exercise nearly sent me into a rage, let alone his blatant ignorance to the rights I have as a renter. For the millionth time since I grew old enough to recognize just how small Cherry Peak is, with its population so small they don’t bother putting it on the wooden town sign, I curse both the lack of open-mindedness and opportunities here.
Brushing stray strands of hair from my forehead, I cringe at the moisture on my skin. My throat burns as I gulp breaths, dropping my hands to my waist. The thin material of my spandex shorts clings to my round hips and rubs between my thighs with each step I take to the bathroom, hot water be damned. Cold will have to do.
My older brother isn’t exactly all that handy when it comes to home repairs, but surely, he’ll be able to take a look at the pipes and attempt to fix my hot water problem. If not, I doubt another phone call to my grumpy landlord, begging him to help again, will do much.
It takes me less than five minutes to shower before I hurry into my change of clothes, hoping my tits don’t turn purple and fall off from the chill rippling through me. My hair is still dripping wet over my shoulders when I rush out of the studio and into my car, driving down Main Street toward Peakside, the one and only pub in town.
The scent of beer and frying oil and the low-pitched notes of a country ballad greet me as I step inside and head right for our usual table. Happy chatter flows, alleviating some of my stress. A shot of tequila will do the rest.
Sitting in the usual booth tucked away in the corner of the pub, my friends are grinning, talking amongst themselves with an overflowing plate of loaded nachos on the table.
“There she is!” Anna cheers from beneath the arm of her boyfriend. Brody Steele, the owner of said arm, gives me a two-finger wave and a soft smile from over her shoulder.
The couple is famous in this town, which isn’t much of a surprise. Not when Brody is an award-winning country singer, and Anna is not only my beautiful best friend but a fellow business owner. The hair salon named Thistle and Thorn next door to Beautifully Bold is all hers, and damn, she’s done well with it over the past year.
“Hello, you wonderfully gorgeous woman.” I beam at her as the two people opposite the couple scootch down to make room for me on their bench seat.
Bryce, my best friend since childhood, flashes me a grin from the inside seat and yanks my brother further down the bench. Darren pushes a dewy glass of water toward me as I take the open spot and focus on him and Bryce.
“And hello to you two. I’m surprised Anna and Brody didn’t separate you two tonight. Feeling brave, D?” I ask with a sly grin.
“I’m capable of acting like an adult in public,” my brother mutters. “As long as she does.”
Bryce rolls her sharp blue eyes. Her midnight-black hair is still up in the bun she wears to work, leaving her expression open and all too blunt. “Don’t even. How old are you again?”
“And they were doing so good,” Anna sighs.
I wrap a hand around my glass of water and swallow a moan at the relief it gives my calloused palm. “Were they? Oops.”
“I missed this,” Brody notes, that soft, familiar twang heavy in his voice that most of the ranchers have here in Cherry Peak. Multiply it by his time in the country music industry, Nashville, specifically, and you have one hell of a country accent.
“The bickering? Was it really that boring receiving a damn music award and having your ass kissed all weekend?” Bryce asks.
“Boring? No. But I’m always antsy to get back home.”
“Give them a break, Ice. We all hate being away from one another,” I say with a wink at the happy couple.
It was nice that Anna got to go with her man to Nashville for the Country Music Awards because I know how much it kills her every time Brody leaves to record in Calgary with Swift Edge Records without her. She tries to join him whenever she can, but with her salon, it’s not always that easy.
He’s never gone for too long without her, and while Cherry Peak may only be close to three hours from Calgary, it’s still a tedious drive to make over and over again. I’m just happy it hasn’t put too much strain on their relationship.
They’re the couple I aspire to be, so anything bad happening to them would destroy me.
“Have you heard when you start working on the next album yet?” Darren asks.
With a press of his lips to Anna’s temple, Brody answers, “We were supposed to start soon. But I don’t think I’ll get gettin’ to it for a while now.”
I arch a brow. “Why not?”
Brody drags a hand down his face, a scowl appearing beneath it. “Swift Edge is a goddamn mess right now.”
“That’s only the beginning of the problems,” Anna adds, grimacing.
Bryce taps her nails on the table. “Out with it. I’m getting antsy.”
“We got a guest comin’ to Cherry Peak tomorrow.”
“Okay . . . what kind of guest?” I ask slowly.
It’s Anna who answers, a heavy sense of wariness hanging over the table. “The arrogant kind.”
“He got a name?” Darren flexes his fingers around his beer bottle, making me roll my eyes.
I nudge him in the shoulder. “Chill out, Macho Man.”
He ignores me, and a beat later, Brody’s speaking again, dropping a bomb on us all.
“Garrison Beckett. Or more known as the CEO of Swift Edge Records. My fuckin’ boss.”
Crickets. Utter crickets.
My stomach sinks. Every complaint Anna’s ever made to me about Garrison churns my insides. From his unrelenting pushing and expectations being the reason for Brody’s vocal strain last year to the disapproval he doesn’t bother hiding anytime Brody brings Anna up. Cherry Peak is too small of a town to hide from a man on a mission to be a colossal douche.
“Why the hell is he coming here of all places?” I mutter.
Anna tucks a strand of straight brown hair behind her ear, sighing heavier than I’ve heard anyone sigh in a long time. “There’s . . . a lot of things happening with the company right now. You’ve heard of Jocelyn, right? I know you must have, Bryce. She’s a pop singer.”
“I know her. Well, know of her. Know her music. I’ve seen the articles, but—” Bryce starts before my brother cuts her off.
“She was attacked at her last concert. The one in Vegas.”
“Thanks, dick. I was getting there,” Bryce hisses.
Brody clears his throat, effectively snagging their attention back from the start of another bickering session. I don’t remember the last time Bryce and Darren got along with one another. Probably back when we were all children.
“Garrison’s father is head producer at Swift Edge and also half owner. He asked me if my grandparents would make room for Garrison at the ranch, and it took a fuck ton of convincin’, but they agreed.”
“Why here, though? Cherry Peak will drive a rich prick insane,” Bryce says.
Anna shrugs. “It’s a safe place. Somewhere no one will come looking for a statement. Nobody here will know who he is, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”
It’s how Brody’s been able to start a normal life here with Anna despite his success. Anywhere other than Cherry Peak, and they’d be swarmed night and day.
Reporters still come snooping around here from time to time, but they grow bored quickly when nobody agrees to give them anything they want to know.
“Wade’s actually letting him stay? I’m sorry, but I can’t wrap my head around that.” Darren leans back in the booth, arms crossing over his chest and elbow digging into my side.
I shove it away. “Please tell me he’s making Sir Douchealot stay in the stables.”
“The guest house, actually. I voted for the cattle shed, but Anna told me that would have been cruel.”
“Don’t be a fun killer, Anna,” I scold.
Anna rolls her lips, giving her head a quick shake. “I’m not! Trust me, I want him here less than all of you do. But we’re doing this for Reggie, and he deserves for us to make sure his son doesn’t sleep with the cows, asshole or not. He’s trusting us with him.”
“We know, sweetheart. My grandmother has told my grandfather the same thing a million times since I first brought it up,” Brody says.
“So, let me get this straight,” Bryce starts, leaning her forearms on the table. “Garrison Beckett is going to be staying at Steele Ranch doing what? And for how long?”
Anna meets our best friend’s waiting stare. “That’s up to Wade. But we all know he isn’t going to let him stay on his land without pulling his weight.”
She’s damn right about that. Wade Steele is a hard-ass rancher, and there’s no way in hell he’d let this city boy come in and take advantage of his family.
“As far as how long, we don’t know. A couple of months at least,” Brody adds.
“A couple of months?” I blow a sharp breath between my teeth.
The happy couple grimaces as one. My brother finishes his drink, and then I’m waving the waitress over, ordering a round of shots for everyone. Five minutes later, we’re tipping them back.
“I have a feeling we’ll be doing this a bit more often over the next few weeks,” I say, ignoring the lingering burn in my throat.
“Here’s to a long two months,” Bryce sings, and I swear the town itself cringes along with us.