Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Lola
I always get so nervous at these celebrity parties. Imposter syndrome is running hot as I walk up the long driveway to the giant doors of this insane mansion.
Graham Marshall is rock and roll royalty. He was the lead singer of Cyanide Twist for two decades and is now going solo after the unfortunate passing of the other core member of the band, guitarist and singer, Niles Walker. It’s been five years since Graham released an album and apparently, it’s amazing from what I’ve heard. This giant star-filled party is here to celebrate its launch.
Everyone loves Graham. He’s been so good to so many people. He’s always so inspiring and loves to get all these creative and talented people together.
My first contact with him was when a video of me singing an acoustic version of Of You, For You at the Huntington Fair went mini-viral. He sent me a nice handwritten letter urging me to continue with my music career and to never give up since I had ‘real talent.’ I nearly died. That letter is still framed on my bedroom wall.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” my guitarist Sasha says as she looks around all wide-eyed with a big smile on her face.
“Holy shit,” my bass guitarist Clyde says, looking at the various Ferraris and Lamborghinis parked on the huge cobblestone roundabout in front of the mansion. “That’s Drippy Don.”
I look over and see the hip hop star sitting on the hood of a yellow Bugatti while talking on the phone. This is surreal.
Rachel hooks her arm around mine and grins as we walk. “Think Cash is going to be here?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug innocently, but my nerves are bouncing around like buzzing electrons. I’ve been thinking about him nonstop all week.
“I saw the way he was looking at you,” she says with a grin. “He’s going to be here.”
God, I hope so.
My heart is pounding as I look down at my outfit. I had no idea what to wear and after trying on every outfit in my closet at least once, I settled on a sparkly black mini skirt, a designer gray tank top that shows just a hint of cleavage, and some black cowboy boots. I’m also wearing my favorite gold necklace that my parents gave me when I graduated high school. It’s simple and probably the least expensive piece of jewelry on this whole entire property, but I adore it.
My blonde hair is loose and wavy. I think I look good. I hope I look good enough for Cash.
“Welcome to the Marshall residence,” the largest of the four giant bouncers says, opening the door when we arrive.
“Thank you,” I say, grinning as I walk in with my band.
The place is massive. Even larger than it looks from the outside.
I’ve never been in a house like this before. The house I grew up in could fit in this entrance. You could probably buy my freaking childhood house with just one of those paintings hanging on the wall.
“Xing dynasty,” Clyde says as he reads a little golden plaque beside a giant vase next to the grand Titanic-esque staircase. “How much do you think this is worth?”
“More than your life,” Rachel says as he grabs the rim and looks inside. “ Don’t break it.”
“Don’t even touch it,” I say as I rush over, take his arm, and pull him away. Clyde is an amazing bass guitarist, but he’s a little clumsy. I don’t want to have to explain to Graham Marshall that we broke his priceless Chinese vase.
We follow the noise into the mansion’s inner sanctum. My pulse is racing. The main living room is packed and the party continues into the backyard, around the lit-up inground pool, beside the numerous bars, and scattered around the ranch out back with the view of the dark mountains under the starlit sky.
DJ Jonkie— the DJ Jonkie who has the hit song of the summer—is standing behind a set of turntables surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women watching his every move.
Gray Ridley—the huge movie producer—is in the corner deep in conversation with Angstrom Briggs and Kristen Adler—two of Hollywood’s biggest stars.
Paparazzi would kill to be in here. Everywhere I look, I’m met with familiar faces. And not familiar because I know them in real life, but because I’ve seen them on TV and online.
“This is wild,” Rachel says as she grabs my arm. “Look by the piano. It’s Tristan Rowe.”
I smile when I look over and see the singer for the indie rock band Stranger Danger. “Go talk to him.”
“I couldn’t,” she says, cringing. “I’d die.”
“This is the kind of night where anything can happen,” I tell her, hoping I’m right. “Tristan would be lucky to have a girl like you.”
“Yeah, right,” she says, still staring. I can tell she’s thinking about it. The night is still young. Maybe after a drink or two, she’ll get the courage to go over there and talk to him.
“Where did Clyde go?” Sasha asks, looking around in panic.
My stomach drops when I see that he’s missing. Clyde is lucky he’s a master on the bass guitar or I would have fired him a long time ago. He’s one of those clueless creatives who lives in his head and just goes around crashing into the real world.
We hear a crash like a tray falling down and breaking glass and of course, there’s a commotion, and of course, Clyde is in the middle of it, apologizing to the red-faced waitress.
“I’ll go get him,” I say with a sigh as I start to walk over there.
“No,” Rachel says, gripping my arm. “You go find Cash. I’ll deal with the klutz.”
She’s such a good friend. I smile at her as she heads over, about to tear Clyde a new one.
“Lola!” Graham says when he sees me. “You made it!”
I’m in a state of surreal shock as the Graham Marshall—rock and roll legend—walks over with his arms out and a big welcoming smile on his face. He kisses me on both cheeks, leans back, and gives me that big beautiful smile of his.
“I’m so happy you could come,” he says. “Make yourself at home. Take whatever you need.”
What I need is a roll of paper towels and a broom to help Clyde clean up the mess he made, but I don’t mention that.
“Thank you for having us,” I say, smiling back at him. “I brought my band. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course!” he says, grinning. “Without our bands, we’re nothing.”
“That’s what I always tell her,” Sasha says, butting in with a flirty grin. “I’m Sasha. Her lead guitarist.”
They shake hands and I can see a spark igniting between them. They start talking about guitars and I start to feel like an uninvited third wheel.
“I’m going to go get a drink,” I say, backing away as they playfully argue about which is better, a Gretsch White Falcon or a Collings D2H. They don’t even notice me leaving.
I’m looking around for you-know-who as I head over to the bar. Rachel catches up to me as I order a white wine and she tells the bartender to make it two.
“That boy is so embarrassing,” she says, shaking her head. “We should have left him in the car.”
“He probably would have found a way to drive it into the pool,” I say, chuckling.
We get our wine and wander outside. It’s a warm night with a cool breeze, the galaxy of stars shining over our heads while Earth’s stars mingle and chat all around us. It really is surreal. If the kids in high school could see me now…
“There he is,” Rachel whispers. “Over by the campfire.”
I take a deep breath, trying to slow my beating heart before I turn around.
I know once I turn and see him, it’s going to be over. I won’t be at the party with my friends and all these stars anymore. It will only be him. I won’t be able to focus on anything else.
And I want to make the anticipation last. This is the best part. Like when I was a kid on Christmas morning, waiting for my mother and father to tell us that we could come down the stairs. My sister and I would wait a few extra moments, teasing out that wonderful anticipation and making it last. The excitement was always the best part.
“God, he’s so hot,” Rachel whispers, her eyes locked on him.
My resolve shatters and I turn around with my chest fluttering.
As soon as I see him, all lit up in a warm glow from the fire, the hair rises on my arms and on the nape of my neck. Hot is an understatement. This man looks iconic.
A warm desire floods my body from my head to my toes and everything in between as I stare at him in awe. Cash Edwards. The only man I’ve ever crushed on. The only man I’ve ever desired.
He’s standing around the fire talking to Blake Gentry, another country singer who’s been around forever. Every few seconds, he looks toward the house, like he’s looking for someone.
I know in my heart that he’s looking for me.
I want to be over there standing next to him, hearing that deep raspy voice, smelling his cologne, talking to him, learning from him, and drowning in those soft brown eyes. That’s where I belong—next to that beautiful man.
But my feet aren’t moving. All I can do is stare as my body trembles nervously.
“We’re going over there,” Rachel says in a firm tone.
When I don’t move, she hooks her arm around mine and starts pulling. “Right now.”
“Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.
I keep my eyes locked on Cash as we walk over, feeling the warmth of the fire as we approach.
“Lola!” someone says, snapping me out of my daze.
Cash’s sexy eyes—all lit up and glowing from the fire—dart over to me. I shiver at the intensity of them. The way he’s looking at me. The possession in those fierce eyes. It’s like I belong to him already. Like I’m already his.
“How are you doing?” the person says, stepping in my path. He cuts the sexy view of the man I’m here to see and I get an irresistible urge to put my hands on his chest and shove him as hard as I can so I can see Cash’s lustful brown eyes again. “I heard you killed at the Tennessee Country Festival!”
I finally look up at the person and give a tight smile when I see it’s Jason Channing. He’s an actor on a popular vampire show that I met when I was filming a commercial for a charity that was raising money for a children’s hospital. He’s nice, but I really don’t want to chat with anyone right now. I can’t focus on anything but Cash.
“Yeah, it was great,” I say, swallowing hard. “Amazing crowd.”
“Is it on YouTube?” he says, pulling out his phone.
“I have the link,” Rachel says, coming to my rescue. “Come, I’ll show you.”
She grabs his arm and pulls him away. God, I love that girl. She’s never met him in her life, but she’s stepping in and taking one for the team. She’s a hell of a wingwoman.
When Jason gets pulled out of the way, I see Cash standing straight up, staring at me with eyes so full of longing and tenderness, it feels like he's baring his soul right there in the open. It feels intimate and raw, like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t, but I can’t look away. I know this is a moment I’ll remember forever.
I swallow hard and walk around the crowd. He snaps out of his mesmerized trance and rushes over to meet me.
“Hi,” I say, unable to stop smiling when I’m standing in front of him, looking up into those gorgeous brown eyes.
“Hi,” he says, staring down at me, drinking me in like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
He’s even hotter up close wearing a simple black T-shirt, dark gray jeans, and black cowboy boots. We’re dressed so similar—both in black cowboy boots and the same color outfit, only reversed. I know it’s probably just a coincidence, but my mind still jumps to a wild conclusion—It’s because we’re meant to be. It’s a sign. Obviously .
“You look so beautiful,” he says as he slowly looks me up and down, taking in every inch. “Actually, beautiful is not enough to describe you. You look like I woke up in a dream.”
“I kinda feel like I’m in a dream right now.”
He tilts his head a little, never taking his eyes off mine. “Really? I feel like I’m finally awake.”
Our eyes are locked on one another, like we can’t quite pull them away. My lips curl up into a smile at the craziness of all this and he smiles too.
“You should put that in a song,” I tell him with a flirty grin. “It’s a good line.”
“No, that one’s just for you,” he whispers as he takes my hand.
A warm shiver ripples through me at the feeling of having his soft strong hands around mine.
“But I do have a song I’d like to share with you,” he says as he takes me away from all these people. I glance back to make sure that Rachel is okay and she’s laughing at something Jason said. She notices me leaving and gives me an encouraging wink. I smile back at her.
“A new song…” I say as we head away from the party onto the quiet ranch. “Does this mean we’ll get to hear another amazing Cash Edwards album? I’ve been waiting for another album for years.”
“I haven’t felt creative in a while,” he says. “So, this was a very welcome surprise.”
“What changed?”
He stops and turns to me. I stop too, staring into his dreamy eyes as he takes my other hand. The music and chatting from the party are muted out here, blending in with the sounds of crickets and the whispering of the wind. The only light is from the silvery moon, giving his eyes an ethereal glow.
“Meeting you,” he says. “It cracked me open. It changed everything. It’s only been three days, but half an album spilled out. You’re my muse, Lola. You’re so much more than that. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I tilt my head as I study his face, trying to see if I’m being played.
There’s nothing but raw honesty on his face. Maybe a little bit of unhinged desperation.
I can tell it’s not a line. He’s not just feeding me what I want to hear to get in my pants. I can tell by the way he’s grasping my hands like they’re anchors keeping him from drifting away. I can tell by the tenderness in his voice and the captivation in his heated gaze.
My manager Karen would probably tell me I’m being naive. That I’m making myself an easy target for the smooth-talking players of the world, but she’s not here right now and anyway, I don’t care. Sometimes you have to take a chance in life, and that’s what I’m going to do tonight.
Cash is a good man. He’s not like that. I’ve never heard anything about him plowing through a ton of women. There are no pictures of him with young starlets on his arm. No reputation about him and groupies. I always wondered about that. Sometimes, late at night, I’d pretend that he was single because he was waiting for me. It was a fantasy, but right now…
It’s feeling like it was fate.
“I wrote a song for us,” he says, suddenly looking a little shy. “That we can sing together.”
I swallow hard, not quite believing my ears. “You did?”
His eyes sparkle as he nods. “It’s called Country Heat.”
“I want to hear it.”
“When?” he asks.
I spot the horse stables in the distance and start pulling him toward it. “Right now!”