Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
RHYLAN
“ Y ou’re hell bent on doing this, aren’t you?”
Drew, my tour manager, best friend, and general pain in the ass, asked for the tenth time in the past hour.
I nodded, staring out the window of the black SUV as it made its way downtown. “Talon Records might be the biggest label in town, but buying the masters of my songs back last summer was only the first step. Contract’s fulfilled with the release of the next album, and then I can take my music anywhere. And it just so happens I want to take it to my label.”
“Rhylan-”
I raised a brow, daring him to continue. Knowing he would. We’d been together since the beginning. The dive bars and a minivan that broke down far more often than it ran. Drew never pulled his punches. Even in the one and only fist fight we’d had after I caught my now ex-wife, Adrienne, in bed with my opening act, Kent Lowes.
My best friend had the unfortunate circumstance of running into me right after I caught them and took the brunt of my anger.
Laid my ass out flat. I deserved it, to be honest. It also stopped me from finding Lowes and kicking his ass. Avoided jail time, and destroying the career I’d busted my ass to build over the past fifteen years.
That was six months ago.
Six months.
Six months of making sure the woman who lied to me about in sickness and health, for better or for worse, and staying faithful didn’t see a penny more of everything I made. Thank fuck I listened seven years ago when he made me sign a damn prenup. At least the adultery clause held up in mediation, and the lump sum payment was far less than Adrienne had hoped.
It was worth every damn penny to see the face I once thought so beautiful turn into a faithless, ungrateful shell of who she tried to pretend she was when we were together.
Her scathing words and withering stare once the lawyers finalized the paperwork on our divorce were a reminder of how lucky I’d been I hadn’t arrived home ten minutes later.
And missed her secret rendezvous with my opening act. Turns out every fucking time she showed up to ‘support me’, she was also being bent over and fucked by Lowes.
He sighed. “The label set up the meeting with-”
“And they didn’t tell her why, right?” The irony of the situation filled the air between us. A year ago, I had this drunken idea that I’d start my label, and sign singer-songwriters. And give songwriters the chance to thrive in a more creative and supportive environment.
Make a damn difference and help them avoid the pitfalls and vipers I had the fucking pleasure of dealing with and disentangling myself from over the years.
I might’ve snuck into the songwriter’s showcase featuring Skylar. My dick decided to loudly voice its opinion about how it felt. Legs for miles, eyes like a fucking sunset over the ocean, and curves for days. Fire and defiance with a vulnerability under it all that hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.
Then I heard her sing and knew she was going to be mine.
One way or another.
First things first. Skylar didn’t belong at Talon. They churned out songs like a well-oiled machine. Soulless, without feeling.
Now, I love a good drinking song. But once in a while, a song hit you, made you feel. Saved you. Broke you. Put you back together. The voice singing captured everything, sinking into the very fiber of your being.
That was Skylar Coulson.
He chuckled. “No. But, the buyout for her contract is-”
“A business expense, and a done deal.” And expensive as fuck done deal, and not just money wise. “Sunrise Beach. We’ll announce the label officially.” I waited a beat for him to call me out. The studio at my Sunrise Beach estate didn’t appeal to most people in Music City, because the ‘legacy’ so many of them pretended to love was nonexistent. But it was where I didn’t have to worry about being on, or having to be Rhylan Morgan, country singer. In Sunrise Beach, I was just Rhylan.
Not the country music star who performed to sold-out crowds night after night.
Or the guy whose wife cheated on him with his opening act.
The annual Sunrise Beach Art and Music Festival held a special place in my heart. As did the concert that concluded the event, which I headlined. Most of the country music insiders in my circle and few beyond were aware of the label, but I hadn’t made the official announcement yet.
But the place I was most at home, other than my Nashville ranch, was Sunrise Beach.
Adrienne hated it and rarely stayed at the beach house when I visited.
Must be why I loved it so much. An image of Skylar, sitting with her bare feet propped up on the sound board, toes painted ocean blue, popped into my head. Fuck. When had this girl I saw once become such a fixture in not just my fantasies, but my damn daydreams?
His sigh told me he wasn’t buying my bullshit, but he let it slide. “Sunrise Beach? Label said she’s been less than cooperative, which is why they’re willing to ‘facilitate’ things at Jagger’s showcase. Are you sure you want to sign this girl? And keep ties to Talon?”
I bristled at his words. On top of the buy out of her contract, Talon Records and I would be partners on my next two albums. Granted, they had a small percentage, but still. Good thing my lawyer was a barracuda and made sure I kept all creative control.
I intended on using that control with Skylar. In more ways than one.
“And,” he added, “don’t forget, in the middle of your ‘other’ meeting, the reason you’re there.”
If only he knew. Signing Jagger Sullivan was secondary to the real reason I was so on edge. Landing him for the label helps cement the deal, after he recorded his first album for Talon. But her? The girl I couldn’t get off my mind when I should focus on business?
She was going to be mine. I held her music career in my hands. And that was only the beginning of what I wanted from her.
One month earlier…
“You sure?”
His words barely registered through the phone as I stared, transfixed, at the girl strumming an acoustic guitar on the stage at the famed cafe’s songwriter showcase.
Fuck. She was stunning. Gorgeous. With more talent in her little finger than ninety-five percent of the struggling songwriters in Music City. Sun-kissed light brown hair over one shoulder, bright golden eyes brimming with all the emotion of the song she sang as the crowd, lost in the melody and her words and the honeyed timbre of her voice, watched. Transfixed.
“Rhylan?”
My gaze darted to the crowd for a split second, then back at the stage where Skylar had the entire room mesmerized. Every note, every strum as her fingers danced along the neck of the instrument on her lap. The industry professionals scattered through the room, even stopped scrolling on their phones as she sang.
“Give me a minute,” I murmured. The far corner of the cafe where I watched her from kept me hidden from onlookers or overzealous fans. No way I wanted to pull focus from her, which is what would’ve happened if anyone besides the owner knew I was here.
Holy hell .
What the hell did the label think they were doing, holding this girl (no, this fucking woman) back? Only releasing those shit pop country songs. I knew she wrote or co-wrote most of her music save for a few the songwriting machine the label put together rolled out like a damn old fashioned printing press. A dime a dozen, no matter if underneath all the stereotypical pieces of the hit machine formula there was an undeniable draw to her.
Moth to a flame.
Drew let out a sigh on the other side of the line. “Call me back when-”
“Set up a meeting in the morning. Tell them I have a proposition they can’t refuse.”
“Rhylan-”
“Trust me on this,” I said, then ended the call before he could talk me out of it.
When I started my label, the head office tried every angle to keep my contract connected to the place I got my start so many years ago. It seems like I might’ve found the one thing that they could use to negotiate for a piece of my soul.
Not possible. Skylar didn’t know it yet, but I was going to make her mine. In every way possible.
But first, I was going to make damn sure her dream came true.