The Ballad of Us (Dogwood Hollow #1)

Prologue

RHEA

My foot bounces against the marble floor, betraying my nervous energy.

Waiting has never been my strong suit, but sitting here in the sterile luxury of the fifteenth floor, summoned by the CEO of Requiem Records without explanation, makes my skin crawl with unease.

Never mind that it’s almost the end of my shift, and I’m ready to make the trek home before traffic becomes insane again.

People like me don't get called to executive floors.

I'm just one of several assistants buried in the communications department, invisible to the glass-walled offices where real decisions are made.

The only time I see the executives is when they sweep through the lobby in their thousand-dollar suits, never bothering to acknowledge the worker bees who keep their empire running.

The silence stretches until it becomes suffocating.

It's broken only by the whisper of the distant hum of Nashville below.

My palms are damp, so I wipe them against my black pencil skirt, wondering if I've somehow screwed up badly enough to warrant termination.

The thought sends a chill down my spine.

I can't afford to lose this job. Not when I'm finally building a stable life, and one that's all mine.

"Ria Blake?"

The voice cuts through my thoughts, crisp and professional. I look up to see a woman approaching. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. Everything about her screams corporate efficiency, from her pressed blazer to her perfectly manicured nails.

I've never seen her before, but her presence on the fifteenth floor marks her as an important enough person to matter. Forcing a smile to cover my confusion, I stand and smooth down my skirt, meeting her at the edge of the reception area.

"Yes, hi. I'm Rhea." I make sure to pronounce it correctly, Ray, though I already know she'll get it wrong. They always do.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Blake. I'm Paige McConnell, an artist liaison." Her handshake is firm and businesslike, the kind that has been practiced in corporate seminars.

I accept her hand and shake it with just enough pressure to seem professional without being aggressive. "Nice to meet you, too."

An uncomfortable silence settles between us as her gaze travels over me, cataloging details I can't begin to guess at. She wears a calculating expression that makes my stomach twist.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?" Her tone suggests she’d rather get to the meat of things.

A nervous laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Yes, ma'am."

"Walk with me, Rhea." She turns sharply on her designer heels, already moving before I can respond.

I lengthen my stride to keep pace, my heart hammering against my ribs as we navigate the hallway. Everything up here is pristine and sterile. White walls are broken only by gold records in expensive frames, each one representing someone's dreams.

"Tell me, Rhea, are you familiar with Case in Point?" She can’t be serious.

The question catches me off guard. Of course, I know them. You'd have to be living under a rock not to know the Grammy-winning Southern rock band that's been dominating the charts for the past few years.

"Yes, I'm familiar." I keep my voice neutral, noncommittal. Getting excited about rock stars isn't my style, and I have a sneaking suspicion that showing any enthusiasm would be a mistake.

"We have a situation. I know it's last-minute notice, but you came highly recommended from the communications department.

The fact is, we're short-staffed. And we can't exactly call a temp agency.

Can you imagine getting that assignment on a Thursday morning?

For obvious reasons, we can't slide just anyone into this role without expecting things to go sideways fast." She turns her head to look at me, eagerly waiting for my reply.

My pulse quickens, though I'm not sure why. "I understand."

"You'll need to sign an NDA, of course." Another expectant look.

"Of course." I'm playing along because I have to, even though I have no idea what game we're playing.

"Excellent." Paige pushes through a set of frosted glass double doors with the kind of dramatic flair that belongs in movies. "Here she is."

Every head in the room turns toward us, toward me. The urge to find a hole to crawl in overcomes me. Six pairs of eyes land on me with varying degrees of interest and curiosity, and I suddenly feel like a specimen under a microscope.

Six gorgeous men study me with casual attention that comes from being used to having people stare at them. The room practically hums with energy that only comes from talent and success, making the air feel thinner and harder to breathe.

I wasn't prepared for this when I got dressed this morning. Hell, I wasn't ready for any of this.

"Hi, I'm Rhea." My voice comes out smaller than I'd like, and my wave nearly throws me off balance. I regain my footing before I can humiliate myself completely.

One of the men steps forward immediately, confidence radiating from every line of his body.

His light brown hair hangs past his ears, not long enough to pull back with a band, but not short either.

"Andrew Garrison, band manager." His handshake is firm and professional.

"Thank you for helping us out on such short notice. We'll take good care of you."

The room erupts into conversations, some in person, others on phones. Andrew's mouth is moving, explaining something about schedules and logistics, but the words fade into background noise as my brain tries to process what's happening.

What in the hell is going on?

A brunette with cat-eyeglasses appears beside me like she materialized from thin air, her clipboard and pen in hand. "Hey, Rhea! I'm Diana. I have an NDA and other paperwork that requires your signature. Mind taking care of that for us?"

I lean closer, lowering my voice beneath the general chaos. "I already signed an NDA with Requiem when I started. Why do I need another one?"

Diana's laugh is warm but knowing. "They didn't tell you about the tour?"

The words hit me like ice water. "What tour?"

"Case in Point needs a tour assistant." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, as if I should have somehow known this was coming.

"I'm not a tour assistant." The protest comes out sharper than I intend. "I work in communications. I've never even been on a tour."

Diana's expression shifts, becoming more serious as she studies my face. Without a word, she wraps her fingers around my elbow and guides me out of the room. I don't resist. I need air and space to think, anything to escape the suffocating weight of all those eyes watching my every move.

She leads me across the floor to a bathroom that's more like a luxury spa than a corporate restroom. The sitting area is furnished with Queen Anne chairs and antique settees that cost more than my car. Diana settles me into one of the settees and crouches down to meet my eyes.

"How old are you?" she gently prods.

"Twenty-six." The defensiveness in my tone isn’t easy to hide.

"Kids? Is anyone depending on you?"

"No, but—"

She cocks her head to the side and lifts a brow. "Boyfriend?"

"No, but—"

"Pets?"

I sound pathetic even to myself. "No."

Diana rocks back on her heels, studying me with an expression usually reserved for solving puzzles.

"Girl, do you understand what just happened in there?

You've been handed a golden ticket. There are six gorgeous, talented men who need someone they can trust, and they want to trust you.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime, but you're sitting here looking like someone just told you the world is ending.

Do you know what this could do for your career?

Case in Point could establish you as one of the elite in Nashville. "

I worry my bottom lip, my mind racing through all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "I can't just drop everything and go on tour. I have a life here. Responsibilities."

"What responsibilities? You just told me you have no attachments. No one depends on you. What's really stopping you?" Diana's tone isn't unkind, but it's direct.

The question hits deeper than she probably intends.

What is stopping me?

Fear, maybe. The knowledge that I've spent years building walls around myself, creating a safe, predictable life where no one can hurt me.

"I need stability, structure—a routine I can count on."

"Honey, life isn't about playing it safe.

It's about taking chances when they're handed to you.

Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position right now?

And you're sitting here ready to throw it away because it's not part of your five-year plan?

" The disappointment is more than apparent in her tone.

Before I can respond, the bathroom door opens, and Gray Garrison walks in.

Time seems to slow as our eyes meet. His silvery-blue gaze widens in surprise at finding two women in what he clearly thought was an empty space.

"Shit. Sorry," he says, already backing toward the door.

"You're fine." Diana waves him in. "We're just having a heart-to-heart. Want to help me convince Rhea here that touring with Case in Point isn't the worst thing that could happen to her?"

She shoots me a wink that's part conspiracy, part challenge, then she heads for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes to finish the paperwork."

And just like that, I'm alone with Gray Garrison.

The silence that follows Diana's exit feels loaded with possibility and danger. Gray hovers near the entrance, clearly debating whether to stay or flee.

"Mind if I sit? I won't be much of a bother.” Gray motions toward the seat next to me.

The polite, almost tentative way he asks catches me off guard. I motion toward the chair beside me, though my brain immediately questions the wisdom of encouraging him to stay.