Prologue #2
He settles into the chair with an effortless grace that speaks of years in the spotlight, but there's a vulnerability underneath the confidence.
When he turns to look at me, those famous blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"So, you're not thrilled about the tour idea? "
"It's not that I'm not thrilled." I pause, trying to find words that don't make me sound like a coward or a negative Nancy. "It's just not what I signed up for when I took this job."
"Fair enough." He leans back in his chair, studying me with curious eyes for a small eternity. "What did you sign up for?"
The question is simple, but he asks it like my answer matters to him, making me want to give him an honest response.
"Stability, I guess. A normal job with normal hours where I can go home at night and leave work at work." I shrug, suddenly feeling foolish for wanting such mundane things when sitting across from a person who lives a life most people only dream about.
"Nothing wrong with wanting that. Though I'll warn you that nothing about this business is normal, not even the desk jobs."
I look at him more carefully. Up close, he's even more beautiful than the photos suggest. He’s all sharp angles and perfect features that seem designed for magazine covers. But there's a tiredness in his face.
"Can I ask you a question?" I pose before I can think better of it.
"Shoot."
"Why do you need a new assistant?" I’m not sure if it really matters, but it could help sway my decision.
Gray's expression darkens, and for a moment, I think he's not going to answer. When he speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. "Our last assistant had some boundary issues. She crossed a line that can't be uncrossed."
"What kind of line?" My interest is more than piqued.
He looks away, jaw ticking with barely contained anger.
"She drugged our drummer. Roofied him at a party and tried to.
.." He trails off, shaking his head. "Let's just say her intentions weren't good.
Parker passed out in the bus bathroom before she could follow through, but it could have been a lot worse. "
My eyes must grow as big as half dollars. "Jesus."
Gray's hands clench into fists in his lap. "We can't afford to trust the wrong person again. Too much is at stake."
I stare at him, trying to process what he just told me. The music industry has always seemed glamorous from the outside. It’s all bright lights, expensive cars, and adoring fans. But sitting here, seeing the exhaustion in Gray's eyes, I'm getting a glimpse of something much darker.
"I'm sorry. That must have been terrifying."
"It was." He meets my eyes again. The rawness and honesty in his expression makes my chest tighten. "We need a person we can trust, not someone who is looking to use us, hurt us, or sell stories to the tabloids."
"And you think that person is me?" I don’t hide the shock in my voice.
"I don't know yet, but Diana seems to think so, and she has good instincts about people.
"My phone buzzes against my leg, so I glance down to see a text from my supervisor, asking where I am.
Reality comes crashing back. I have a job, responsibilities, and a life that doesn't include touring with rock stars.
"I should get back." I start to stand, typing out a return message to my boss, explaining who I’m with.
Gray's hand closes gently around my wrist, stopping me. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, and I fight not to jerk away from the unexpected intensity of it. "Wait. It’s only fair if I get a turn before you go."
I sink back into the chair, hyperaware of his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. "Okay?"
"Eight days ago, I got out of rehab - alcohol." The admission hangs between us like a challenge. "I've been clean and sober ninety-eight days, and there are days that feel like a lifetime while others feel like they rush by."
I'm at a loss for words, so I don't speak at all.
"The thing about getting clean is that you start to see everything differently - the people around you, the choices you've made, the life you've been living. And you realize that most of the people in your orbit don't give a fuck about you. They care about what you can do for them."
His thumb brushes across my pulse point, probably feeling how fast my heart is beating.
"We need a real person, Rhea. Someone who isn't here for the wrong reasons.
" His eyes search mine. "I can't promise it'll be easy. This life, especially in this industry, is messy, chaotic, and ugly. It may be different from what you’re currently doing, but that may not be such a bad thing.
" He’s quiet for a long moment, entrancing me with his quiet, companionable silence.
It’s hard to believe I’m sitting beside Gray Garrison like it’s just any old day at the office. I don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking for long.
“Still not convinced?” he asks, lifting a brow and nudging his shoulder into mine.
Before I can respond, Diana bursts back through the door with her clipboard and a triumphant smile.
"Ready to sign some papers?" Her bright tone is too chipper, and the reality of who I’ve been sitting here with for ten minutes slams into me.
She just interrupted what might have been the most intense conversation of my life.
Gray releases my wrist and stands, but his eyes never leave mine. "Have dinner with me?”
I choke on my own spit, certain I’ve heard him wrong. “I’m sorry?”
“Food. I may even buy you dessert, if you’re good,” he teases as a grin spreads across his face.
Words elude me for a beat before my brain begins to function properly once more. “With you?” I don’t mean it the way it sounds.
“Ouch.” He rubs his chest, but the grin hasn’t faded yet. “I can invite the band, too, if you want. They’ll make a preacher cuss, though, so if that’s not your kind of night, then yes, it would be dinner with me.”
Is Gray Garrison asking me to dinner? Like in real life?
“Yes!” Diana exclaims on my behalf. “She’ll go to dinner with you.” She turns to me. “Now, could you please sign these papers so we can ensure Case in Point has an assistant?”
Gray extends his hand toward Diana. “Can I have those?”
Diana defensively holds her clipboard to her chest as if she’s guarding it with her life. “Um, no.”
“Why not?” Gray asks, and instead of growing irate or impatient, he’s cool, calm, and collected.
Diana’s eyes dart back and forth as she searches for the answer. Maybe, she can’t properly form sentences around him either. “I don’t know, but it feels like it’s my job to get her to sign.”
“Case in Point needs a tour assistant,” he reminds her.
“Right,” she replies.
“I’m going to take Rhea to dinner tonight and talk her into signing those papers… you know, so Case in Point can have a tour assistant.”
“Okay.” Diana deflates, hesitates, but finally removes the clipboard from the death lock against her chest, handing over the papers to Gray.
“Thank you,” he says kindly, accepting the thick stack of papers intended for me. “I hope you have a nice evening, Diana. It’s great seeing you again.”
“You’re welcome. But, Gray, don’t run her off before she signs.” Diana worries her bottom lip like she might’ve said too much.
Gray salutes her in good humor. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Then he offers me the crook of his elbow.
My gaze darts between Gray and Diana, silently asking if this is really happening to me. They look back at me with expectant expressions. I suppose when Gray Garrison asks you to dinner, you just say yes and worry about being able to function in his presence once you arrive.
I do just that by accepting his arm, letting him walk me out of Requiem Records, and allowing him to guide me to a waiting SUV.
My synapses forget how to fire again once we’re tucked inside the vehicle.
Gray tries to engage me in conversation, but it falls flat every time.
He doesn’t seem to be bothered either way.
Our drive to a local barbeque joint only takes fifteen minutes before Gray slides out and crosses the vehicle to open my door. Ever the gentleman he’s promised to be, he proffers his hand to help me maneuver exiting the SUV.
“I’m starving,” he says as we turn toward the restaurant entrance. “Smells great.”
“Ever been here?”
“No, I don’t venture to this side of town much. Is it good?”
I smile at my luck. Gray chose one of the best restaurants in Nashville. “You’ll probably have to be rolled out of here.”
A small, deep, but genuine laugh escapes him. “That’s quite the picture you’ve painted.”
“It’s that good.”
When we approach the doors, he opens them for me, allowing me to pass through before him.
The hostess station is empty, so we wait a moment for one to return.
A young brunette shows first, guiding us to a table for two.
Neither of us says anything on our way to a booth.
Halfway there, another couple heads toward the exit from the opposite direction, looking sated and gluttonous.
I stifle a smile to keep from pointing out the obvious to Gray.
We’re both likely to be hurting when we leave here, too.
Gray moves in behind me to allow the couple to pass, but he’s next to me again as soon as they do. This time, though, he places his hand on my lower back. The contact instantly warms me, spreading through me like liquid fire. It reaches my middle, causing me to clench in response.
It’s the rock star gig, I tell myself. It has that effect on many men and women. I thought I was immune to it, but I guess Gray Garrison is different from any of the many musicians I’ve met in this town. Maybe by the end of our dinner, I’ll be able to put my finger on what makes him so unique.
When we reach the table, he waves toward the side of the booth facing away from the exit. “Is this side okay?”
“Perfect.” Sliding into the booth, I remove my purse and place it next to me.