Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“It’s well past midnight, and you have another show tonight. Gotta sleep, darlin’.”
He’s right on both accounts.
I do have a show. And I do need sleep.
“Text me if you need.”
“Will you be at my show tonight?”
His eyes scour over me. And then soften.
“Always, babe.”
Always.
I hope so.
~*~*~*~
SCARLETT
I wake in the morning, feeling incredible. My body is tangled up in the sheets, my heart is light, and the fire between my legs, while it has eased, reminds me that I experienced some of the greatest pleasure of my life last night. I roll over, glancing at the clock beside the bed. It’s ten in the morning. I got a decent sleep, which is great. I needed it. I wonder how Maverick got out of the building unnoticed.
Hell, I wonder how he got into the building unnoticed?
A knock sounds at my door, somewhat furious, and I blink. It wouldn’t be Amalie, because there is no way she’d knock like that, so it must be Susan. My heart jumps into my throat and I stand up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Did she find out I have been sneaking out? I swallow and walk over to the door after pulling on some clothes and trying to make my bed look like I didn’t rip the sheets up in pleasure last night.
I open the door, and I’m right. Susan is standing on the other side, looking furious.
Shit.
“Let me in.”
It isn’t an order, it’s a demand.
I push the door open and she comes inside, walking in, stopping, and then spinning around. She’s angry. I just don’t know yet what she’s angry over. I would bet anything that the security guards told on me. Which, they do have every right to do considering they get paid to look out for me. I can’t blame them. I feel instant guilt thinking that I tried to blackmail them to keep them quiet.
That was sucky of me. So, I will cop it, if that’s what Susan is here about.
I brace myself for it.
“Who is the biker?”
I blink.
Maverick?
She’s talking about Maverick?
How in the hell would she know about Maverick? Not even the security guards know about Maverick. They know I snuck out, they know I got past them, but they don’t know what for. Amalie wouldn’t tell, and the only other person who knows about him is Isaac, but Isaac hates Susan, so I don’t know why he’d rat me out.
“Wha—” I start to say, but she throws a hand up.
“The one that’s been following you, the one you’ve been sneaking out to see, the one you’re risking your entire career for. Who. Is. He?”
How. The. Hell?
There is no way she should know this much.
My heart leaps into my chest.
“How do you know about Ma ... him.”
I’m not telling her his name. No way in hell.
“How I found out is really none of your concern, what is my concern is what in the hell you’re thinking.”
I stare at her. “I’m allowed a life, Susan. Hell, I’m allowed friends. I don’t actually have to explain every action to you. Last time I checked, I was a human being and dammit if I’m going to live my life in a hotel room and a stage. I should be allowed to go out. I should be allowed to have friends.”
“You’re on tour, Scarlett. Not to mention you could possibly be in danger. You don’t get to choose what you do and do not do.”
“That’s the damned problem,” I snap. “I should be able to choose. If I put my life in danger by going out there, that’s on me. I’m so sick of hiding.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Susan says, disgusted. “You’re the face of country music, if something happens to you ...”
“Yeah, the world will be disappointed and you’ll have no job.”
Her mouth drops open.
I know I’m being a bitch, I know it, but I’m tired. I’m tired of not having a life. I just want to do the simple things again. Like the day at the lake with Maverick where for a while I was just a normal person again. I was just Scarlett, there with a man she liked, having fun without a care in the world.
“You don’t appreciate your career at all, do you?”
“I do,” I yell, losing it, frustration and sadness taking over. “I’ve given the last, what, nearly five years of my life to this career? I haven’t stopped, Susan. I haven’t had a break. I have forgotten how it feels to breathe, and he lets me have that. I shouldn’t have to spend my life behind closed doors or on a stage. I should be able to enjoy it. He can keep me safe when I’m out there.”
“He is a biker!” she screams, and I flinch.
Susan never loses it, but right now, she’s losing it.