Dirty Pleasures (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #2)(26)

I remember that Vale asked a question. “Yes, I wrote it recently. I’ve got two more, if you don’t think we need to rework this one.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t want to f*ck with this one. Besides, if we start messing with it, then I’ll have to take credit for part of it, and this one is really all you, babe.”

His endearment hangs in the air, just like the earlier chords did.

“I probably shouldn’t call you that, huh? The billionaire will come rip my balls off and feed them to me.”

A chuckle slips from my lips. “He’s a little territorial.”

“With good reason. I’m just glad the man knows he’s got his hands on someone he needs to treasure. I didn’t get that before it was too late. You’re a special woman, Holly Wix, and whatever emotions he’s pulled from you, they’re going to shine bright in your songs. Have you played them for him?”

I blink a few times. “Played them for him? Um, no. No, I haven’t.”

I think about the next song I’m going to play for Vale, and my stomach rolls. I bare my soul in these lyrics, and to an average fan, it’s not a big thing. But to someone who actually knows me? I might have written the thing in my own blood because that’s my heart written right on the lined notebook paper. My hopes, but mostly my fears.

“You realize he’s going to hear them eventually, right? That’s kind of what you do.” Vale has his head tilted and he’s speaking slowly, like I’m an idiot.

“I know, but . . . I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

His eyebrows go up. “Didn’t expect the marriage to last long enough for the record to come out first?”

My glare is automatic, but the answer is probably written on my face anyway. I still, even now, have a hard time seeing how this is going to work, and long-term isn’t a concept I’ve let myself get comfortable with. My life has been so focused on just making it from one day to the next that I haven’t spent much time thinking about it.

“How about we move on to the next one? We’ve got,” I glance at the clock on the wall, “a couple more hours, so we should use them wisely. After all, I’ve got five more songs to deliver for this big-box exclusive.”

“The label is going to shift the entire record around after you turn this bad boy in. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the first single.”

His words fill my chest with warmth, and I pick up my guitar and flip a page in my notebook. The rest of these are going to bare my soul just as much, so I might as well get through them and make them as good as they can possibly be. This is more than my career, this is my passion, and I’m blessed to have this chance—and lucky to have Vale’s time.

“You ready to hear the next one?”

“Lay it on me, girl.”

I begin to play, and the smile on his face grows. By the time I finish, he’s rubbing his hands together.

“Okay, a few tweaks to the chorus, a rework of the bridge, and I think this one is going to be f*cking awesome too.”

I reach for my pen. “Let’s do it.”




Vale packs up his guitar and leaves the bus at a quarter to twelve. We shake hands, and I feel like he’s seeing me as a professional now, which is validation I didn’t realize I wanted from him. I’m not just the naive girl who stepped off the stage of Country Dreams; I’m a rising talent in the world of country music, on both the songwriting and performing fronts.

With that confidence bolstering me, I tinker with the songs some more until the clock reads 12:20. Still no sign of Creighton.

My confidence in Creighton and not being an afterthought takes a blow, however. He’s still gone, and he hasn’t called. I’m interrupted from the slow slide into the pit of doubt by my buzzing cell phone—the one that arrived that arrived yesterday via express mail. Inside the box was a note from Tana.

Don’t you dare let your focus slip from that tour to your husband’s fine ass. This is your future, girl. Love ya, T.

Even long distance, she’s still dispensing her brand of wisdom, and it was a good reminder.

My phone buzzes again, and I finally look down. I don’t recognize the number, and normally I’d let it go to voice mail, but right now, I’ll take any distraction I can get.

“Hello?”

“Will you accept a collect call from the Clay County Jail?” a computerized voice asks.

What the hell? I haven’t gotten a call from jail in a long time. Not since the year before I moved in with Gran, and Mama was thrown out of a bar for fighting over her latest in a long string of men.

I should hang up, but my curiosity and need for avoidance spur me to respond, “Yes, I’ll accept the charges.”

The voice that comes next sucks me right back into the past.

“Hey, baby. Mama missed you.”





After the fifteenth in-person interview is complete, I finally have two competent security professionals assigned to Holly. The security contractor didn’t object to me doing the interviews, but he did object to me bringing in someone who wasn’t on his team.

“We can’t vouch for him, and if something goes down, we won’t be taking responsibility for it.”

“I can vouch for him,” I say, looking over my shoulder at the brick shithouse who barred me from getting backstage in San Antonio.