Chapter 4
The dress was definitely getting attention, but not the kind she’d intended.
While Naomi had been finishing her makeup, she’d received a text from Michael that he was running late, so she’d need to drive herself. But, like the sweet boyfriend he was, he’d met her inside the entrance with a kiss on the cheek, and the whole place seemed to have taken notice. As they’d weaved their way through the room, men smiled appreciatively, while a number of women appeared outright hostile.
She tried tapping into her inner April, who would have said, “Ignore them, they’re just jealous,” but Naomi was too much of a people pleaser to not be bothered by the reaction.
Michael and three other songwriters were now setting up in the center of the room, which left Naomi to sit with the significant others of Michael’s fellow musicians—two girlfriends, who seemed to side with the hostile onlookers, and a friendly wife.
“Don’t mind them,” the curvy brunette whispered in Naomi’s ear. “They’ve both dated Michael in the past so it gets awkward when he brings someone new around.”
Naomi didn’t know what to do with that information, so she nodded and held her tongue.
“I’m Rachel.” One stubby finger pointed toward the performers. “My husband is Bryson, the one on the far left.”
“Nice to meet you.” Naomi leaned to see Bryson through the people in front of her. He looked like a nice-enough guy. Short, round, and wearing dark-rimmed glasses. “I guess that means this is normal for you?”
“Coming to the Songbird?”
“No, feeling like a goldfish in a bowl. Seems like a lot of attention.”
Rachel chuckled. “Get used to it if you’re going to date Michael. He lives for attention. I don’t think he’s ever come to terms with the fact that he never made it big.”
The remark felt insulting enough to put Naomi on the defensive. “He’s a highly successful songwriter. That isn’t exactly small-time.”
“Yes, but he isn’t the person out there performing his songs in front of thousands every night.” Rachel waved to a passing waitress. “Tell Darla what you want, sweetie. We’ll put it on the tab.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t be silly. The guys take turns covering the tab on nights they play, and it’s Bryson’s turn. Order whatever you want.”
The waitress glanced toward Naomi expectantly.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, please.”
“Coming right up.” The server shifted focus to Rachel. “Another wine spritzer?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The pretty redhead shuffled between tables on her way back to the bar, and Rachel leaned close again. “This is my one night out of the house. Six days a week I chase four kids under the age of twelve. And on the seventh day, I drink.”
Naomi had watched her three nieces often enough to understand completely. “I don’t blame you one bit.”
“Do you have kids?”
Ah. The dreaded question. And just when Naomi was starting to like her new friend.
“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”
The next question was almost always an inquiry about Naomi’s age, followed by a look of pity, that being so old meant she’d likely never have kids at all. But Rachel didn’t ask any more questions. In fact, she was no longer paying attention to Naomi at all.
“Holy shit. Is that who I think it is?”
Naomi followed her gaze and spotted Chance strolling to the bar. What part of don’t do anything stupid before Monday did the man not understand?
“I can’t believe he’s here,” girlfriend number one squealed, while loosening another button on her already-too-low top.
Girlfriend number two patted her aggressively teased hair. “He’s as hot as ever.” Without lowering her voice, she declared, “I hear he’s amazing in bed.”
Though Naomi possessed firsthand knowledge that Chance was, in fact, incredible in bed, she kept the confirmation to herself.
Cleavage girl grabbed her friend’s hand. “Oh my God, Louise, we have to talk to him. We should buy him a drink.”
Naomi’s palm itched to slap the shallow twit. The buzz in the room grew louder and she heard Chance’s name whispered from every direction. He had to know what coming here would mean. How was she supposed to clean up his image if he went right back to his barhopping ways?
Naomi strained to see what Chance was ordering, but just as the bartender pushed forward a glass, the lights dropped for the show.
“Welcome, everybody,” Michael said, “to Saturday night at the Songbird Cafe.”
The crowd reacted with a smattering of applause, too focused on the new arrival to give the performers the attention they deserved.
“We’re happy you could join us this evening.” As if sensing a disturbance, Michael’s eyes cut to the bar and his smile fell away. “Well, well, well. Looks like we have a bona fide celebrity in the room. The infamous Chance Colburn has graced us with his presence.”
Silence fell like a thick fog over a narrow back road as the entire room turned around at once. Naomi didn’t like the word infamous. Chance had made mistakes, but he certainly hadn’t earned that moniker.
With a subtle nod, Chance said, “I’m just here to watch the show.”
Michael gave the strings of his guitar a hard strum. “Good. Let’s kick things off with a song I wrote that Jack Austin was nice enough to take to number one. Here’s ‘Get Me Some Tonight.’”
As the song sailed into the first verse, Naomi debated her next action. She could sit around and wait for something to go wrong, or she could do her job and keep Chance out of trouble. There was only one real option.
Exiting her chair, she headed for the bar.
“I told you this was a bad idea.” Chance had intended to keep a low profile. So much for that.
“Guess I should have checked the schedule,” Archie mumbled. “But you’d think he’d be over it by now.”
Archie Duncan had been part of Chance’s band since their honky-tonk days in Amarillo. He was also the only person other than Shelly who knew of his songwriting slump. Desperate for inspiration, Chance had let Archie talk him into visiting the Songbird, a mecca for songwriters in Nashville. Which essentially meant returning to the scene of the crime, considering how often he’d exited the establishment drunker than a squirrel on fermented berries.
Chance sipped his Coke. “Swanson doesn’t get over anything. His ego won’t let him.”
Nearly eight years ago, Chance had been booked on a late-night showcase. He was the last act of the night, playing for any label reps still in the crowd. Most would cut out before he ever hit the stage. But when an earlier act failed to show, Chance got moved up, and within days he’d signed his first deal. The act that flaked was Michael Swanson. From that night on, he’d blamed Chance for stealing his shot. The whole thing was stupid, since Chance had simply been in the right place at the right time, but Swanson never passed up an opportunity to be an ass about it.
“You want to try someplace else?” Archie asked.
No way would Chance let Swanson scare him off. “Nah. He’s harmless.”
The music continued and the crowd settled down. Chance had long ago grown accustomed to the attention his fame brought. And his infamy, as Swanson had put it. He owned his mistakes and didn’t blame the onlookers for being curious, but there were times he missed being just another guy in the room.
“That didn’t take long,” Archie mumbled with a smile.
Chance looked up from his drink. “What?”
“A woman has you in her sights.”
Spinning on his stool, he saw her approach, the lights behind her obscuring her face while the red dress did nothing to hide the slamming body beneath it. Chance would recognize those curves anywhere.
“What are you doing here?” Naomi hissed.
He ignored the question, but ignoring the dress was another matter. She looked like a goddess from a dream. A dream he’d had many times over the last seven years.
“Nice to see you, too, Nay.”
She stayed the course. “You need to leave.”
Chance didn’t need to do anything. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll mess up your date?”
Naomi moved in closer, filling his senses with her jasmine scent. “How am I supposed to repair your reputation if you go right back to your old habits?”
She assumed he was there to drink. Nice to know she had so little faith in him. Not that Chance could blame her.
“Do you ever turn it off, Nay?”
“Turn what off?” she asked as a stranger passed by too close, knocking her forward. A slender hand grasped his thigh as she fought to keep her balance. Chance’s body lit up like a Roman candle before she snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“No problem.” The words came out in a growl as he fought the urge to drag her onto his lap. Keeping his eyes on the performers, he expanded on his question. “Do you ever turn off the job?”
“I had until you walked in.”
“Does your lady friend need a drink?” asked the bartender.
Chance gave her an expectant look and Naomi shook her head. “I have a drink at my table, thanks.”
As the bartender moved on, Archie caught Chance’s eye. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“Naomi Mallard, meet Archie Duncan, my bass player.”
The pair exchanged a brief handshake. “Nice to meet you, Archie. I’m the PR manager for Shooting Stars Records.”
“Ah,” his friend said in recognition. “Then you must get why we’re here. Chance needs—”
“Chance needed to get out, that’s all.” He shot Archie a shut the hell up look.
The music stopped and Swanson made an announcement. “Thanks for listening, folks. The guys here will keep it going while I take a short break.”
Performers didn’t take breaks after one song. The other pickers exchanged confused glances as Swanson rounded the tables, headed straight for the bar.
“What the hell is he doing?” Archie asked in astonishment.
“I’d say looking for a fight. This should be fun.”
Both men put their glasses down and Chance moved off the stool to put Naomi behind him.
“What are you doing?” She tugged on his arm. “Let me out of here!”
“I will as soon as I deal with this.”
She dug her nails into his biceps. “I’ll deal with it. He’s my date.”
Chance glanced to his left but maintained his protective position. “He’s what?”
“My date,” she repeated. “Why would you think he wants a fight? That’s ridiculous.”
Proving her wrong, Swanson shoved Chance hard in the chest. “Back off, Colburn. She’s with me.”
“Michael, stop it.” Naomi put herself between them. “Chance didn’t do anything. I walked over here to speak to him about a business matter. You know he’s with Shooting Stars now.”
“Further proof that Benedict is an idiot.”
She blinked at her date. “Excuse me?”
“Only a moron would sign this has-been piece of shit.”
Chance refused to give Swanson the reaction he wanted. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Mikey.”
The nickname went over as well as it ever had.
“And you haven’t changed, either. Once a drunk, always a drunk.”
Reminding himself that the jackass wasn’t worth jail time, Chance kept his fists balled at his sides. “I may be a drunk, but I’m a drunk with a record deal. How’s that going for you, Swanson?”
The arrogant songwriter stepped forward, squeezing Naomi between them.
“This is not going to happen,” she mumbled, pushing against her date. Instead of stepping off, Swanson shoved her out of the way, slamming her into Archie’s vacant stool. The moment she cried out in pain, Chance’s control snapped.
Michael was off his feet and against the wall before Naomi regained her balance.
“Touch her again and I’ll kill you,” Chance snarled, face contorted with unexpected rage.
She had to get Chance out of this bar before all hell broke loose. The music died, the commotion drawing everyone’s attention to the melee. Naomi ignored the onlookers as she pleaded with Chance, keeping her voice as calm as possible while her heart raced.
“Chance, let him go.” She struggled to loosen his grip on Michael’s shirt. “You don’t need this right now. Let him go and we’ll leave.”
Michael struggled, feet flailing and face beet red, but Chance held tight. “You hurt her,” he growled.
Naomi ducked under Chance’s arm and cupped her ex-lover’s face in her hands. “He didn’t hurt me, Chance. I’m okay. Please, let him go.”
His hands fell away and Michael dropped to the floor, flopping like a fish out of water. Naomi ignored him to focus on Chance.
“You need to get out of here,” she ordered. “I’ll take care of this. Just go.”
“He hurt you,” he repeated.
Archie lifted Michael off the floor and propped him in a chair. Turning to Chance, he said, “She’s right. We’re out of here.”
Chance didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving you with him.”
“Fine.” Taking his hand, Naomi dragged him to the exit, too furious to notice the gaping onlookers snapping pictures on their phones. Outside, she led him several feet down the sidewalk before letting her temper fly. “What the hell were you thinking? That’s going to be all over the Internet in minutes. What am I going to tell Clay?”
His jaw twitched. “He put his hands on you. I couldn’t let that go.”
For crying out loud. Yes, her leg hurt where she had hit the stool, but that was no reason to ruin his already precarious career.
Raising her eyes to the sky, she muttered, “Why are men so freaking stupid?” Naomi pointed a finger at Archie, who had finally joined them. “I’m going in for my purse. Do you think you can keep him out of trouble for two minutes?”
The musician nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Storming into the restaurant, Naomi ignored the eighty-plus pairs of eyes watching her every step of the way. Head down, she arrived at the table at the same time as Michael.
“Why did you go with him?” he demanded, clasping her wrist when she reached for her purse. “That asshole tried to kill me.”
“He did not try to kill you.” She tugged, but his grip tightened. “Let me go, Michael. That hurts.”
“You aren’t leaving with him.”
Teeth clenched, she lowered her voice. “You’ve embarrassed me enough for one night. Let. Me. Go.”
Instead of obeying her request, he applied enough pressure to force her into a chair, filling the one beside her.
Thin lips pressed to her ear. “You came with me, and you’ll leave with me. Understand?”
Breathing through the pain, she focused her watering eyes. “I go where I want, when I want, and I will never be going anywhere with you ever again. Now take your hand off me, or what Chance did to you will feel like a love pat.” She raised her voice to ensure those eavesdropping around them heard every word she was about to say. “You already look like a ball-less wonder. I can make that a literal statement before you know what hit you. Now let go.”
Something in her eyes must have told him she wasn’t bluffing. Naomi’s mother had insisted she take self-defense classes during her freshman year of college. Right now, she would be more than happy to give Michael Swanson a full display of what she’d learned.
He released her arm and, like the child he was, snarled, “I can do better than your cold ass anyway.”
Naomi didn’t justify that with a response. Shoulders back, she gathered her purse and shawl and walked to the door with her head held high.