Chapter 7
Clay held his temper in check. Barely. “Explain this to me again. You were at the Songbird Cafe with our recovering alcoholic artist when he assaulted a guy. All while standing right next to you.”
Though Naomi had called him Saturday night with a brief overview of the encounter, what Clay had read on the Internet Sunday morning bore little resemblance to the story she’d shared. Which resulted in this early meeting in Clay’s office to get the facts straight and determine a plan of action.
“Chance wasn’t drinking. And he didn’t assault anyone.”
“Michael Swanson says differently.” This was not what they needed right now.
Naomi’s face reddened. “Michael started the whole thing. He confronted Chance over something stupid, then taunted him into a confrontation.”
This wasn’t anything Clay didn’t know, but dammit, she’d been right there. “Why didn’t you get Chance out of there before the situation escalated? And why were you there with him in the first place?” Three days ago, she’d resented the idea of being his babysitter. A day later she’s with him at a bar?
Unpolished nails tapped the arm of her chair. “I wasn’t there with Chance. I was with someone else and had no way of knowing he’d show up. I only approached him to get him to leave the bar.” Naomi bolted from her seat. “Everything would have been fine if Michael hadn’t gotten jealous.”
“Wait a minute. You were there with Swanson?”
Shoving a loose lock of hair behind her ear, Naomi paced his office. “I’d rather not bring my personal life into this.”
“A little late for that.” One of the many stories posted the day before had cast the scene as two rivals fighting for the same woman. Clay never would have imagined that woman was Naomi.
“Look,” she said, slamming her hands on the front of his desk, “If men weren’t so damn stupid, none of this would have happened.”
Clay let the insult to his gender slide.
“But it did happen, Naomi. And now I’ve got speculation that my new artist has gone off the wagon and trashed a Nashville landmark.”
She shoved off the desk. “He didn’t trash anything. And there are plenty of witnesses to back that up.”
She couldn’t be that naive. “You know as well as I do that this isn’t a trial by jury where witnesses matter. This is trial by public opinion, and history is not on his side.” A knock sounded at Clay’s door. “Yes?”
The receptionist, Belinda Wallace, leaned in. “Chance Colburn and his manager are here.”
“Thanks, Belinda. Show them into the conference room and we’ll be there in a minute.”
“Will do.”
Once the door clicked shut, Clay rose from his chair. “We need to cut this off now. Swanson’s smear campaign hasn’t gained media coverage, though I’m sure it isn’t for lack of trying. He’ll suck every ounce of attention out of this, and not give a damn what happens to anyone else.”
“You know Michael?” Naomi asked.
Clay wished he didn’t. “He played a showcase for Foxfire years ago. When we passed, he bad-mouthed us to anyone who would listen.” The memory still pissed him off. “Within a month of Dylan hitting the charts, Swanson started campaigning to get one of his songs on the list for the new album. That isn’t going to happen.”
The color drained from his publicist’s face. “I see.” Her hazel eyes locked on the corner of his desk, and Clay could almost see her mind racing.
With real concern, he asked, “How long have you been seeing him?”
“Six weeks.” Her jaw worked forward and back as she continued to avoid eye contact. “Guess I should have done my homework. He went after me to get to you, didn’t he? Or to Dylan. Michael kept asking about coming with me to the next Shooting Stars event, but rarely agreed to accompany me anywhere else.” Naomi shoved a hand through her hair. “I’m an idiot.”
Clay felt for her, but doubted Naomi was the first woman Swanson had manipulated. “You aren’t an idiot, Naomi. He is. Now we just have to show him he messed with the wrong label.” Gesturing toward the door, he motioned for her to go first. “Let’s go see what Ms. Needham has to say for her client this morning. We’ll deal with Swanson later.”
She pressed a hand to his arm. “This wasn’t Chance’s fault, Clay. If Michael hadn’t . . .”
“Hadn’t what?”
Naomi crossed her arms, tucking them tight against her body. “He just shouldn’t have confronted Chance like that. He was looking to make a scene. He knew Chance had more to lose.”
There was something she wasn’t telling him, but Clay didn’t have time to push. “Like I said. Swanson will get attention any way he can. Is there anything else I need to know before this meeting?”
“No.”
Clay rounded the desk and opened his office door. “Then let’s get to work.”
Clay was wrong. Naomi was an idiot.
Most of this town liked to pretend that making music was about making art. And for many artists, it was. But on Music Row, making music was about making money. For Michael Swanson, the best way to make money was to get his songs cut by the most successful artists. The ranks of which Dylan Monroe was well on his way to joining.
If she’d known that Clay had shut the door in his face, Naomi might have recognized his true intentions sooner. But that was no excuse. She’d allowed a man to use and manipulate her, and that was no one’s fault but her own.
When was she going to wake up and stop choosing the wrong men? A laughably ironic question to ask herself before walking into a meeting with her biggest mistake of all.
“Good morning, Chance,” Clay said, holding the door for Naomi. “Shelly. Thanks again for coming. It’s a good thing we had this scheduled today, considering the events over the weekend.”
Shelly sent Naomi a heated glare as she and Clay took their seats at the table. “I think we need to once again address Ms. Mallard’s role with my client. I’d like to suggest a replacement.”
“What?” Naomi and Chance chimed in stereo.
The manager ignored them both. “I’ve compiled a list of three candidates. All are available, and have excellent credentials.” She slid a sheet of paper toward Clay. “I’m willing to let you choose the final candidate.”
This couldn’t be happening. Naomi was the public relations director of Shooting Stars Records. A position she’d fought long and hard to achieve. Too stunned to speak, she turned wide eyes toward her boss.
Clay ignored Shelly’s list. “We will not be replacing Naomi. Your client signed a two-album contract with Shooting Stars Records, and we expect him to fulfill his side of the agreement. That contract does not give you the power to dictate how or with whom I run my company.” Leaning forward, he shoved the paper away. “Now, if Mr. Colburn no longer wants to pursue his relationship with this label, he’s welcome to buy out the contract and seek another deal elsewhere, but I highly recommend he think that through before making any regrettable decisions.”
Naomi had never been the high-fiving type, but that speech deserved at least a fist bump.
The hateful woman opened her mouth to reply, but Chance cut her off.
“I’m not buying out anything, and I have no problem working with Naomi.”
The simple dismissal of his manager’s agenda only intensified the tension in the room.
“We’re happy to hear that.” Clay leaned back in his chair. “Now, the purpose of this meeting was to discuss our publicity plan to get Chance back in the public eye in a more positive way. Our original agenda included interviews starting later this week, but, given recent events, I suggest we accelerate our efforts.”
Shelly shook her head. “That’s out of the question. If recent events have proven anything, it’s that Chance needs more time.”
For a manager, Naomi marveled at the woman’s lack of public relations knowledge. “Ms. Needham, with all due respect, we cannot sit back and allow someone else to use slander and lies to further smear Chance’s reputation.” She stabbed a finger into the table. “This requires an immediate response. The public needs to see that Chance is different now. Not a man who got drunk and attacked another man, unprovoked, at an area restaurant.”
“We both know Chance’s actions were not unprovoked, don’t we, Ms. Mallard? From what I understand, you played a critical role in this weekend’s events. Perhaps an immediate response should have occurred when your boyfriend picked a fight with my client.” Shifting her attention to Clay, the manager continued. “My job is to represent and protect my client. I cannot do that when your publicist is an active part of the problem.”
Naomi leaped from her chair. “Yes, Chance was provoked on Saturday night, but he wasn’t completely innocent, either. In hindsight, I recognize that I should have taken action sooner to defuse the situation, but I did not intentionally set out to harm your client. In fact, if your client is still not ready to handle interviews, perhaps he was also not ready to visit a bar.”
Her opponent rose to her feet. “Chance being in a bar wasn’t the problem. Encountering you there was.”
“Enough,” barked Chance. Both women fell silent but continued to exchange hostile glares. “Clay, I need a minute with my manager.”
“That’s a good idea.” The label head pushed away from the table. “Naomi and I will be in my office when you’re ready to continue.”
The disapproval in her boss’s eyes did not bode well, but neither did he look ready to fire her on the spot. Clay left the room first, with Naomi close behind. The moment they reached his office, she braced for the worst.
Without a word, Clay crossed to the cabinet on the far wall to withdraw a tall bottle and two glasses from a lower cupboard. After pouring a splash of dark liquid into each glass, he offered one to Naomi.
She accepted the drink, still awaiting the reprimand she deserved.
“You want to tell me what happened between you and Chance?”
Not the question she expected. “I told you. Michael provoked him, Chance snapped, and I convinced him to let Michael go.”
He shook his head. “I don’t mean on Saturday night. You two have a past, and that past is now interfering with the present. What don’t I know?”
Clay Benedict had a great deal of faith in Naomi’s abilities. He’d also shown her, especially today, unwavering support. She owed him at least an edited version of their history.
“Seven years ago, Chance and I dated. His career was just taking off, and I was in my first PR position as assistant to Martha Reynolds.” Naomi took a sip of the amber liquid before continuing. The scotch burned its way down, providing much-needed fortitude. “After six months, choices were made that ended our relationship.”
“If Martha was involved, I can guess what choice caused the problem.” Of course Clay would know Martha. He knew everyone in this town. “Go on.”
“I assumed after our meeting Friday night that Shelly disliked me because she knew that history. Or a version of it that cast me as the villain.” Dropping into the chair she’d occupied earlier, Naomi met Clay’s patient gaze. “Chance says he’s never told Shelly about . . . us. Strangely enough, I believe him.”
“Then what does she have against you?”
That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I truly have no idea.”
“Spill, Shelly. Why are you so hell-bent against Naomi Mallard?”
Pregnancy hormones were one thing. This was something else entirely, and Chance wasn’t leaving this conference room until he got some answers.
“I don’t like her,” Shelly replied, crossing her arms like a three-year-old refusing to eat her vegetables.
“Try again.”
Glossy lips thinned into a line. “She’s trying to push you too fast.”
Chance pointed out the absurdity of that statement. “I signed this deal nearly six months ago. Since then, I’ve completed rehab plus time in sober living without the slightest pressure from this label. Now tell me what’s really going on.”
Shelly ran her hands over her face. “Forget it. I’ll play nice from now on.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll let them know we’re ready to continue.”
“Not yet.” Chance put himself between his sister and the door. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A high heel tapped the floor as they faced off in silence. After several seconds, she marched back to her chair. “You remember when I said this baby’s father had moved on to someone else?”
Confused, Chance nodded. “What’s that got to do with Naomi?” Slender brows rose while she waited for him to catch on. As the light dawned, a streak of curses crossed his tongue. “You’re kidding me. Michael Swanson? Seriously, Shell? What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, okay? You weren’t the only one who had a tough year. Pierce was hassling me for more time with the kids. Izzy needed braces, and Tristan was still wetting the bed every night. With you off getting sober, I was left handling everything.” Her shoulders drooped in defeat. “I was overwhelmed and lonely. I guess that made me an easy target.”
Chance knew he’d made her life difficult over the years. He’d just never been sober enough to give a shit.
“Damn.”
She offered an exhausted smile. “I know.”
Returning to the chair beside her, he leaned his elbows on his knees. “You can’t be pissed at Naomi because Swanson is an asshole.”
“Being angry with her was a lot easier than being angry with myself.”
“If it makes you feel any better, after Saturday night, she won’t be seeing him anymore.”
Shelly spun her chair from side to side. “Because he had the nerve to mess with her Shooting Stars artist?”
Chance saw no need to discuss the marks Swanson had put on Naomi’s arm. Shelly already knew he was a jerk. No reason to make her feel worse. “He gave her another reason. Are we good now?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” Shelly rose and straightened her skirt. “How are we going to explain my sudden change of attitude?”
He shrugged. “We don’t. You’re willing to work with Naomi and that’s all they need to know.”
“Right.” She laughed. “How did I forget your basic rules of operation? The whole world is on a need-to-know basis with you, and no one ever needs to know anything.”
The policy didn’t typically extend to his manager, so Clay offered a quick update. “That reminds me. I wrote a song this weekend.”
She sat up straight. “Chance, that’s great. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“You were too busy being a bitch.”
A right hook caught him in the arm. “Not funny. I’m not going to feel bad when I’m eight months along and yelling at you for no reason.”
“And that would be different how?” She shot him a warning look, and Chance took the hint. “All right. Let them know we’re ready. My bad reputation isn’t going to polish itself.”