Chapter 14
If Charley were on her own, she’d be in her car carrying her distracting ass home. But, alas, she was Sharita’s ride, and the young intern had yet to find her in the crowd, which had more than doubled in size since their little foray backstage. So far, Charley had recognized four people from the radio station, spotted Clay Benedict in the VIP section at the back of the floor, and rolled her eyes at the flustered females tugging Dylan Monroe shirts over their heads as they pushed their way to the front.
In their whirlwind romance, if one could call it that, Charley hadn’t had time to think about where she’d landed. In fact, she’d been too tied up in lust (she refused to entertain the other L-word) to consider the practicalities of what she was getting into.
Her declaration that she didn’t want to be in the spotlight held true. Which was another reason this fiasco should end tonight. As Sharita had pointed out, Dylan belonged on film. Magazines were sure to come calling. Television appearances would be next. Award shows and the dreaded red carpet would follow, spinning the guy she’d met one Saturday night at a club into a bona fide star, sought after and untouchable by mere mortals.
Charley wouldn’t last long in that scenario. Not when Dylan could have any woman he wanted.
Checking her phone for the time, she knew the lights would drop any minute, so she scanned the room once more for Sharita. Though the band’s newest fan wasn’t likely to leave before the show drew to a close, Charley could at least see if someone else from the station might offer the intern a ride. Stretching on her toes, she spotted Sharita tunneling in from the side of the crowd and hopped into action to catch her. Except the minute she breached the mass of bodies, the lights went down and the audience surged forward, carrying Charley as if she’d been caught in a dangerous riptide.
Beams of light crisscrossed the stage as the band members reached their positions. Seconds later, they kicked off “Working at Home,” and Charley’s chest tightened as Dylan stormed onstage, guitar strapped to his chest and hat down low.
Though the crowd had no way of knowing the song, since the album hadn’t been released yet, they clapped along, bouncing to the beat and feeding off the energy of the music. As much as she wanted to run, Charley found herself as mesmerized as the strangers around her. Dylan possessed a natural stage presence, appearing as comfortable beneath the lights as he had sitting next to the water in Centennial Park. His smile could power a city block, and passion filled every strum of the guitar.
The same guitar he’d settled in her lap six days before.
As the first song faded to a close, the crowd went wild. Regardless of what happened between them, Charley couldn’t help but smile. The fans loved him. The applause died down as he stepped to the microphone and thanked everyone for coming out to celebrate the release of his new single. Seizing the opportunity, Charley turned her back to the stage and let the crowd funnel around her as she worked her way to the edge.
When she finally reached open air, Dylan said the last thing she expected to hear.
“I’m not sure if Charley Layton is still out there, but I hope she is.” He shielded his eyes from the lights and scanned the audience in front of him. “I owe Miss Layton an apology. You see, I was a bit of a jerk earlier tonight, and I’d like to make it up to her. So if you’re listening Charley, this one’s for you. It’s called ‘Better Than Before.’”
Easton drew a mournful cry from his guitar as Dylan swung his acoustic around to his back. The slow song subdued the crowd, who listened with rapt attention, swaying from side to side. When his soulful voice filled the room, Charley’s heart soaked in every gorgeous note.
They say I’m a lucky man,
And boy I know they’re right,
Because the day she smiled my way
Is the day I saw the light.
I thought I had it all,
Wasn’t missing anything,
Thought love would keep me down,
Said I’d never buy a ring.
But a girl like that doesn’t come along every day,
You’ve got to hold on to her tight, before she walks away.
Don’t take her love for granted, and she’ll show you so much more,
’Cause life with her beside me is better than before.
Dylan stepped back as Easton took the spotlight, mesmerizing the crowd with a solo that echoed the sentiment of the lyrics. The chords hung in the air, lingering like a prayer suspended in the artificial fog hovering around his feet. Solo fading to a close, the guitarist retreated into the darkness, leaving Dylan center stage once more.
At some point during the song, Charley had made her way back to the front, unaware that she’d taken a single step. Resting her arms on the thin metal barrier, she waited for Dylan to look up, ready with a smile when he did. The moment their eyes met, she kissed her heart goodbye. Dropping to her level, he sang the rest of the song for her.
There are times I get it wrong,
Forget the things I’ve learned.
I lose my way, but she’s right there
To give me love I haven’t earned.
And if I ever lose her,
It’ll tear my world apart.
She’s the breath that keeps me going,
She’s the beat inside my heart.
And a girl like that doesn’t come along every day,
You’ve got to hold on to her tight, don’t let her walk away.
Don’t take her love for granted, and I promise you for sure,
Life with her beside you will be better than before.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a dying cynic pointed out the cheesiness of the moment, but the smile stayed on her face as Dylan leaned in to seal the deal with a kiss. The crowd fell away when his lips touched hers, and Charley wrapped her arms around his neck, cursing the barrier between them. By the time the kiss ended, they were breathless and both a little stunned.
Not until the crowd roared with applause did Charley remember where they were.
After his kiss with Charley, Dylan experienced the best hour onstage of his life. The crowd pulsed with energy, and at the end, several fans in the front were singing along with the new single. Less than a month and they already knew the words. The entire night had been a rush, with the only downside being Charley’s early departure.
Dylan had wanted her to stick around and celebrate with him and the guys, but thanks to an early-morning remote, she insisted on heading home. Though not without a long goodbye kiss and a commitment to attend the Hall of Fame dinner with him the next night.
“What the hell was that about?” asked Mitch when he found Dylan packing up his guitar.
With the success of the show, he expected his manager to be in a better mood.
“What was what?” he asked, snapping the case shut. “The show was great. The crowd loved us.”
The older man didn’t seem to share Dylan’s assessment.
“I’m talking about that damn kiss. Where do you get off pulling a stunt like that?”
Kissing Charley hadn’t been a stunt, and Dylan took offense to Mitch’s tone. “I didn’t plan that, but I damn sure don’t regret it.” Lifting the guitar, he said, “The crowd didn’t seem to mind, so what’s it to you?”
Mitch followed him to the back exit. “What part of ‘eligible bachelor’ do you not get?”
“I kissed her, Mitch. I didn’t propose.”
“Listen, boy. Pictures of that kiss are already peppered all over the Internet, and they’re tagging you in every one of them. A simple search is all it’ll take for the magazine to find them, and then we’re screwed.”
Dylan dragged the keys from his pocket and unlocked his truck. “That eligible-bachelor bull was your idea,” he reminded Mitch. “If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. We’ve got the radio tour next week, and by the time that article is scheduled to come out, I’ll have hopefully spent weeks on a major tour, gaining more exposure than Country Today could ever get us.”
The manager poked him in the back. “Do you think I do this shit for my health? I had to bow and scrape to get you in that article. You don’t toss off opportunities like this over a piece of ass.”
“Hey,” Dylan snapped, spinning on his heel. “Charley isn’t ‘a piece of ass.’ She’s the woman in my life, and I won’t have you or anyone else disrespecting her. You manage my career. I’ll manage my personal life. Is that clear?”
Jaw working from side to side, Mitch stood his ground. “When your personal life threatens to fuck up your career, that’s my business. Do you have any idea how many people are riding on your success? You’ve got a whole damn label to yourself. You’re it, buddy. You go down, so does Shooting Stars Records.”
“And so do you, right, Mitch?” he growled. Dylan knew what was on the line and exactly how much weight rested on his shoulders. The last thing he needed was someone reminding him how many people would be hurt if he didn’t get this ship off the ground. “I’ve worked my ass off for this chance, and if you think for one second that I would do anything to screw it up, then you don’t know me at all. This is about the music, not my relationship status. As long as there’s no ring on my finger, I’m a bachelor. That should be enough for your magazine article. And if it isn’t, too damn bad.”
Dylan yanked his door open and slid his guitar behind his seat. To his credit, Mitch backed off and let him close the door. Running on pure adrenaline, he cranked the engine and slammed the GMC into drive. By the time he made a left from the parking lot onto Clinton Street, he’d cursed Mitch six ways from Sunday.
Tonight had been the best show of his life. That’s what should have been the focus. Mitch should have been dancing a freaking jig after seeing that crowd’s reaction. Hell, the entire week had been a success, according to his label. When he’d talked to Clay after the show, the exec had been all smiles, patting him on the back and congratulating him on blowing the roof off the place. Not once did he mention what happened with Charley.
The first time he’d taken this ride, Dylan hadn’t even gotten this far. Four months of his life sat on some computer hard drive, deemed unworthy of even getting a shot. This time was different. Shooting Stars believed in him, and he would not let them down.
Maybe this wasn’t the time to start a relationship. Maybe diverting even a fraction of his energy to something other than the work would bring it all crashing down. Or maybe, he reasoned, Mitch was overreacting. Dylan couldn’t blame the man for being nervous. Once upon a time, he’d climbed to the top only to watch it all fall apart. Then again, Mitch couldn’t blame any artist for his legendary descent. The mistakes he’d made were his alone.
Determined to do right by all involved, he vowed to appease the magazine, if necessary, and reassure Mitch that his priorities were still in order. No matter what, this opportunity would not slip through his fingers. Too many people were counting on Dylan to be successful. And he would be. Because, at this point, failure was not an option.