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  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN I leave a message on Ty’s voice mail. He’s probably busy in the recording studio with the band, and I don’t want to bother them, so rather than call the studio to track Ty down, I leave it at that. If I’m going to be working with the band for two weeks, I need to learn how to deal with these reporters, and I can’t go running to Ty or Red every time someone tries to get an official comment from me. This person Elizabeth from whatever stupid paper she’s with has figured out that I’m somehow associated with them, so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before others do too. And I doubt she’s going to be satisfied with only one attempt at getting a story from me. I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom practicing my new plan for encounters with the paparazzi: “No comment.” I change my tone to sound more confident. “No comment!” I try various inflections. “No comment. No comment. No comment!” This is the phrase I’ve heard other people use on television during the

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT A simple knock at my door nearly gives me a heart attack. It’s him. Ty is here. I walk over and look through the peephole. He’s in the hallway, dressed all in black. His hair is crazy and his makeup dark. I’m afraid it matches his mood. I open the door to let him in. “Hi.” I’m suddenly shy. “Hi.” He looks me up and down, giving me no indication of what he’s thinking or feeling. “Can I come in?” I move out of the way. “Sure. I’m glad you came.” “Me too.” The moment I shut the door, he pulls me into a hug. His arms wrap around me and hold me tight. Whatever misgivings I might have had before he got there melt away. I’m surprised by how enthusiastically he’s embracing me, but I’m not complaining. I hold him tightly, just breathing and enjoying the sensation of his body against mine. He’s warm, solid, and all man. I had no idea what I was missing out on not having a boyfriend. Not that he’s my boyfriend or anything, but this is two nights in a row we’ve been together,

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Ty and I are lying in bed together the next morning, still half-asleep, when he rolls over and begins stroking my shoulder. He’s spooning me from behind and I wiggle, trying to get closer to him. “I need to talk to you about something,” he says, his morning voice rough from sleep. His tone tells me sex is temporarily out of the question. “What’s up?” I hope he’s not regretting all the fun we had last night. We went four rounds, and I’m probably not going to walk right for a week, but I’m happy about everything we did, and I wouldn’t change any of it for the world. “Yesterday . . . during practice. Things didn’t go so well.” I twist my head sideways, trying to see his face. “What happened?” I slide around to my back so I can see him more clearly. His hair is tousled and his eyeliner smeared. I lift myself up enough to give him a kiss and rub his cheek before falling back down onto the pillows. “Tell me. Maybe I can help.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think you can. W

  CHAPTER FORTY I enjoy watching the band jamming together more than I thought I would. Time just flies by. Before I know it, we’re ordering dinner in and sitting down to enjoy pizza and beer together. “I thought that went pretty well,” I say to the group, biting into my slice of pepperoni. It’s delicious—cheesy and hot. “It’s a little rough, but we’ll get there,” says Paul. “We might get one song out of it,” Red says, not sounding as positive. Ty clears his throat. “What would you guys think about bringing in a songwriter?” Cash, Paul, and Mooch glance at one another before turning their attention to Red. Everyone waits silently for his response. “Who did you have in mind?” He stops eating his pizza and stares at Ty. I would hate to have him look at me like that; he doesn’t seem exactly thrilled about the idea. “Maybe my brother. If I can find him.” “Where is he?” asks Mooch. “I don’t know. He moved out of my parents’ place a few years back, and I lost track of him. I think he’s still i

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Like I said, everything was going great and then it wasn’t,” Red explains. “The four of us—Mooch, Cash, Keith, and I—were trying to hold things together. But Darrell was fighting us on it. He kept telling us we needed to cut the dead wood and focus on the music.” “He was jealous,” Cash says. “He wasn’t getting the attention from the girls that some of us were, and it made him angry.” “It wasn’t just that,” Mooch says. “He had a point. We were partying a little too hard. After the success of the first two albums, we started taking it easy. Too easy. We were more focused on having fun than working.” Cash nods his agreement. “True.” “What about my mothers leaving? How did that happen?” I can’t believe how nervous I am; I’m actually trembling as I wait for his answer. “We went to Albuquerque for a show. It was the first one that your mothers didn’t go to with us. I remember Barbara telling us that her mother was sick and they all needed to go spend some time with her. I a

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO I think it’s a good thing that we have hair appointments tonight. The conversation got so heavy, there was no way out of it without a lot more tears, except for the fact that José Fernando Luis Velasquez was waiting for us at his salon. I wish more than anything I could call my sisters and tell them what’s going on, but I have no private time except for five minutes to use the bathroom before we’re on our way over. I’m sharing a ride with Ty. “So, that was kind of crazy, huh?” he asks. We’re holding hands in the backseat. “You could say that again.” I still can’t believe what I heard in the studio. He glances at the driver and lowers his voice. “Do you want to talk about it?” I lean into him so I can give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.” It’s too raw for me right now. I need to let things settle. Not to mention the fact that when I have this conversation with Ty, it won’t be in front of a stranger who’s driving the car we’re in. He squeeze

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE José has worked his magic. We are walking out of the salon as new people. Gone are the mullets and in their place are sophisticated rocker looks, their hair layered but long enough to touch their shoulders. For the first time ever, I actually find them handsome, and I’m pretty sure they think so too; they’re walking taller and prouder than when they came in. Ty looks pretty much the same. They took some of the length off the top and shortened the back and sides, but they’ve gelled it up into his trademark spikes, making it hard for me to keep my hands to myself. Red looks at his phone, frowning and putting it to his ear as we approach the front door of the salon. “What’s the matter?” Paul asks. I hardly recognize him. He’s way better-looking with his hair shorter. It’s as if fifteen years have been taken off. “My driver says there’s a crowd outside.” “Just go straight for the car,” Ty says to me, putting his arm around my lower back. I nod. José is standing at the f

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR When I wake up the next morning, Ty is sitting on the edge of the bed looking at his telephone and frowning. I angle up onto my elbows. “What’s wrong?” He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.” I sit up more fully, pulling his arm over so I can look at his phone with him. He’s reading a news headline, and my picture is right on top of the article. “What the hell?” At least my hair looks good. He pulls his phone away. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I hold my hand out. “Give it to me. I need to read it.” He passes me the phone and stands. “I’m going to jump in the shower.” He hesitates, standing over me. “Promise you’re not going to get upset about anything you read there. It’s just people trying to sell their newspapers or get clicks on their websites.” “No promises,” I mumble. I read the article, which is full of conjecture and out-and-out lies. Apparently, I’m some sort of gold digger who has crawled out of the woodwork to claim my rightful throne as the heir

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE The people sitting at the reception desk in Lister’s office try to stop Ty and me from going past, but I’m not having any of their nonsense. I buzz right past and walk as quickly as I can down the hallway that I’m pretty sure leads to Lister’s office. I pass the copy room on my right. “Hi, Linny!” I yell as I rush by. She sticks her head out, but I’m gone before she has time to respond. I see the conference room next. I signed papers in there. Knowing Lister, I
probably signed a contract donating one of my kidneys without even realizing it. “Take your next left,” Ty says. I turn around to thank him and realize that Linny is right behind him. I stop for a moment. “Sweetie, you’re not going to want to see this. I’m really angry at your uncle.” “Good. So am I.” “Why don’t you go make a photocopy of your butt? I’ll be there in a minute to do one with you.” She grins. “I already did.” I walk over and give her a quick hug. “You are so adorable. Please go wait in the copy r

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX I leave Ty in Lister’s office, telling him I need to go to the bathroom, but instead I just go. With my heart breaking, I exit the building and jump into his car, telling the driver to take me to the Four Seasons. I rush up to my room, throw my new clothes into the shopping bags they came in, and go back downstairs. I ignore the phone calls coming to my cell as I get into the car with Mr. Blake driving. “I’d like to go to JFK, please.” He glances at me in the mirror but does as I ask. I cry all the way there. I make it to the ticket counter to claim my seat on the next and only flight out, which leaves in forty-five minutes. The universe has spoken; I was meant to leave now. I make it through security, but I’m forced to abandon all my delicious-smelling lotions. It makes me cry all over again. I don’t remember much of the flight; it passes in a blur and I’m too numb to think about what happened. The only thing that goes through my mind over and over again is that I’m

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN My phone shows eighteen missed calls, all from the same number. When I’m alone and the last puppy has been deposited in the laundry basket that is his temporary home, I press the green button on my phone. “I was starting to think you were never going to return my calls,” Ty says. “Are you okay? Where are you? I went to the hotel, but they said you checked out.” “I’m sorry. I’m home at the farm. I needed to get away, and I’ve been sleeping. I was exhausted.” “I get it.” He sounds as sad as I feel. “Trust me. I want to fall into a coma myself after that meeting at Lister’s place.” “Is everybody angry at me?” I cringe, waiting for his answer. “No. Why would anybody be angry at you?” “I don’t know. If I hadn’t come to New York, none of this would’ve happened.” “If that dick Darrell hadn’t stuck his nose into everybody’s business, none of this would’ve ever happened. You are not the problem, Amber. He is.” The phone goes silent. I can’t think of anything else to say. “Pl

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT I have no idea what time it is when I wake up again. My cell phone is dead. The light outside my window is dim, suggesting it’s either early in the morning or nighttime. I haven’t heard our rooster crowing, so I’m betting it’s the latter. I wander into the bathroom to pee and take a moment to brush my teeth. My hair looks like crap, but nobody in this house is going to care. As I reach the top of the staircase, I hear voices down on the main floor—deep voices. I slowly go down the steps, holding on to the railing. The lower I get, the more familiar those voices become. When I reach the bottom I stop and my jaw falls open. My living room is full of people, and they’re all looking at me. “Amber.” Mister Bigger-Than-Life himself, Red Wylde, is standing in the middle of our living room. My mothers are beaming, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them look so happy. Cash is sitting in the recliner with a beer resting on his belly. Mooch is on the floor, feeding a puppy with

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE Are you happy?” Ty asks me. I flatten the last moving box from the kitchen and throw it on the pile next to the front door. I’ve been in New York for three months now, and this is my biggest move yet: I’ve settled into a high-rise apartment in Midtown on the top floor, with my new roommate—the love of my life, Ty Stanz—who also happens to be the lead guitarist of Red Hot. Yeah . . . so, I’m officially a groupie, but it’s no big deal, because I’m also a high-powered businesswoman working my way up the corporate ladder in the music industry. I earn my keep, running a well-oiled PR and branding machine that no one can find fault with anymore, not even me. Miracle of miracles, I have a knack for the business, and every one of my instincts has paid off. An industry executive just called me yesterday, trying to lure me away so I could come work for his people. Of course I said no, since I kind of love the band I’m with now. “I’m very happy,” I say, accepting the glass of w

  BRIGHT LIGHTS. BIG CITY. RED HOT LOVE. In NYC, will Emerald follow her head—or her heart? Coming April 2018. Order now.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR Elle Casey, a former attorney and teacher, is a prolific New York Times and USA Today bestselling American author who lives in southwest France with her husband, the youngest of her three children, and a bunch of cats, dogs, and horses. She writes in several genres, including romance, suspense, urban fantasy, paranormal, science fiction, dystopian, and action/adventure.

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  PARANORMAL

  Duality (2-book series)

  Pocket Full of Sunshine (short story & screenplay)

  CONTEMPORARY URBAN FANTASY

  War of the Fae (10-book series)

  Ten Things You Should Know About Dragons (short story in The Dragon Chronicles)

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  DYSTOPIAN

  Apocalypsis (4-book series)

  SCIENCE FICTION

  Drifters’ Alliance (3-book series)

  Winner Takes All (short story prequel to Drifters’ Alliance in Dark Beyond the Stars Anthology)

  To keep up-to-date with Elle’s latest releases, please visit www.ElleCasey.com

  To get an email when Elle’s next book is released, sign up here: http://www.ElleCasey.com/news

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Elle Casey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542047050

  ISBN-10: 1542047056

  Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com

  Cover photography by Matthew Hegarty

  For Mary Walker, fellow author and fellow fan of (almost) all things French.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CH
APTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  BRIGHT LIGHTS. BIG CITY. RED HOT LOVE.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m washing dishes at the communal kitchen sink when a low-slung black sports car pulls up to the house. I don’t recognize it as belonging to anyone I know, but I’m familiar with the make and model from a magazine a visitor to the farm left behind last week. It’s a Mercedes-AMG GT S Coupe . . . otherwise known as a sorry-about-your-penis car. My mouth turns down at the corners as I toss my sponge onto the counter.