I have to say, this is probably my favorite Nashville book of the series. I was able to inject more humor into the story and I love, love, love it when my characters get a second chance at love. Here's the link and here's an excerpt:
Prologue
“Do not turn on the TV.”
Harper Perry
pressed her cell phone to her ear but didn’t open her eyes. Her eyeballs felt
gritty, like someone had rolled them around in sand. She pulled the duvet over
her head to block out any potential light. The voice on the other end of the
phone was already giving her a killer headache.
“Do you hear me,
Harper? Wake up.”
“I hear you,” she
managed. Her voice was hoarse
and her mouth tasted like she’d mopped the floor of the Jack Daniels distillery
with her tongue. And what was that smell? Someone barbecuing? “I’m up.”
“Do not turn on the
TV. Or go online. And don’t leave the room until I come for you. If TMZ tries
to contact you…well you’d better not answer the phone,
either, unless it’s me or Robert.”
Harper’s eyes flew
open. Her $750 an hour attorney was only called in when the serious shit hit
the fan. Not the minor stuff like getting her out of public intoxication
charges or suing the tabloids who had published a panty-free, up-the-skirt shot
taken when she was getting out of a limo. No, Robert only got involved when it
was the potentially career-ending/lawsuit/jail time kind of shit.
Harper shoved the
covers off, letting the bright noonish sunlight into her cocoon and immediately
wished she hadn’t. She tried to push past the pain of a thousand daggers
digging into her eyeballs and struggled to remember what had happened last
night. She’d been at the club and then…
“Oh, shit.”
“Ah, she remembers
now.”
“Kind of.”
Something about catching Chad in the club with that bimbo from the reality show
and then following him back to his house to tell him what he could do with his
ring and...what had happened next? “How bad is it, Mel?”
“Well…you burned
down his house.”
Her hair hung in
reddish brown clumps around her face and when she breathed in deeply, the old
smoke trapped in the strands filled her nostrils. It wasn’t the scent of steaks
on the grill she’d smelled—it was the odor of what was left of her career going
up in smoke.
“The record label
is not happy. And neither is Diva Cosmetics. They’re threatening to pull
sponsorship for your tour.” Mel didn’t have to mention that the tour had been
on shaky ground anyway. They’d already had to cancel shows due to poor ticket
sales. Harper had already been one scandal away from playing Branson in the off
season…and she may have just bought her ticket to Missouri with this latest
debacle.
Oh, God. What had
she done last night? She remembered telling Chad what a jerk he was. And there
had been candles burning...the rat bastard had taken the reality slut back to
his house, where he’d had a romantic scene all laid out. The same scene he’d used
the first time he’d invited Harper back to his pad, come to think of it.
Harper’s fuzzy
memory of the night suddenly sharpened into crystal clear focus. Fire trucks.
Lights flashing. Flames shooting out of the roof.
“Shit.” Fear rolled
through her. Some judges liked to throw the book at celebrities, just to make
an example of them. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Chad’s got a few
bumps and bruises he claims are from your fight. Chad’s attorney has already
filed for a restraining order.”
Harper’s head began
to pound. “It was an accident.”
Harper remembered
throwing a vase of roses—part of the seduction set-up—at Chad’s head, missing,
and knocking over some of the candles, which had ignited the papier-mâché
sculpture of two rabbits copulating Chad tried to pass off as “art”. And then
the curtains had caught fire before any of them could react, because apparently
the glue the idiot used was highly flammable. The little reality bimbo had run
outside screaming, wearing nothing but her bra and panties, and Harper and Chad
had screamed at each other until they’d realized that the small fire had
quickly become a big fire. By the time the fire department had arrived, Chad
had been telling everybody that Harper was a crazy bitch and an arsonist.
“What do I do?” Mel
had been with her since she’d moved to LA, watching out for her, smoothing her
way, cleaning up the destruction she’d left behind. The past couple years had
been one long party and to be honest, Harper didn’t remember most of it. Chad
had just been the latest in a long line of very bad decisions. She’d been on
top of the world and had everything she’d ever wanted. How had it come crashing
down so quickly? Somewhere in the rush of parties and big checks and adoring
fans, lonely nights in hotels and always wondering what someone wanted from
her, she’d lost track of who she was and what she wanted. Some days she just
wanted to curl up in the corner and pretend she was still the wanna-be with the
guitar just playing the local honkytonks and
hoping someone would like what they heard. But you can’t go back. You can never
go back.
“I think you need
to lay low, Harper. Get out of town for a while until Robert and I can clear
this up.” He paused and Harper knew she wasn’t going to like what came out of
his mouth next. “I think it’s time you went home.”
Cold lead settled
in the pit of her stomach. “No. No, way.”
She’d burned so
many bridges between Tennessee and California she wasn’t sure there was a way
back.
Harper grabbed for
the remote and switched on the entertainment channel. Mel kept chattering in
her ear but she was no longer paying attention. She had a screen crawl. That
was bad. And then Chad came on the screen telling TMZ’s crew what a crazy bitch
she was and how he'd be talking to his attorney about pressing criminal charges as soon as possible.
“You turned on the
TV, didn’t you? Damn it, Harper!”
Oh goody, someone
got some smartphone footage of Harper stumbling out of the smoky house. Her
makeup was smeared, her hair was a mess and her clothes were ripped and dirty.
How many pounds of crazy did the camera add, anyway? And there was the bimbo
streaking around the yard like her skinny ass was on fire, showing off in her
underwear for the cameras.
OK, Tennessee
didn’t sound so bad compared to an orange jumpsuit.
Harper swallowed
down her fear. “Is the farmhouse livable?”
“I don’t know what
kind of condition it’s in. Harper. It’s been what—five years at least?”
“Six.” Plus three
months and…eight days.
“And the roof was
bad, then.”
“Yeah.” She hadn’t
cared when Mel had told her the place needed work since she never intended to
set foot in it again. She’d had all the old memories cleared out and hadn’t planned
to return. She couldn’t bring herself to sell it, though. Never in a million
years had she imagined the place would become a refuge.
“I’ll hire someone
to do repairs but with all the stuff going on, we’ll have to be careful. He’ll
sell you out in a heartbeat and all the tabloids will be on your doorstep. Too
much bad press and you can forget the tour. No sponsor will touch it.”
Harper closed her eyes. The pain in her gut moved to her heart. “I know someone.”
“A handyman? In
Nashville?”
“Yeah.” God. She
didn’t want to do this. But she really had no choice. No matter what had happened
between them, she knew he was the one guy who wouldn’t sell her out. If he’d
wanted to do that, he would have years ago. She needed to get out of town and
lie low where the paparazzi wouldn’t find her. The house was in her name, but
it would still take time for them to track her down. And by the time they did,
maybe this whole mess would be in the past.
If the house had
gotten as bad as Mel had said, she needed someone she could trust to do the
work for her, since swinging a hammer wasn’t exactly her forte. Swinging a vase
of roses, on the other hand…
Harper took a deep
breath. “His name is Dan Bryan. I'll text
you the number.”
