The Glamorous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Read online

  He’d spent seven years working at a job he didn’t even want, had never wanted, because it was expected. Christopher and Erin had taken off early, but Dalton stayed home. He had an apartment only a few miles from his childhood home, he worked at his dad’s company, he even ate dinner with his parents at least once a week because … why? Because someone had to do it; someone needed to be the heir-apparent.

  Or maybe it was simply because he didn’t have the guts to try anything else.

  When it became obvious the band had failed, the members had gone their separate ways. They’d packed up their things, given each other an apologetic little “we tried” shrug, and moved on. Majors changed, careers acquired, TJ had even found a wife. They’d forged ahead while Dalton … Dalton went home to nurse his broken dreams and wounded pride, then pick up the safe, stable career that had been waiting for him since birth.

  He thought he was okay with it, but from the way his heart leapt at Kynley’s offer, from the way the want, the need, burned inside him, he clearly wasn’t. And not just because it was a chance to make music again. It was the chance to do something unexpected, something special.

  Something with her. The scent of Kynley’s lilac perfume seemed to fill the air.

  “I think he should go,” Dalton’s mom said, breaking the silence. “He’s always been a musician at heart.”

  “He already had his chance,” his father growled at his plate. “Remember all that running around in college?”

  “But this is much more than a bar band,” Dalton pressed. “Kynley … Jilted Storm, they’re big. So much bigger than we even dreamed about. They’re playing at the Paramount in Denver. I looked it up this afternoon; it holds over eighteen hundred people and it’s sold out.” At the thought, nerves hit him like a freight train and the few bites of lasagna already in his stomach turned to clay. He would be playing at the Paramount. All those people staring at him, waiting for him to make a mistake.

  Don’t think like that, he told himself firmly. Besides, they’ll be staring at Kynley. She’s the one with the weight of the band on her shoulders.

  And she had such narrow shoulders. How did she do it? Something stirred in his gut that wasn’t the clay lasagna—it was an aching desire to help her.

  “Fine,” Dad said, pulling Dalton’s thoughts back to the dinner table. “If you can get your responsibilities at work covered, I guess I can’t say no. Especially after Erin went to so much trouble to prove me wrong.”

  Despite her father’s constant urging to give up on acting, go back to college, and find a stable career, Erin had persisted and found success on Broadway. Silently, Dalton thanked his younger sister for her stubbornness. She could be a little over the top, but that’s what got her where she was, and partly what would get him where he wanted to be. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever supporting this if Erin hadn’t already bucked the system and shown them it could be done.

  Not that he needed his parents’ approval. Well … as his boss, his father would need to approve. But if it came right down to it, Dalton could always quit. He’d thought about it several times but always held back, because what else was he going to do?

  This. He was going to do this.

  “When are you leaving?” his mother asked after they’d eaten in silence for several minutes.

  “In the morning. They’re sending a car to take me to the airport.” He’d worked it out with Kynley earlier.

  “And you’ll go directly to Denver?”

  “Yeah. The concert is on Tuesday.”

  “Five days?” Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to learn an entire show in five days?”

  His gut churned again. “I’m going to try,” Dalton vowed.

  He spent the rest of the night watching videos of Jilted Storm on YouTube, including any he could find of their live performances. The live video wasn’t great, usually a fan holding a shaky cell phone above the crowd surging around the stage. But even with the shaky cam, the performance was amazing.

  He’d watched several videos before he remembered he was supposed to be watching the rhythm guitarist, not Kynley. His eyes were pulled to her like a magnet. From the first blaze of lights, Kynley had the crowd wrapped around her little finger. In black leather, lace, and thigh-high boots she was in turns fierce, intense, or vulnerable, depending on the mood of the song. She had a fantastic voice; a performance of “Into You” taken earlier this year in San Diego sent goose bumps parading down his arms.

  But he was supposed to be watching Leeson. Dalton went back and made a conscious effort to study the part he’d be taking on. Jilted Storm wasn’t a pop group; they didn’t have backup dancers, a fantastical set, or multiple costume changes. They were rock, plain and simple. They used lighting to add drama, wore one set of clothes, played for a straight ninety minutes without a break, and their only set decoration was a banner with their logo hung behind the drummer. He was relieved to see that for the most part, Leeson seemed to stay in his quadrant of the stage, joining in on the harmonies when needed, but not performing any over-the-top feats of bravado. This was doable.

  It was very late by the time he shut off his laptop and settled into bed. He was confident he could handle the music part, but could he handle the Kynley part? There’d been something between them at the reception, had she felt the spark too? They could have easily found another guitar player to fill in. For whatever reason, Kynley wanted him there. He smiled in the dark quiet of his bedroom.

  Chapter Six

  Dalton expected a taxi, a long black limo, or an Uber driver to pick him up the next morning. What he was not expecting was the white midsized sedan and Kynley jumping out of the driver’s seat. She wore ripped jeans, a black tank top scrawled with white graffiti, and lime-green sequined Chucks. Most of her hair was tucked into a baseball cap, but a few wisps had escaped to curl down her neck and shoulders. As she came around the corner of the car, she pulled off her oversized sunglasses and flashed him a grin. If she was trying for a low profile, she’d failed, because she looked fantastic.

  “You ready? Where’s your stuff?” She asked.

  “You’re my ride to the airport?”

  “Actually, I’m your ride, period. We’re driving.” She gave him a gleeful smile.

  “All the way to Denver?”

  “Yep!” Her eyes sparkled. “I haven’t had a good road trip in a while and since we have some time, I thought it would be fun.”

  He did a quick estimation. Denver had to be at least a day and a half from here. The thought of spending so much time alone in a car with Kynley sent equal parts excitement and terror churning through him. What if she thought he was a total dork?

  They both turned as another car pulled into the driveway, this one a black Escalade with the windows tinted. Okay, that was more what he’d expected.

  “Who’s that?” Dalton asked as the car came to a stop behind Kynley’s.

  She gave an indignant sniff. “Sebastian and my security team. I told them we’d be fine, but he insisted. They’ll be following, but they can’t ride with us. I already laid down the law.”

  The window of the Escalade slid down to reveal Sebastian, already scowling. “Ready?” he asked Dalton tightly. Clearly, this arrangement did not sit well with him.

  “I need to grab my bags,” Dalton said quickly and turned back to Kynley. “But tell me again why we’re driving? … Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I thought this might be a good way for you to learn the music without having an audience,” she explained.

  “But I need an amp,” he pointed out, feeling a little silly for suggesting the obvious. You could play an electric guitar without one, but the sound was off and wouldn’t be much help if he was trying to memorize by ear. Besides, he didn’t want to sound bad in front of her.

  Kynley grinned and reached back into the car to pluck something from the dashboard. She held up a small, rectangular box that fit neatly in the palm of her hand and had a quarter-inch jack on one end. �
�Portable amp,” she declared. “Now stop making excuses and let’s go.”

  Her energy was infectious. “Yes ma’am.” He grinned, handing her his guitar case. She slid it into the back seat while he loaded his luggage into the trunk. There were already two suitcases there, obviously hers, and he felt a jolt of intimacy, followed quickly by a wave of annoyance. Really? The thought of their bags traveling together was enough to get him worked up?

  Beating back the feeling, he got into the passenger side. On the driver’s side, Kynley slipped her sunglasses on and gave him a smile as she gunned the engine. They were off.

  Kynley shot a look in the rearview mirror, where the black Escalade followed a bit too close for comfort. Did Sebastian think she couldn’t drive? She’d wanted to come alone, but backed down when Sebastian had a fit.

  “Why can’t we take a plane?” he’d demanded earlier when she’d laid out her plan.

  “Because he needs time to practice.”

  “Fine. We’ll rent rehearsal space, or he can practice in his hotel room. You’re being ridiculous.”

  Yeah, maybe a little. But Kynley wanted time away from Sebastian. She wanted to do something normal for a little while and try to process this thing her life had become. Like a movie stuck on a glitch—whizzing forward, backward, upward, downward, and any other way it could go, leaving her standing in the middle, breathless and flustered, not sure whether to laugh or cry. And for a minute, she wanted to just breathe and have that be okay.

  And because she’d felt something at the reception with Dalton and she wanted to see what that was, away from the glitz and pressure of the show.

  Dalton got it. In some way, however different their experiences with music had been, they’d both been at the same place once—waiting at the starting gate, full of expectation and hope that they would be chosen, they would make it. Well, she had. And it was not quite what she’d expected.

  “How long did you play?” she asked as she wound the car through the streets of Asheville, following his directions to the freeway.

  “Professionally?” He made a face. “I had a band in college and we’d play on the weekends, but I don’t know if it counts if you spend more in gas money to get there than you make actually playing.”

  Kynley laughed, because it was so honest and she’d been there too. “If you get paid anything, you’re a professional,” she insisted.

  “Are you regretting asking me?” Dalton asked after a few minutes of silence. “Now you know how little experience I have?”

  “Nope.” And she wasn’t. It might take a little polishing and Gabbi would definitely want to give him a makeover, but she knew what she’d seen and felt at the wedding. He was good.

  And no matter what Gabbi had to say, Kynley liked Dalton’s look. He’d done a mighty fine job of filling out his tux the other night and today his jeans and T-shirt were tight in all the right places, showing off his muscles nicely. His hair was adorably messy and there was a sprinkling of dark whiskers on his cheeks and chin, tempting her to reach out and touch them.

  But she kept her hands on the wheel as she reached the freeway, the black Escalade not far behind. Once they were rolling, Kynley jerked her head toward the back seat. “There’s music in that red folder if you want to get started.”

  Dalton reached back to grab the folder and his forearm brushed against hers, sending tingles springing along her skin. She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  “Do you care what I start with?” Dalton asked as he thumbed through pages.

  “How about ‘Misery Me’?” Kynley suggested. She wasn’t a guitar player, but she knew it was one of the easier ones for the rhythm guitarist.

  It took some maneuvering for Dalton to get his guitar out of the case and situated in his arms, then prop the sheet music against the dash, but he managed it. After plugging in the portable amp, he began slowly, strumming his way through the song.

  In the show, “Misery Me” was sandwiched between “Belladonna” and “Eternal Longing,” two songs with much faster beats and higher intensity. It had been included to give the band a breather, and while they always performed it well, it had become one of those easy songs they mostly skated through.

  But with Dalton plucking out the melody and the lyrics ringing in Kynley’s head, it became something else, something personal again. A piece of that young girl scribbling her heartbreak into a notebook and holding a desperate hope it would all mean something in the end, that the pain hadn’t been for nothing.

  “Did you write this?” Dalton asked after he’d finished the song.

  She nodded.

  “I like it.”

  “I like it more now,” she admitted. “You … that came out differently than it usually does. It was good.”

  She glanced toward him and saw the smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “That makes me feel much more confident. Thanks.”

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  As the miles rolled by and he picked his way through more of the songs in the folder, she became even more convinced she’d made the right choice asking him to fill in. He had a good ear for the music and picked it up quickly, handling even the trickier parts well. She found herself wishing she could have seen him perform with his own band.

  “Tell me about the rest of the band,” Dalton said when he took a break.

  She gave him the quick rundown: Mick, a friend from college who had been there from the beginning and could twirl a drumstick like nobody’s business; Trevor their lead guitarist with an amazing ability for impromptu solos; Corey, who had only been with them for a year but was exactly the stability they needed on the bass; and Leeson. “I don’t blame him for quitting,” she said with a heavy sigh. “He was unhappy. But I am mad he left us in a bind like this.”

  “Denver is your last show?”

  Kynley nodded. “We usually only have a couple of days between cities, if that. But I made them move Denver when I got Erin’s wedding invitation.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m complaining,” Dalton said, throwing her a smile.

  “It’s working out well so far,” she said, then pulled her eyes back to the road. “So tell me what you do when you’re not moonlighting as a guitar player.”

  “Marketing. It’s boring.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “It’s my dad’s business, and with my brother in med school and Erin in New York, someone had to carry on the family legacy.” He said it lightly, but she caught a tone of underlying bitterness.

  “Obviously you’d rather be doing something else?”

  He rubbed his hands along his thighs and stared out the window. “I’m complaining. Usually it’s fine, just boring.”

  Kynley’s brow furrowed. It didn’t seem fair he should have to take over the business just because the other two weren’t there. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about it and soon went back to practicing.

  By the time they stopped for gas three hours later, he’d been through all the show songs at least twice. Kynley was relieved at how quickly he seemed to be picking it up. Offering him the job was totally on her shoulders and her heart felt lighter as she pulled into a Chevron in Cookeville, Tennessee for a break.

  She came out of the restroom to find Dalton standing in front of the soda machine holding a large empty cup.

  “Having trouble deciding?” She stepped to his side. The last time they’d been this close was at the wedding, when she’d stood by him as he’d recorded Erin’s Camp Wallakee song. She’d been wearing high heels then and they’d almost been cheek to cheek. Now, in her sneakers, she had to look up to see his face.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have a seizure,” Dalton joked, gazing at the soda machine. It was a barrage of flashing buttons: large ones for at least twelve flavors of soda, topped by dozens of smaller buttons for add-ins like vanilla, citrus, and cherry. A big screen TV mounted above the machine played an ad for a candy bar at high volume.

  Kynley laughed. “Well if yo
u do, I’ll do my best to catch you.”

  He turned and grinned down at her and her heart raced as he nudged her shoulder. “I probably outweigh you by at least one-fifty. I’d take you straight to the floor with me.”

  “Humph! I can try,” she insisted.

  He laughed and turned his attention back to the machine. “So many choices,” he said. “I’m giddy with power.”

  “How about plain old Coke? You can’t go wrong with that.”

  “But I feel like I’d be disrespecting the machine if I have just Coke,” he replied earnestly. He stepped forward and filled his cup with ice, then Coke. “Okay, now a shot of vanilla,” he said, hitting the button. A squirt of vanilla syrup went into the cup.

  Dalton took an experimental sip, his eyes thoughtful. “It’s okay, maybe a bit strong.”

  Kynley giggled as she reached for a straw and tore off the wrapper. “You have to stir it, silly.” She plunged the straw into the drink and gave it a good stir. “Now try it.”

  He did. “Much improved, but now there’s not quite enough vanilla.” Dalton said, adding another squirt of syrup. He repeated the stirring and tasting process then nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, perfect.”

  He snapped a lid on the vanilla Coke and reached for another empty cup. “Now, cherry?”

  “You’re going to try them all?” Kynley couldn’t help giggling.

  “Well, yeah. It’s not every day you get to work a machine like this,” he replied as he filled the cup.

  “Maybe you’ve missed your calling,” she suggested. “You’re not a guitar player, you’re a bartender.”

  “Who says I can’t be both?” He added two squirts of cherry syrup to the Coke, stirred it, and took a sip. “Hmm, maybe not quite enough. What do you think?” He offered the cup to Kynley.

  The new kind of butterflies tingled through her again. It was only a straw, but it was also more. His mouth had been there seconds ago, and now she was touching it with her mouth. This could be considered a few steps away from actually kissing. Sorta.