Her right eyebrow rose but she just nodded. “Cabin. Dolly. Fine, I can do that.”
When they’d first met, Jolene had laughed that his dog was named after Dolly Parton, since her own name had come from one of the country legend’s songs. She’d said it meant they were destined to make music together. He’d thought it was a coincidence, but she was right. Together, they had written amazing stuff, and part of him wanted that back desperately.
But he also wanted his anonymity back, the private life he’d had as a simple songwriter prior to the explosion of Hart-Rivers on the music scene. Though it wasn’t fair to Jolene, he partially blamed her for that. If he hadn’t fallen head over ass for her laugh, her smile, her body, her sweet personality, he would still be cashing his checks and no one would have a clue who he was when he stepped in the bank.
There was no going back until after the album was done, so he would have to grit his teeth and barrel through it. Ginny and Jolene had won this round.
Dolly was his, though, and he wasn’t backing down on that.
“Anything else?” Jolene asked when he didn’t speak.
Jolene thought she knew how to manipulate him, pull his strings, push his buttons. Well, he knew how to get under her skin, too. Together, they were like a match dropped onto a gas line. Boom. Every time.
“Ginny, would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?” he asked their manager, giving her a smile to reassure her.
It didn’t seem to work. She eyed him suspiciously.
“What? I’m not going to trash your office or strangle Jolene.”
Ginny gave a snort. “If anyone is going to strangle either one of you two, it’s going to be me. Don’t deny me that pleasure.”
That actually made him laugh. “Fair enough.”
“Get your act together,” Ginny said, pointing first at him, then at Jolene. She yanked her glasses off her head, tossed them on the table, then left her office.
Jolene smiled. “So what would you like to say to me in private, Chance?”
He turned his chair a little so he was facing her almost straight on, his knees bumping hers. “I have one more demand.”
“Really? Lay it on me. No point in holding back now.” One corner of her mouth turned up. “It’s only the rest of our careers on the line here.”
He let her sweat it for a second. Then he dropped it. “I’ll do this. I’ll give you four weeks to see what we can come up with. But I want one thing in return.”
“I’m waiting.”
“We do this like we used to. We write songs together in bed. Naked.”
Her jaw dropped. “No! And good Lord, we didn’t write all our songs naked.”
“We did often enough. The really good ones. That’s my deal. If we’re writing songs about knocking boots, we’re going to really feel the emotion, if you catch my drift.” He smiled to himself. His demand was crazy and insensitive and kind of like blackmail. Okay, a lot like blackmail, if you wanted to get technical. He knew she’d say no. She’d probably throw a paperweight at him before storming out and telling him to kiss off.
It might not be the best strategy for his career, but he had to push back a little. He couldn’t help himself. He was always the one to strike the match.
As usual, Jolene brought the fuel.
Because instead of getting pissed and rejecting him flat out, she calmly shifted her legs so his were forced farther apart. She eased in, rolling her chair nice and snug up close to him, and leaned forward. He could see straight down her shirt.
“You’ve got a deal. With a condition of my own.”
It figured she’d add a caveat, but he was intrigued. And aroused. “What’s that?”
“We let it slip to the media that we’re back on. Both in the studio and out. It will be good PR. Think about it.”
She’d lost her ever-lovin’ mind. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t need to think about it. “Hell, no. Absolutely not.”
Jolene didn’t look disappointed. She just eased back into her seat and gave him a look that made him more than a little wary. “Then no deal. Keep your damn hands off me, Rivers.”
Yep. They were still explosive.
Chapter 2
“Y’all are crazy,” Elle said, petting Dolly behind her floppy ears.
“Probably,” Jolene agreed as she eyed her closet. What did she pack for two weeks of total seclusion with Chance? She had a lot of sequins, two dozen pairs of skinny jeans, cute motorcycle jackets in a variety of colors like pink, red, and a blue her stylist had insisted was called cerulean, whatever the heck that was. Nothing one could really deem practical for casual cabin living. “But I’m also pragmatic,” she told her sister. “I refuse to slide backward when I’ve worked so hard to get where I am.”