She had to listen to the right want.
After an hour of attempting to please Wayne, he dismissed her and she left, eternally grateful to be away from him for the weekend. Wayne didn’t work on Saturdays unless he was getting paid at least a million bucks. If she had a million, she’d pay him to leave her alone for a week, but she didn’t, so she’d have to make do with two days off. She had to do the duet with Wayne, there was no way around it. She’d signed a contract. But they were still in tour negotiations, and she knew without any doubt whatsoever that she could not tour with Wayne.
It wouldn’t be worth it. The duet single would give her gobs of exposure to new listeners, and that was all she really wanted. She could have Ginny, who had calmed down and not fired her, smooth over Wayne’s feathers by making it clear that she and Chance had prior commitments and Jolene just couldn’t do Wayne’s tour. It was risky, in that it might piss off some industry folks, but for her sanity, she could not tour with that man.
Jumping in her truck, she called her brother. “Shane, do you know a good real estate agent?”
“You buying another house? Miss Moneybags. One deal with Wayne Rush and you’re blowing the wad.”
“Actually, I want to sell mine. It’s too big.” Expensive. It was expensive and unnecessary. Why did one woman need six thousand square feet? She needed to scale back her life, get her priorities and values back to those her mother had raised her with. Showing off didn’t make you successful. Being proud of what you’d accomplished, that was success.
“Sure. I’ll have my assistant set something up for you. But the nice thing about your house is the gated community.”
“I know, but I’m going to be going on tour anyway. It’ll be empty nine months out of the year. I don’t need it.” It had felt not like home, but rather a very large hotel where she dropped her bags when she was in town.
Jolene drove out of the driveway of Wayne’s opulent mansion. When Jolene was twenty, she’d made an odyssey to Graceland, which she had thought was huge at the time. Wayne’s house put the King’s digs to shame. Wayne had twenty thousand feet of excess and splendor. Being there day after day had reminded her that she might have come far from home, but she didn’t want to wind up too big for her britches. That particular metaphor amused her. At least heartbreak the second time around was good for losing weight. Her jeans fit again.
She didn’t consciously drive to Chance’s house in East Nashville. She thought she was driving home, and instead she found herself parked on the street in front of his house, staring up at the door. She couldn’t go up and knock. He’d toss her out on her ear. She would deserve it.
She opened her truck door with a creak anyway.
No fear. Her whole life, she’d been working toward musical success without fear. She needed to reach for emotional success the same way.
Her pink boots, the ones Chance had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday, carried her up the walkway to his front door, and she knocked.
—
Chance was putting the finishing touches on a sandwich the size of his head when there was a knock on his front door. He had no idea who would be at the door other than solicitors, so he carried his turkey sandwich with him, taking a bite en route. He was starving. Writing songs for other people was hungry work. Besides, without booze to rely on as a companion, he’d been hitting the gym and eating like a horse to keep from getting too lonely at night. It wasn’t working, but he was getting ripped, and he didn’t miss the hangovers.
The last person he expected to see when he opened the door was Jolene, looking up at him from under those long eyelashes she had used to advantage on him more than once. “Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey.” He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed, staring her down. She didn’t get to just show up on his doorstep and look gorgeous. It was fucking rude. He hadn’t recovered from the last time he’d seen her, when she had walked out on him without more than a dozen words of explanation.
“So I was thinking that maybe I could offer to buy you a drink,” she said.
“I don’t drink anymore.” He hadn’t had a drop since that night. He was pretty damn proud of that, as a matter of fact. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been necessary in order to respect himself. This way his choices were legitimately his.
She looked startled. “Oh. Well. That’s good. Was there a reason?”
“I don’t have liver failure or anything. I was just tired of doing stupid things. Like making out with random women at parties and acting like my father.” He knew it was stubborn not to invite her in, but he wasn’t feeling generous. She had hurt him.
“That’s great, Chance. I’m proud of you.”
“I didn’t ask you to be proud of me.” That was not what he’d wanted from her. He’d wanted her trust, her heart.