After parking my car, I check my makeup one more time. I am wearing the red lipstick I bought for the wedding, hoping I look as I did in my tape. I opted to sex down my look though. I’m not comfortable using sex appeal to get what I want. Though I’ve never really had to.
I never needed any of that with Jameson. God, I have to stop thinking about him.
Shaking thoughts of the past away, I attempt to concentrate on this meeting.
Heading inside, I feel confident.
At the hostess podium I give them my name and let them know who I am here for.
“Wow, she’s lucky,” I hear the brunette whisper to a blonde server who asks me to please follow her to my table.
Maybe I am meeting a handsome executive instead of the woman I spoke with on the phone.
With a smile plastered so heavily on my face that my cheeks are hurting I follow this jealous chick through the dining room, feeling completely underdressed. It never occurred to me to look up the restaurant before coming.
I feel as though I should be wearing one of the cocktail dresses that I wear to Wesley’s black-tie affairs. He probably could’ve told me how to dress for lunching here. He probably comes here regularly. My engagement ring feels heavier at the thought of him. My heart says give the ring back and let him go, but my head says he’s a smart choice. I promised him I would wear the ring today, but I should have just cut ties and ended us for good.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I follow my heart or listen to my head?
I don’t get a chance to argue with myself, we’ve arrived at my destination, which now feels like an execution. The one person I didn’t expect to be here is and my mouth feels dry all the sudden. Jameson stands to greet me along with two other men in suits and one woman. Jameson is dressed more casual like me, but everyone else is in their Sunday or Saturday best I should say. I guess I should have known to dress up, but I prefer being comfortable and myself. Sucking in a deep breath, I recover from the shock of seeing him here. But I can’t help but wonder if he’s behind my being here. He looks so smug in his ratty jeans and Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and so damn sexy it isn’t even funny.
This is my own personal hell where my ex-boyfriend interrupts my daily life it seems.
The cocky bastard has the audacity to wink at me. The dimple in his right cheek pops out and I hate myself a little more on the inside for finding him so damn attractive. A tribal tattoo peeks out from the sleeve of his shirt and my fingers twitch to trace the intricate lines of black ink.
I glare at him and smile at the rest of our party.
“Peyton Mathews,” I introduce myself, wishing I had taken Wes up on his offer to come with me and act as my attorney.
I thought I could handle this. Clearly, I was mistaken.
“Please have a seat,” the oldest gentleman says with a pleasant smile. “I’m Harvey Grant, I own Pure Country. I know this is abrupt and unexpected, but I have one hell of an offer for you.” The man reminds me of a cowboy in a suit with his greying handlebar mustache.
Everyone is staring at me like vultures ready to descend and pick me apart.
“Harvey, let the girl have a drink and order before you jump on her,” the woman teases. She snaps a well-manicured finger and a waiter is at our table wanting to know what I’d like to drink before I can have a coherent thought.
I order a water and a salad. There’s no way I can handle anything heavy on my stomach right now.
“I’ll get straight to the point. We’re all aware that you have a history with Mr. Lewis. Before you get offended, he had nothing to do with your getting chosen, that was all you. We found the connection when we were drawing up the contracts. Normally, we would just rescind the offer we have made you, but I think we can use this to our advantage.” Mr. Grant stops speaking when the wait staff begins serving everyone their lunch.
I take a much-needed drink of water. My throat is the Sahara right now and no amount of water will quench my thirst. My first instinct is to run but Jameson shoots me a look that begs me to stay. I don’t owe him anything, but I’d be a liar if I said I’m not intrigued.
Everyone digs into their food, but I can’t eat. It doesn’t escape my notice that Jameson can’t seem to pick up his fork either.
“As I was saying before, we want you to keep it secret that you share a past with Mr. Lewis.”
“Why?” I ask glancing around the room, at anywhere but Mr. Lewis.
“Good question,” Jameson states, his face sharing the same confused expression as mine.
“Publicity,” the woman whom I still don’t have a name for answers with a greedy smile.
With a sigh, I push my chair back. I’m not for sale. “I’m not interested,” I state proudly.
“Actually, you are already contractually bound, you signed the release and contract when you submitted your audition,” she says. Th