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Chapter Seven
“Can you just do me a favor, Nash, and not be yourself for once?” West walked into the outrageously spacious dining room of his Nashville mansion with his phone. The screen was on, and it was clear he’d been scrolling through Flatter.
Nash had retreated to the breakfast table with a pile of bacon and some biscuits. He was happy to be back in his jeans and a relaxed tee shirt. Lizardman pounced against the worn knees of his jeans, begging for a bite. Under his brother’s close scrutiny, Nash passed the dog a fat piece of bacon under the table.
West rolled his eyes. “You were supposed to be the bad boy, not a pyromaniac. Fortunately, for you… it worked. I’m just glad she lived to tell the tale.”
“It worked?” What was West talking about? “What worked?” Nash asked.
“Emily’s a household name and not in a bad way.” West slid his phone across the table to Nash. His brother’s Flatter feed was going crazy. #LittleMissHarvestRanch had turned into #LittleMissNashville.
Uh no! She was going to kill him, wasn’t she?
Scrolling through the feed, he found pictures of Emily and himself all over the internet. Video and stills of Nash pulling her out of the fire. He straightened. Man—he’d been so terrified that he’d hurt her with those fireworks! He still couldn’t forgive himself for that. Someone must’ve caught that with their phone. Shots of him smuggling her from the party and tucking her onto his motorcycle, helping her put on her helmet, tearing down the street with her.
Dang, that dress showed a lot of her pretty little knees. What was she doing with a fool like him? And still, she made him look like a hero, clinging to him like that. His heart did that weirdplitterplopthing that it had been doing since he’d first set eyes on her at the party. Emily had a way of making him feel like a man. He’d save some of these pictures for his own phone.
Even so! This felt like a serious violation. His moments with her were his alone. His eyes lifted to West’s smirking face. Why did Nash get the feeling that West had just unleashed him for the night and expected Nash to get into trouble? Insulting. “What do you get out of this?” he asked West.
“Redemption?” West hesitated then laughed at his own word choice. “Whatever you call it—Emily has hated me ever since I tangled with her brother. Well, she can see that I’m not the ‘absolute worst,’ and maybe I can pick up a few jobs in Nashville when I show what I can do with her.”
Ah ha! Redemption nothing—West wanted to clear his name. That sounded like the West he knew. It looked bad when a PR guy couldn’t even keep his own reputation intact. Nash chewed on his bacon, staring up at him. “Maybe next time, tell me what you’re planning. I’m not your tool.”
West laughed at that and took back his phone, not answering. Nash’s brows drew together. His brother wasn’t still planning on driving him around like a dumb animal on the ranch, was he?
Nash groaned inwardly at his brother’s smug look. Hewasa dumb animal! Nash had followed his emotions like an addict last night. He never wanted to let her go. Returning Emily to her brother’s place had been torture, but what was he supposed to do? Follow her inside like a puppy? He would’ve kissed her had she let him.
She hadn’t.
His own phone buzzed with another text from Eva Trout. He quickly scanned through the previous messages until he got to his latest:
“Good night last night?”
“Did you kiss her?”
“You’d better tell me all about it.”
“You going to the rodeo tomorrow night?”
“I still think you need my help.”
He buried his face in his hands. The morning after Nash lost his head was always the worst! Reflecting on his bad behavior in the clear light of day made him see what an idiot he’d been. Without fail. He needed to buckle his head on straight or face Emily’s disappointed eyes. Of course, they hadn’t looked so disappointed last night—no, the hazel color looked almost green under the thick trees. They sparkled under the moonlight when he’d dropped her off.
He needed to see those eyes again. Soon. He didn’t want to wait for the rodeo.
“Get ready for this to get worse.” West shoved his phone into his pocket and helped himself to some eggs and toast. “The paparazzi won’t leave you alone after this, and Emily’s going to have a freak-out when she realizes her life is an open book. It’s bound to happen.” Lizardman pawed at West’s legs for a share of the bounty. He gave him a stern, “No,” and turned to Nash. “This is why we don’t feed him human food,” he lectured. “Now…” He paused at his own interruption, like he’d just experienced a brain malfunction. “If only she’d consider a name change. Emily is not the name for a country star.”
Annoyance flashed through Nash’s veins at West’s meddling. “What would you name her, smarty pants? Bambi? Angel? Songbird?”
“Hmm.” West actually took his question seriously, settling into the seat opposite him at the table. “How about Star?”
Nash pushed away from the table. He needed to blow off steam. Finding a place to do that was harder in Nashville. Normally, he’d get in his truck or his four-wheeler, even a horse, and he’d put his tracks all over those country roads. Now West’s grounds were under construction, which only left Nash the garden that scraped the sky on the top of his brother’s mansion. It gave him a great view of… the city.
No, there had to be a patch of nature where he could escape. Lizardman let out a squeak and followed him down the hall. He glanced down at the puppy who was begging to get out of this place too. “West!” Nash called. “I’m stealing your dog!”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
