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Six
Presley hung around in the VIP room and enjoyed appetizers with Hannah and Hallie while Will, Luke and Gavin stood in a manly huddle at the private VIP bar. So caught up in conversation with the Banks twins, she hadn’t realized how late it was until she was hiding a yawn with one hand. Finally, at nearly midnight, she pulled up to Cash’s house.
Well, she pulled up to an iron gate in front of his house.
“Seriously?” she asked no one. Except someone heard her.
“Door’s unlocked, Pres,” came Cash’s deep, smooth voice through the box stationed outside the gate. She tried not to be aware of how sexy he sounded. Tried not to relive the searing kiss he’d placed on her lips earlier tonight. But here she was, thinking of both.
The iron bars swung aside and she drove in, a slightly cool breeze blowing her hair through her open window. She was exhausted from a long day of travel and socializing. So exhausted that it took her a minute to absorb what was in front of her.
Cash’s house.
Cash’s enormous house.
Housewasn’t even the right word. It was more like a mansion. Beaumont Bay was littered with them. The Bay marketed itself as a bustling, high-octane town that never slept, but clearly the people living there had to, and they chose to do so in luxury.
Her coworker Ray had written an article on celebrity houses a few years ago, right before she’d come to Tennessee to interview the Sutherlands about Elite Records. Curious, she’d searched online for photos of Cash’s home. This had not been the house in the photo. He must have upgraded.
The sound of trickling water drew her attention as she stepped from her Jeep onto the cobblestone drive. A fountain, lined with thick greenery and vibrant flowers, was splashing into an in-ground pond. She peeked into the lit water and spotted several orange-and-white and black-speckled koi fish.
She still couldn’t square Cash with all this luxury. He favored cowboy boots and black T-shirts. Though she couldn’t say he was as approachable as he’d been when she’d gone to school with him, he was a true family guy. Fame didn’t suit him, but he’d seemed to settle into the fancy vibe of this town just fine. Probably because he was from here, a fact she’d overlooked when they were in college. She’d let herself believe he belonged in Florida with her.
She rolled up the windows of her Jeep in case of rain, grabbed her suitcase on wheels and, out of habit, locked the doors. Probably unnecessary considering the large iron gates at the front, but whatever. Hopefully her room wasn’t far from the front door. She was damned near ready to collapse.
As instructed, she depressed the button on the big antique brass handle and let herself inside. The second she set foot in the house, a voice echoed across the expansive foyer. A female one.
“You know how I feel about it,” the woman said, her tone clipped. She had an accent. English, maybe?
“Yeah, and you know how I feel about it,” Cash returned sternly.
“Well after going round and round for the last two hours, we’re not apt to agree.”
Cash’s voice dropped into a seductive husk. “Since when has that stopped us from making this work?” Presley could hear the smile in his voice. And it sounded like a real one. A genuine, kind one. The way he’d talk to a girlfriend. The way he used to talk to her.
“You’re so full of it. I’m out of here, handsome,” the woman replied.
“C’mon, Rickie, don’t leave. I have plenty of space here.”
At his cajoling, the English woman let out a laugh. Presley’s stomach did a barrel roll. Rickie. His agent. Apparently, she was representing more than just his career.
How dare he kiss Presley in that elevator when he was attached to someone else? Her ire crept up, the rush of adrenaline waking her up. She could forgive his rudeness, his distance, but not cheating. That was unforgivable.
The soft scrape of clothing sounded like Cash and the woman were hugging. Presley braced herself for the smooching sure to follow, but the kissing sounds never came. What did come, as Presley stood in the foyer, her eyes squeezed closed, was a greeting from the woman that was much, much closer than before.
“You must be Presley.”
Her eyes fluttered open to find the agent smiling at her. Rickie was older than Cash. Like, thirty years older. Her pale, ice-gray hair, cut into a long bob, was a beautiful fit with her bone structure.
“He told me you were staying here.” Rickie shot out a hand and Presley shook it. She peered over the other woman’s shoulder at Cash, who stood, arms folded, not the least bit concerned about being overheard. Not appearing the least bit guilty.
“I’m Cash’s agent, Rickie Simmons. He’s a complete bear, but I hope you’ll go easy on him in the article.” She cupped her mouth and stage-whispered, “Whatever you have to do to butter him up, love, feel free to do it.”
“Rickie, for God’s sake,” Cash complained.
“You kids.” She waved him off with a hand. “So sensitive. I’m teasing, of course. Good night, you two. Don’t stay up too late!”
She shut the door behind her and the cavernous space echoed with her retreat.
