Nashville by Heart: A Novel (5 page)

“She’s
gonna be amazing, as long as we can sign her before these other bastards get to
her.” His gaze moved from Mitch to a half dozen other music business people he
knew around the room. He had a mind to stay and make sure nobody else got to
talk to her, but it wasn’t his way to be desperate. Will knew exactly how to
seduce a woman, but he’d learned there was a fine balance between showing
eagerness and neutrality when seducing a client.

He
just wished he could do both.

Will
accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Josie.

“Thanks.
Did you get a phone call from Gillian Heart?”

“Not
yet.”

“When
you do, can you send her through?”

“I
sure will.” Will thought he saw a small smile on Josie’s face as she shuffled
back to her desk. He softly closed the door to his office, then typed Gillian’s
name into his web browser. He didn’t usually troll for singers online, but he
had a short list of bookmarked sites for when he did. Gillian Heart’s bio
popped up on all of them. It described her as a small town girl from Gold Creek
Gap. He rubbed his chin stubble.

Heart.
Of course.

He
leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be dogged. She is his daughter after
all.”

Leaning
forward again, the chair squeaking under his weight, he clicked on a picture of
Gillian Heart. She was posed in a country setting, possibly Gold Creek Gap,
leaning against a rustic wooden fence post. Her green eyes peered from beneath
a western straw hat, and her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, with a
sleeveless blue top peeking through the strands. She wore a pair of jeans and
those same boots she’d been wearing at The Blue Fiddle. He wondered if they
were her favorites, or the only boots she owned.

When
Josie transferred the call, he was expecting her.

“Gillian
Heart.”

“Hi,”
she said, sounding unsure.

“I
wondered if you were ever gonna call,” he said.

There
was a beat of silence. “You seem like such a busy person,” she said. “I didn’t
want to presume.”

“Lesson
one. If someone important gives you their number, call them as soon as
possible.”

“Are
you saying you’re important?” Her voice held a hint of playfulness that surprised
him.

“I
want you to come in,” he said.

“When?”

“The
sooner the better.”

“I’m
free today.”

“I
am too. One o’clock?”

“OK.”

“And
Gillian?”

“Yes?”

“Bring
that guitar of yours.”

~~~~

Will
automatically stood when Gillian Heart, dressed in blue jeans, boots and a red
long-sleeved western shirt, stepped into his office. Her shirt was modest,
downright chaste compared to what she’d worn when they’d bumped into each other
the morning before, but no less sexy on her. He liked how the color set off the
creamy skin of her cheeks.

“I’m
glad you came,” he said, pulling out a leather chair. He was careful not to
touch her as she sat down, even though he would have liked to lay a hand on her
shoulder. She had an obvious case of the jitters that were making her hands shake.

“I
was afraid you might change your mind.” He took his own seat on the opposite
side of the desk facing her.

“I
wanted to come,” she said, offering him a nervous smile. He noted her glance at
the collection of photographs and awards. The pictures of him with his top
clients were his résumé, and they were displayed to impress music artists he
was hoping to sign, like Gillian Heart. He gave her a moment to study them
while he studied her.

She
was star material, but she wasn’t the kind to know it, and that could be wildly
attractive to an audience, never mind to him. The night before, Audrey had
remarked about her small town quality. He was from a small town too, and he was
struck with the thought that his sisters, who still lived there, would love
her.

Eventually,
Gillian’s gaze shifted to the large window that framed an impressive view of
Music Row, where all the best music agents had offices. It was a prime piece of
real estate in Nashville, and he’d been lucky to have bought it from a retiring
agency years earlier after receiving the biggest songwriting paycheck in his
life. He’d had to split it with Heart, the guy he assumed was Gillian’s dad,
but there was plenty left over.

“So,
Gillian. Tell me a little about yourself.”

She
launched into a speech that was verbatim from the website, reminding him of a
kid about to perform in a local talent show. It was cute, but they’d need to
work on presentation when she wasn’t singing.

“I
mostly learned to sing in church,” she said. “I know it’s cliché, but my momma taught
me to play guitar, and I taught myself to play the banjo. I learned the violin
in fifth grade, but when I was supposed to be practicing sonatas, I was
practicing
Wabash Cannonball
.”

“I
guess I like clichés,” he said. She gave him an easy smile, but he noted her
clenched hands. “Lots of country musicians first cut their teeth on small town
church music. Especially here in the South.”

She
nodded. She was very short on words.

“That’s
how I first fell in love with country music myself,” he said.

She
looked surprised. “You? In church?”

He
laughed out loud, which made her smile a little wider.

“You
can’t always judge a book—or a record album—by the cover,” he said. “I don’t
make it back much, but I’m from a small town.”

“That’s
cool,” she said.

“How
about you? Do you ever get back to Gold Creek Gap?” He wanted to ask her about
her dad, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned him herself. Most folks would be
quick to offer any connection they already had in a business where connections
were often a way to get noticed.

“A
few times a year to see my momma.”

“And
your dad?”

Her
eyes darkened. “He’s not in the picture.”

Will
could see he needed to be careful, so he made his voice as matter of fact as
possible. “But he’s in the music business, right?”

He
hadn’t meant to be pushy, but the agent in him needed to know anything that
could help him get her a record deal.

She
gave him an indecisive stare, then a light seemed to dawn in her eyes before
darkening back into a gray cloud.

“You
mean Cooper Heart?”

He
grinned. “Cooper Heart.”

“You’ve
heard of him, then.”

“Of
course. Who in country music hasn’t? At first I didn’t make the connection, but
then I thought I remembered he was from Gold Creek Gap. I did a quick Internet
search and sure enough, he is.”

“He
was,” she said.

Will
didn’t bother to probe into the relationship. He knew Cooper Heart only as a
songwriter. Cooper kept his personal life close to the vest any time Will
worked with him. It didn’t matter anyway. Will was interested in the connection
for other purposes.

“How
is he?”

“I
wouldn’t know.”

He
nodded. “If you’d mentioned him sooner, I would’ve cancelled everything to meet
with you right away. Musical gifts often flow from generation to generation,
and your dad has written dozens of hits. But you already know that.”

She
narrowed her eyelids. “Trust me. I got my talent from my momma.”

“She
writes too?”

Gillian
nodded. “And sings like a dream.”

“So
you have it from both sides. You know, I’m surprised your dad didn’t call me
about you coming in. For that matter, he could’ve brought you in himself. He in
town?”

She
shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I can make my own way.”

He
nodded. That was an odd thing for a daughter to say about her father. He made a
mental note to check on what else Cooper Heart had been up to in the past
decade, just to see if there were any skeletons Will might have to work with—or
that might work for him—if he got Gillian Heart to let him represent her.

“Listen.
Your story’s important. You’re the daughter of a single mom, you’re from a
small town, your dad left when you were a little girl, and he just happens to
be this great Nashville connection. And yet, you are here all on your own,
without him, trying to make it. Record labels are going to love that. Your fans
are going to want the whole package, and you’ve got it.”

“What’s
the whole package?”

He
chuckled. Apparently bringing up her father had made her a little feisty.

“For
starters,” he said, “you’re gorgeous.” She
was
a knockout, and he
enjoyed being able to tell her so with his agent hat on, even though it made
her cheeks blush deeper. “You also have a good story, even though I can see it
makes you uncomfortable to talk about it. But most importantly you
can
sing.”

She
smiled, looking a bit dazed, and he decided not to press her any further about
Cooper Heart right then.

“So,”
he said, motioning to her guitar case. “Why don’t you sing for me right now?”

“Um.
OK. What should I play?”

“Anything
at all, darlin’.”

It
didn’t take her long to get settled before she started picking out a rhythm,
accompanied by the haunting lyrics of a love song with a bluegrass feel. He was
heady with excitement about the way it fit her story, her personality and the
sweet Southern voice spilling out of her mouth like honey. He was surely in
love—at least with her voice—and that, thank the good Lord, was allowed.

“And
then there’s this.” She launched into a song he instinctively knew would make
people want to sing along. When she finished, he felt himself grinning like a
Cheshire cat.

“Dang,
girl. You wrote all these yourself?”

“Yep.”

“Sing
me another.”

She
obliged, and his body involuntarily kept time with the music, nodding with the
beat, tapping and slapping.

At
The Blue Fiddle he’d only heard her sing Patsy Cline songs, and they were good,
but these songs made his pulse race, and for once it wasn’t only because of how
pretty she was. Looks might help a singer’s career, but talent secured it.
Gillian could sing and write, and she had a breezy acoustic feel that record
companies would love. She strummed the last note, letting it resonate through
his office, before slapping her hand down on the strings.

For
a few seconds Will could only stare.

“What?”
The Southern drawl in her voice was a little thicker from being so freshly lost
in her songs. He shook his head, in love with every song she sang.

“Do
you play anything besides that guitar, the banjo and the fiddle?” As if that
weren’t already enough.

“The
mandolin, and of course, the piano.”

“Of
course you do.” She was Cooper Heart’s daughter, but he wasn’t about to say it
out loud after her earlier response to his mentioning the name. It was rare for
artists to walk into his office and sing their own story in a way that was so
authentically part of their roots, and at the same time, a reflection of the newer,
more progressive sound in country music. If he could get her to sign with him,
he’d do everything he could to protect that sound.

She
wriggled under his gaze. “Did you like it?”

“Darlin’,
I’m in love.” He thoroughly enjoyed seeing her melt under his praise. “If you
keep doing that, I’m gonna marry you on the spot.”

Smiling,
she stared down at her guitar, strumming a few chords. He’d been kidding, but a
flash of her all in white wasn’t an unpleasant picture. It filled him with a
sentimentality that shocked him. He’d never been a romantic before, not when it
came to his future.

She
smiled. “Are you proposing?”

So
she did have some spunk underneath that shyness.

He
didn’t miss a beat. “There
is
a Vegas-style chapel down the road. It’s
Elvis-themed, if you’re into that.”

“Now
that
would be crazy,” she said, laughing.

He
laughed too. What a crazy thought. But watching her slim shoulders shake with
laughter, he thought it wouldn’t be too crazy in a different situation in which
he was free to pursue her as a woman instead of as a client. He sighed. That
was never gonna happen. He’d been there, done that, with someone else once, and
it’d been a disaster in which everyone involved was hurt, but especially the
girl. He ignored the guilty pang in his heart. He’d never been anything but bad
for women, especially the good ones.

“Then
will you at least let me rep you?” he asked, shifting to the serious face he
used for business deals.

Her
giggles stopped, and a look of mild surprise passed over her features, as if
his proposing to represent her was crazier than his pretend marriage proposal.

The
heck if she doesn’t blush again, he mused.

He
hoped she wouldn’t turn red on stage every time she performed, but in the
privacy of his office, he found it charming. In fact, it made him want to touch
her cheek, kiss that sweet mouth of hers until all her fears were gone.

“What
do you say?” he asked, mentally straightening his music manager hat. “Can I be
your agent?”