Travis snorted but scurried away when she shot him a lethal glare.
“I get that I’m not your first choice.” He kept his voice low, aware that there were others in the room. “Hell, I probably wasn’t on your top fifty list.”
Her chin thrust slightly, defiant, and her brows rose, but she didn’t argue with him.
“But I promise you I won’t let you down, Krystal.” The urge to smooth that curl had his fingers itching. “Old-fashioned or not, I’m a man of my word.”
“If anyone else had said that, I’d be laughing.” The corner of her mouth curved. “Not that it wasn’t all kinds of corny—because it was—but for reasons beyond understanding, I sort of believe you.”
“Sort of?” He pushed.
Her brows rose higher, if that was possible.
“How do you sort of believe something?” He couldn’t stop looking at that curl. “You either do or you don’t.” Those red lips, full-on smiling at him now.
“Why does it matter?” Those green eyes traveled over his face, still searching.
That was the question. And there were a whole lot of possible answers. He went with the easy ones. “I admire and respect you and your family, always have. I know you’re taking a chance on me—”
“A big chance.” She nodded.
He smiled. “Yes, you’re taking a big chance on me—”
“Risk. I get the feeling, with you…maybe risk is a better word?” Her green eyes locked with his, her smile going hard.
They weren’t talking about music anymore. “Krystal…”
She stepped back, blinking, her gaze falling from his. “You might want to go warm up some. The show will be starting soon.”
He stood rooted to the spot, while she walked out of the room, her black suede fringes swaying around her thighs with every step.
“Not a good idea,” Luke murmured, appearing at his elbow.
“Neither is sneaking up on me.” He sighed.
“Whatever.” Luke pointed at the monitor. “That makes for record sales. That look.” He pointed at the door Krystal had just walked through. “That is biting the hand that feeds you.”
Jace stared at his manager.
“The show is over. The Kings are giving you a chance at an actual career.” His voice lowered. “We need to stay on CiCi King’s good side here, Jace. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be mixing business with pleasure.”
“No one is mixing a damn thing.” He frowned. “I don’t need help managing my life, Luke. Just my career.”
Luke smiled—it wasn’t a real smile. “Believe me, I don’t want to. So don’t get them mixed up, okay?”
For the next hour, Jace warmed up with the band Hank and Luke had pulled together. He’d spent time jamming with Travis and Sawyer, but this was different. This was the real thing. Jace had been more than a little awed to have some industry staples backing him. Scotty Reed, his drummer, had covered for Hank and the Three Kings a few times. Rafael Fuentes, guitar and keyboards, and Tommy Glenn, bass guitar, had been touring since Jace was in high school. In a couple of weeks, when he was officially the Three Kings opening act, they’d be his band, and it blew his mind.
So did being led around backstage, to watch the show from the wings.
He’d never seen the Three Kings live. He’d managed to get Heather a ticket once, a couple of years ago, for her sixteenth birthday but he’d had to work. Seeing them up close, hearing them harmonize, the easy rhythm and seamless delivery were awe-inspiring.
He sang along when they sang the crowd-pleasing drinking song “One More Round,” tapped his foot to “Cut and Run,” and wound up staring when Krystal pulled out all the stops for “I’m Leaving First.”
“Ready?” a woman asked. He should know her name but he was drawing a blank. She handed him his guitar. “Jace?” she repeated. “You ready?”
Hell no. He nodded, slipping the strap over his shoulder and running his hands along the familiar, worn leather strap. But this wasn’t some honky-tonk truck stop in West Texas. And it wasn’t some reality show with folks screaming, hoping to get themselves on television. This was it.
The big league. His big break. The beginning. Or the end.