Page 1 of Backup Cowboy
Chapter 1
Alexandra
Icould just kill Nash Rivers right about now. I don’t know why I agreed to a country music festival in the middle of Nowhere, Texas. I have every big name at the label attending this festival, which has been sold out for months, so I should be ecstatic.
But this is normally when I take my vacation. Five days off grid, away from everything and everyone except for the label president and my personal assistant.
I plan my entire life around these five days. I even plan for emergencies and who will solve them during these five days. So when Nash told me the festival dates, I could’ve screamed. Not that anyone would hear me. I know better than to show that slip in composure to anyone. You don’t make it to Vice President at one of the biggest record labels by the age of thirty with that kind of behavior.
Still, I should be sleeping in right now at the private villa overlooking the Maui coast, where a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a stack of romance novels await me.
Instead, I’m lying flat on the ground at a ranch just outside of Indigo Hills, staring up at a 6’2” cowboy with black hair andsteel-blue eyes that hold a hint of mischief. He’s wearing jeans that grip his thighs like they were custom-made by someone who understood the assignment and a Henley that leaves no muscle to anyone’s imagination. His shoulders are built like an Olympic swimmer, and his biceps rival any Navy SEAL team member. His smile is slow, deliberate—the kind that makes heat pool in places it has no business pooling during a work trip.
The way the man’s looking at me, like he knows exactly what effect he’s having, should annoy me. Instead, it makes my stomach flutter.
Mr. Cowboy waves a large, calloused hand. “Ma’am. I think this is what you’re looking for.” With a wide smile, he waves a stapled packet in the air.
Yes, I understand that my itinerary is accessible on my phone. I can pull it up in two seconds. But there’s something about a paper schedule that helps me in times of crisis.
And yes, I am calling Boots by the Lake a time of crisis. I didn’t want to run this over-the-top festival. I am not a festival puter-togetherer person. As the label’s biggest country artist, Nash Rivers works directly with me these days, and since he’s only signed a one-album deal with us, the label president’s direct words to me were, “Do whatever it takes to keep Nash happy.”
So, I’m at this gigantic ranch trying to do just that. The breeze ruffles my hair as I study the man studying me.
Instead of handing me the packet, Mr. Cowboy bends down and swoops me into his arms like a real gentleman. It’s not an easy feat, given I’m lying flat on my back while wearing a pencil skirt. At least I was smart enough to wear tennis shoes. I appreciate the gesture. It’s just that ‘gentlemen’ are a dime a dozen in Nashville, and I don’t trust any of them. How many times have I seen a ‘good guy’ jump labels or land in the arms of a person he shouldn’t be?
No, thank you.
But as he holds me in his arms, our eyes lock, and I am suddenly at a loss for words. It’s like Alexandra Tate, VP at Maxum Records, has been replaced by a wide-eyed intern on her first day. I’ve been surrounded by beautiful, gorgeous men all my career, and never have I had a reaction as visceral as this one.
After a few seconds, the cowboy stranger sets me on my feet and stares at me, almost like he’s at a loss for words as well. His eyes hold mine, and it’s like we’re fused together.
He clears his throat. “Are you okay? No ant bites? How’s your tailbone?” He reaches behind me as if to check said tailbone and stops himself when realizing doing so would have him groping my ass.
“My tailbone is fine. It had plenty of cushion during the fall.”
The cowboy’s eyes glint with amusement. “Good to know.”
I’m what you call big-boned. I turn heads; there’s no denying it. My lips are a little larger than most, and some have called them pouty. I have blue eyes and long brown hair. My curves are still hourglass-shaped, just a little larger than some. But do I want a man I’ve never met before groping me seconds into our first meeting? No. My libido is saying yes, but it’s really a no.
There’s an old movie where Ben Affleck is standing in a hurricane with his bride as chaos swirls around them, but they don’t notice. It’s like they’re standing in their own bubble, safe from the outside world. That’s how it feels looking in this man’s eyes, his dark brown cowboy hat resting on his black curls.
He stares down at me then reaches out his large hand to brush my cheek. “You have a little dirt.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Yes. I’m headed to the courtyard.”
The cowboy tips his Stetson at me and with a wink, points in the opposite direction. I turn, biting back a smile, and walk tothe courtyard, wondering who this cowboy is and why my heart is beating like a jackhammer with performance anxiety.
“I think that about does it.” Cage Winters, the record label president, smiles at me and Nash, the silver hair at his temples a little more prominent than even a few months ago. Some might call him a silver fox. I call him ruthless. He works hard to procure the best artists on the scene while ensuring our money makers continue to please our stockholders.
There was a time when I wanted his job. Now, I don’t know. I wonder what all of this is for. I have enough money. I have a great house in Nashville and get invited to all the right parties. I have friends in New York, Hollywood, and a beach house in Malibu that is mine anytime I wanna use it. It’s getting old, though. It just seems like there’s more to life than seeking the next greatest thing.
Why is it that Mr. Cowboy’s gorgeous face pops into my mind?
“I think you’ll both be impressed with the festival grounds. The crew have already started marking areas for the stages. We’re lucky that Vanessa has already been running the Cobalt County Antiques Fair. It made this process a lot easier logistically.” Nash Rivers grins at me and taps his hands on the conference table in a small drum beat.