Page 13 of A Billionaire Rebel

I thought for a minute, looking over our inventory, and then pointed. “Breedlove Solo Concert.”

“Why?” He seemed intrigued by my choice.

“The second hole.” I picked the guitar off the wall. “You’ll be able to hear exactly what the audience would hear. Plus, you said you wanted something different. Solid cedar and rosewood give a darker tone.”

He held out his hands, and I passed the instrument to him. The way he held it told me that he knew what he was doing. He ran his thumb along the strings, then made a couple adjustments before doing it again.

I didn’t rush him, enjoying the experience of watching and listening to someone who clearly had a good ear and knew how to tune a guitar. I couldn’t even count the number of times I had someone come in and pretend like they had a clue, only to break a string or leave a guitar so badly out of tune that I spent an hour fixing their mistakes.

“That’s a good sound,” he said after several minutes. “I’ll take it.”

“Excellent. Do you need anything else? Picks? Extra strings?”

I went through the usual business patter as he selected the strings he wanted and a few other things as well. By the time we reached the register, I was sure he had everything he needed. I rang him up and gave him his total. He held out a credit card.

“Thank you,” I said as I took it. I glanced down to catch his name before I ran the card through and nearly choked on nothing.

Damon Holden.

Damon Holden.

No wonder he looked familiar. Aside from the fact that he came from one of Houston’s wealthiest families, he was the founder of Holden, one of the best country bands of all time.

Heat flooded my face as I realized how stupid I must’ve sounded with my questions. Those strange looks he’d given me made a lot more sense now. I was such an idiot! Not only had I made a fool of myself in front of an insanely talented musician, I’d done it in front of my favorite musician.

A quick glance at his face showed his lips twitching, as if he wanted to laugh but was trying to be polite. He lifted his hat and swiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

Perfect.

The very least I could do for him was finish the transaction without being completely unprofessional and apologizing for not recognizing him. Everything I’d ever read about him said that he was a really nice guy, but I wasn’t going to take advantage of that. He’d come here for a guitar, not to have some stranger fangirling over him.

I ran his card, put in the necessary information, and then handed the card back. “If you could just sign here.” I slid the receipt across the counter and then set a pen next to it. He signed and handed it back. I put his copy of the receipt in the bag with the strings and picks and then held it out. “Have a good night.”

“I will.” He gave me that pulse-pounding smile of his and then headed out.

I kept it together until the door closed behind him and then buried my face in my hands. I sincerely hoped Starla never found out just how awkward I’d been. I’d never hear the end of it.

One person, however, needed to know every detail.

I reached under the counter and pulled out my phone. I could’ve waited until I got home, but I never knew if Jamie would be awake or not. She worked herself too hard most of the time.

You’re never going to guess who I just sold a guitar to.Damon Holden.

Eight

Damon

Cynthia’s birthdayparty had been more awkward than usual since Deklin had decided to bring his new girlfriend, Sofi, and Dad had invited Deklin’s ex-fiancée, Aurelia. Still, I’d been glad to see Deklin taking my advice about not rushing into marriage with Aurelia. She was a good kid, but Deklin had proposed out of a sense of duty to the family, and that wasn’t a good reason to get married. Except I’d watched how Deklin was with Sofi, and I wondered if he was in deeper than he should be with that one too.

Those had been the thoughts that had chased me into a dreamless sleep.

A loud, jarring sound jerked me out of the darkness, and for a moment, I was disoriented, wondering where I was. Then I remembered I was home and the ringing was Kalini’s ringtone. That got me awake enough to reach for my phone. She’d never drunk-dialed me or called this late unless something big had happened.

“Kalini?” I barely got her name out before the sound of her crying hit me. I sat upright, fully awake as adrenaline flooded my system. Something was wrong. She never cried, and definitely not like this. “Kalini? What’s wrong?”

“There was an accident. It’s bad. Really bad.”

I could barely understand her through her sobs. “An accident? Who? Are you okay?”

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