Page 8 of Anything but Mine

Sharon nodded. “I brought Isabella over to tell her about the changes to the festival. This will give us more room for the musical acts for the festival.”

A little muscle in Isabella’s cheek jumped.

“Don’t hold back.” Her eyes locked with his and Christ he was going to hell with the thoughts spinning in his brain. Almost all of them were going to include those eyes. Maybe fantasizing about this woman would be enough. He’d be going to Manhattan next week for a charity benefit. He could find a way to ease the rest of his pain there. “Well, c’mon. Spit out whatever you’re thinking or you’ll end up with a headache.”

She scraped her teeth over her top lip quickly, before she shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Sharon turned to Isabella. “Is there a problem?”

Miss Director’s hands came back to her sides and he said a quick prayer of thanks. Distracting body aside, at least he didn’t have the perfect outline of the curve of her breasts driving him to the bottle of Dalmore he had waiting at home.

“Look, Sharon, I appreciate that you’re giving me more time for the musical acts, but when I don’t have the budget to go with it, then it really doesn’t work. The acts don’t work for free.”

“But I do.”

Isabella’s gaze swung to his, eyes narrowed. Insanely dark lashes and liner made her eyes glow. Maybe he’d be drinking that bottle of whisky after all. “You’re main stage. I have you playing ninety minutes to two hours on the final night.”

“Which I’ll do.” Like always. The hits and some cover songs that would suit the older set. He knew how to skew a playlist to a crowd. He didn’t even have to think. Words fell out of him with ease. Just like the trained monkey he was. “But I want time on this stage.” He nodded to the small, rickety stage.

“No.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

“Of course,” Sharon said quickly.

Logan ignored the mayor. “Look, Izzy.”

“My name is Ms. Grace, Isabella or Bella.”

“Izzy,” he said again. Her eyes flashed and his spine straightened, his chin lifted. “I’ll provide whatever you need to make the budget stretch, but I am playing on this stage. Twice.”

“Why?” She twirled around. “This is a barn. You do realize that, right?”

“Yes, I’m well aware that we’re in a barn.” He forced his eyes to stay on hers and not on the elegant length of leg she’d flashed. Women and heels were the bane of a man’s existence and he’d been afflicted since the age of twelve.

“We don’t have the security or the insurance to cover the amount of people that are going to try to pack themselves in here. You’re famous.”

Instead of sounding awestruck, her words were more like an insult. Possibly like she was talking to a toddler. And not a bright one. “We won’t advertise it.”

“Now, Logan.” Sharon spoke up. “You doing a rare, intimate show. That can’t be downplayed, not when it can raise so much money for the foundation.”

He tipped his head back. Exasperation faded as he got a good look at the peaks of the barn. The rafters were old, but they’d hold a small lighting rig. If he called in a few favors he could have one come down with the guys Thursday. He could already feel the lights and the humid air surrounding him as he sat with his Taylor. He had to play in there. His fingers itched for his guitar. A feeling that had been absent for months.

He missed it. Craved it. But every time he’d picked up his guitar, his fingers felt thick and clumsy—not his own.

Instead of facing Sharon, his eyes found her. The distraction. The pain in the ass. Sharon would let him do what he wanted in the end, but he wanted this woman to understand it. To make it work for him. “No. I don’t suppose I can.”

Izzy folded her arms under her breasts, her hip cocked out. Clarification—the woman was officially distracting as fuck. And those eyes were going to put him into the grave. Did they glow like that when she came?

Logan, you stupid fuck.

He took a step closer to her. “Hundred dollar cover and I’ll bring in my own security.”

She didn’t step back. In fact, her chin lifted so she could continue to meet his gaze. “Why?”

Logan’s molars slammed together. “Because I want it.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Oh, well, let me rearrange my entire schedule for you, Mr. King.”

---