Accidentally Married on Purpose (2 page)

Charlie smacked his shoulder. “I’m there.” His gaze shifted right, and the smile on his face altered. Tyler turned to find a smoking blonde in painted-on jeans standing along the wall, twirling her hair and eying his bassist. There went talk of their new album.

“Show starts in twenty,” he called out as Charlie took off for the groupie. Really, he wasn’t worried. A band didn’t skyrocket up the charts, produce two back-to-back albums in as many years, and play to sold-out crowds in worldwide tours if the members weren’t 100 percent committed. Especially as young as the two of them were.

But a reminder damn sure couldn’t hurt.

Charlie shot him a wink in acknowledgment, and Tyler glanced back at Arianne. It was time to face the music. “All right. I’ll listen to whatever it is that has you twitching, but can I at least stuff my face while I do it?” Usually he ate after the concert with the rest of the band, but today’s rehearsals and interviews had run long, and he was starving.

Her thin lips pressed together, but with a curt nod, she led him down the hall.

As they made their way to yet another green room, the familiar buzz of adrenaline washed over him. The energy in the air was electric. Music, traveling the world, a new venue every night, this was Tyler Blue’s life, and he loved every bit of it. It was a dream he’d held since his parents gave him his first guitar when he was thirteen, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. But as his stomach rumbled, he couldn’t help thinking it came with a few drawbacks.

Living on the road—in particular, eating the crap food they tried to pass as gourmet at venues like this—was beginning to wear thin. What he wouldn’t do for a bowl of his dad’s homemade gumbo or a steaming hot plate of boiled Gulf seafood. But his career didn’t leave much time for trips back home to Louisiana—a side effect of the industry that was both a blessing and a curse.

Brushing off the sudden sting of nostalgia and guilt, Tyler tried to psych himself up for another meal of pasta…only when he walked through the back room of the new Moonshine Casino, he discovered a Cajun feast laid out in the middle of the desert.

“What the hell?”

The question, obviously, was rhetorical. But after years of surviving on every variety of chicken known to man, he was certain the spread before him was a mirage. His mouth watered as he inhaled deeply, and the scent of cayenne hit his nose. It had been years since he’d sat down at his grandmother’s table, and from the look of the heaping tub of jambalaya, this stuff was legit.

“Is there a problem?” Arianne surveyed the trays. “If you prefer something else, I can request it. But I’d think you’d be pleased. Isn’t this the food of your homeland?” She widened her eyes as she said it and smiled.

“Cute.” Tyler grabbed a Styrofoam tray, prepared to load that sucker down. “And hell yes, I’m happy. This is perfect. Just shocked to find it here of all places.”

Moonshine was a country-themed casino owned by several of his music buddies. It was no secret they wanted Tyler involved, too, but tonight was his first visit to the Vegas resort. If food like this was a common occurrence, though, he might just be signing some papers after all.

“Well, they want you to invest, so of course they’re pulling out all the stops.” She shrugged, and the playfulness instantly fell from her eyes. “Now, fill your plate so we can talk strategy.”

He almost laughed. Instead, he did as the lady requested and filled his plate to overflowing before the crew wolfed it all. Then, satisfied he’d added as much as it could possibly hold, he nodded at a passing sound technician, plopped his ass in a chair, and said, “Go for it.”

“Tammy Paxton of
Country Music Weekly
has called your credibility into question.” Tyler choked on his bite of Andouille, and Arianne handed him a napkin. “I can’t say that I’m all that surprised. You flat-out refuse to be linked with anyone in the press, Ty, and I warned you it could bite you in the ass. As it turns out, Paxton’s the snake for the job.” She furnished a folded, torn-out piece of paper from her purse and handed it to him. “This article has already gone viral, and fans are starting to talk.”

He set the paper down without reading it. He learned long ago not to read reviews or listen to critics. That was what he paid
her
to do. “Give me the highlights. What, exactly, does she claim I’m doing wrong?”

“Oh, the article starts off fine. She compares you to the greats. Johnny Cash, Tim McGraw, Keith Urban, Blake Shelton…”

That didn’t sound bad. If Tyler had half the career they did, he’d be good to go.

But then Arianne continued. “Any guess what the rest of those men have in common?”

“CMA Male Vocalist of the Year Awards?” he replied helpfully.

“Wives.” He shot her a look and shoveled in a forkful of jambalaya to keep from responding. It always came back to this. Arianne sighed. “More and more country artists are settling down and getting married, Tyler, and the fans are eating it up.”

Spearing a plump Gulf shrimp, he asked, “Whatever happened to women loving the single celebrity thing? The mystery and ‘no comment’ about personal relationships spiel. The fantasy they love to spin that we’re just sitting around, twiddling our thumbs, waiting for the right fan to rock our worlds?”

“Wrong genre.” She grabbed a nearby empty chair and dragged it in front of him. “Country music is a totally different beast than pop or rock. With those clients, I actually advise them to do just what you do. Attend events solo. Remain an eternal bachelor in the press. Spin that dumb fantasy. But those artists sell a different
kind
of fantasy. You write and sing about forever love, and committed relationships lend credibility.”

Relationships.
Tyler set down his fork, the once flavorful rice now bitter.

Arianne rolled her eyes. “For the love of money, will you relax? I see you getting all riled up and twitchy. I’m not suggesting you get hitched to the next woman you see, but I am asking if it would
kill
you to go to an event with a date? Or let me at least leak a possible secret romance?”

He shook his head in irritation. It was the same song, different day. His management had been riding his ass about this for the last year—and they could keep riding it, because it wasn’t happening. Music and long-term relationships didn’t mix. You could ask his dad.

Other than music, Tyler liked things in his life to be easy. When he did have time for women, he preferred his interactions to be casual and without complication. He was an instant gratification kind of a guy. When he saw a woman who interested him, he went for it—but that was just it. He was rarely interested. There was no shortage of women trailing him, and they were all the same. Vapid, clingy, and superficial.

Across the crowded room, a side door pushed open, and a tiny brunette with crazy curves, purple-streaked hair, and sexy-as-hell lips strode through the entry, hauling a towering bucket of ice. Tyler froze.

“So, tell me, Ty, why should Suzy Housewife download your album instead of Luke Bryan’s, huh? He’s not hard on the eyes, either, and
he’s
married.”

Wisps of hair clung to the woman’s forehead. She set the ice down and swiped at her bangs with the back of her hand, causing the hem of her white fitted top to lift. Smooth, tan skin beckoned.

“Tyler, are you even listening to me?” Arianne huffed. “I’m saying that the competition is stiff, and this reporter is questioning if you even know what the hell it is you’re selling. We need a rebuttal!”

Looking up from that strip of skin, Tyler discovered a set of gorgeous hazel eyes. They widened, catching his stare before a lighting tech crossed the path between them, breaking the moment.

“Love is my life,” he said finally, transferring his gaze to his publicist. “Maybe not the act, but the feelings, the emotions. It consumes me when I’m writing. So, yeah, I’m a bachelor. So what? It doesn’t mean I’ve never cared about anyone.” He snuck another peek at the brunette, gratified to find her still watching him from across the chaotic room. “It doesn’t mean I don’t know what women want. And that’s what I give them. I don’t need to be in a relationship to do that.”

His publicist squeezed her forehead with a manicured hand. “It takes more than going on an occasional date to understand love. Real relationships are complicated. They’re messy. Something you would know if you’d ever actually been in one.”

At the sarcasm in her voice, Tyler’s jaw locked. Arianne winced. She was pushing it, and she knew it. Best in the business or not, this was his life she was talking about…and he controlled her paycheck.

The stirrings of a headache pulsed behind his eyes, which sucked, considering he had a show to do in less than twenty minutes. Rolling his shoulders back, he let out a breath and actually considered what she was saying. He wasn’t an idiot. Public perception could make or break a career, and if Arianne was this fired up, then that meant the article posed a real threat.

Unfortunately, this was one area where he refused to budge.

Complicated, messy,
love
…those three words had no place in Tyler Blue’s life. Especially since his life was his career. He’d done compromise and obstacles to overcome—that was his past. This right here was
his
time, and he planned to enjoy it.

“Look, I hear what you’re saying,” he told her. “But there weren’t any complaints on the last two albums, and there won’t be any on the next. This article will blow over, you’ll see.” Pushing to his feet, he stuck the damn thing in his pocket and handed Arianne his plate. “Here, finish this. There’s something I need to do before the show.”

Her lips pursed in annoyance, but she took the plate without a word. As he walked away, he felt her sharp gaze following him across the floor, but only one set of eyes interested him at the moment—hazel ones, currently lit in challenge.

From opposite the long table of food, the brunette gave him a blatant once-over as he came to a stop in front of her, twirling a strand of purple hair around her fingertip. When she reached his lucky belt buckle, her sinful lips twitched.

“If the words, ‘Come here often,’ leave your mouth, I swear I’ll laugh you straight back to roadie-ville.” Her words were harsh, but the smile that sprang free was playful, and Tyler found himself mesmerized by the familiar twang of her southern voice.

So much so that he’d almost missed what she said.

“Roadie-ville?”

“Sorry, do you prefer
techie
?” Her cute nose wrinkled as she stuck her hands in her back jeans pockets. “I heard someone else say that earlier, but I swear that sounds like a computer nerd.” She looked him up and down again, this time her gaze lingering around his hips. Slightly south of the belt buckle.
Hot damn.
“I think roadie fits you better. Sounds sexier.”

Tyler scratched the side of his jaw. Was she messing with him? He’d heard a hell of a lot of come-ons since making it to Nashville and had been propositioned in every way possible. But this was a first. The woman stared back, smiling that damn seductive smile, and he realized she honestly had no clue who he was. For some reason, he was in no hurry to correct that just yet.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone anywhere without being recognized, much less his own concert. But since the room was swarming with crew, Tyler could understand the confusion…
if
she weren’t a hardcore fan, and clearly, this woman wasn’t. Tyler swiped a hand over his mouth, hiding a smile.

“Sugar, you can call me anything you like,” he drawled, laying it on thick even to his own ears. Her pretty lips parted, and he grinned. “And what can I call you?”

Her smile twisted into a smirk. “Who said you could call me at all?”

He laughed, shocked again, and for the first time in a long time, speechless.

She winked. “I’m Sherry.” When she said her name, she looked right into his eyes as if he should remember it, and he had no doubt that he would. The confidence pouring off her was sexy as hell. “And…you are?”

“Tyler,” he replied, glad she’d gone with just her first name so he could do the same. The rest of the world simply referred to Tyler as Blue, the front man for the band bearing his last name. Even so, he stood back and waited for a sign of recognition.

It never came.

When it became obvious she really had no clue who he was, nor would she guess anytime soon, Tyler felt a knot of tension release between his shoulder blades.

“So, Sherry, you planning to watch tonight’s show?”

She pulled a face. “I’m not much for country, other than the line dances. All those songs about trucks and trains and whiskey and dogs, though that last one I can forgive.” Her smile softened and Tyler moved closer, wanting to be nearer the genuine warmth of it. “No offense to your boss or anything,” she added with a slight grimace. “I heard he’s pretty hot…even if he
is
the man-whore of country music.”

A shocked laugh burst from his lips. “Excuse me?”

She waved her comment away, as if she hadn’t just insulted him to his face—which, he guessed, she hadn’t really. At least not on purpose. “Just a theory I have. I’m sure he’s a perfectly adequate boss.”

Now, Tyler laughed for real. “Yeah, he’s…adequate.” Shaking his head, he propped his hip on the table. This was the most fun he’d had with a woman in months—and they both still had their clothes on. “So tell me, if you don’t like country, what
do
you like?”