The Song in My Heart Read Free Page A

sunset without a look back. The rumor mill said she couldn’t sing worth a crap anymore, that she shunned even the tiniest shred of attention, had outright rejected any sort of work in showbiz. She had become a recluse, as far as Erika knew. Even the paparazzi had long ago abandoned any interest in her, and that was no simple accomplishment for a star of Dess’s stature.
    There was nothing Dess could do for her, Erika was convinced, save for perhaps an autograph and a selfie for her Facebook and Twitter profiles. Really, she’d begged Sloane, there was no point to this. But Sloane, a little bit crazy, a lot independent, had ignored her.
    The door opened with a heavy thud, and in its shadow stood the legendary singer—smaller than Erika had imagined, youthful, trim, glowing. She didn’t look at all like a cancer survivor nor even someone in her, what, early forties? No makeup, hair the color of honey that just touched her shoulders. The phrase “natural beauty” sprang to mind. With growing apprehension she watched as Dess’s slate-gray eyes lit up at the sight of Sloane, then narrowed shrewdly and suspiciously at Erika. Clearly, Dess Hampton wasn’t particularly thrilled with her presence here. Well , Erika thought, that makes two of us .
    Sloane and Dess traded a secret look, Sloane aiming a follow-up shrug at Erika that hinted of a shallow apology.
    “Come in,” Dess said neutrally.
    She probably gives the IRS a friendlier welcome than that , Erika thought.
    She and Sloane followed Dess and her happy, tail-wagging, wiggly chocolate Lab, whom Dess introduced as Maggie. Forget the dog , Erika thought, as her eyes helplessly gravitated to Dess’s tight little ass, all curvy and filling out her designer jeans perfectly. She amused herself with the fantasy of firmly cupping that ass, pulling it into her body…oh yes! There was plenty she could do with this woman that entailed not a single note of music or even talk. She had no doubt she could melt that icy demeanor in about two minutes flat. Two minutes naked , that is.
    “So, you’re Erika Alvarez?” Dess said, turning sharply, not offering her hand.
    They were standing before a massive leather sectional in a great room with ceilings the height of a European cathedral. Massive windows looked out over the lake and there was a fireplace that took up an entire wall. Erika could imagine sitting here watching a thunderstorm, or even a snowstorm, as the fireplace warmed them. A bottle of wine wouldn’t hurt. Maybe some soft music…
    “Ahem,” Sloane mumbled at her to draw her attention.
    Erika swallowed, nervous again. Was she supposed to sit? Kiss the queen’s feet? Make a beeline for the baby grand in the corner and start playing? It was, after all, an audition of sorts, thanks to Sloane and her meddling plan to enlist Dess’s help. She had been instructed to impress, though to what end she wasn’t quite sure yet, and the prickle of pressure brought back memories of her mother dragging her to auditions before brow-furrowed strangers in starched suits, pens poised over clipboards. Her mother always had caustic words of advice for her. “Sit up straight, Erika, breathe, breathe!” Or, “No, no, nina, not that song, the other one!” And, “Ay Dios mio, do not look at the keys, hija!”
    “Yes, this is Erika,” Sloane answered on her behalf. She looked innately pleased, like she’d just discovered the cure to a particularly unpleasant social disease. Sloane was clearly enjoying her role as broker. Or star maker. Whatever. She would indulge Sloane, because Sloane had been good to her and would be indispensible to her on the tour this summer.
    “Well, then,” Dess replied, her tone as cool as the lake outside.
    A pity , Erika thought, that someone so beautiful, so successful and full of talent, had become so imperious, rude even . As if that were the only option left to her now that her career had disintegrated. I can’t sing anymore, but I can still play