Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,11
tell her as much.”
“Not sure I should take advice from a man who accidentally swallowed his fiancée’s engagement ring.”
“You need all the advice you can get.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Jack had misjudged his last girlfriend, and he’d mishandled Clementine’s appearance today. Give him a research team and he could command attention. Give him a stage and he could embody the raw charisma he lacked in everyday life. Give him a beautiful woman, up close and personal, and he either talked like a stiff robot or made asinine remarks like Shmiskey and Snap that Chat.
Jack picked up a newspaper, his aggravated breaths crinkling the edges. Marco ordered breakfast and ate. They sat in companionable silence until Marco’s cell vibrated. He grinned at his phone. “Lauralee needs an emergency supply of tuna.”
“Tuna?”
“Don’t ask. I’ll meet you at work. And tell your dad to get his ass back to town. Seeing him will help employee morale.”
“Will do.” Another lie to his best friend. This one as pleasant as chewing crushed glass.
Marco dropped a bill on the counter and hurried from the diner, eager to get to his wife and dote on their unborn twins. Envy lassoed Jack, but he shook it off. It wasn’t like he had time to entertain a relationship. He needed every second he could milk out of his day, which included keeping up appearances and maintaining his routine. He was a creature of habit. The town knew it. If he altered his morning run or coffee hour, questions would arise. Maintaining normalcy meant working longer hours and spending the remaining time rehearsing in the estate’s sound room, but he could do it.
“Hello, Maxwell.”
Jack’s neck tensed. He knew that grating voice, hated hearing it taint his given name. Alistair Murphy was the last person he cared to waste his seconds with. He faced the tribute artist, noting Alistair’s smug grin and oily hair. “Have the winds changed so soon?”
Alistair glanced out the diner window. “Winds?”
“Seems early for garbage to be blowing into town.”
“There was no garbage in—” His lips thinned, Jack’s insult finally sinking in. Never quick on the draw, that one. “Don’t be testy,” Alistair said. “I won last year because I’m the best. And my back view is almost as nice as my front. You’ll enjoy looking at it again this year.”
“Especially when it’s driving out of town.”
“Maybe I’ll stay this year. Move to this godforsaken stretch of dirt.”
“There’s a kennel on the outskirts. I’m sure they have room.”
Alistair made a show of slicking back his immobile hair. “I doubt Ava would approve of the accommodations. Not that she doesn’t like to get dirty.” He smirked. “She’ll be arriving next week.”
Jack fisted his hands, one flared nostril away from smacking that lewd smirk from Alistair’s face.
Jack hadn’t seen Ava since she’d left him to hitch her star to last year’s festival champion. She’d seemed genuine when they’d first met. He’d fumbled when flirting with her, as he always did. She’d pushed and pursued and made him feel as though his dating ineptitude was attractive, a tenderness some men lacked. Exactly as his mother had insisted during his awkward high school years. “You’re perfect as you are,” Sylvia David had told him. “Kindness and integrity are the traits of great leaders. A woman will see how special you are one day and love you for it.”
Ava hadn’t wanted kindness. She’d enjoyed Jack’s money, probably more than his company, but it was a Vegas ticket she’d been after. Anything to reach her popstar goals.
Aside from one very important reason to win this year’s top tribute artist, Jack would relish watching Ava and Alistair choke down a pan of humble pie. “I hope you two enjoy the town. I’ll go enjoy rehearsing in front of my signed gold record—the one you’ll never have.”
Waving his prized possession in Alistair’s face was childish, but the record made the man green with envy.
Alistair’s cheeks flushed. He stepped closer as his eyes darted around the diner. “My offer from last year still stands.”
Unbelievable. “You mean the one where you return sweet Ava to me if I give you Elvis’s last known signed record?”
Alistair ticked up his pointy chin.
Jack couldn’t hold in his disgusted laugh. “I want nothing to do with Ava, and women aren’t possessions. Seems to me you two are perfect for each other.”
He strutted past Alistair with the confidence he wished he’d displayed around Clementine, who went by Samantha, who was judging the Elvis competition, who also didn’t seem to be an