The Ex Factor - Erin McCarthy Page 0,3

of a spray-painted mushroom. “I suggest that you both take your butts somewhere private and you write the hell out of some songs.”

“My house?” Jolene asked.

Chance balked. Going to Jolene’s would be like returning to the scene of the crime. He was ashamed of the way he had behaved that night. Throwing the guitar had been money out of his own pocket but stealing the award, well, hell, that had been childish. But he wasn’t about to admit that out loud. He was never good at admitting much. The only confession Jolene had ever wrenched from him was that he had cared about her. Had. Past tense. After she had prioritized her media image over her relationship with him, he was pretty sure all concern he’d had for her had evaporated like morning dew. But there had been a time when she had coaxed it out of him and he’d gone downright gushy on her.

Allowing himself to be that vulnerable? Exposing his feelings? He’d made her pay for it during that fight, in spades. Which meant he was an asshole.

“No,” he said. “Not your house.”

For a second, he caught the flicker of annoyance on Jolene’s face. “Then where?” she asked.

“I’m not doing this.” It was false bravado, of course. The stubborn last protest of the drowning man. He knew he had to do it or face financial ruin and they knew it too.

“You don’t have a choice,” Ginny reminded him.

Like he needed reminding.

He hated not having a choice. But he knew he didn’t because if he tried to bail, to buy himself out of the contract, he’d go bankrupt. So if he was going to do this, he was going to lay down a few ground rules. “A cabin, that’s what I want. Plus you bring my dog, Jolene. There wasn’t anything decent about you keeping her.”

Her eyebrow rose but she just nodded. “Cabin. Dolly. Fine, I can do that.”

When they’d first met, Jolene had laughed that his dog was named after Dolly Parton since her name had come from one of the country legend’s songs. She’d said it meant they were destined to make music together. He thought it was a coincidence, but she was right. Together, they had written amazing stuff, and part of him wanted that back desperately.

But he also wanted his anonymity back, the private life he’d had as a simple songwriter prior to the explosion of Hart-Rivers on the music scene. It wasn’t fair to Jolene, but he partially blamed her for that. If he hadn’t fallen head over ass for her laugh, her smile, her body, her sweet personality, he would still be cashing his checks with no one having a clue who he was when he stepped in the bank.

There was no going back though until after the album was done, so he was going to have to grit his teeth and barrel through it. Ginny and Jolene had won this round.

Dolly was his though and he wasn’t backing down on that.

“Anything else?” she asked when he didn’t speak.

Jolene thought she knew how to manipulate him, pull his strings, push his buttons. Well, he knew how to get under her skin too. Together, they were like a match dropped onto a gas line. Boom. Every time.

“Ginny, would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?” he asked their manager, giving her a smile to reassure her.

It didn’t seem to work. She eyed him suspiciously.

“What? I’m not going to trash your office or strangle Jolene.”

Ginny gave a snort. “If anyone is going to strangle either one of you two it’s going to be me. Don’t deny me that pleasure.”

That actually made him laugh. “Fair enough.”

“Get your act together,” she said, her finger pointed at first him, then Jolene. She yanked her glasses off her head, tossed them on the table then left her office.

Jolene smiled. “So what would you like to say to me in private, Chance?”

He turned his chair a little so he was facing her almost fully straight on, his knees bumping hers. “I have one more demand.”

“Really? Lay it on me. No point in holding back now.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “It’s only the rest of our careers on the line here.”

He let her sweat it for a second. Then he dropped it. “I’ll do this. I’ll give you four weeks to see what we can come up with. But I want one thing in return.”

“I’m waiting.”

“We do this like we used to. We write songs together in