She laughed. “You both possess impossibly big egos.”
Hone shrugged. “I heard what you’re singing. You want to go all the way through with music to check your timing or whatever?”
Cassie set down her paint roller. “All right. It would be good to do a run-through. I usually chatter between songs, so I’ll add that in as well.” She checked her watch as Hone picked up her guitar.
“Hi! I’m Katie-Jo, a country singer from America. Most of you won’t have heard of me, but that’s okay. I’ll let you judge me by the music. This first song has been a favorite of mine for years. You probably recognize it.” And she launched in to Crowded House’s Better Be Home Soon.
As soon as she started singing, Hone added guitar backing. She jerked her chin in approval and yahooed inwardly. He was right. The man had skills.
She continued her songs, adding snippets about the music and with her own songs, how she came to write them and some of her Katie-Jo journey. Even though Hone didn’t know the songs, he picked up the melody and had few missteps. He even harmonized in the choruses. When the final note drew out and faded, he grinned.
“I’m in awe.” His big hands caressed her guitar, and she grew hot all over.
She averted her gaze before she self-combusted. After their kiss this morning, her imagination jumped ahead in leaps and spurts, right into dirty, sexy acts with Hone. In bed. Against a wall. She didn’t care. She’d been kidding herself with Kevin. Hone’s kiss had left her more satisfied than any sweaty sex with her ex.
“Thanks. Anything to improve or suggestions to change around my selection?”
“No, you’re good. Will you let me go onstage with you?”
“If you can manage playing for a crowd. Kevin won’t let me hear the end of it if you freeze.”
“I can handle myself. You want me to start ripping out the kitchen units?”
“Sounds good.” Cassie picked up her roller, her mind skipping ahead. Excitement filled her, and she hadn’t experienced this anticipation for a long time. She was right to stand her ground, despite Kevin’s objections. While she enjoyed performing, it was the writing and shaping of new songs that made her happy. There was no reason she couldn’t do what she wanted—write songs and sell the rights. Kevin could still be her manager. Yeah…she could write a few country tunes and write to please herself—see how that worked. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough money. Her parents had taught her the benefits of saving and prudent investment.
She could do whatever she wanted. Something to consider.
* * * * *
“Hey, boss.” A strong thump on the door accompanied the salutation.
Matthew looked up from his papers. “Herbert.” The guy was big with shoulder-length brown hair and cauliflower ears. The oily strands accentuated rather than hid the defect. “You have something to report?”
“I did what you said. Woman has moved out of the motel. She’s staying with some guy.”
“Still in Papakura?”
“Yeah. Red Hill area.”
“Is she scared?”
“Keeps checking over her shoulder. The guy she’s with is some kind of private investigator. I followed them to an office. Had to hang back. The guy is watchful.”
“Where are they now?”
“At the house in Clevedon. Think they’re painting. Leastways they carried in cans of paint. Installed an alarm too. You want me to keep following ’em?”
“Yes, please. Keep back. If you have an opportunity, give her another scare. Don’t take risks, but I’d like to keep her on edge.”
“Will do, boss.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Nah. Crop’s good. Another week, perhaps two, and we should be harvesting.”
Matthew tapped his fingers on the desk. “I took a look last night. Another week should do it. Keep me posted about what she’s doing.”
“Will do.” Herbert ambled away.
Matthew stared after him, thankful he’d employed the ex-rugby player. The man might look big and stupid, but he had a brain, the ability to think for himself and make good decisions.
All he needed was time. One month for planning, to finesse his ex-wife. One month until he left for South America.
Just one more month until he gained every dream on his bucket list.
His son. Money. Victory.
