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Eleven
Sophie Cardinale couldn’t do it anymore.
She couldn’t be Tommy Talbot’s tour manager, living her life on the road with nothing except the sound of Tommy’s music roaring in her ears. She needed to put down roots, to get a desk job, to have a baby. At thirty-four, her biological clock wasn’t just ticking; it was on the verge of exploding. She’d been thinking about this for the past year, day in and day out. It never, ever left her mind. But she hadn’t told Tommy yet. He wasn’t just her gorgeous, wild, pain-in-the-ass boss; he was also her closest and dearest childhood friend.
Sophie’s father had worked for Kirby Talbot, Tommy’s country-music-legend dad. Her dad had been Kirby’s guitar tech up until the day he’d passed away, a little over two years ago. Sophie had never known her mom. She’d developed postpartum preeclampsia a month after she’d given birth to Sophie and had died as a result. Mom had been the love of Dad’s life. He’d talked about her all the time, reminiscing about how sweet and beautiful she was. Her parents had met on the road, in the mid-1970s, when turquoise jewelry and leather vests reigned supreme. At the time, Mom worked for Kirby Talbot, too, as his wardrobe mistress. They got married, and Sophie had been born a decade later. Kirby had adored both of her folks. They were like family to him.
In fact, after Mom died, Sophie, her dad and her granddad, who’d also helped raise her, lived in one of the guesthouses on the Talbot family compound. That was how she’d gotten to know Tommy so well. According to his mother, they’d bonded as babies when she used to “borrow” Sophie to keep him company in his playpen. But mostly Sophie thought that Tommy’s mom just felt sorry for her since she didn’t have a mom of her own.
During their adolescence, Sophie and Tommy were inseparable, spending their time jumping out of trees, riding green broke horses and speeding around on his dirt bikes together. In those days, Sophie had been a pixie-haired, doe-eyed tomboy who’d had a crush on Tommy, and did almost anything he dared her to do. But she’d calmed down since then. Tommy? Not so much. He was still a daredevil, especially on stage.
Tommy trained with some of the best stuntmen in the business. His most recent act involved riding a mechanical bull on a rising platform. He even stood up and danced on the bull to the opening riff of “Rebel with a Country Cause,” one of his most popular songs. During his dance, the floor below him would erupt into flames.
His stunts weren’t always planned or practiced. If he wanted to climb lighting trusses or do backflips into the crowd or douse his guitar with lighter fluid and set it on fire, he merely took it upon himself to do so.
On this latest tour, the one that had just ended, the pyrotechnics guys kept threatening to quit if Tommy didn’t follow the rules. But it wasn’t Tommy who had to suffer the wrath of the road crew. It was Sophie. Everyone took their complaints to her, expecting her to keep Tommy in line.
In the beginning, working for him had been exciting. She used to get a dangerous thrill out of it. Now, all these years later, she just wanted some peace and quiet.
But mostly she longed to become a mom. She’d already been checking out sperm banks, and soon she would be ready to concentrate on choosing a donor. Sophie had a bad track record with men. She’d given up on finding the right guy, and by now she needed some emotional security in her life. For her, becoming a single mom was the answer, even if it meant quitting her job and finding a new one in order to do it.
So here she was, behind the wheel of her truck, driving to Tommy’s ranch, to give him her notice. Sophie lived outside of Nashville, in the same area as Tommy. She had a modest home on a mini ranch, with two horses and two dogs, all of which she boarded at Tommy’s place when she traveled with him. His spread was huge, boasting a custom-built mansion and a slew of ranch hands and caretakers. By now, Tommy was as rich and famous as his legendary father. Maybe even more so. Whereas Kirby Talbot had been deemed “the bad boy of country,” Tommy had become known as the “the baddest boy of country,” surpassing his dad in that regard. Mostly Tommy had earned that reputation because of how reckless he was on stage. But him being such a ladies’ man was a factor, too, which had never sat well with Sophie.
As she approached the private road that led to Tommy’s estate, she sighed in relief. Thankfully there weren’t any fans at the gate, clamoring to see him coming or going on this September afternoon.
She buzzed the intercom and announced her arrival, and his security chief let her through. She’d already texted Tommy and told him to expect her. But she hadn’t revealed the nature of their meeting or what it would entail. It wasn’t going to be easy—of that she was certain. Tommy wasn’t going to want her to quit. He wouldn’t be happy about the reason she was quitting, either. Babies had become an anxiety-ridden subject with him. Earlier this year a woman named Kara Smith, with whom he’d had a one-night stand, claimed that he might be the father of her unborn child. He wasn’t, as it turned out. Tommy was extremely careful about practicing safe sex. But the possibility that the protection could have failed still scared him and had taken an emotional toll on his bachelor, happy-go-lucky lifestyle.
After Sophie parked in the circular driveway, she exited her vehicle and smoothed the front of her tank top over her flat stomach. Hopefully a few months from now, she would have a cute little baby bump.
She rang the bell, and Dottie, the woman who ran Tommy’s house, answered the door. She was the nicest lady, a grandmotherly type, who fussed over Tommy as if he was her own. But she wasn’t a pushover, either. When the pigheaded superstar needed a tongue-lashing, Dottie was more than willing to do it, even if her reprimands didn’t make a bit of difference.
“Hi, Dot.” Sophie entered the colorfully tiled foyer. “Will you let Tommy know I’m here?”
“He’s already waiting for you by the pool.” When Dottie smiled, her friendly blue eyes crinkled beneath her glasses. Her salt-and-pepper hair was fixed in its usual short-and-simple style.
Sophie had a mass of long, wavy brown locks that never behaved. She was considering cutting it. Not now, but maybe after the baby was born. The baby she hadn’t even conceived yet, she reminded herself. She needed to hurry up and plant that seed.
“Do you want me to bring you something cool to drink?” Dottie asked. “Or some lunch, perhaps? Chef already has chicken salad with cranberries and walnuts ready to go.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I don’t need anything, except to talk to Tommy. I’ll just go see him now.”
She headed for the backyard, with its gigantic, lagoon-style grotto pool. Beneath the center waterfall was a waterproof cave, which had an entertainment room with rock walls, stone floors and a glamorous sitting area, complete with a spectacular sound system, a big-screen TV and a tiki-type bar. Tommy had built that room for his guests. For himself, he’d created a private apartment,
