Addicted To Her
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About this ebook
Magnolia
My story begins like a lot of others; small-town girl moves to Nashville with one suitcase, her guitar, and a heart filled with dreams of being a country star. It doesn't take long for me to lose a little faith in myself and a lot of faith in humanity. Then, I win an audition to write with Bo Bishop, one of the most successful country singers of the last twenty years. I've been in love with Bo before I ever met him and my feelings only intensify once we start working together. I don't care that he's twenty-four years older than I am; the heart wants what it wants, and every part of me wants Bo. But as I get to know the man behind the fame, I realize that our vast age difference is the last thing I need to be concerned about.
Bo
I've lost the two most important things in my life; my wife and my career. My assistant convinces me to try and revive the latter by writing an album with a partner. From the minute I see Magnolia; I know that she can revive more than my career. But she's eighteen years old and I'm forty-two. If I had a lick of sense, I would've picked someone else. But the reasons I want her are just too strong to ignore.
Garnell Wallace
Growing up, I didn’t dream about being a writer, mainly because I didn’t know I could become one. I fell in love with books to the point where they became my friends, going everywhere with me like a trusted side-kick. So I still find it amazing that I can actually write books which hopefully will become treasured companions to other readers. I love writing sexy paranormal romances and I hope my stories will provide readers with a wonderful escape into a fascinating world with characters they will care about.
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Addicted To Her - Garnell Wallace
Addicted to Her
AGE GAP FORBIDDEN ROMANCE
––––––––
Chapter one
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
CW: Brief mentions of off-page SA
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Chapter one
Magnolia
My deepest fear is having a panic attack on stage, and this is the day it might happen. I’d been singing before I could walk, and now, both of those very familiar tasks seem next to impossible. This is not the time to mess up, not when I’m about to perform for Bo Bishop.
Bo, short for Boaz, is one of the most successful male country singers within the last twenty years. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. His brand of country and blues, sung in his sexy, raspy voice, had garnered him legions of fans, many of whom were women wanting nothing more than to bear his children.
Bo is as easy on the eyes as he is on the ears, and though I’m not immune to his looks, I am more interested in what he could do for my career. I’ve wanted to be a country singer all my life, and as soon as I’d finished high school in Gatlinburg, I’d packed my life into my battered red truck and headed for the bright lights of Nashville. I live in a one-bedroom apartment with two other girls I have nothing in common with except being short on cash and long on dreams.
Getting song credits on a Bo Bishop album would catapult my career. If they liked my voice as well as my songs and felt my soprano was a good match with Bo’s voice, I might be able to get singing credits as well. Like Bo, I combined country with soul, and though I am only eighteen, I feel that my songs are mature and filled with depth. I just have to decide which one of them I want to sing. I need to lock down a song because I’m up next.
The auditions are at a hotel in the heart of the city. Bo lives on a ranch just outside of Nashville where he is most at home with his animals and the sound of the wind as opposed to the traffic and madness of the city. If you haven’t guessed it yet, I know a lot about Bo.
To say I have a crush on him was an understatement. Nine out of ten females over the age of twelve have a crush on Bo. He’s tall, six-five to be exact, and muscular without screaming I spend too many hours in the gym. He has baby-blue eyes, dark brown hair, a perfectly sculpted nose, and a full wide mouth. The sexiest thing about Bo is his vulnerability on stage and his reclusiveness when he is off. The fact that he’s holding auditions to work with a complete stranger is a little off-brand. Oh well, I could ask him about it if I win.
I stand just outside the door to the conference room desperately holding onto my guitar and my nerves. I almost lose both when the person manning the door calls my name. Shit! I need to pick a song! Suddenly, my mind goes blank. My legs freeze, and he has to call my name again. I know he will not ask a third time and someone with more courage and sense will take my place. I force my mind and feet to move. I rush through the double doors right onto a podium with a microphone on a stand. I walk over to it. I am too nervous to greet the people with my fate in their hands. I brave a look at them in search of Bo's beautiful face. He isn’t there. I look beyond the small group clustered in the middle of the room. He’s not anywhere in the room. My spirits plunge to my stomach. I thought I’d be singing to him.
There’s a moment of expectant silence, and then I realize that everyone is waiting for me to fill it. I clutch my guitar and start playing the first melody that pops into my mind. It’s a song about love and loss, but from someone you still have to see every day. I’d written the song about my dad. Our relationship is complicated as it is with most teenage girls and their fathers. I’d written the song because I couldn’t talk to him and he would’ve heard it if he’d ever come to one of my gigs at the little bar where I sang on the weekends. My leaving home had been a relief for both of us. I can’t think in detail about our complicated relationship right now because I’ll start crying.
I allow the words of the song to cry for me, and as the last note fades away, I stand there with my eyes closed.
Thank you.
My eyes flutter open and I look out over my tiny audience who sit impassive and still. Thank you. I’d just poured my heart out to them and all one of them could say was thank you. I don’t know what else to do so I nod and walk off the stage.