The Songwriter: White Mist Series, #2

By A.P. Jensen

Gwen Harper is the songwriter behind countless hits. Her biggest client elopes, leaving Trey Phoenix without a lead singer for his tour. Gwen rushes in to help Trey, an old friend and country legend. 

When Trey hears Gwen sing for the first time, he calls a halt to the auditions for a replacement, despite Gwen's insistence that she isn't a singer. Trey convinces Gwen to take her rightful place on stage and unleash the singer inside of her. Little does he realize that the time they spend together will rouse long suppressed passions and put their friendship in jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.P. Jensen
• Release date: May 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513074641

A.P. Jensen

A. P. Jensen was born and raised in Kamuela, a small town on the Big Island of Hawaii. She spent several years on the mainland (Las Vegas and Austin) before coming home in November 2012 to pursue her writing career. A. P. Jensen loves to read, write, travel, watch movies, listen to old timer's talk about the good old days and daydream. She has two dogs, Ali'i and Maile who are world travelers and tolerate the long hours she spends in front of the computer. A. P. Jensen writes in three different genres: YA Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary Romance.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Gwen groaned at the sight of the waiting paparazzi. She stepped out of the car and even behind oversized sunglasses, had to squint against the blinding flash of cameras. She held her overnight bag in front of her like a shield as reporters rushed forward, thrust microphones in her face and yelled over one another.

Are the rumors true? Is Trey Phoenix going to cancel the tour?

Did Natasha pull out because they had a lover’s spat?

Is it true that Natasha eloped with another man?

Gwen was relieved to see Trey’s uptight, ultra-organized, no nonsense manager elbow her way through the crowd. Although Angie was probably knocking on the door to sixty, she was dressed in gold stilettos and had cherry red streaks in her hair. Angie grasped Gwen’s hand and hauled her into the building. Gwen took a breath when the door closed behind them.

Trey has been calling you over a week! Angie snapped.

Gwen took off her sunglasses and shrugged. "As I told you both, I have a life. I can’t leave a client because Natasha’s having a fit. What happened, anyway?"

Angie narrowed her eyes at Gwen who watched her coolly. It had been eight years since she worked with Gwen, but the girl hadn’t changed despite coming into money. Gwen was dressed in sneakers and jeans, the braid down her back was coming apart and her overnight bad was well used. Gwen gave Angie a challenging look that made her bristle. Angie didn’t like telling Trey that she couldn’t get him what he wanted and what he wanted was Gwen—a week ago. This delay pissed off Trey, which pissed off Angie.

Natasha had a bitch fit and here we are two weeks from the launch of the tour with no lead female singer.

He hasn’t found a replacement?

Angie snorted. I hate Natasha, but I have to admit, no one can replace her and she knows it. Trey’s trying, though. It isn’t going well.

Gwen rubbed throbbing temples. What a mess. Where can I wait for him?

Angie opened the door to a dimly lit recording studio and texted on her phone as she said, He’ll be in auditions for another hour. I’ll let him know where you’ll be.

Angie slammed the door behind her as her phone rang. Gwen tossed her overnight bag on the couch. Through the glass that separated the control room from the sound room, she saw Trey’s guitar. Gwen glanced around before she opened the door to the soundproof booth and picked up the shiny instrument. She ran reverent hands over the guitar that was as much of an icon as the man himself.

Gwen sat on the stool in front of the microphone, took a deep breath and listened. Silence. One of her favorite sounds in the world. Her life was a whirlwind nowadays and while she loved her career, she cherished the quiet times because there were so few. The plane ride here had been hell. She’d been looking forward to sleeping on the four-hour flight and got stuck beside some young rich boy in first class who was determined to take her clubbing tonight. Gwen groaned when her phone chimed again. Letting out a growl, she pulled it out of her back pocket and scrolled through her emails and texts.

---

Natasha: Trey’s an ass. I can’t believe after all we’ve been through he treats me like this.

Natasha: Trey can’t replace me.

Natasha: My ring is on the cover of People magazine.

Natasha: I’m the second most Googled celebrity in the world.

---

Gwen turned the phone on silent and put it back in her pocket. If it weren’t for Natasha, the selfish diva, Gwen would be in her apartment in New York instead of here in Orlando. She rolled her shoulders to get rid of the anger heating her blood. There was nothing she could say or do to make Natasha do the tour. The next best thing was to ignore her.

Gwen plucked the strings on the guitar and tried to find her center. She listened to the notes hover in the air and all worries drifted away. Gwen breathed music. Her mind constantly grasped for lyrics to express emotion. The songs she wrote for her own enjoyment were now raking in more money than she knew what to do with. Being able to write songs and meet the legends she had was a blessing she didn’t take for granted. At eighteen, she left her small hometown and became a personal assistant to Natasha Wilde for five years. That had been hell, but she wanted to be around music, no matter what the job was. Natasha snooped through her belongings, found her notebook of lyrics and insisted on singing one of the songs. It changed Gwen’s life and now she was sought out by superstars.

Gwen’s fingers slid over the guitar strings. She began to hum The Better Man, a duet between Natasha and Trey that topped the charts for twenty-four straight weeks. She wrote many songs for Trey and Natasha over the years. The combination of his deep baritone and Natasha’s powerhouse voice made every song a hit. Trey and Natasha were known as The Duet. Their voices were the perfect match and though they had successful solo careers, when they collaborated it meant a guaranteed hit.

When Gwen finished writing The Better Man a year ago, she wasn’t sure she could bear to have Natasha sing it, but Gwen had to be objective once the song was written. The moment it was released, fans ate it up and Natasha basked in the limelight. Sometimes Gwen hated Natasha despite the fact that she jumpstarted her career as a songwriter. Natasha was the most self-centered woman Gwen had ever met.

Gwen shut her eyes and let emotion fill her as she played. This song was a piece of her heart. Unlike the radio version, which had a full orchestra, Gwen played the song acoustic and began to sing. Gwen lost herself in the lyrics and sang the song the way she created it—with her voice and a guitar.

Trey Phoenix was pissed. He stormed out of the studio in the middle of an audition and didn’t feel a twinge of shame at the scandalized whispers that followed in his wake. The singer faltered to a stop. He glanced at Angie’s text and ignored the people who plastered themselves to the wall as he approached. Wasn’t there a woman on this planet who could sing The Better Man just as good as Natasha Wilde? Professional singers had been called in and though they hit every note, there was no heart. The singers didn’t register emotionally what they were singing. He was at the end of his rope and now he had the perfect target for his frustration. Why did it take Gwen so long to get here? If she delayed her trip one more day, he would have flown to New York and fetched her himself. If anyone knew what he was looking for in a singer, it was Gwen, the woman who wrote the song.

Trey stepped into the recording studio where Angie said Gwen would be and found only an empty couch. He blinked in the dim light and saw Gwen sitting in the sound room with his guitar. He caught her on more than one occasion playing in the hallway or tour bus when they were on the road.

Gwen’s eyes were closed and her body rocked as chords filled the room. He cocked his head as he recognized the melody. He could hear her humming, sweet notes that merged with the guitar. Gwen wasn’t aware of him, wasn’t aware of anything but the music. He heard Gwen carry a note here and there, but never heard her sing a full line. He leaned over the soundboard so he could see her better. Her face was soft and her fingers played confidently over the strings of his guitar. She nodded in approval of the notes. Even through the glass, he could feel emotion emanating from her. She took a breath and began to sing.

---

I have a man that loves me,

That holds me at night

He tells me he loves me everyday

He wants what I do,

A stable home, children

Why am I thinking of you?

---

Goosebumps rippled down his arms. He felt as if someone plunged an icy hand into his chest and gripped his heart. Gwen’s voice didn’t project or overwhelm like Natasha’s. Gwen’s voice was pure, husky and sultry. Her voice had a vibrato that was utterly unique and captivating. He’d never heard anything like it.

Distantly, he wondered how much of the song Gwen modified to fit Natasha’s voice. If this was the way the song was supposed to be sung, why hadn’t Gwen said so? He and Natasha recorded the song with a crap load of instruments that didn’t make as much of an impact as what he was hearing right now. Natasha didn’t like acoustic. She always wanted more—more drama, more instruments and more backup singers. She was never satisfied.

Trey had never been dumbstruck by a voice until now. He sang with the best singers in the world and never heard anything like Gwen. His hands trembled as her voice rose on the chorus. Her hands stopped strumming and tapped the guitar for several beats before she resumed. He couldn’t believe that the woman he considered his best friend would keep such a whopping secret from him.

The song ended way too soon for Trey. When the last word fell from Gwen’s lips, he leapt into action. He shoved open the door to the sound room. Gwen was so startled, she nearly toppled off the stool. Her eyes bugged when she saw him.

Why the hell didn’t you tell me you could sing? Trey demanded.

Gwen placed the guitar back on the stand before she turned and fiddled with her braid. I didn’t mean to touch the guitar. You know I can’t stop myself.

"I’ll give you the damn guitar if you answer my question. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?"

I can’t. She frowned as if he was telling a distasteful joke.

"What do you mean ‘you can’t’? I just heard you! Here I am searching for someone to sing The Better Man when the songwriter can sing it better than anyone else!"

Gwen stared at him as if he escaped from a mental hospital. "I don’t sing."

Trey ran tingling hands through his hair. He felt off balance and confused. Gwen was acting as if the session that knocked him on his ass was inconsequential, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Gwen’s denial that she could sing was like trying to convince himself that he could live without air. Trey grasped Gwen’s arms and hauled her towards him. She glared up at him, not intimidated in the least.

You. Can. Sing.

Gwen frowned and started to shake her head. He shook her, rattling her teeth and her mouth snapped shut.

You can sing! he reiterated.

No—

Damn it, woman!

Trey turned away, trying to get a hold of himself. Gwen was his only platonic female friend and here he was, hard as a rock and on the verge of jumping her because her voice seduced him—hook, line and sinker. Gwen didn’t have a trace of makeup on her, yet she managed to look like the sexiest woman he’d seen in years. He knew firsthand that Gwen was the least vain woman he’d ever met. Her idea of makeup was Chap Stick. He looked away from her full lips and paced, muttering curses under his breath.

Gwen wasn’t sure what was happening. Trey was acting crazy. She was mortified that he caught her singing. Trey was a country music legend and in a class of his own vocally. Having Trey listen to her was like asking Beethoven to listen to you play Chopsticks on the piano.

She watched Trey pace and took him in. Trey was tall and lean with disheveled black hair and wicked blue eyes that could seduce you through a TV screen. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt. He had a square jaw and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow that made him look delicious.

Why did it take you so long to get here? Didn’t you get my calls? Trey growled.

She folded her arms across her chest. I can’t just drop everything because you call, Trey.

Having Natasha cut out makes this an emergency. Your songs are on the line.

I know that. I was finishing up some songs with a client.

Who?

Grant Mast.

Some of Trey’s temper faded to be replaced with amusement. You sure aren’t a personal assistant anymore, huh? Even the legends are seeking you out.

Gwen didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction. People want me to translate their life into song. I love it and Grant was great to work with.

Why haven’t you ever sung in front of me?

The abrupt change of subject made her want to bang her head against the wall. She didn’t want to talk about singing. She was a songwriter. Period.

Why should I?

Because you’re one of the most talented singers I’ve ever heard! Don’t you think I know what I’m talking about?

She hesitated. Trey could be a charmer, but he was also brutally honest. He could give Simon Cowell lessons. The part of her that was ashamed of her voice loosened up the tiniest bit. If Trey thought she was good, maybe she wasn’t horrible.

You wouldn’t lie to me, she said grudgingly, but it doesn’t matter whether I can sing or not. I’m a songwriter.

"You’re not just a songwriter, you’re a great singer."

She didn’t like the way he was harping on this. Unease crept through her. There was a determined look in his eyes that set off alarm bells in her head.

Why do you think you’re a horrible singer? he asked.

Memories of freezing onstage during an open mic night flashed through her mind. The few lines she managed to get out were shaky and threadbare and she was booed offstage. She didn’t get out of bed for two days. Just the thought of walking on a stage was enough to make her lightheaded and clammy.

I was booed offstage the last time I sang in public, she said with a shaky smile.

Reviews for The Songwriter

[eli Horgz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A mix of excellent writing and amazing story telling, simply wonderful