The Ex Factor

By Erin McCarthy

Locked in a cabin with her sexy ex? Things just got very complicated...

Self-made singer/songwriter Jolene Hart loves everything about being on top in Nashville. Well, everything except her very public breakup with Chance Rivers, her sexy masculine other half. Once the hottest duo on the scene, they turned Music City on its ear. Now their careers are as cold as their relationship. Which is why their manager has practically locked them in a remote cabin with nothing but a guitar, a bed, and time to do what they do best: make some beautiful music together.

As Nashville royalty, Chance has big boots to fill—and the pressure that comes with ’em. He fell hard for Jolene, but he couldn’t handle the spotlight, the crowds, and the fights that made headlines and killed any notion that love and success could go hand-in-hand. Still, Chance is more than willing to rekindle the one thing that worked: the wild passion behind their hit songs. Soon they’re making up for lost time, in the steamiest ways possible. But Chance finds himself wishing for the impossible: that their intimate hideaway could last forever.

**Previous version of this book was titled Heart Breaker. The ending has been significantly changed from the original version.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094467665

Erin McCarthy

USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written over seventy-five novels and novellas in the romance and mystery genres. Erin has a special weakness for high-heeled boots, martinis, and Frank Sinatra. She lives with her renovation-addicted husband (he built her a bar, so it’s all good!) and their blended family of kids

Book preview

1

When Jolene Hart broke off her affair with Chance Rivers, he left willingly enough, but he threw his guitar in her pool and stole their Song of the Year Grammy off the wall on his way out the door.

She retaliated by putting sugar in the gas tank of his favorite truck and turning his dog against him.

He took up with a blonde named Dixie and Jolene fell into bed with her bus driver. She heard Chance drank too much, and she ate cheesy grits like there was no tomorrow where she had to wear skintight jeans on stage. Together they had been country’s hottest new duo. Separate they were capable of selling almost no records.

Which was why their manager now had them locked in an office together to sort out their upcoming album. Jolene wasn’t having any of it. To say that Chance felt the same was a serious understatement.

Unlock the damn door, he told Ginny, his voice deceptively calm.

But having spent six months dating him, Jolene recognized the signs of his frustration. His strong jaw was set. His nostrils were flaring. His dark brown disheveled hair was in his eyes and he hadn’t bothered to toss it out of the way. The only part of his body that moved was his thumb, tapping up and down rapidly on the denim covering his knee. He was refusing to look at her, and that served to make her temper flare right along with his. The least the bastard could do was look at her. She hadn’t expected flowers or even a smile, but a damn hello would be appreciated considering the man’s penis was no stranger to her mouth.

No, Ginny said firmly. In her sixties, she’d been in Nashville since before it was trendy. She turned nobodies into stars and stars into nobodies and took no bullshit from any man. We’re sorting this out today Chance Rivers, because I’ve about had it with you two. The label wants the album in two months and if y’all don’t produce something you’ll be yesterday’s news.

Jolene shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair in front of Ginny’s desk. Ginny was her manager and mentor, and she was right. Things changed in the business as frequently as Jolene changed her underwear. You either kept up or got left behind--and this was only their second album. Their first had been an unexpected runaway success and she’d shot from modestly famous local solo artist to duet superstardom. Since she had no desire to go home to Starkey, Kentucky, home of nothing, or wind up singing in bars around town for a few sets a night, she was going to have to swallow her rancor for Chance and get the job done. Though the idea of writing and recording with him made her want to throw up in her mouth. Or better yet, on Chance.

The man was insufferable.

He scowled. He brooded. He sighed.

And yet, he was so very, very sexy.

She suddenly felt melancholy, marveling at how they’d gone from introduction to songwriting team to stars to lovers to enemies all in the course of eighteen months. It had been a whirlwind and given she’d spent damn near every day in his presence, her personal and professional relationship with him had literally taken over her life. There was a hole there now that he was gone, though she wouldn’t go so far as to call it missing him. He was arrogant, a know-it-all, a lying son of a bitch. But he was also tender, romantic, loyal. With fingers that strummed her with as much confident skill as he did his guitar. Not that there had been any strumming at the end of their relationship. More like picking.

It felt weird to be so close to him yet have no right to touch him. This was the first time she had been in the same room with him since the fight to end all fights in her back yard last April. Now it was sweaty, hot July and she would swear to God she could smell Chance, that earthy, musky cologne he always wore, that never failed to turn her on.

Ginny, in case you haven’t noticed Jolene and I can’t stand each other. How do you expect us to cut a record together? He spoke in irritation.

Okay, that hurt. Right in that sack of stupid she called her heart. He didn’t have to be so blunt about it. Sure, they’d been slinging arrows at each other for months. But she was the one who ended it, if you wanted to get technical. So he shouldn’t be acting like he’d never wanted her in the first place. They’d loved each other once. Right? Even if they’d never said it. There had been strong feelings there. But whatever it had been it had gone into the pool along with his guitar and sunk straight on down to the bottom. And drowned.

The thought made her squirm again on her chair. She crossed and recrossed her legs, the button on her jeans cutting into her gut. Yeah. The grits and BBQ and vast quantities of nachos needed to stop or she was going to be popping sequins and ripping fringe. She felt both frumpy and put out, and it made her want to defend herself. I can cut a record with anyone. Hell, I can cut a record with a potbelly pig if that’s what it takes.

Which is where you and I have differing opinions, Chance said flatly. You want to slap your smile on a shitty song if it will sell. I want to make real music.

Oh, the bastard. Pretentious as hell with his nose so far in the air it was a wonder he didn’t fall over backwards. I am not ashamed of the fact that I want to make a dime, she said. Not everyone gets the luxury of a lifetime of success. I want to ride the gravy train while I can. So sue me.

You signed the contract, Ginny reminded him. "So don’t go all artiste on me. Look, you either cut the record or you’re going to lose your career. Given what I’ve been hearing about you and your drinking, if you screw the label over you might as well book your spot on Celebrity Rehab right now. It’s the only work you’re gonna get, no matter who your daddy is."

Ouch. Ginny didn’t mince words.

Though after his dig about her being a sell-out she had to admit she didn’t mind seeing him insulted, and for once she didn’t have to lift a finger to do it. She sat back and waited for Chance’s ears to start emitting steam. He had a problem processing his anger and she would accept no blame for it this go round. His outbursts were never frightening, just annoying. He got in rant mode and it was impossible to pull him back out.

I do not have a drinking problem. Not since Jolene and I broke up anyway. There was a tick in his jaw.

He was damn near to the point of exploding. Jolene knew that one more strategically placed push could send him over the edge. In eighteen months of her Chance Rivers immersion program, she’d learned every single one of his hot buttons, and all of them had to do with his songwriting. If she were an evil son of a bitch with no heart she’d flick him good right now and watch the fireworks. But she wasn’t cruel and she wasn’t stupid. She had to play this right because Ginny was talking truth.

There wasn’t any choice but to write some songs and record an album. She’d already done a single two years earlier on her own and it had been a flop of epic proportions. No one wanted Jolene Hart solo then and she doubted they would want her solo now. They wanted Hart-Rivers and the chemistry they’d brought to songwriting and the stage.

So despite wanting to smack him upside the head for being a stubborn and pretentious idiot who didn’t know what was best for him, she knew how to play the game. You didn’t get out of Starkey and succeed on Music Row without some savvy. She might have more of that than talent frankly, and she wasn’t above admitting it. It was her personal policy to always be honest with herself.

It was savvy and charm that had brought her this far and she knew when to swallow her pride and use it.

Ginny, take it down a notch, she said. Chance doesn’t have a drinking problem. He just liked to drink. Or at least he had. She had no idea if he genuinely had a problem or not, because she was no longer privy to his private life. But mostly she wanted to show him she was on his side, even if the truth was that she was on Jolene Hart’s side.

If the way to hurt him was to criticize his songs, the way to woo him was to compliment them. Jolene busted out every acting skill she’d acquired on stage and reached over and touched his knee. Chance shot her a look that was damn near panicked.

Interesting. So he wasn’t as immune to her as he claimed to be. That shouldn’t matter, yet it did. She felt a flutter of something that wasn’t her stomach digesting that morning’s thoroughly unnecessary waffles.

Chance, you know I’ll sing any song you write. You’re a brilliant songwriter. He was. But it still made her want to gag to stroke his already enormous ego. It was part of why their relationship had been so contentious. She wasn’t into threesomes and his ego was a needy ass bitch who took center stage repeatedly. And we have musical chemistry. Let’s just bang it out, no fuss, no muss.

A sliver of amusement crossed Chance’s face. "Bang it out?"

Jolene gave him a smile, the smile that had twenty-year-old male fans breaking out into a spontaneous sweat. Yes. Bang it out. We were always good at that.

Chance cleared his throat and shifted a little on his chair.

Oh, yeah. That one had gotten him.

Jolene, you know as well as I do this is not a good idea.

We had all sorts of ideas together, good and bad. What’s a few more? She squeezed his knee and finally let go.

She almost choked on the words.

Chance had insisted it was no big deal when he had been photographed getting his hug on with a strange blonde. The headlines had read RIVERS NO LONGER HAS HIS HART? It had been a big deal. A very big ass big deal that the whole world thought he’d cheated on her about a hot minute into their relationship. It was embarrassing as hell and it destroyed the whole persona of them being a romantic team.

She’d called him an insensitive rat bastard.

He’d accused her of caring more about her image than him.

And it had only gone south from there.

It was hard to imagine they could produce anything other than bad feelings right now, but she was determined to try.

If it killed her, well, at least she’d die on top instead of in the Hall of Has Beens.

She gave him another smile for good measure.

Chance didn’t trust that smile on Jolene’s face or that steely-eyed glare Ginny was giving him. He had never truly liked Ginny because Ginny was always right and after proving it, she took her cut of his earnings smugly to the bank.

The problem with Jolene was altogether different. He had liked her too much, from the first minute he had met her. Against his better judgment. In ways he shouldn’t. Ways that started with the sweetness of her singing voice, continued on through her sassy attitude, and ended with the smoking hot sexy way she had torn him up in bed.

She couldn’t be looking at him like that. He had no power against that look.

That was the look that had landed him in all sorts of trouble, starting with thinking he was cut out to handle the spotlight of being a performer and ending with a stolen Grammy and his ill-conceived relationship with Dixie, the gold-digger.

Maybe we’re just out of ideas, he told her now, drawling out his voice long and slow so she wouldn’t see how rattled he was. A locked door. Pressure from their label. The first time he’d laid eyes on Jolene in person since that last big blowout by her pool in April. Yep. He was a little unnerved.

She looked good. Juicy. Like she’d stopped starving herself for a change and had been letting herself have a little bit of fun. Without him. That was annoying. All those times he’d cooked and she’d refused to eat anything but a nibble. But he had to admit he couldn’t stop sliding his eyes over to check her out. Those jeans were snug in all the right places and damn if the woman wasn’t treating him to a little side boob. He wanted to lick that sliver of flesh peeking out at him.

He shifted again in his chair. Damn hard wooden thing that he swore Ginny had purchased just to make her clients uncomfortable. Though it wasn’t the chair’s fault he had an erection, which was the real reason for his discomfort.

I think we could probably come up with one or two, Jolene said. She kept her blue eyes locked with his. Ginny, what do you suggest we do here?

What do I suggest? Ginny pushed her reading glasses up onto the mop of silver hair that reminded Chance 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 bed. Naked.

Her jaw dropped. No! And good Lord, we didn’t write all our songs naked.

We did often enough. The really good ones. That’s my deal. If we’re writing songs about knocking boots, we’re going to really feel the emotion, if you catch my drift. He smiled to himself. His demand was crazy and insensitive and kind of like blackmail. Okay, a lot like blackmail if you wanted to get technical. But he knew she’d say no. She’d probably throw a paperweight at him before storming out and telling him to kiss off.

It might not be the best strategy for his career, but he had to push back a little. He couldn’t help himself. He was always the one to strike the match.

And as usual, Jolene brought the fuel.

Because instead of getting pissed and rejecting him flat out, she calmly shifted her legs so his were forced further apart. She eased in, rolling her chair nice and snug up close to him, and leaned forward. He could see straight down her shirt.

You’ve got a deal. With a condition of my own.