One more chance, p.1
One More Chance, page 1
Copyright 2023 Samantha Chase
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book, with the exception of brief quotations for book reviews or critical articles, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography LLC
Cover Design: Kari March Designs
Edits: Virginia Tesi Carey & Susan Bischoff
“If you can’t get enough of stories that get inside your heart and soul and stay there long after you’ve read the last page, then Samantha Chase is for you!”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Shawn
“A fun, flirty, sweet romance filled with romance and character growth and a perfect happily ever after.”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Carly Phillips
“Samantha Chase writes my kind of happily ever after!”
-NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Erin Nicholas
“The openness between the lovers is refreshing, and their interactions are a balanced blend of sweet and spice. The planets may not have aligned, but the elements of this winning romance are definitely in sync.”
- Publishers Weekly, STARRED review
“A true romantic delight, A Sky Full of Stars is one of the top gems of romance this year.”
- Night Owl Reviews, TOP PICK
“Great writing, a winsome ensemble, and the perfect blend of heart and sass.”
- Publishers Weekly
“Recommend Chase to fans of Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Well-written and uniquely appealing.”
- Booklist
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
EPILOGUE
MADE FOR US EXCERPT
OTHER BOOKS
ABOUT
Twenty-One Years Ago...
Tonight’s the night.
Yeah, that had been the same thought that had gone through Mick Tyler’s mind almost every night for almost two damn years. He’d been combing clubs and bars all over L.A. and Hollywood searching for inspiration and it had yet to strike.
He’d left home two years ago in search of pursuing his dream of making it in the music business. Not that he was a musician, but he just wanted to be a part of it in the form of working for a record label or managing a band. So far, nothing had come from either of those quests, but he was hoping tonight would be different.
Hell, he wished that same thing night after night, but eventually, something had to give, right?
It was a little after eleven as he walked into yet another dive. It reeked of stale beer and body odor, and a part of him wanted to turn around and walk right out and go back to his own crappy apartment that smelled only mildly less offensive.
“Tonight,” he murmured to himself. “Tonight is going to be worth the smell.”
Making his way through the crowd, he bypassed the bar and found a spot just to the right of the stage and settled in for a long night. They were always long. Tonight’s lineup had four bands playing and Mick said a small prayer that he’d be leaving here later with his hearing intact and a band worth representing.
An hour later, the first band hit the stage and after fifteen minutes of bad singing, bad guitar playing, and the bassist vomiting, he turned and got himself a beer. Normally he wasn’t a drinker, but ordering a beer didn’t make him feel like a freak. The few times he ordered a bottle of water, the bartender had looked at him like he had ordered meth.
So in the bizarro world of the L.A. music scene, beer was more acceptable.
It took another thirty minutes for the second band to hit the stage and while they weren’t horrible, no matter how Mick looked at them, they weren’t what he was looking for.
Glancing at his watch, he knew there were another two hours to get through. With a sigh, he looked around and managed to find a lone barstool, which he pulled along with him, and sat against the wall in the shadows. It wasn’t comfortable and it was getting hotter the longer the night went on, but he was determined to see it through to the end.
Several people looked at him oddly, but it didn’t even faze him anymore. He had an image he was trying to project; he wasn’t here to hang out or be part of the crowd. He was here as a businessman looking to scope out the talent in hopes of signing them. So instead of jeans and a t-shirt, he was in a pair of black trousers and a polo shirt.
Yeah, he certainly didn’t blend in with the crowd.
The third band was so awful that people started throwing things at the stage and it was almost a relief when they flipped the crowd off and stormed off the stage.
“Just one more,” he grumbled as he started to feel like tonight wasn’t going to be his night either.
Time seemed to drag and it was almost two a.m. when the last band finally took the stage.
“What’s up, L.A?” the lead singer called out from center stage and Mick instantly sat up a little straighter. The kid was good-looking, smiling, had a bit of a cocky swagger, and was clearly sober.
That’s a first...
“We’re Shaughnessy and we know that Angus and everyone here saved the best for last and here we are!”
The crowd went wild and Mick had to wonder why these guys hadn’t been on his radar before. A swarm of girls rushed the stage as they started to play and for a moment, he swore he must have slipped into another dimension because these guys were good.
Really good.
Too good to be playing in a shithole like this.
Sitting up straighter, he felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips.
Tonight will be the night.
At the end of their set, the lead singer did the whole introducing the band thing. “On bass, we’ve got Dylan Anders!” And the girls all screamed excitedly. “On lead guitar, Matty Reed!” More screaming. “And on the drums, Julian Grayson!” This time there was a roar of applause from some of the guys in the audience. “And me? I’m Riley Shaughnessy! And you guys have been great! Good night!”
The guys all moved away from the crowd and began breaking down their equipment and Mick knew this was where he had to swoop in. If he waited until after they were done and had come back inside to have a drink, he’d lose them to the girls. Standing, he straightened, shook out his limbs a bit, and then strode backstage like he owned the place.
He caught up with them in the back alley loading their stuff into a van. It was so cliché it was almost laughable, but...you had to start somewhere, right?
Riley turned and noticed him first.
“That was quite a set you put on out there,” he began before holding out his hand. “Mick Tyler.”
Nodding, Riley shook his hand. “Riley Shaughnessy.”
“I haven’t seen you guys playing anywhere before. Have you been in L.A. long?”
“About three months.” He eyed Mick warily. “Are you some sort of scout or something?”
With a casual shrug, he said, “Or something.”
“Yeah, uh...look, we’ve got to get this crap secured, so...”
“How about I buy you guys a couple of drinks?” Mick suggested, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest creeper.
And from the look on Riley’s face, that was his opinion too.
“Look, I’d like to know more about your music and curious if anyone’s representing you?”
The bassist, Dylan, walked over, resting his arm on Riley’s shoulder. “Representing us?” he asked with a laugh. “Dude, no one’s coming into bars like this. Although, this is actually a step up from the place we played at last week, so...”
Riley looked a little sheepish. “We figured every couple of weeks we’ll move up until we get to play places like The Whiskey or the Viper Room or even The Roxy.” Then he laughed softly. “At least...we hope that’s how it works.”
“How what works?” Julian, the drummer, asked as he joined them and eyed Mick with a hint a menace.
“Moving up the L.A. ladder,” Dylan said. “We need to pay our dues, but hopefully we can pay them fast."
Matty Reed walked by with an amp and glared at the lot of them. “Yeah, no worries. I got this shit.” He muttered a string of colorful curses before turning back to them. “It would be nice if I didn’t have to do all the heavy lifting, you know.”
This was his opening...
“You shouldn’t have to do any lifting,” Mick said confidently. “You should be playing bigger clubs—like The Whiskey—and have people moving all your equipment for you.” Then he stood a little straighter. “And I can make that happen for you.”
Four pairs of wide eyes stared back at him before Julian snorted and turned away, Matt went back to grab the last of his guitars, and Dylan wandered off.
Only Riley remained.
“You seriously think you can get us into The Whiskey?” he asked cautiously.
“Absolutely.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s the c
“Honestly? It won’t happen overnight, but together, we can make it happen sooner than you doing it on your own.” Pausing, he considered his next words. “Give me three months, Riley Shaughnessy, and I’ll make you a star.”
Riley snorted with disbelief. “Dude, seriously?”
But Mick didn’t take offense. This was the moment he’d been working toward.
“You stick with me, and I can guarantee you that one day, you’ll play the Hollywood Bowl.” He smiled. “So what do you say? Can I buy you a drink and we’ll talk about it?”
Glancing around at his bandmates, he seemed to make his decision. With a smile of his own, he said, “Make it some burgers at the diner and you’re on.”
They shook hands and made arrangements to meet at the diner around the block in an hour.
Walking back through the bar and out onto the strip, Mick fought the urge to high-five himself and jump up and down victoriously. As he began to walk down the street, he pulled out his cell phone and thought about how there was only one person he wanted to share this news with. This was a big night—the one he’d been working toward for so damn long—and he needed to share the news with someone.
A quick glance at his watch showed it was a little after five a.m. on the East Coast. It was possibly too early to call, but...
He did.
His heart was racing like mad and he wished he was sharing the news in person rather than from three-thousand miles away on a dirty street corner on a cheap cell phone.
“Hello?”
The voice was soft and sleepy and Mick had dreamed of hearing it almost every night since he left home. Sienna Ashley had haunted his dreams and, even though he knew she’d hate this lifestyle, he still couldn’t help but wish she was here to celebrate with him.
“Hello?” she said again, a little more awake.
But he couldn’t seem to say a word.
He’d walked away from her and the life he’d grown up in. Talking to her now would not only be selfish, but a little cruel.
Slowly, he hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.
It was better this way.
Sienna had a bright future ahead of her and if Mick played his cards right, some of his own dreams were about to come true.
Seven seconds was all it had taken to confirm that glitter, not pumpkin spice lattes, was the soul-destroying tool of Satan.
“What the hell happened here?” Mick Tyler called out in frustration. His condo was trashed.
Scratch that. His $5,000,000 penthouse condo was trashed.
Raking a hand through his hair, he waded through glitter, confetti, and general trash as he tried to figure out just what had gone on.
As an agent and manager to some of the biggest talent in the music business, he was no stranger to their partying ways. But the current pop princess who asked if she could crash here last night was the last person he expected to blatantly disrespect him like this.
“Oh, Mick, hey!” Libby Milan said as she sauntered out of one of the guest bedrooms. “How’s it going?” Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess, and she looked much older than her twenty-two years.
“How’s it going?” he repeated, motioning to the surrounding mess. “What the hell were you thinking?”
With a shrug, she picked up her weekender bag and hefted it over her shoulder before slipping on a pair of sunglasses. “Yeah, things got a little wild last night. Everybody wanted a little holiday party. Sorry.” Glancing around, she walked over and slid on a pair of shoes that were practically hidden under the coffee table. “Any chance you brought some coffee with you? My head is pounding.”
“Libby, you said you just needed a place to crash last night. You didn’t mention having a party,” he said, trying desperately to hold on to his patience. “Do you have any idea how much some of this furniture is worth?”
Waving him off, she headed for the door. “Don’t be so cringe, Mick. Sheesh. Unclench a bit. It’s the holiday season. Besides, I’m sure your cleaning staff will take care of it.”
“That’s not...”
“I’ve got a plane to catch,” she said before blowing him a kiss. “I’ll see you back in L.A.!” And then she was gone.
Muttering a curse, he looked around in shock. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
As cliché as that phrase was, it was true. He’d been dealing with rock stars and pop divas for twenty years and lately it was becoming abundantly clear that he had little to no patience left for bad behavior.
This condo had been a haven for him. A retreat. It was like having a secret garden in the sky. He had been drawn to it the moment he’d heard about it five years ago. Space like this in New York City wasn’t particularly hard to find—especially in this price bracket—but his was unique. The penthouse was completely glass-enclosed, so he had 360-degree views of the city. It was a contemporary design that was bathed in natural light, and at over 4500 square feet with five bedrooms and six bathrooms, it meant he could have people over without sacrificing privacy and space.
Space that was now covered in the remnants of a party that he didn’t even get to enjoy.
Not that he would have enjoyed it. He didn’t get this younger generation, and the fact that Libby had thought to do this in his private home rather than a hotel just burned him even more.
With nothing left to do, Mick pulled out his phone and called the cleaning service he normally used. He offered a hefty bonus if they sent a team over right now to get everything back into pristine shape.
Although he figured he’d be finding glitter everywhere for the rest of his damn life.
He wanted to sit down, but there really wasn’t a spot that didn’t need to be cleaned. The only room that maybe had a chance was his bedroom—and that was only because he kept it locked and no one was allowed to use it.
“What are the odds that one of Libby’s entourage picked the lock?” he muttered as he walked down the long hallway. At the door, he tested the handle and heaved a sigh of relief that it was still locked. When he used his key and stepped inside, he finally felt like he could breathe. He opened all the sliding glass doors to let the fresh, brisk air in before lying down on the bed.
It didn’t matter that it was barely forty degrees out, he just needed to air the place out to get rid of the stench of stale beer.
Most days, Mick loved his life. He lived just as well—if not better—than some of the musicians he managed. He’d accomplished everything he ever set out to do, and yet... something was missing.
“How’s that for cliché,” he said with a sigh.
He knew if he said that to anyone that they’d look at him like he was crazy. They would point out that he could have just about anything money could buy, but... it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about shopping for something. It was deeper than that. Lately, he’d become just a little more jaded with just about everything. He’d watched friends and family members meet their forever someones before getting married and settling down. For years he swore that wasn’t what he wanted, but... maybe it was.
I’m lonely.
Shit.
Just last weekend, he’d been in North Carolina with the guys of Shaughnessy. Riley, Matt, Dylan, and Julian were all there for Riley’s birthday and even put on a surprise concert in the tiny coastal town of Magnolia Sound. They’d played there before, but the amphitheater was tiny compared to the stadiums they tended to sell out.
Still, it had been a good weekend. It had been wild to look at the four of them and remember them as the twenty-year-old punks they were when he first met them fifteen years ago, and then see the family men they’d turned into. Men who found the balance between rock star and husband, rock star and father. They were all amazing, and he considered them to be his best friends—particularly Riley Shaughnessy—but... did he really want what they had? Was that what this was all about?
He could sit here and make himself crazy, or he could pick up the phone and at least talk it through with someone.
His phone was instantly in his hands as he walked over and sat in his favorite chair. The weary sigh was out before he could stop it, and that’s when Riley answered the phone.
“Mick! Hey! What’s up?”
“Hey, Riley,” he said, and almost cringed at how tired he sounded.
“Uh, oh. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just got back to the city and I made the mistake of letting someone stay here.” He then explained all about Libby and how this one little favor was going to cost him a couple of thousand in cleaning bills.
