Center Stage: Magnolia Steele Mystery #1 Page 4

  I jabbed my finger into his chest. “My reviews were amazing. The New York Times called my performance in previews fresh and inspiring.”

  An ugly grin spread across his face. “Who’d you sleep with to get that review?”

  “You of all people know I don’t sleep around to get ahead in this business. And even if I did, James Marlow wouldn’t be interested in what I have to offer seeing as how he’s gay.”

  “If you’re so amazing, what are you doing here serving crab puffs?” He glanced at the appetizers on the floor. “You can’t even handle that job. You’re a loser, Magnolia Steele. If you’re here in Nashville to try to make it in the country music world, I’ll make damn sure you never see a single second in a single recording studio.”

  Gritting my teeth, I decided to dust off the excuse I’d used with Tanner. “I’m working this party as research for a part.”

  “What part? A play? A movie?”

  “Nothing you know about.”

  He laughed. “There is no part, Magnolia. You’re a washed-up has-been at thirty-three.”

  “Thirty-three?” I screeched. “I’m not a day over twenty-five.” I was twenty-eight, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He shook his head. “More lies. You really are a sad little person.”

  “Why? Because I didn’t sleep with you to get some made-up role?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Just so you know, I haven’t lost my taste for stilettos. Next time my heel might end up stabbing your non-existent heart.”

  The people around him began to laugh . . . which was when I realized we’d attracted quite an audience, my mother included. She must have heard about our confrontation and come out of the kitchen to investigate.

  Well, shit on a stick.

  My mother’s eyes locked with mine, and I knew I had three seconds to vacate the room before she physically dragged me out. I headed toward the kitchen, but Max called out after me. “Magnolia, you need to clean the trash off the floor. Isn’t that part of your job now? Poor white trash serving sub-par appetizers.”

  My mother stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing. “Did he just call our appetizers sub-par?”

  Tilly slid through the back of the crowd, holding a tray of mini cheesecakes. I didn’t miss the little push she gave my mother, but most of the people in the room probably didn’t notice—they didn’t know Tilly and my momma as well as I did. There was a big, fake smile plastered on Tilly’s face. “Luke Powell knows how to put on a party. Food and entertainment.”

  She was followed by Colt and a pretty blonde who was part of the catering staff. Both of them were holding trays of mini cheesecakes, but they started to belt out a rendition of a duet Luke had recorded several years before with a flavor-of-the-month female pop star. Colt and his singing partner were both good-looking, and the girl actually had the vocals to pull off what the pop star could only achieve via auto-tune.

  I hoped Luke Powell couldn’t hear them; Colt sounded better singing his song than he did. By the time my mother and I left the room, Colt and his partner had the audience eating out of their hands. My confrontation with Max had been forgotten.

  As soon as we reached the sanctuary of the kitchen, I expected my mother to launch into me—and possibly kick me out of the party—but she focused on another source of irritation first.

  “Can you believe the audacity of that man?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “He called our food sub-par.”

  The only insult that would have been worse was if he’d accused my mother of using ground worms in her sliders. “He didn’t even have any of the food, Momma. He was only trying to get back at me.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled me into a corner. “What were you thinking, Magnolia Mae?”

  And there it was. My tongue felt like a ten-pound weight at the bottom of my mouth, but her accusing stare finally jarred it loose. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you didn’t have a heel to stab him with.” The hand gesture she made mimicking the act only added to the surreal moment.

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Don’t look so shocked. You’re my daughter. I can insult you all I want, but the minute someone else does it, you can bet your ass I’m going to be like a barracuda on a bloody stump. Nobody messes with my kids.”

  I had the urge to tell her the details of how I’d handled Max in New York, but Colt and his cohort entered the kitchen with empty trays.

  “We had them eating out of the palms of our hands. Almost literally. Disaster averted.”

  My mother lifted her chin and nodded, then turned back to plating desserts.

  Colt shot me a grin and a wink before heading out the door, but the waitress hung back, probably waiting for my mother to offer her words of gratitude. She obviously hadn’t been working at Southern Belles Catering very long if she thought Lila Steele handed out compliments and thank yous like they handed out samples at Costco on Saturday afternoons.

  “Why are you standin’ around?” my mother demanded, pointing to the door. “You waiting for an engraved invitation to get back to work?”

  She ran off, sniffling a little.

  “You could have been nicer,” I admonished as the door swung shut behind her. I walked over to help my mother plate more mini cakes.

  “She has a job that pays damn good money. What more could she expect?”

  “She and Colt helped you out of a difficult situation.”

  “Me?” she demanded. “From where I was standing, it was all you.”

  “What difference does it make? One of your staff members was involved in a heated verbal exchange. She and Colt defused the situation beautifully.”

  She glared up at me. “How did it come to happen at all?”

  “I know Max Goodwin from New York.” I paused. “It didn’t go well.”

  She harrumphed. “Hell, I’m not blind and deaf, Magnolia. I figured that part out myself.”

  Tilly came through the swinging door, looking far more stressed than when she’d made her sweeping entrance into the living room. “Oh, Mylanta,” she exclaimed, leaning her butt against the counter and resting the back of her hand against her forehead. “I need a drink.”

  “Not yet, you don’t,” Momma grumbled. “We’ve got to get through this night first. Then you can get shit-faced six ways to Sunday.” She shot a scowl at her best friend of thirty-plus years. “Good thinking with Colt.”

  Tilly preened for a moment, basking in the glow of the rare compliment.

  Momma shoved the tray at me, her scowl deepening. “Now get back out there, Magnolia.”

  Tilly blocked the doorway. “You really think that’s a good idea, Lila? After what just happened?”

  My mother assumed her favorite fighting stance, her right hand on her hip. “Hell no, I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I had Trey do a head count. There are far more people than the two hundred Amy told us to expect. We need every person out there.”

  “Oh, stop blowing smoke up my ass,” Tilly muttered, looking halfway amused. “We knew there’d be more than two hundred. We planned for three. And we sure as hell aren’t sending her back out there. She’s like a keg of powder just waiting for a match.”

  I was pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment, but I didn’t have time to decide whether I was offended.

  “You never should have insisted she work the party in the first place, Lila,” Tilly added. “What were you thinking? You had to know people would recognize her.”

  The flash of guilt in my mother’s eyes only confirmed it. She’d sent me out there with the intention of humiliating me. I crossed my arms, weighing my options—should I leave? But I realized I had only one option, and at the moment it didn’t sit very well.

  When my mother didn’t respond after a beat of silence, Tilly rolled her eyes and said, “Maggie stays back here for the rest of the night. I’ll work her section.”

  “You?” my mother exclaimed.

  Tilly shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I
can play a little undercover boss.”

  My mother released a little shudder. “For heaven’s sake, woman. What are you thinking? Besides that gambit with Colt and the girl, you haven’t worked as part of the serving staff for years.”

  Tilly grabbed hold of the tray in my hand and jerked it from me. “If you and I can’t step into every position in this little outfit, we’re not worth a hill of beans. I can handle this.”

  “You have your own job to do, Tilly!” my mother shouted as her friend made her way to the door. “Who’s going to prep the rest of the food?”

  “Magnolia can do it,” Tilly said with a mischievous grin. “She’s done it before. It’s like falling off a bike.”

  “Uh . . .” I said, nibbling on my bottom lip. “I think that’s riding a bike.”

  She winked. “That too.” Then, like the smart woman she was, she ran.

  I spun around to face my irate mother.

  “Don’t just stand there! Get started,” Momma barked. Then she continued to yell at me for the next half hour.

  Tilly was right. I’d worked plenty of parties for my mother in the past, and it all came back quickly. The only difference was that this one was a lot bigger than all the others.

  I was preparing a platter of fruit for the chocolate fountain when Luke’s assistant bustled into the room, looking frazzled.

  She scanned the room until her eyes landed on me. “Magnolia, right?”

  My heart stuttered, and I cast a quick glance at my mother before I answered. “Yes?” She must have heard about my encounter with Max Goodwin. Was she here to kick me out? Humiliate me?

  “Luke would like to meet you. If you’ll come with me.” She gestured toward the door.

  I looked at my mother again, but she waved her hand in a casual dismissal. My stomach twisted into knots as I followed Amy, who set a quick pace through the dining room, the clicking of her heels drowned out by the party crowd. We stopped at a door leading to a private pool deck separated from the public area by a billowing white curtain. Two stereotypical security men stood at the door to the deck, but they let Amy and me pass with a nod.

  Twinkle lights hung from the ten-foot ceiling, making the curtains glow. The sun had set, but the gas heater burning behind him diminished the chill of the night air. Luke sat on a stool at a high-top table in the back corner, surrounded by a group of people, including several women who seemed to be hanging on his every word. I could see why he was out here, despite the fact that he’d missed the majority of his own party. It was quieter and less chaotic than it was inside. Besides, it was a power move for a country star to miss his own ten-thousand-dollar party.

  “Luke,” Amy said, walking right up to him and interrupting the group. “This is the woman I told you about.”

  His eyes lit up as he turned his attention to me. “Luke Powell, pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “Amy says you’re Magnolia. Magnolia what?”

  I straightened my shoulders and shook his hand. “Magnolia Steele.”

  A knowing grin spread across his face. “You don’t say.”

  I offered my best I don’t give a shit what you think about me smile.

  One of his cohorts laughed and leaned closer. “You’ve got a nice rack. Why are you hiding it behind that schoolgirl shirt? We’ve all seen the videos.”

  I turned a steely gaze on him.

  Luke backhanded him in the chest. “Magnolia’s a guest, Rocky.” He cocked his head. “Is Magnolia your real name or your stage name?”

  “You mean stripper name,” another guy said with a smirk.

  “Hey, Steele! I think she was in that Grey movie,” a bearded guy added.

  This was an incredibly bad idea.

  I shook my head in disgust. “The character’s name was Steele, you imbecile.” If I had a dollar for every Anastasia Steele joke that had been pointed at me since the book catapulted into popularity, I would be a very rich woman. And I wouldn’t be back in Franklin, Tennessee. I’d own a private island somewhere.

  But unfortunately I was stuck here.

  “If that’s all you need . . .” I said in an icy tone, turning on the balls of my feet to head back inside.

  But Luke was up in an instant, blocking my escape, and I found myself looking up into the hazel eyes of country music’s favorite poster boy. Up close and personal like this, I could see why women dropped at his feet. He was stunning. But I’d met plenty of pretty boys in New York. I was immune to their charm, even when they had massive bank accounts and flew around in private jets.

  “I realize I’m in your home, Mr. Powell, but I’m here as a temporary member of the staff for Southern Belles Catering. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Amy told me you saved my party.”

  I gave him my best haughty gaze. “Had I known how ill-mannered you and your friends were, I would have kept my mouth shut.”

  To my surprise, he burst out laughing.

  I tried to walk around him, but he stepped in the same direction, holding up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  His friends continued to snicker behind him, but one glance from him shut them right up.

  “Look, Magnolia—do people call you that?”

  I cocked my head and gave him a tight smile. “My friends call me Maggie, but you can keep on calling me Magnolia.”

  He broke into laugher again, but it didn’t stop him from blocking my next attempt to bypass him. “I like you, Magnolia.”

  “Which is why you’re holding me hostage?”

  “What?” he asked in genuine surprise. “No. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

  “You mean ridicule me.”

  “No! You just caught me by surprise is all. I had no idea I had a celebrity working as kitchen staff. What are you doing back there anyway?”

  I sure as hell wasn’t about to spill my family connection. “Is there a point to this, Mr. Powell?”

  “It’s Luke. I asked to see you because I wanted to know if you were a publicist, but now I’m not sure what to make of you.”

  “Then I’ll get back to the kitchen so you can figure it out.”

  “You’re researching a part, aren’t you? Are you one of those method actors?”

  I crossed my arms and stared at him, deciding to wait him out.

  He grinned and leaned closer. “I get it. It’s a hush-hush part. You signed an NDA.”

  “Mr. Powell . . .”

  “I told you, it’s Luke. And you might not be a publicist, but you have good instincts. I’d still like to get your opinion about something.” He paused. “Besides, I suspect you could use some good publicity of your own. Maybe we could be seen together in public. That could help your . . . situation.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  He was probably on to something. If I were seen in public with someone as high-profile as Luke Powell, it would take away some of the sting of my debacle. “I’m listening.”

  “Tim McGraw is having a big party next week. Come with me. The press will see you and take photos. I’ll have my people call in an insider tip to TMZ.”

  I heard gasps and cries of dismay from his groupies behind me. One of them had obviously hoped to go with him.

  It was tempting. But considering the way I’d left, I didn’t want to seek attention here in Franklin, and being seen with Luke Powell was not the best recipe for blending in. On the other hand, if I managed to get some good publicity, I could possibly get another job on Broadway.

  Luke misinterpreted my hesitation. “Let me wrap things up with my friends. We can discuss this in my study.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that gullible. I’m not some teenager fresh off the bus from Nowhere, Texas.” But that wasn’t entirely true. I’d let Griff Templeton make a fool out of me many times over. I just wasn’t that gullible anymore.

  My answer amused him. “Calm down, Maggie. If I wanted to see you half naked, all I’d have to do was go on YouTube. I’ll meet you in my study in fifteen minutes. Second floor.
Left wing. Fifth door on the right. Tell the security guard ‘Dauphin Island.’ He’ll let you pass.”

  “‘Dauphin Island’? As in the song from your Freefall album?”

  “You know my music.” He grinned. “Fits the theme, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah . . .” I was truly unaffected by this guy. He was just a good-looking bastard who could carry a tune and had the backing and money of a country label. A freaking trained monkey could do it. But he thought I was playing hard to get. Great. “Am I free to go now?”

  He winked. “See you in fifteen minutes, Maggie.” Then he stepped aside and let me pass.

  His buddies laughed uproariously when he returned to the table, and as I stalked back to the kitchen, all I could think about was how crazy it would be to actually show up in his study. So why was I considering it?

  Momma just sniffed and gave me a dirty look when I got back to the kitchen, so I kept what had happened to myself. After ten minutes and an epic internal battle—in which my dignity lost by a landslide—I strode out of the kitchen with my head held high. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you goin’?”

  I didn’t answer, but she was already barking orders to a server.

  I headed for the stairs and climbed the staircase, my feet feeling like I was snowshoeing in cast iron skillets. When I got to the top, I caught a glimpse of Colt from the corner of my eye. He had a line of women waiting for drinks, but he waved me over. Since I was beginning to have second thoughts about the meeting, I decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing to stall for a minute.

  “What are you doing up here, Maggie Mae?” he asked with a wink. “Couldn’t stay away from me?”

  His nickname caught me by surprise. “Nobody calls me Maggie Mae. Not anymore.”

  Not since my father left.

  He looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment. “Don’t tell me your middle name really is Mae.” When I didn’t answer, a cocky grin lit up his face. “Well, that’s a lucky coincidence. Good guess on my part.” He shook his metal tumbler, then poured its contents into a glass and handed it to a younger woman. Leaning toward her, he crooned, “That’s my own special secret recipe, darlin’. I made it just for you.”