Far Too Tempting by Lauren Blakely Read Free Book Online Page B

contribution for the year,” Owen says.
    “Enjoy some nice meals out, maybe find a nice boy to take to dinner,” Jeremy says.
    I snort at that idea.
    “What?” Jeremy asks. “Is that such a crazy idea?”
    I snort twice to prove my point.
    “You can’t mourn him forever, sis,” Owen says.
    “I’m not in mourning. Anyway, this is a lovely gift, Jeremy. And I will be delighted to eat at Manhattan’s finest.”
    “Well, we can’t have our Grammy winner be seen dining at some dive, right?” he says in his teasing voice. Then shifts to a gruff one. “So what’s the story, Black? You made any progress on some new tunes?”
    Gulp.
    Jeremy doesn’t mince words. Not anymore at least. Before the Grammy Awards, he was lighthearted when he’d ask what I was working on. And the fact that he wants another album makes me giddy as all hell, because this is what I’ve wanted my whole life over—to make music. But what if my next album sucks? I love music like it’s air, and I desperately don’t want to be a one-hit wonder.
    “Yeah,” I say, bluffing. “I’ve been toying with some possibilities.”
    He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? What sort of possibilities?”
    “You know. Songs. Lyrics,” I say evasively. God, where the hell is my Muse? Maybe she’s under my bed hiding. Maybe she’s hanging out in Central Park feeding the ducks. I need to go hunt that bitch down.
    With a sharp-eyed stare, Jeremy holds his hands out wide. “Well, can we hear some of these songs and lyrics? Because I’m kinda eager”—he stops to hold up his thumb and index finger to show a sliver of space—“for my first Grammy winner and most successful artist ever, who set an indie record, to make another album.”
    “Soon,” I mutter, fidgeting with the zipper on my purse. I know I’m the luckiest person in the world to have a label that wants me to cut another album, but I’m terrified I won’t live up to all these new expectations. And I’m embarrassed that I’m not meeting them. Sure, I’ve been toying around with some tunes. I’ve written two or three so-so songs, but I’ve been so crazy busy the last few months with Crushed and its tour, not to mention being a mom, that I haven’t had a ton of free time to write. And truth be told, those three songs aren’t really wowing me. They just don’t pack the same punch as the songs on Crushed , and I’m not sure why.
    Jeremy sighs heavily. “Black, you know I love you. But we need to strike while the iron is hot. You have momentum. Your name is out there. We want you to do another album soon .” He pauses to stare hard at me. “Very soon. So maybe now that all this excitement is behind you, you can just put on those songwriting blinders and focus, focus, focus.” He bangs his hand on his desk for emphasis.
    My shoulders tighten. Jeremy has given me an amazing opportunity, and yet, I’m staring at a blank canvas with no idea what to paint. “I will absolutely focus. I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna do another breakup album,” I say, trying to sound jokey, but the truth is I don’t want to revisit those feelings again in song.
    “Go take a stroll around Manhattan, wander through your old ’hood in the East Village where you wrote Crushed , visit an art museum, watch the tide roll in, read a novel, rock out at a club late at night. Whatever it takes to find some brilliant ideas for songs. Maybe even go on a date. Fall in love. There must be inspiration in that,” Jeremy suggests, as if I can simply go out and do it because he deems it a good idea.
    “Yeah!” Owen shouts, like he’s a football coach. “Let’s get you back in the saddle. Nothing like a new man to get the song ideas going.”
    I shoot my brother an annoyed stare. “Seriously? You think it’s that simple?”
    Jeremy stands up, walks over to me, and pats me on the back. He’s trying to return to his friendly papa-bear routine. “Look, we’re just starting to work with this hipster band