Page 77 of Wilde Secrets

“Yeah,” Logan laughed at her expression. “They both try to get in first to get the song. Neither one of them will sing anything else but this one song.”

“What is it?”

“Jolene.”

Harper’s curiosity was piqued. “So… Why does it matter if someone else sings the song?”

Logan turned to look her full in the face. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She pulled back with a gasp, eyes wide. His lips pressed together, and he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sorry, that was low.”

Harper shook her head. “No, you’re right. Plenty of artists don’t write their own songs.”

So why was it such a big deal to her dad that Isla look like she had written her songs? And what had that to do with Harper performing? It made no sense.

Her dad had a lot of explaining to do.

She could sing. And she wasn’t going to hold herself back any longer.

Harper pushed herself to her feet and walked to the stage as if pulled by a magnet. The sound of the singing and the voices of the patrons drifted away.

She approached the stage where Cassie and Amy had gone to choose their songs. A slim man in his early twenties was seated at a small folding table behind a laptop. He looked like he’d stepped out of an eighties hair metal band. His straight black hair hung past his shoulders, blending in with the black band tee shirt, tattoos the full length of both arms starkly black against his pale beige skin.

“Yeah? What song?” He didn’t look up as he spoke, typing into the laptop and clicking away at the mouse.

A statuesque redhead in a black body con dress walked up the short set of stairs and onto the stage. She plucked the microphone out of the stand and turned to face the crowd. Someone whistled and shouted encouragement and the woman’s cheeks turned pink.

“Do you want to sing or not?”

Harper whipped her head back to the guy behind the laptop. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Do you have ‘I Will Always Love You’?”

He lifted one eyebrow and looked her up and down. “Are you sure?”

All the noises of the room came back in a rush. Harper straightened and stared him down. “Why?”

He coughed and looked to one side. “You know that’s Whitney Houston, right?”

Harper crossed her arms over her chest, but before she could open her mouth Logan was at her side.

“Just let her choose her song, Simon.”

The guy—Simon—looked between Harper and Logan. He shrugged, and turned back to his laptop. “Name?”

“Harper.”

He tapped a few more times on the keyboard and then looked up. “You’re next.”

What, she couldn’t have heard that right. Next? She thought she’d have at least a few minutes to get herself ready. What happened to all the others who had put their names forward?

“What?”

“Didn’t Logan tell you?”

Harper shot a look from Simon to Logan. “Tell me what?”

“Newbies always go straight to the front of the line. Less chance of chickening out that way.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch his smirking face or vomit. Both maybe?

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