For Daddy’s Eyes Only

Raelynn - Nashville, TN

SYNOPSIS

Shortly after a messy break up with her boyfriend, justin, 21yrs old country singer, Raelynn, falls in love with Brad Kingston, her mother's billionaire boyfriend/music label mogul. What started as one drunken night of s****l intimacy, leads to rounds after rounds of forbidden passion.

***

Raelynn felt like a failure that very day, it was worse because she could not explain how she was feeling in that moment because her boyfriend, Justin, had broken up with her earlier that day and the album she released about a week ago was a flop.

Tears welled up in her eyes as the neon lights of Broadway Avenue glinted through the rain-slicked windshield like stars on the pavement.

She could still hear Justin’s voice telling her, Someone will love you, I hope you find that person as certainly that person isn’t me.

“Mother fucker! Damn it!” she yelled under her breath with tears trickling down her eyes.

Coming back to Nashville seemed like the perfect remedy to her pain.

Nashville breathed music with every heartbeat, a city where dreams were either broken or born. And tonight, Raelynn Grace felt like hers were hanging on by a thread.

She sat curled in the passenger seat of her old pickup, guitar case beside her, fingers frozen on the wheel. Across the street, behind the smudged window of Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, another blonde crooned her way through an overdone rendition of a Dolly Parton classic. Raelynn closed her eyes. She could do better. She knew she could.

But it didn’t seem to matter these days. Nashville was overflowing with pretty girls in boots and tight jeans who could carry a tune. Even the ones without half her vocal range had connections, charm, something she didn’t. She had grit. Raw emotion. Talent, maybe. But not the edge. Not the leverage, maybe that’s why Justin left her she thought.

She was not like the other girls.

She was the daughter of Savannah Grace, a country music legend in her time. And the late Mitchell Grace—songwriter, guitarist, and the love of Savannah’s life. Or so Raelynn had thought.

Until Brad Kingston came into the picture.

Raelynn shoved open the door and jogged across the slick road, boots splashing in puddles. She wasn’t dressed for the rain—frayed jeans, a rust-colored suede jacket, and that turquoise pendant her dad gave her when she turned sixteen. It felt like a charm now. A lucky piece she wore into every gig, even the unpaid ones.

Back in the tiny one-bedroom apartment she shared with her best friend, she peeled off the damp jacket and tossed her boots by the heater. The walls were thin, the bed sagged in the middle, and the place constantly smelled like microwave popcorn. But it was hers. Away from the mansion her mother still lived in. Away from Brad.

She poured a glass of boxed wine and sat at the small keyboard by the window. Her fingers hovered over the keys.

"If love had a name, it sure wasn't yours," she sang under her breath, voice low and rough from the night air. "You wore it like whiskey, sweet on the pour."

She sighed. Another heartbreak ballad. She was becoming a cliche of herself.

The call came in just after midnight.

"Raelynn, baby," her mother’s voice crooned. "We need to talk."

Savannah Grace had the kind of voice that could soothe a tornado. Honeyed, deliberate, with a warmth that wrapped around your shoulders like a shawl. It was the voice Raelynn grew up hearing on records, and now, the one she resented more and more with each passing week.

"About what?"

"Brad wants to meet you. Officially."

Raelynn rolled her eyes. "Why? He already made himself at home, didn’t he? I’m surprised he hasn’t moved into Dad’s closet yet."

A pause.

"Don’t do that," Savannah said quietly.

"Do what? Point out the fact that it's been less than a year since Dad died and you're already playing house with a man who doesn't know the first thing about you?"

"He's good for me, Rae. And he's not just some man. He's Brad Kingston."

"Exactly. A music mogul. Rich. Powerful. The guy who signs talent and drops them just as fast."

"And he thinks you have something special."

That stopped her.

"What?"

"Brad’s heard your demos. He likes your voice. Wants to meet you. Maybe even work with you."

Raelynn paced the living room, wine glass in hand. It sounded too neat. Too good to be true, as much as she detested him, a compliment of that kind from Brad was a lot. "So now I have to play nice with your boyfriend so I can get a record deal? That’s how it works now?"

"I didn’t say that. Don’t twist my words."

"You twisted Dad’s memory the minute you brought that man home."

Silence reigned for the couple of seconds that followed.

Savannah’s breath wavered. "You think this has been easy for me? Your father was my everything. But he's gone. And Brad... Brad makes me feel something again."

Raelynn’s throat tightened. She sat down hard on the couch.

"You think I don’t miss him? Every day, Mom. Every damn day."

"I know you do, baby. But we can’t live in mourning forever. You’re twenty-one. Your whole life is ahead of you. You want to make it in this industry? Then stop seeing Brad as a threat. He could be the key."

Raelynn hated that she wasn’t entirely wrong. Brad Kingston was the reason half the radio sounded the way it did. He had a golden touch. Artists he backed turned to platinum. But working with him would mean playing along. Pretending she didn't see him every time she walked into her childhood home, arms around her mother.

The other day she had heard them having s*x and she felt like ripping through the door and whacking them with the base of her guitar.

She wiped her eyes.

"Fine. I’ll meet him. But not because I like him. And definitely not because I forgive you."

Savannah exhaled. "Tomorrow. 6 PM. At the studio."

***

The studio was everything Raelynn expected. Sleek, modern, sterile. The air smelled like wood polish and the ambition of a forty years old man that had been in the music industries for over two decades. Gold records lined the halls, and a wall of glass separated the control booth from the recording room.

Brad Kingston stood at the console, macho, tall and buffy, silver streaking through his black hair like frost. He wore a tailored navy jacket over a black tee, designer boots, and that trademark cool detachment she’d seen a hundred times in interviews.

He turned when she entered. Those piercing steel-blue eyes fixed on her.

"Raelynn."

His voice was deeper than she'd imagined. Gravelly. World-worn. The kind of voice that made people listen.

It made her feel something she could not place her mind.

She extended a hand. "Mr. Kingston."

He smiled. "Brad, please. We’re practically family now."

The words made her jaw tighten.

He gestured toward the console. "Your mother talks about you all the time. Says you’ve got your father’s gift."

"He was more than just gifted."

Brad inclined his head. "He was a legend. I respected his work."

It almost sounded sincere.

She sat. Brad hit a few buttons and her voice filled the room—one of the demos she’d recorded at home. A stripped-down version of a ballad she wrote after her last breakup, raw and rough, but honest.

"You wrote this?"

"Yeah."

He let the track play to the end. Raelynn watched his expression. She summed up it was a bad idea coming to that studio because she felt judged. His facial expression sounded very controlled. Analytical, like he was judging her work. She couldn't tell if he liked it or hated it. And she hated that she couldn’t tell.

When the music stopped, he turned to her.

"You’ve got something. Real pain. Real tone. Needs polishing, but... you’re the kind of voice that could sell heartbreak."

She blinked. Was he being serious?

"That's... good?"

"That’s very good."

She didn’t expect the rush of warmth in her chest. It felt like validation, twisted though it was.

"We should get you in a real session. Tighten up the arrangement. Cut a professional demo."

She nodded slowly.

"Okay."

Brad smiled faintly. "You ever worked with a producer before?"

"No. Just myself."

"Then let’s change that."

He stood and offered his hand again. She hesitated, especially how big his hands looked, in split seconds she imagined all the nasty things he did with her mother the last time she heard them f**k, then it dawned on her that she was doing something nasty and shook her head aggressively to wipe her thoughts before she took his handshake.

His palm was warm. His grip firm. Too long.

Something flickered behind his eyes.

She couldn’t tell what it was.

She pulled her hand back and tried to muster up a smile, albeit tightly. "Thanks. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow."

Brad watched her go, lips parted as if to say something else.

But he didn’t.

And Raelynn walked out, heart hammering, unsure of whether she had just taken a step forward in her career... or crossed into something far more complicated.

She could not stop shaking the shrill sounds of her mothers moans from her head as she walked out of that studio, somewhere deep in her gut, Raelynn knew: nothing would ever be the same again.