Antone’s? They didn’t have anyone playing there tonight, did they? She checked the schedule of artists and gigs that she updated every week and checked it. Nope, nothing scheduled for Antone’s that she was aware of. Still, Caleb wasn’t known for sending her on wild goose chases… “No, Antone’s is fine,” she told the driver. “Thanks.”
Then she pulled her messages back up again. Still no texts. And no phone calls. What the hell was Caleb up to?
Googling Antone’s website on her phone, she scrolled through their appearances list. There were a couple of good bands on there this month—bands she’d been keeping an eye on—but she’d never heard of the one they had scheduled for tonight. Fly by Night. A quick Google search showed they didn’t even have a website. Weird. There were no reviews online. Nothing.
She started to dig deeper, but then a text message from Caleb finally came in. The dick.
Caleb: Hey, Soda Pop! Thanks for saving my ass
Me: I haven’t saved anything yet :/ What’s going on?
Caleb: This is your shot
Me: Unless you mean tequila, I’m pretty sure I don’t know what you’re talking about
Caleb: Shaken Dirty’s auditioning a new bassist at Antone’s tonight in a pick-up show that nobody knows about
Me: Holy shit! Shaken Dirty????? They’re Fly by Night?
Excitement roared through her, had her hands shaking and her heart pounding out of control. She’d been a fan of Shaken Dirty from the very beginning, had been the one to bring them to Caleb’s attention when the two of them were still in college so that he could convince their dad to sign them (since she knew there was no way their father would take the recommendation from her). When they’d gone big, she’d celebrated with Caleb. And when they’d gone huge, he’d told her father that she’d been the one to pick them out. The one who’d insisted he listen to them.
And her dad had still given all the praise to Caleb. No surprise there.
Of course, when shit had gone bad and the band had nearly imploded a few months ago, he’d been right there ready to point the finger at her…he was great like that. Caleb had tried to stop the witch hunt, but no one talked Bill Germaine into—or out of—anything once his mind was made up. So she hadn’t protested the castigation or the bust in rank that came with it, because the last thing she’d wanted was their father’s shit to land on Caleb. But it had been a bitter pill to swallow—Shaken Dirty was far from the first band to suffer from in-fighting and drug abuse. And it wasn’t like she’d been allowed to have anything to do with them once they were signed, anyway. That had been everyone else’s job but hers.
And now Shaken Dirty was back, ready to play? Two and a half months didn’t seem long enough for them to really get their shit together. Or more precisely, for their drummer to get his shit together.
Me: Wyatt’s out of rehab?!?!
Caleb: Yeah. Got out this morning
And he was playing tonight? God knew things moved fast in this industry, but this was supersonic.
Me: How is he?
Caleb: I don’t know. That’s kind of what today’s about. Gauging that and checking out the new bassist
Me: They found a new bassist? Who is it?
Caleb: They’re auditioning a new bassist. And it’s Li Marcos, from Firestarter
Me: He’s good
Caleb: Yeah…
Me: But not right for them
Caleb: You haven’t even heard how they sound together
Me: Doesn’t matter. His fingerings aren’t good enough to keep up with Ryder. Or even Jared. He’s going to look like an amateur up there
Caleb: Yeah, well. We’ll see
Caleb: Also, this is the start of a three to six-month gig
Me: For Li?
That was a disaster if ever she’d heard one.
Caleb: No. For you
Caleb: On top of my regular duties, Dad’s put me in charge of babysitting Wyatt for the next few months, making sure he stays out of trouble. My chance to prove I can handle the talent, he says. But since we both know I can’t… I’ll take over whatever duties of yours I can for a while and you take over Shaken Dirty
At her brother’s words, Poppy’s heart went from pounding too hard to nearly exploding. This was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted. A chance to work with the talent. To use the power of the record label to help them get everything they wanted while proving to the label—to her father—that intense cooperation with the artists could be profitable for everyone. But still…
Me: You want me to babysit Wyatt Jennings?!?! Dad will flip
Caleb: Not if he understands it’s the only way. Wyatt knows me and I guarantee he’ll figure out I’m a babysitter from the word go. And trust me, that’ll just mess him up more
Me: So tell him you’re there for something else. He doesn’t have to know you’re babysitting him
Caleb: He’s an addict, not an idiot. He’ll see right through it. But Dad keeps you away from the top-shelf talent. He doesn’t know you
Me: Meaning what? You want me to lie to him about who I am?
Caleb: That’s exactly what I want you to do. It’s the only way this will work. I don’t want him to think we as a label don’t have any faith in him, which is why I’ve set up a whole identity for you as their new social media consultant. You’ll be documenting Shaken Dirty’s journey from broken band to their first ever stadium tour, which kicks off at ACL in October. You’ll be with them at least until November. You can thank me later
Me: Thank you?!?! I can’t be away from the office until November
Caleb: Sure you can. I’ve got it handled
Me: Again, Dad will freak
Caleb: Let me handle Dad. This is the perfect shot for you to do what you’ve always wanted to do and to prove yourself to Dad. You need to take it. It’s a win-win
He was right; she knew he was right. If she walked away from this right now, she’d never get another chance. Not with the way Dad was riding Caleb to take more responsibility. And not with the way he was trying so hard to railroad her from marketing over to the accounting side of the business, as far from the artists as she could get.
But still, her mind was reeling. She had so much to do, so many things she was responsible for. Was she really supposed to just hang out in Austin for months on end? And if she actually agreed to do this, how the hell was she supposed to keep one of rock’s baddest boys on the straight and narrow? Wyatt was known as a lot of things—smart, charismatic, sexy as hell. But a rule follower? Definitely not in any description of him she’d ever read.
Not to mention that she couldn’t even tell him why she was there—the last thing they needed was for him or the other band members to think that the label didn’t trust him. They needed to keep the talent happy, not send them into a towering rage. She didn’t know if she could pull it off—she was a terrible liar. She couldn’t even tell a white lie without freaking out and looking totally guilty. And now she was supposed to lie to Wyatt for months? The guy was talented and brilliant and if his lyrics were anything to go by, really freaking observant. There was no way she could do this. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t—
Her phone buzzed again, multiple times in quick succession. Caleb must have figured he’d given her enough time to freak out and was now ready to reel her back in. That was how their relationship worked—she was the one with the big ideas. He was the coolly pragmatic one who made sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed.
She swiped back to her messages and sure enough, his first text treated the whole situation like it was a done deal.
Caleb: I’ve got the Monarch condo downtown all set up for you
Caleb: I had it stocked with food, and you can pick up the keys at the front desk
Caleb: There’s already a rental car in the parking spot
Caleb: Keys for the car should also be at the front desk. You’ve got the limo for the rest of the night, so have the driver hold on to your stuff while you’re
at Antone’s
Me: Is there anything you didn’t think of?
Caleb: Nope :)
Caleb: You can do this, sis
Me: Are you sure? It’s Wyatt Jennings!!!!!!!
Wyatt Jennings. She’d had a million fantasies about him through the years, had spent more time than she cared to admit thinking about how his talented hands would feel sliding over her skin. And now she was supposed to babysit him? For months? It boggled the mind.
Caleb: I wouldn’t have arranged this if I wasn’t sure
Caleb: This is the chance for you to show Dad that you can totally handle the most badass of rockers. Don’t second-guess yourself. Just do it
Me: Really? You’re quoting Nike to me at a time like this???????
Caleb: I was going for supportive
Caleb: But seriously, don’t fuck up. You won’t get a chance this good again
And there went the excitement, sliding straight into terror. Her stomach started churning.
Me: I think I’d rather go back to Nike. Thanks for the vote of confidence. And the added pressure
Caleb: You live for pressure xx
The kicker was, he was right…to a degree. In normal circumstances she loved the adrenaline rush of solving high-difficulty problems in high-pressure situations. Loved the creativity that came when her back was against the wall and she was staring down the barrel of a crazy deadline or a crazier mess. But this…this was different. This wasn’t pressure. This was a nightmare. A lie. A disaster waiting to happen. And thanks to Caleb, she was now right in the middle of it.
Part of her wanted to text him back, to tell him to forget it. That he needed to get his ass down here to Austin right the fuck now. But there was another part of her that knew he was right, knew that him being here watching over Wyatt’s shoulder would send the reclusive drummer spinning out of control again. And that was the last thing she wanted to see happen. For the record label…and for Wyatt. He was too talented, had worked too hard to get clean, for her to just let him fall back into the abyss.
And that wasn’t even taking into account what his falling off the wagon again would do to the label. Since Shaken Dirty had had to pull out of the last tour, the tour insurance for this new one was completely insane—Caleb had taken great pains this summer to impress on her just how insane it was—and they sure as hell couldn’t afford to eat the astronomical deductible on it a second time. If Wyatt fucked up again, it would tank Shaken Dirty for sure. And take a huge bite out of her father’s bottom line as well.
Plus, she was pissed. It infuriated her that the subterfuge was necessary. That she and Caleb had to pull a bait and switch like this just to do what was best for the company.
And on that happy thought…
She shoved her phone back in her purse with a groan, then closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat as she accepted the truth. She was going to do this. She was going to throw herself into the ring with Wyatt freaking Jennings and do her best to keep him on his game. She could only pray that it didn’t blow up in her face and ruin everything.
Everything she had planned.
Everything she’d ever wanted.
Everything she’d worked so hard for.
Her whole life she’d never wanted anything more than to run her own record label. She had an eye for talent, had a really good instinct for what the public wanted and who was going to break when. But since her father had made it pretty much impossible for her to get a job at any of the other labels—for her own good, he always said—she’d been stuck working for him since she got out of college four years ago.
Unless she actually pulled this off. Unless she actually managed to keep Wyatt from falling off the wagon and messing everything up again. If she could do that, if she could keep Shaken Dirty together, then everything would be different. Her father wouldn’t be able to doubt her anymore. He wouldn’t be able to pretend her contributions were less valuable just because she was a woman. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to tell her she couldn’t handle rock stars, not if she managed to keep one of the industry’s most notorious addicts from falling prey to his most dangerous addiction once again.
Which meant she was going to have to put her big girl panties on and do this. She was going to have to lie to the band and figure out a way to keep Wyatt occupied and sober and out of trouble. Plus she was going to have to do all this while also spying on the bassist auditions, because there wasn’t a chance that Li was going to measure up to the talent the rest of Shaken Dirty displayed. And since there was no way in hell she was going to let them pick a subpar bassist, she would have to find a way to solve that problem, too.
Yeah, no pressure at all.
For a moment, she considered asking the driver to pull into the nearest convenience store so she could stock up on Cherry Garcia ice cream. If she was going to have to do this, she was going to do it fully fortified on Ben & Jerry’s. Otherwise, she didn’t have a chance of making it through.
But before she could hit the intercom button again, the driver pulled over to the curb. “This is as close as I can get you tonight, ma’am. But if you walk a block up, you can’t miss it on the right.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She grabbed her purse and opened up the car door before the driver could make it around to her side and do it for her.
“Here’s my card,” he told her as he shut the door behind her. “Text me when you leave the club and I’ll meet you here.”
She nodded, shoving the card into the front pocket of her purse. “Thanks.” She smiled at him, hoping her nerves didn’t show. She’d been to this club many times since she’d turned twenty-one, but none of them seemed as important—or as terrifying—as this time.
Refusing to dwell on that fact, or what she was going to do once she got to Antone’s, she gave the driver a little wave and then walked away. As she turned on to Fifth Street, she was giving herself the pep talk of a lifetime.
By the time she got to Antone’s, she was calm, cool, in control. At least until she paid her cover at the door and started making her way into the belly of the club. Then, as the darkness and the noise of a band that was decidedly not Shaken Dirty closed around her, she couldn’t help freaking out.
There was no way she could do this, no way she could play Wyatt like that. She’d screw everything up, get him super pissed at the record label, and then any chance she had of showing her dad she could do this job would go up in smoke.
But did she have a choice? If there was a better, more reasonable option, she was all for it. But since she couldn’t come up with anything—and neither could Caleb or her dad—she was pretty sure she was stuck with this plan. Damn it.
As she made her way through the club, the close, hot air made it hard to breathe. Then again, maybe that was just her panic. Either way, she wasn’t about to have a meltdown in the middle of a show, so she pushed her way through the wall of bodies in front of her and slowly, painstakingly, made her way to the bathrooms. If nothing else, she’d spend a couple of minutes splashing water on her face and definitely not hyperventilating. She could do this. She would do this.
Except when she got there, the bathroom was packed—which overshadowed any good her you-can-do-it mantra had wrought. Bypassing the crowded room, she made her way down the hallway to the door at the end, clearly marked with a red exit sign.
Seconds later she was in a dimly lit alley behind the club, hands braced on her hips as she pulled giant gulps of air into her lungs.
She could do this, she repeated to herself.
She had to do this.
She could totally do this—
“You look like you need this even more than I do.”
The deep, rich voice came out of the dark, had her stifling a scream and whirling around, hand pressed to her heart.
As she turned, she came face to face with a guy leaning back against the brick wall of the club, his face in the shadows and a lit cigarette in the hand he was currently extending
out to her.
She stared at the cigarette dumbly and willed her heart rate back under control. “I don’t smoke.”
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to snatch them back. What the hell was wrong with her? The hottest sounding man she’d ever run across had just offered her a cigarette and she acted like queen of the Goody Two-shoes? Was she insane?
He just laughed, though, and told her, “Smart move, that. Addiction’s a bitch.” Then he lifted the clove cigarette to his mouth for another drag.
She watched, hypnotized, as his full lips closed around it.
Watched, spellbound, while he inhaled the heavily spiced smoke then blew it out again in a series of perfect, concentric rings.
As she watched the rings dissipate in the air around them, she was pretty sure the only thing holding her panties up at this point were the skinny jeans she’d changed into at the airport in L.A. She just wished she could see him better—she desperately wanted to know if the face matched the voice.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked after a second, his voice even darker and more gravelly than it had been just a few seconds before. “Shouldn’t you be in there listening to the opening band? They’re pretty good.”
“They are,” she agreed—because they were and because she was pretty sure he was with them. “I just needed some air.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He laughed again, though this time there was no amusement in the sound. His eyes coasted over her then, lingered on the glow-in-the-dark words scrawled across her T-shirt—and her chest. “Hiding from a broken heart, huh?”
She glanced down at the shirt, too. I Heart Breakups. She’d picked it up when she was in Europe last summer, at the Museum for Broken Relationships in Croatia. She’d gone because she’d been fascinated by the concept of one of Europe’s most innovative museums, had figured she’d see a ton of stories about lovers gone wrong, maybe even pick up some ideas for marketing—or her secret songwriting hobby.
What she’d found instead were stories that broke her heart. Shattered stories of lovers, yes, but also friends, siblings, parents and their children. It was the last that had resonated so deeply with her, that had had her sitting in the museum’s café, drinking tea and eating freshly baked lemon cookies as she tried to regain her equilibrium.