By now I had convinced myself that my indiscretion with Cole Kane was a moment of foolishness that I would not repeat.
I looked at my phone and saw it was past noon. With a guilty conscience, I remembered my father sat alone in the hospital. I should check on him, and I called Anson to bring the car around. In the ten minutes it would take for Anson to bring the limo to the front, I called the project head, Susan Carter, a woman just a little older than myself who was way-too-smart for anyone’s good. If I weren’t the boss’s daughter, I’d worry aboutmyjob.
“I’m on my way to see my father.”
“Of course, Jacine. He should come first. Tell him we are all thinking about him."
“I will. What venue did we book?”
“We got the Hollywood Bowl,” she said enthusiastically.
“Really?” It’s hard to impress me but as I calculated the bonus she should get for such a brilliant move. The Bowl was booked a year in advance, at least. “But how did we score that?”
“We may have promised them half the profit of the gig.”
I restrained a groan, but then we weren’t in it for the money anyway. Well, not the concert money. Our percentage of the entire deal would be big enough. I ran the number in my head.
“Tell me you promised them net, not gross.”
“Yes, Jacine. Net. All the way.”
“Good.” Then we wouldn’t get suckered into paying the costs while the Bowl sopped up the greater part of the profits. “And how did we get so lucky?”
“They had a hole in their slot because a band’s singer had to go to rehab.”
“Wait. When is this miracle date?”
“Three weeks from today.”
I gnashed my teeth into my lip. That was an impossibly tight schedule.
“Don’t worry,” said Susan. “I have the team working double time. Mock promo materials are hitting the printers as we speak for your approval.”
“Okay, send me the images on my phone, and I’ll look at them.”
“You got it.”
“And the talk shows?”
“That’s the best part. Because of everything that happened last night they can’t wait to get the boys on. I’ve got a slot onThe Nyberg Showfor tomorrow night. They want all three of them, though.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried calling but Nadine wouldn’t let me through. So I sent an email.”
“Okay,” I said. My mind spun into gear with my best pitches to get the Terrible Trio to man up and cooperate. “I’ll get them there. What time is taping?”
“4 PM and they want them there at two for make-up.”
“Got it.”
As I slung my bag over my shoulder, I walked into the outer office. A beautiful vase of white roses sitting on the corner of Nadine’s desk caught my eye.
“Secret admirer?” I said.
“They aren’t mine. They are yours.”
“What?”
