“Well, it happens every month, Tyler. Although right now, I don’t miss having it.”
“I’d never had it before.”
“You’re kidding? Even with Dave?”
“He wouldn’t touch me that week,” she said. “It was like I was hexed.”
“Fucking Dave.” Dylan breathed heavily. “I never liked him.”
“That makes two of us, three counting Dad.”
Later that afternoon Tyler’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Cary.
Here. Club Level. Where are you? xo
She replied,Room 909. Come :)
After Cary agreed to accept the award, she told Lara to reserve a block of rooms on the same floor for the SDM team. But Sebastien insisted on staying next door to his number-one client—without paying for a suite. Not that he needed to. The hotel upgraded him the moment he dropped Cary’s name, which he did often to score perks.
Moments later, Tyler opened her door and peeked out, scanning both ways as if she were crossing the street. The music industry thrived on gossip, and no one could know about her and Cary before Sunday’s awards show. Sebastien still had the power to shut down her band, and she couldn’t let that happen. Millions would see Yestown’s TV debut—no matter what it took.
“Hi, babe.” Cary planted a kiss on her cheek. “God, you look beautiful.”
“Shh!” she cautioned, closing the door after him. “We’ve got to be careful.”
“It’s nuts we aren’t sharing a room,” he said. “We’re sneaking around like criminals.”
“Smooth criminals.” Michael Jackson’s song was one of her favorite dance jams and she didn’t care who knew it. She had no problem separating an artist from whatever bad things they allegedly did. It wasn’t her job to judge them. “It’s just until Sunday, I promise.” She kissed him quickly. “After your rehearsal I thought we’d grab dinner with Kim and Vegas before the show.”
“I’d rather stay here and grab you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Are you trying to babysit me?”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Maybe a little. Sorry. You don’t have to come.”
“Like hell.” He straightened his arms and looked at her. “You’ve only been raving about the Oh Claires for how many months?”
“I know! I had to pull some strings to get them on the showcase.” She popped off his beanie and tousled his hair. “I even played the chick card.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” he said. “I’d imagine being a girl band is a hard sell around here.”
She gave him a flirtatious smile and edged her fingers down his zipper. “I don’t mind that it’s hard. I prefer it.”
“How much time do we have?”
Tyler had scheduled his awards show rehearsal for five p.m.—the exact same time as the dullest event of the year: the President’s Reception. Her plan was flawless. No Sebastien, no distractions—just the two of them. Sebastien loved schmoozing with music execs more than life itself.
“Two hours,” she told him, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Plenty of time for what I have in mind.”
He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “I’m afraid we’re not on the same page.”
She dropped onto the edge of the bed, her heart giving a little skip. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
He stepped closer, voice low. “A hundred years wouldn’t be enough time for what I have in mind.”
She glanced at her watch, pulse quickening. “Then you’d better get started.”
Kim and Vegas skipped the showcase to catch up on sleep, and Tyler couldn’t blame them. They’d been running on fumes for weeks, with barely a break—aside from that one lazy day in Austin, which already felt like a lifetime ago.
Tyler and Cary arrived at the venue with their all-access passes in hand, flashing them at the bouncer to bypass the line. A few people gave Cary a second glance on the way in, but with his beanie pulled low and dark-rimmed glasses in place, no one bothered him.
