“Smart and independent,” Allie said, removing her sunglasses and tousling her shaggy hair. “We do enough babysitting. That’s why the Toronto industry girls are obsessed with—”
“George,” they said in unison.
“I have an idea,” Tyler said.
“Like we aren’t busy enough,” Kim replied.
“That’s just it.” Tyler sat up. “We need help at the office.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?” Allie asked, still thumbing her phone.
“Lara.”
“What the fuck?” Kim rubbed her temples. “Are you joking?”
“I’m serious.” Tyler dropped her head. “I should’ve warned her about Tommy. I feel responsible. I want to mentor her. She could work remotely and stay in Vancouver.”
“We can’t let that slimeball ruin her career,” Allie said, finally putting her phone down.
Kim hesitated. “Fine.”
Allie picked her phone back up. “I know, I know—it’s a sickness.” She slipped her sunglasses back on. “We’ve got a lot of press coming tonight.”
Tyler took off her hat. “I can already hear the comparisons: L7, The Runaways . . .”
“Hole,” Kim added.
“Exactly,” Tyler said. “All-girl bands, even though they sound nothing like them. We should just tell people they’re like Jane’s Addiction meets Foo Fighters.”
“I’m down with that,” Allie said, texting again. “Still bummed about the Foo Fighters drummer.”
“Same,” Kim said. “Taylor Hawkins was the fucking best.”
After dinner at the hotel, the women walked down Hollywood Boulevard toward the Hotel Cafe, theSex and the Citytheme playing in Tyler’s head. They’d done it. KAT Management was official—and they even had business cards with QR codes to prove it.
At exactly seven p.m., and with a full house in attendance, the Oh Claires plugged in their instruments.
“Isn’t that Porter?” Tyler shouted over the music.
Porter Reynolds wasn’t on the guest list, but as president of a global booking agency, he could walk into any venue he wanted.
Allie smirked. “At the Hotel Cafe? I doubt it.”
The Clark Kent lookalike approached with a smile. “Hi, Allie. Tyler.”
“Hi!” Tyler shookhis hand and winked at Allie. “I thought that was you.”
“Porter!” Allie pulled him into a hug until he cleared his throat.
“Oh—sorry.” She stepped back and straightened his tie. Porter wore the same thing every day—black pants, black shirt, black tie—like a uniform. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see the band. Figured you’d be here.”
“Hey, dude!” Kim waved her water bottle, finally clueing in.
“Hi, Kim.” He gave her a half-smile before turning back to Allie. “I’ve been talking to the labels. There’s a lot of interest now that Sebastien’s out of the picture. Americans don’t have time for his nonsense.”
“Nonsense,” Tyler repeated with a laugh, sipping her club soda through a paper straw before it disintegrated. “Are you coming to our Canada Day party?”
