She’d also spent countless hours planning, merchandising, and monetizing his music. It was like interning all over again, except this time, there wasn’t even a chance of a promotion.
Five years with Dave, and nothing to show for it—not even a baby. Growing up without a mother had only accelerated her timeline.
In the meantime, Rory was perfect company. He was loyal—unlike Dave—and she always knew his location.
“Hey, there.” Kim tapped on her office door and Rory ran in circles before greeting her with tail wags and kisses.
“Have a seat.” Tyler gestured for her bestie to come in. “How was the tour?”
“Dude, it fucking sucked.” Kim pulled on the roots of her faded pink hair. “They’re the worst band I’ve ever worked with.” She slumped into a plastic chair in front of the desk and crossed her legs like a yogi. “Little shits. They were late for everything, refused soundchecks . . . and fought at press appearances.” She locked eyes with her friend. “Literally with fists.”
“I know. You told me.” Tyler leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “The shows were good, weren’t they?”
“Yeah.” Kim paused for a second. “They were great. I can’t believe they sold out of merch.”
“Tell me about it. Sebastien had a conniption when we ran out of T-shirts.” She tapped her pen against the desk. “Sorry, I know they’re a headache, but the Westgrays are the only band we have on tour right now. Well, other than Cary’s.”
“You thanked him for me, right?”
Tyler nodded.
“Those cymbal guys pretty much saved Josh’s life.” Kim massaged the back of her neck, then cracked it. “I swear I was going to kill him. Pleadself-defense.” She stared at Tyler and bit her bottom lip. “Why were you with him?”
“Who?”
“Cary.”
Shit.
“I was going to tell you—”
Kim pushed herself upright. “So tell me.”
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing.” She hung her head before lifting her gaze, then blurted out, “He kissed me.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“I-I mean, it was a peck.” Tyler rolled a pen between her fingers. “We went for a drink. That’s it.”
“Yeah, I know what a drink means.” Kim shrugged and gave her a shit-eating grin. “Go for it!”
“I can’t go for that.” She dropped her pen on the desk like it was toxic. “The most eligible bachelor in the free world, Kim? Are youinsane?” She shuddered at the thought of strangers tracking her every move.
“I thought you were obsessed with him?” Kim asked, baffled.
“Were.” Tyler emphasized the word. “I broke my own rule with Dave.” She’d taken a vow to never, under any circumstances, date another musician.
“Too bad there’s only one half-decent guy in the industry who isn’t a jagoff.”
“George,” they said simultaneously, then had a laughing fit.
A ding chimed from Tyler’s computer, so she clicked her mouse. “It looks like Tommy has an offer for the Westgrays to play at some festival for no money.”
Tommy Napolitano was Cary’s agent, too—the one responsible for booking his live gigs. He and Sebastien were thick as thieves, which explained a lot. Tommy was an asshole.
“Fucking Tommy.” Kim’s voice became hostile. “Why did Allie pass on them? She’s the best agent for new bands.”
“She met them.” No further explanation was necessary.
