Online dating was simply out of the question.
Last year, while standing in line at a coffee shop, Tyler had watched in amazement as a guy who was barely a five swiped left on girls who were tens.
Ifthatwas the standard, what hope did any woman have unless she came with a ring light and professional retouching?
Tyler grinned. “I know you haven’t had a date this year.”
Kim covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “True, but I don’t want a baby—or a husband.”
“You’re young. There’s lots of time.”
“Try telling that to my mother.”
Mrs. Tanaka didn’t approve of her daughter’s line of work or her pink hair. Kim often joked about being the child of hardworking immigrants. Her parents had expected her to be married with children by now, not telling bands what time they had to meet in the hotel lobby.
Tyler tapped her lips. “You know, I’m thinking about having a kid on my own.”
“Like, with a sperm donor or sex with a stranger?”
“Shh!” She held her index finger to her lips and whispered, “I’m thinking about freezing my eggs, but it’s ten grand.”
“Fuck it.” Kim shrugged one shoulder. “Just go to the Roxy.”
“Hard pass.” Tyler gave Rory a boop on his nose. “Even the bartenders are musicians there. No fucking thanks.”
The Roxy Cabaret was famous for last-call hookups and morning regrets. It was no secret that hockey teams and touring artists always made a stop there.
“Oh—shit! I forgot to tell you,” Tyler said suddenly. “My indie band landed that opening slot.”
“I heard! Those guys are all over Insta. I love that name— Yestown.” Kim tapped Josh’s passport against the truck’s windowsill. “Any last words of wisdom for theseknuckleheads?”
Tyler shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of time.” She sat up straighter, gripping the steering wheel like she was bracing for a whiteout. “Tell Josh not to ask me for favors—he’s on my shit list.”
Kim stepped back from the curb. “I’ll tell him to send you flowers.”
“He shouldn’t waste his money. I saw his house.” Tyler honked twice. Rory stirred in the passenger seat, ears flapping. “Have a safe trip. Text when you land.”
Her babysitting job was a permanent position . . . just without benefits.
Driving home from the airport Tyler sucked in a breath of air.
Shit. The invoices.
The office had been chaos all week, and somehow, they’d slipped off her radar. With month-end looming, she needed to cross them off her to-do list before morning.
“A quick detour, then home,” she told Rory, scratching him behind the ears. “Who wants to go to the office?”
Rory wagged his tail. He was always down for an adventure.
The Sebastien Dumas Management office was located in the sketchiest part of town. Last month several random stabbings had taken place in the Downtown Eastside, putting everyone’s safety in jeopardy.
Tyler parked in the office’s secured garage and climbed two flights of stairs. She unclenched the keys from between her knuckles and unlocked the door, punching in the alarm code 2-1-1-2.
Inside, Rory sniffed around in search of his colleagues but the office was as empty as Rogers Arena during the playoffs.
Tyler needed a coffee fix so she dropped off her shit in her office. It would take a cup the size of her head to get her brain working properly.
“Come on, buddy,” she called over her shoulder as Rory’s collar jingled behind her.
