“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she teased, resting her hands on her hips. “I bet you have thisexactdress in your closet.”
Cary laughed and hugged her. She was wearing kitten heels so she was slightly taller than him, a perfect height for hugging, and she inhaled him like a drug.
“Sorry about the meet and greet,” she whispered into his ear.
“Thanks for telling me.” His breath on her neck was warm, giving her tingles.
Fresh from a spray tan, Tommy flashed his used car salesman smile. He wore his hair slicked back like a greaser from the fifties and stunk up the hall with cheap cologne, masking the smell of cigarettes on his person.
Twenty years ago Sebastien dumped an unknown artist into his lap, and a year later, Cary’s debut record went number one worldwide. Tommy had won the booking agent lottery.Lucky fucker.
“Save some for me,” Tommy said, cutting into their hug. He squeezed Tyler like a creepy uncle unrelated to the family.
“Tommy!” She pushed him away with one hand. “Get lost.”
“Hey!” He yanked on his sleeves. “Watch the threads, will ya?”
Tommy wore a suit every day as if he had a permanent court date. “Can you believe this dude?” He latched his arm around Cary’s shoulder. “Twenty years later andthisfucking guy is still selling out arenas. Arenas. Tyler. Let me tellyou—”
“You can tell her later.” Cary saved her—and himself—from listening to an epic tale to nowhere. Tommy Napolitano was no raconteur, although he wore many shades of black.
“Ready?” Vegas asked Cary with his hand on the green room door.
“Ready.” Cary nodded, and they walked into the room full of cheers and applause.
Sebastien and Tommy stayed in the hall, loitering like teenagers outside a convenience store.
“We’re heading up to the fucking suite,” Tommy said, running his tongue along his upper teeth. “And you’re coming, Tyler.”
“I’m leaving soon,” she said. “It’s my family’s benefit concert.”
“How’s Bert?” Sebastien asked insincerely.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself? You’re more than welcome to come by after the show.”
Of course she was fucking with him. He wasn’t welcome at all.
He snorted. “Tell him I said hello.”
“Will do,” she lied. As if she was going to tell her dad anything coming from that idiot’s pie hole.
“The afterparty’s going to be a fucking rager,” Tommy added. “I’ll finish my story.”
Hard fucking pass, Tommy.
She waited until Sebastien and Tommy entered the elevator before heading to the dressing room. She had to leave at seven-thirty and not a second later.
As Tyler turned, she spotted an older man and woman approaching. How had they slipped past security unnoticed?
“Hi, we’re looking for Cary Kingston,” the woman said, tugging on the lanyard around her neck.
Tyler examined the couple, squinting as if it would help her to place them.
“We’re his parents,” the gray-haired man said.
“Of course! Mr. and Mrs. Kingston.” She rushed to shake their hands, going overboard to impress them. “I’m Tyler. I work at SDM.”
“Please, call us John and Pamela,” he said. “Mr. Kingston was my father.”
