She snorted a laugh. “Even if he were interested—which he’s not—I can’t date our biggest client, Kim.”
“So what? You’re not his day-to-day.” Her bestie had an answer for everything. It was true that Sebastien and Vegas managed his daily activities while Cheryl, his publicist, handled his press.
“Still, it’s not professional.” She reasoned her way out of it.
“You can always quit.” Kim held her hands in prayer. “But please take me with you. He’s sending me back out with the Westgrays, I know it.” She crossed her ankles underneath the chair. “I keep getting mistaken for one of their girlfriends. Like I’d date them and their gross diseases. No thank you.”
“Allie’s trying her best to get you on another tour.” Tyler pursed her lips, then plumped them. “As for Cary, I can’t go through that again.”Her ex-boyfriend had ruined her faith in men, probably forever and then some. “Not after Dave.”
“If I see him, I’ll kill him,” Kim said in a serious tone. “It’s bad enough you bankrolled him, but cheating on you? Dude, fuck him and his stupid band.”
She was right, his band was stupid.
Tyler shook her head at the memory of their one-sided relationship. “He always had money for weed and booze—funny how that works. He actually said I’d be paying the same rent whether he lived there or not. And I never invited him to move in. He just showed up one day with a duffel bag and never left.” She gave her head the shake it deserved. “Duffel Bag Dave.”
“Fuck Duffel Bag Dave.” Kim shifted in her seat. “Have youeverhad a nice boyfriend?”
“Born losers, every single one of them.” She stared into space. “You know, he didn’t even say ‘bless you’ when I sneezed.”
“Monster!”
“He was super lazy in bed, too.”
“Imagine if, like, women had to orgasm to get pregnant.”
“Humans would’ve gone extinct ages ago,” Tyler deadpanned. “He couldn’t even get it up half the time—too drunk to function.”
Kim wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Whiskey dick. Nature’s cruelest joke.”
“Exactly. So what’s going on with you? Let’s get you on Tinder or something.”
“Dude, I can’t date acivilian.” Kim threw her hands in the air. “Normal guys freak the fuck out when I tell them what I do for a living.”
“What? Like you’re giving BJs on the back of the tour bus? I’m not surprised, though. The guys are either jealous of the bands or way too eager to hang out with them.”
Kim laughed. “Yeah. I know, right? I deserve hazard pay as it is.”
Tyler’s door flew open.
“Didn’t you fucking hear me?” Sebastien shouted while Rory darted under the desk.
“How may I help you?” Tyler asked calmly, trying to de-escalate whatever situation had put him in a bad mood—or a worse mood than usual.
Sebastien frowned. “Vegas broke his leg. On show day.”
“Oh no! Is he okay?”
“Okay? Who the fuck cares if he’s okay? I don’t have a tour manager, Tyler. Do I have to remind you that Cary’s on the road until next summer?”
She did not need reminding.
“How long is he out for?” Tyler asked, her voice concerned.
“Six to eight weeks,” Sebastien answered, calming down but not enough to make a difference to his demeanor.
Tyler raised her brow at Kim, hoping it would interest her, and she nodded.
“Kim can do it,” she suggested.
