CHAPTER 15
TYLER
The next morning Sebastien yelled from his office, “Tyler! Get in here!”
What now?
She figured that his stapler was empty, the printer was out of ink, or he was having a heart attack, but that didn’t stop her from taking her sweet-ass time to get there.
“What is it?” She gave him a super-fake grin.
He held his phone toward her, his beady eyes squinting. “What the fuck is this?”
“I don’t know. A picture?”
“Why were you with Cary?” His tone was sharp and accusatory.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She grabbed his phone and recognized herself and Cary at the Wine Bar. They were laughing at something, but she didn’t know what. Thank god they weren’t making out in front of his building, or worse. Not that they’d done anything worse. You had to be an idiot to make a sex tape in the age of the internet.
We look cute. No. This is bad.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“One of the interns saw it on social media.”
Fucking interns.
“It’s not a big deal.” She shrugged, handing his phone back. “Cary showed up at the bar and I was already there.”
True story.
Sebastien shaped the bill of his baseball cap into a perfect curve. “I want you to find another producer for the Westgrays. This one’s not working out.”
She sighed. “It’s the third one—”
“And?”
“And they’re way over budget.”
He laughed in her face. “I’ve got it all worked out. The studio owes me a favor, but I want you to invoice the label for the full amount. It’s my discount, not theirs. No free rides, remember?” He groomed his beard like it mattered to his appearance. “While you’re at it, find another TM. They’ll be headlining a tour once this record comes out.”
At this rate, the record was taking longer to finish thanChinese Democracy.
“No one will work with them,” she said. “That’s why Bob Shaw hired Kim in the first place.”
The Westgrays had gone through five TMs in the past year, each one quitting in the middle of a tour, which was simply unheard of.
“Fine,” he grumbled, the red in his face rising like a thermometer. “But the second Vegas gets back, she’s off that tour. I’ll put her back on with the Westgrays. End of discussion.”
Later that evening Tyler’s phone vibrated. It was a text message from Cary.
G’ day mate! How are you going?
It took her a minute to respond. She needed to catch her breath and still her racing heart.
Hi! How was your flight?
