Chapter Six #2
a decade, during which time I have seen everyone from her parents to the media to guys she’s dated, even people who have called
themselves her friends, try to exploit her. Her own parents, Poppy.” Rosaline pursed her lips. “I have very low expectations of most people, and for good reason. When I saw that article,
I assumed history was repeating itself. Most of the time the most obvious explanation is the right one. You can’t blame me
for being cautious.”
Caution was one thing, condemnation another. “No, but you can’t blame me every time something goes wrong and then—then stonewall me. You aren’t the only one with a job to do here.”
A crease appeared between her brows. “You’re right. A lot of what I said to you on the phone was reactionary. I was a bitch
to you and for that, there’s no excuse. I should’ve brought my concerns to you in a more . . .” She shook her head, lashes
fluttering as she seemed to struggle to find the right word. “I don’t know. Diplomatic manner. We should be working together,
not against each other. I’m sorry.”
Poppy let her breath out slowly, shoulders falling, the fight draining from her, Rosaline’s words a better balm than she could’ve
imagined. “I—okay.”
Rosaline frowned. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I accept your apology.”
Rosaline looked at her askance, green eyes wary. “Just like that?”
“What? You want me to make you grovel or something?” She offered a tentative smile. “That’s not really my style. Just promise
you won’t do it again and we’re square.”
“Okay.” Her eyes flitted over Poppy’s face, making her warm all over. “I promise.”
Poppy released a breath through her nose and turned back to the field. The Pathfinders won the coin toss and elected to kick.
“Favored by three points, you said? You know the over/under?”
“Forty-seven.” Rosaline joined Poppy in watching the field. “Should be a good game.”
“For Cash’s sake, I’m hoping for a shutout.”
“With the way the Falcons’ offense has been looking so far this year? I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Unfortunately, Rosaline was right, the odds of a shutout were slim to none. “As long as they win, I guess the score doesn’t
really matter.”
Cash had never wanted to win a game as badly as this one. Not even the Super Bowl, he’d said.
Rosaline hummed in agreement as Lamar Reynolds, the Pathfinders’ kicker, sent the ball soaring, the Falcons fielding it in
the end zone for a touchback.
“By the way, I tried, but I couldn’t get Cash out of today’s postgame interviews.” Under the league rules, players were required
to be available to the media after every game and at least once during the practice week. Avoiding the media came with a hefty
price, a $50,000 fine for not abiding by the NFL’s policy. Players diagnosed with concussions were exempt from mandatory media
obligations until cleared per concussion protocol, but that was about it as far as exceptions went. She’d checked, but unless
Cash wanted to fork over a cool fifty grand, he was SOL. He was doing well for himself, but not well enough to throw around
that kind of money. He wasn’t that frivolous either. “But don’t worry; we’ve rehearsed what he should say if he’s asked about
Lyric, and he knows to block and bridge to generate intrigue instead of outright—”
“Poppy.” Rosaline sighed and Poppy could’ve sworn it sounded almost fond. “It’s Sunday. We are at a football game. Do you
really want to talk about work?”
Well, no, but—what else were they going to talk about? The weather?
“Besides,” Rosaline added. “I trust that you’ve properly prepared Curran to handle the media.”
“You do? I mean—” She cleared her throat. “Good. I’m glad. Because I have.”
“Good,” Rosaline echoed, sounding amused. “Now, nix the work talk. Barring a crisis, Lyric has made me promise not to talk about work today under threat of bodily harm, and seeing as how I take my promises seriously . . .”
“Is that why you’re here then?” Poppy asked. “In case of a crisis?”
“If that’s your way of asking if I’m suggesting you couldn’t handle a crisis on your own should one arise, I’m not. I’m here
as Lyric’s friend, not her publicist.”
“She’s your only client, right?”
“Mhmm.”
“How’d that happen?”
Rosaline let out a short laugh. “I’m pretty sure this conversation falls under the purview of work talk, Poppy. In fact, I’m positive it does.”
“It’s work talk adjacent,” she argued. “I’m hardly asking you for your opinion on cultivating media relations or reputation
management. It’s called getting to know each other.”
Poppy loved football as much as the next person who’d attended a Division I college, but there was still only so many stats
she could discuss before running out of things to say.
Rosaline gave another of those fond-sounding sighs.
“I was working at Avalon Records, overseeing publicity for their folk and rock divisions. Our offices were in the same building as a production company that was interested in developing a reality series starring Lyric. Lo and behold, I wandered into the bathroom on my break and stumbled on Lyric sobbing her eyes out because she wasn’t interested in being a reality television star.
She was miserable. Overworked and exhausted and the very definition of burned out, sixteen with three studio albums and a world tour under her belt, ready to retire.
” Rosaline shot her a look. “I didn’t poach Lyric from her previous publicist, no matter what the rumor mill likes to say.
I just gave her my business card and told her to call me if she ever needed a shoulder to cry on because it seemed like she might.
A week later, my phone rang. Lyric told me she wanted to file for emancipation, that her parents were mismanaging her money.
Spending all of it, really. I helped her find a lawyer and a new manager and when she needed a place to stay, I moved her in with me.
A few months later, I left my job and started Rarity PR, working solely as her publicity manager. ”
No wonder Rosaline was so protective of Lyric. She’d practically raised her. Acted as a big sister, at least. “What you’re
saying is, you basically adopted a sixteen-year-old.” When Rosaline was only what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?
“A sixteen-year-old who’d been forced to grow up way too fast. She’s more like a little sister to me than a client,” Rosaline
said, confirming her suspicions.
It wasn’t like any sibling relationship Poppy was familiar with, but then again, her relationship with her brother and sister
was . . . calling it unique would be an understatement. “Do you have any siblings? Other siblings, I mean.”
“Two sisters.”
“Let me guess. You’re the oldest.”
“No, actually.” Rosaline flashed a wide smile and for the first time Poppy noticed her right incisor was pointier than the
left. A cute little fang that gave her otherwise perfect smile character. “I happen to be the baby of the Sinclair family.”
Poppy jerked her head back. “Get out. You are not.”
“I am.” Rosaline drew an x across her chest with her index finger. “Though, Helen and Bianca are twins, so they have that whole infamous twin telepathy
connection working in their favor. They’re only two years older than me, but they’re closer to each other than I am to either
of them. Growing up, sometimes it felt like I was an only child.”
“Same. I mean, not with the twin telepathy thing, but my brother was a junior in college and my sister was a senior in high school when I was born.”
Rosaline gave her the same horrified look everyone did when she told them about the age gap between her and her siblings.
“It’s weird, I know. Trust me.” However bizarre it sounded, the reality was weirder. Poppy didn’t have enough fingers to count
the number of times her parents had been mistaken for her grandparents. “My mom and dad were done having kids. I mean, I don’t
think my mom thought she could even have any more.” At forty-five, Mom had assumed her childbearing years were behind her. “It ended up being like that show that
used to be on TLC, I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Mom thought she’d put on some weight over the holidays and then she thought her appendix had ruptured and,” Poppy said,
waggling her fingers, “surprise! I was born a perfectly healthy six pounds eleven ounces.”
“Jesus,” Rosaline breathed. “I don’t even know what to say.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. It’s how I met Cash. My parents aren’t much younger than his grandparents. His parents lived—well,
they still do—not far from Lake Oswego, down in Dunthorpe. But he’d visit his grandparents on the weekends, and we were neighbors.”
She smiled. “Not to brag, but I don’t think very many people can say that Cash Curran taught them how to play football.”
“Oh yeah? You take the powder-puff world by storm?”
“God no.” Poppy laughed. “I was awful.”
“You couldn’t have been that bad.”
“This isn’t me being humble. Balls and Poppy? Do not mix.”
Rosaline snickered and Poppy played back what she’d said, full-body cringing when her words caught up with her.
“Sports balls,” she stressed. “It’s my hand-eye coordination. It sucks.”
“Mhmm, sure.” Rosaline’s lips folded in, the corners of her mouth twitching and her eyes crinkling like she was trying not
to laugh. “You just say things, don’t you?”
Poppy sighed. No use denying it. “My mouth does tend to get me in trouble sometimes.”
Rosaline’s gaze dropped, her eyes lingering on Poppy’s lips. “I bet.”
A frenzy of butterflies filled her stomach and her heart sped, beating an almost painful tattoo against the cage of her chest.
Poppy didn’t know what the hell was going through Rosaline’s mind, but she definitely hadn’t imagined that. No way, no how could Poppy pretend she was seeing things when Rosaline was staring at her mouth like it was an answer to
a question she’d forgotten to ask. A question maybe Poppy hadn’t heard. She didn’t know, and that was the crux of it all—she couldn’t just ask.
“Hey.” Lyric appeared beside them, all but vibrating with excitement. “Mind if steal Rosaline for a sec? I want you to meet
Cash’s parents.”
Poppy pasted on a smile she prayed didn’t look manic. “Go! Have fun!”
Lyric was already moving, cutting back across the suite to where Cash’s parents stood waiting. Rosaline lingered, half smile
fixed even as her eyes traveled from Poppy’s head down to her feet, a slow, full-body perusal that left Poppy lightheaded.
“I think you and I have different definitions of fun.”