CHAPTER 3
TYLER
Tyler drove back to the office with “People’s Champ” by Arkells cranked to ten. Every generation had a rock ’n’ roll anthem, and that song belonged to them.
Did Cary Kingston ask her out on a date? Don’t be silly. He had those checks for Sebastien. This was business. Just business. Casual. Professional. With one of the most famous men on the planet.
“What do you think, Rory Bear? Do you like him?”
Rory wagged his tail, and she agreed with his assessment.
At home, Tyler showered, then twisted her hair into a topknot and left it. She didn’t know how to apply makeup so she stuck to the basics: mascara, blush, and lipstick.
Why was that other stuff necessary? Lady Gaga said she was born this way and had no reason to doubt her.
She googled What to wear on a non-date?
The answers weren’t helpful.
After a quick scroll through contradictory advice and questionable outfit charts, Tyler gave up and went with her gut. She changed into jeans, a striped top, and a jean jacket. Safe. Effortless. Non-date-y—but not not cute.
She slipped on a pair of mid-calf boots with a low heel. No need to add height—she was already tall.
Her whole family was, except for her dad. Bert was a wee Scotsman, born of Highland stock and stubborn pride.
The Robertson kids—two daughters, two sons—had all taken after their mother’s side: tall, athletic, and perpetually asked if they played basketball.
The Wine Bar was just a stone’s throw from Cary’s building—if you had a decent arm. Like Tyler and Kim, he was always on time.
When she arrived, Cary was sitting alone on the patio. This time, he made no effort to hide. No glasses. No beanie. Just a white T-shirt, thick blond hair neatly combed to the side, and the unmistakable air of rock star.
Tyler giggled nervously as she approached.
They were dressed almost identically.
She in a striped top and jean jacket. Him in white and jean jacket. From behind, they could’ve passed for fraternal twins. The fashionable, denim-loving kind.
“Jean jacket weather,” Cary said, tugging his denim collar.
“Exactly.” She smiled, trying to play it cool while screaming internally.
How am I going to keep it together with him looking so adorable?
“Did you know the Canadian tuxedo was named after an incident with Bing Crosby?” he asked. “The Hotel Vancouver wouldn’t let him in wearing denim.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You should try out for Jeopardy.”
“Funny. No Rory?” Cary asked, sounding almost disappointed.
“No Rory,” she said with a playful grin. “I found some money in his harness. He’s probably off spending the ten dollars you gave him.”
Cary laughed, but she was already rolling up her sleeves. “I didn’t know we’d be sitting outside. It’s kind of hot, actually.”
His bottom lip turned into a cute frown. “Poor Rory.”
“Yeah.” She sank into her seat. “Poor Rory.”
A young man approached the table, pen tucked into the half-apron slung around his hips. “Hey, Cary!” he said with an easy smile. “How long are you in town, man?”
“Just for tonight.” Cary gestured toward her. “This is Tyler.”
Hearing her name was like angels singing.
“I’m Kevin,” the server said, flashing her a polite smile before turning back to Cary. “Do you want the Penfolds Grange, man?”
“2011? Is that good with you, Tyler?”
I don’t care. Just keep saying Tyler.
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a wine connoisseur,” she admitted.
She hadn’t known a thing about wine until she watched a documentary on sommeliers—and even then, it looked nearly impossible to pass the test. Even with Rory’s nose.
“At industry events, it’s usually just the house red or white, so that’s what I end up with,” she added with a shrug. “I’m more of a beer person . . . though I’ll drink champagne on special occasions.”
“Go for it.” Cary passed her the beverage pamphlet. “Have whatever you want.”
She waved the paper away, not wanting to be a bother. “No, it’s okay. I’ll try the wine. My dad bought a do-it-yourself kit and he can’t wait to try it.”
“Good choice,” Kevin said confidently.
“And some water, please?” Tyler added, raising her hand. “Sometimes wine gives me a headache.”
Kevin nodded before leaving.
Cary placed his hand on her forearm and her skin sizzled from the heat.
She checked to see if it had left a mark, but it was just her imagination.
If she’d told her thirteen-year-old self that this would happen one day, she wouldn’t have believed it.
She was so infatuated with him back then she’d doodled Mrs. Cary Kingston in her notebook.
“Thanks for saving me,” Cary said, squeezing her arm twice. “I couldn’t remember his name for the life of me.”
“Really?” She arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “I thought you two were besties?”
“Besties?” He laughed—deep, unfiltered amusement. “No, no. It’s a road trick. If you introduce the person you do know, the other one usually introduces themselves. No awkwardness.”
“Interesting,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket and setting it on the table.
“Expecting a call?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Sorry, I want to make sure the band gets in okay.” She glanced at her watch. “They had a few stops. We booked their flights on points so they’re just landing.” By we she meant Sebastien.
A few moments later Kevin arrived with a bottle of wine and two fancy glasses. The server poured a splash into Cary’s stemware, and with a nod of approval he continued.
“I forgot the decanter,” Kevin muttered, clearly upset with himself.
Cary shook his head. “Don’t even bother.”
“Are you ordering food?” the server asked, pouring a glass of wine for Tyler.
“I haven’t eaten all day.” Cary scanned the menu. “The appetizers, please.”
“Anything else? Any mains?”
Cary offered Tyler the menu, but she’d already eaten, not thinking it was a date.
“No thanks.” She inched up her chair. “But appetizers sound great.”
“Cheers.” Cary raised his glass to hers.
“Cheers.” She took a sip and relished the silky blend against her tongue. “I think I’m a convert.”
What’s the name of this wine? She twisted the bottle around: penfolds grange 2011.
From the side of his seat, Cary retrieved a manila envelope. “Would you mind giving these checks to Sebastien? I’ve got to fly out in the morning.”
Right. The checks for Sebastien.
She blinked, rebooting into work mode. “Chicago. I know.”
Vegas was busy, so she’d advanced the show herself. The Cary Kingston tour was a well-oiled machine—she didn’t need to liaise with production, promotion, and payment like she did with smaller acts. Just confirm the hotel rooms and stay out of the way.
He scratched his head. “I keep my personal business private from SDM. That’s why I pay my own bills and sign my checks by hand.”
“The Billy Joel episode on Behind the Music is a good lesson for everyone.” It was reported the Piano Man’s ex-brother-in-law had embezzled 90 million dollars when he was Billy’s financial manager.
“I keep forgetting how much you know about the business.” He gave her a lazy smile. “I’ve known you for what? About ten years—”
“Thirteen.” It didn’t surprise her that he’d forgotten; he’d probably shaken more hands and kissed more babies than any dignitary in history. “I started interning when I was eighteen, almost nineteen.”
“Thirteen years.” He drummed his fingers against the table to the beat of “We Will Rock You.” He stopped mid-drum. “Tell me something about yourself.”
Where to begin? She’d never been on a job interview, although the thought was enticing.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Well, what do you do in your spare time?”
Have you met Sebastien?
Spare time wasn’t in her job description.
“I work a lot,” she said, then paused, debating how much to share. “And I’m really into hockey.”
“The Jets, huh?” Cary smirked, tilting his chin. “I know you’re from Winnipeg—the Peg. That, I remember.”
She nodded, casually wiping her mouth with a napkin, trying to play it cool.
“I’m singing the anthem at their home opener,” he added.
Tyler blinked. Of course he was. She probably knew his tour schedule better than he did.
“Wait . . .” His brow furrowed, eyes widening—and actually changing color, which felt unfair. “Is that why I’ve been playing there?”
She opened her mouth, but he was already crossing his arms in mock offense. “You’re using me to watch hockey? I’m hurt.”
She raised her right hand and lowered her head. “Guilty as charged. It’s Sebastien’s doing—he’s been making the calls. They give us a really nice box, and it’s fully stocked with booze.”
She figured he wasn’t much of a sports fan since she’d never seen him in the suite. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him, but it was to her. A big fucking deal.
He gave her a flirtatious wink. “As long as it’s a really nice box.”
“It is.” She twisted the stem of her wine glass. “I love watching games there.”
“Winnipeg . . .” He paused, searching her face. “You don’t miss it, do you?”
A pang of sadness tightened in her chest. “More than you can imagine.”
Their heads turned as metal shrieked against concrete—Kevin, straining to drag a wrought-iron table across the patio. Cary winced, clapping his hands over his ears like he was being tortured by a Dave Matthews Band deep cut.
“You’re sensitive to noise, aren’t you?” Tyler asked, watching him carefully.
He nodded, eyes following the server. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”
Like being here with you.
Was she catching feelings for this guy? This rock star? The most eligible bachelor in the world? Or were they just leftover sparks from her high school crush—flickers of a fantasy she thought she’d outgrown? Either way, it wasn’t like he was into her.
“Wow!” Cary’s eyebrows lifted when Kevin returned with two large trays. “I didn’t know there’d be this much food.”
“How many are we expecting?” Tyler couldn’t help being a smartass. She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s no one else in the restaurant.”
Cary placed his palm on his cheek. “I didn’t realize the portions were this big.”