CHAPTER 9
TYLER
“Fuck!” Sebastien yelled from his office, jolting Rory awake from an afternoon nap.
“Was that a regular fuck, or, like, extra aggressive?” Kim asked.
Tyler angled her head toward his door, but she couldn’t see him. “That was a little much, even for Sebastard.”
Kim crinkled her nose. “Dude, are you seriously not going tonight?”
Cary Kingston had sold out the local stadium in record time, but SDM had marketed it as a “homecoming” concert, and it pissed Tyler off. Cary was from Brandon, Manitoba, and as much as the city had tried, they couldn’t turn him into a Vancouverite.
Tyler leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I told you, I drunk-kissed him.” She’d been trying to forget what little she could remember from that night a few weeks ago. “I’m an idiot. I kissed Cary Kingston.”
“He kissed you first,” Kim reminded her. “And he followed you on Insta.”
The day after the benefit concert, Cary had sent her a follower request. After deleting any unflattering pictures of herself, she accepted it.
Tyler let out a sigh. “Yeah, and his fans sent me a million requests.”
It didn’t take long for the Kingers to clue in that he was following her, so she changed her picture to an avatar and shut off her notifications.
“Here.” Kim wiggled her fingers. “Hand me your phone.” With reluctance she did as she was told. “See? He sent you a hotel emoji, followed by a thumbs-up, then—ooh!” She winked. “X- O.”
Had the ancient Egyptians been any better at deciphering hieroglyphics? Tyler didn’t think so. It was her own damn fault for texting him in symbols rather than using her words.
“I sent him a thumbs-up back.” Tyler doodled hearts on her notepad, but she didn’t write their initials because it was too much of a long shot.
“Yeah, everyone knows that’s when the conversation ends.” Kim shared the same theory as her sister. “You’re not an idiot,” she added.
Tyler put down her pen and crossed her arms. “I’m done with musicians.”
“Dude, he’s not wearing a CBGB T-shirt and skinny jeans.”
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 you ever had 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 a civilian.” 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.
“I totally can.” Kim sat up straight, seeming more presentable. “I’ve been tour managing for, like, forever.”
Sebastien glared at Tyler. “A girl?” He snickered as his nostrils flared. “Tour managing Cary Kingston?” He turned the bill of his baseball cap in Kim’s direction. “It’s bad enough Bob Shaw hired you without my permission.”
Everyone called SDM’s chief operating officer by his full name. It sounded like one word, Bobshaw, when people said it. Next to Kim, Bob was Tyler’s favorite person in the office.
Instead of trying to change his mind, Tyler played him. “It’s just for tonight. You won’t find anyone on this short notice. I’ll find someone—a man—to pick up the tour. Deal?”
“Fine,” Sebastien huffed, slamming the door as he left.
Kim stuck out her tongue, flipping him off behind his back.
“Vegas will help you with everything,” Tyler promised while texting him.
“Are you really going to find another TM?”
Tyler blinked up from her phone. “What do you think?”
For the next hour Tyler and Kim scrutinized the guest list. Three hundred people were on it, and they needed to whittle it by half.
Everyone thought they were important but they weren’t, so Tyler highlighted the names of ten VIPs and gave the rest “after-show” passes.
When they finished the list, Tyler opened the door to her office to find Lara chatting with someone at the reception desk, loud as all get-out.
Detective Rory went to investigate while his mom and Kim followed him.
“Rory!” Cary picked up the dog. “Who’s a good boy?”
Rory answered by wagging his tail and kissing the rock star.
If only I were a dog.
“Hi, Tyler,” Cary said with a smile.
The receptionist interjected, “I forgot to tell you my name. I’m Lara.”
“Cary,” he said, keeping his gaze on Tyler.
“I know who you are,” Lara gushed.
“Cary!” Bob greeted him from down the hall. He’d recently lost a lot of weight and his suit hung from his body.
The music industry nearly ruined Bob Shaw with its free drugs and open bars.
He used to be the life of the party, but after taking twelve steps he lost his music industry friends to sobriety.
He was an accountant by trade and a certified financial planner, so nowadays he kept to himself and his numbers.
He cracked up whenever he said, “Those I can count on.”
Sebastien poked his big stupid head out of his office. “Cary! I didn’t know you were coming by.” Nothing irked him more than being surprised. “C’mon, take a load off.”
“I was hoping to sit down with Kim.” Cary scanned the office. “Vegas said she’d be around?”
“Over here.” Kim raised her hand.
“I’ve heard great things,” Cary said.
Kim nodded. “Likewise.”
“Got a minute to talk about tonight?”
“Sure, we can use the conference room.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tyler asked, resting her hands on her hips. “My dog?”
“What dog?” Cary hid Rory under his jacket.
A tickle ran up Tyler’s nose and she sneezed into her elbow. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Bless you,” Cary replied, and Kim winked at her with a knowing smile.
Tyler extended her arms to grab him. “May I have him back, please?”
“Sorry, finders keepers.”
Cary gave her a cheeky grin and followed Kim down the hall.
A short while later Cary knocked on Tyler’s half-open door as Rory came barreling around the corner.
“All done?” she asked.
“Kim knows what she’s doing. Thanks for suggesting her.”
“No problem. Hey, how’s Vegas? He said he was fine, but I don’t believe him.”
“He’s not good.” Cary snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. I brought Mutt Muffs for Rory.”
“Mutt Muffs?” She repeated in confusion.
Cary retrieved the Mutt Muffs from his bag and placed them over Rory’s ears. “Hold still.” He lined up the shot with his phone and took the dog’s picture. Of course, Rory liked all forms of attention and posed willingly. “They’re for the show,” he added.
“Thanks, but Rory . . . I mean, I’m not going to your show.” His eyes opened as if surprised, so she elaborated, “I promised Bob Shaw I’d help him with his templates.” Bob had earned his accounting degree in the eighties, so she was his in-house tech support.
“Not going?” Cary dropped his head. “Let’s go talk to Bob Shaw.”
As soon as they left her office Rory followed them down the hall. Bob kept cookies in the bottom drawer of his desk, and the dog knew exactly where they were.
“Bob Shaw!” Cary opened his arms. “You’re not going to the show? What the hell?”
Bob didn’t trust himself around alcohol—or Tommy—and no one could blame him. Tommy was a bad influence.
“Sorry, Cary.” Bob grimaced. “These numbers don’t add themselves.”
“I’m helping you, remember,” Tyler said.
Kim entered Bob’s office and gave her friend the look. Tyler shrugged one shoulder and smirked as if to say, I’m still not going.
“Dude, I could use your help at the venue. It sounds like Vegas’s leg is really fucked up.”
Tyler gestured in Bob’s direction. “I promised him.”
“You don’t mind, do you, Bob Shaw?” Kim asked. “She can help you later.”
Bob pushed his glasses along the bridge of his nose. “No.” He shook his head. “Not at all. You kids go have fun.”
The Jeopardy music looped in Tyler’s head as she weighed her options.
Cary wanted her to go, but he’d also said that about his Winnipeg show, practically ignoring her.
Then again, he had shown up at the benefit concert.
And her hair looked especially good today, so at least there was something positive.
“Fine,” she relented. “But I’m not bringing Rory. He’s staying at home.”
“Poor Rory.” Cary’s bottom lip turned into a cute frown.
“Yes.” Tyler held back a smile. “Poor Rory.”
“Who wants a cookie?” Bob asked, and the dog performed his obligatory dance.
A few moments later Cary waved on his way out the door. “See you tonight.”
“Bye, Cary!” Lara shouted loud enough for the next building to close its windows. “Let me know if you need anything!”
Like he would call Lara. Pfft.
After Cary left, Kim showed herself into Tyler’s office.
“Come in here,” she said, widening the door.
“Why?” Tyler asked, going there anyway.
“I have something to tell you.” Kim closed the door behind them. “Dude, are you fucking crazy?”
“No?” She meant to sound more certain of her mental state.
“He dropped your name, like, a thousand times, and he got your dog earmuffs.”
“He likes my dog.”
“You’re missing the plot,” Kim said with an exasperated sigh.
Tyler lowered her gaze. “There’s no story here.”