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 than Chinese 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?
Long. Still at the airport. How are you?
Would he care about their picture being posted on social media? It could end up on TMZ or Radar, but there was no point in drawing attention to it.
She texted, I’m good. It’s tomorrow there, right?
She’d already looked up the time in Sydney, unable to do the math in her head.
The 60 Minutes stopwatch ticked in her head. But on his end? Silence. Not even three flashing dots.
Texting was the lowest form of communication—one typo could start a war.
She used to send Dylan screenshots of Dave’s messages for a second opinion, though they both spoke perfect English.
If someone could make sense of cryptic texts for a living, they’d make serious bank.
Maybe they’d work as a cryptanalyst. Or for the Department of National Defense.
Tyler’s phone buzzed. Not Cary.
It was Kim, who’d sent a photo of his fans waiting at Kingsford Smith Airport—waving i love you cary signs and wearing T-shirts with his face plastered across their chests.
And here, she thought he was in the restroom.
Not long after, her phone vibrated again. It was Cary.
Sorry! Some people wanted autographs. We’re heading to the hotel. I’ll text later. xo
She laughed and liked the message.
The next two weeks at work were a blur. Tyler had reached out to every big-name producer she knew, but none of them wanted to touch the Westgrays.
In the end, she settled on a guy based on Vancouver Island.
He was insufferably cocky, but his rates were cheaper than the studio her boss was fleecing, and she needed the band far from the Lower Mainland—away from distractions, girlfriends, and bad decisions.
Bonus: the producer had played in an eighties glam-rock band, which the Westgrays thought was cool AF.
The situation with Cary had become more intense, at least on her end. They were texting several times a day and the seventeen-hour time difference was challenging, but it didn’t stop them. She’d set her alarm for six a.m. so they could text before she went to work and he went to bed.
Cary had a show that Saturday, so she slept in. That is until her phone vibrated and the screen flashed fedex.
“Hello?” she answered, not expecting a bomb or a package.
“Is this Tyler Robertson?” a woman asked, her voice chipper.
“Yes?”
“Delivery.”
“Come on in.”
Moments later, a knock sounded at the door. Rory jumped off the bed and ran down the hall. She followed him and signed for the box. It was big and bulky, but it didn’t weigh a lot.
“Oh my god,” she said, opening the package. “Look, Rory!” Her dog stared at the gigantic stuffed koala bear but didn’t wag his tail. He seemed apprehensive, a little scared. “What should we call him? I know . . . Aussie!” She hugged the bear. “Welcome home, Aussie.”
Rory gave her a look like, What the fuck?
“It’s okay, buddy.”
She pulled the note hanging from the bear’s ear: wish you were here, cary. xo.
Later that afternoon, Tyler answered a FaceTime call from her bestie.
They hadn’t talked much lately—Cary’s tour schedule didn’t leave room for idle chit-chat.
It was a far cry from the chaos of touring with the Westgrays, though Kim had admitted it was easier in some ways.
At least no one was throwing punches during press appearances.
“Hi!” Tyler waved at the screen.
“Dude, did you get the package?” Kim asked with a hopeful grin.
Tyler pulled Aussie into the frame and kissed the stuffed animal. “I named him Aussie.” She waved the bear’s paw into the phone. “Say hi to Kim!”
“Hi, Aussie!” Kim waved back. “Cary asked me to send it. Like, insisted. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m not the one who minds.” She directed her phone at Rory who was lying at her feet with his head between his paws. “He’s sulking like a baby who dropped his pacifier.”
“Buddy!” Kim raised her voice but the dog didn’t budge.
“Do you want to hear the latest with Sebastien?” Tyler was dying to tell her since she had no one to gossip with at the office.
Kim’s nose scrunched. “Like I give a fuck about him.”
“I know, but you’ll get a kick out of this.”
She tucked her pink hair behind her ears. “Okay, I’m listening.”
Tyler laughed. “He got his hearing insured for a million bucks.”
“Ew. Why?”
“Because he’s a narcissist, that’s why. That music publisher dummy talked him into it. You know, the tall, bald guy that thinks he’s a genius. His wife’s always drunk at music industry events. They’ve got that kid who’s a real screw-up.”
“Fuck that guy.” Kim moved her phone closer. “And fuck the patriarchy. You need to leave SDM, like, tomorrow.”
“I’m working on it.” She blew out a breath, stressed about her future there—or anywhere. “I couldn’t find another TM for the Westgrays. Sorry, but Sebastien said you’d have to do it if they get offered a New Year’s gig.”
“Is he pulling me from Cary’s tour?” Kim’s face fell, disappointment flickering in her eyes.
“Oh, don’t worry.” She crossed her feet onto the coffee table. “Vegas is still in rehab. There’s no way he’ll be back before the end of the year.”
“What’s the weather doing out there?” Kim asked.
Tyler twisted her neck and peered out the window. “It’s raining. Pouring, actually. And my umbrella broke. Piece of shit. I mean, how many umbrellas have you gone through in your lifetime?”
“None.” Kim rolled her eyes. “People from Vancouver don’t use them.”
“Maybe not for rain, but I’ve seen people with umbrellas when it snows here. Anyway, things are really heating up with Yestown,” Tyler said. “The headliner added another band to their tour because they didn’t want to play right after them—go figure. How’s your tour going?”
“I’m fucking exhausted, dude.” A machine whirred in the background. “But I love it.”
Tyler squinted. “Where are you?”
Kim turned her phone around. “Starbucks, getting coffee.”
“Holy shit!” She pointed. “Look behind you.”
“Busted,” Cary said, sneaking up on his tour manager.
Tyler’s breath hitched at the sight of him, gorgeous as ever, and she stretched a smile across her face.
“Thanks for Aussie.”
“Who?” he asked, appearing larger in the frame.
She grabbed the bear to show him. “I named him Aussie.”
Cary let out a laugh. “How about letting me in on this?” Kim blew a kiss into the screen and gave her phone to him. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too. You’re so tanned.” She turned to her dog. “Rory! It’s Cary!”
He wagged his tail but didn’t come.
“What’s up with him?” Cary asked.
She made a pouty face. “He doesn’t like Aussie.”
“Sorry, little buddy!” He paused for a second. “We should FaceTime. This is fun.”
“Okay, but I’m not wearing makeup or getting dressed on weekends.”
“Me neither,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “We’re heading to London in the morning. I can’t wait for Monmouth coffee and biscuits.”
“Just a few more weeks until you’re back.” She’d been marking off the days on her calendar like a madwoman.
“So, I was thinking . . .”
“Uh-oh.”
“Funny.” He rested his sunglasses on his head. “As you know, I’ll be in Winnipeg for Christmas. My parents are going to my aunt’s, so I’ve booked a hotel room for the twenty-fifth.”
Do all hotel rooms have beds?
“Yeah, that makes sense,” she said.
“You’re welcome to join me. No pressure or anything.”
“My family’s having an open house on Christmas, but I can stop by the hotel later. Unless you want to come? Fair warning: everyone will be there. And I do mean everyone.”
His face exploded into a smile. “I’d love to.”
What would it be like to see him in person?
Would it be awkward? Would he look at her the same way?
Or worse—would he not? They’d been texting every day, but that was different.
It was safe. But in person? There’d be no buffer, no screen to hide behind.
Just him. Just her. Just the weight of everything they hadn’t said pressing down between them.
And what would she even say? “Hey, good to see you”? Too casual. “I missed you”? Too much. “You got what I need”? She almost laughed at herself. That Biz Markie song popped into her head, but no, she couldn’t just bring him home and say he was just a friend.
Not when she wasn’t sure what they were.