CHAPTER 25
TYLER
Tyler gave herself exactly one day to stay in bed and listen to “Landslide” on repeat. It was her mother’s favorite song, and Stevie Nicks made her cry every time. But she wasn’t angry at Stevie or Cary—she was furious with herself for letting it happen again.
She turned off her phone and ignored her computer. She didn’t even call Dylan to vent or trash-talk Emma. She needed to sit with this pain, to let it sink in so she’d remember next time. Most importantly, she needed to learn her lesson—never fall for a musician.
The cycle between devastation and rage continued throughout the day as her blood ran hot then cold, like a drug addict kicking a habit. But that’s what he was: a hard habit to break.
At least Rory was beside her and he smelled better after his bath. The cookies were hardly adequate after what he’d gone through. He probably needed a dog therapist.
Maybe it was time to have a baby? If Yestown signed a record deal she’d have enough money to freeze her eggs. Of course she’d use a sperm donor, because the idea of another man touching her made her queasy and she almost puked trying to imagine it.
Admittedly, the next two weeks weren’t her finest. Still, she soldiered on, negotiating with Cary’s music publisher for the rights to record his song.
There was no reason to speak to him directly—so she didn’t.
She ignored his texts, emails, and calls—a silent, seething fuck you from someone who used to reply in seconds.
She came this close to blocking his number but didn’t.
As long as he was letting Yestown record the track, she had to play nice.
Tyler woke up earlier than usual in a pool of sweat. Her dreams about Cary had become more frequent, not less, and it pissed her off to the fullest extent. She rolled over and checked her phone. It read february 14.
Ugh.
Valentine’s Day was bullshit—and not just because she was single. When she was with Dave, it was worse. He forgot four out of five years, and the one time he remembered, he used a coupon at a budget restaurant.
But seriously, with everyone being so sensitive these days it surprised her that some trigger warning advocates weren’t calling for its abolishment.
Her phone vibrated a few minutes later. It was Kim calling from the East Coast. She probably wanted to commiserate about this stupid-ass day people made up to sell flowers and candy to hopeless romantics.
“What’s going on?” Tyler answered.
Kim paused on the other end. “Cary’s, like, going to kill me if he finds out I told you—”
“What? Is he sending me roses? That’s lame as fuck.” She’d have to compost them in her building’s green bin.
What a fucking hassle.
“Dude, he blew off his interview and he’s on his way there.” Kim’s tone was short. “Oh, and the segment producer had a fucking conniption on my head, so thanks for that.”
“What?” Tyler’s breath hitched, her chest tightening like a vise. “Why’s he coming out here?”
“Because you won’t take his calls or answer his texts.”
“Boo fucking hoo.”
“Don’t be like that.” Unfortunately, this fiasco had put Kim in an awkward spot, and Tyler didn’t help by not responding. “He said something about going to the office.”
“I’ll work from home.”
“You’re not supposed to know!”
“Fine.” Tyler sighed, clearly frustrated. “But I’m not talking to him.”
“What are you going to do? Avoid him forever?”
“Works for me.”
“Dude, he said nothing happened and I believe him.”
“Yeah, right.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
Dave had denied cheating—right up until she found hundreds of incriminating emails.
Of course he didn’t have money to buy a laptop so he used hers but forgot to log out of his account.
She went on, “Kim, I know he’s your boss but I need you to be on my side, not his. ”
“I’m on Team Tyler. Why do you think I’m calling? Do you honestly think I’d, like, try to fix this if he was some asshole?”
“I guess,” she said, changing the subject before Kim could fire back. “How’s everything with Vegas?”
“I thought he’d be pissed. You know, with me staying on, but he’s, like, the nicest person ever invented.” Her voice flipped back into work mode. “Look, Sebastien doesn’t know yet, but I rescheduled Cary’s interview for tomorrow afternoon. If he doesn’t get on that flight, I’m getting fired.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure he’s on it,” she conceded. “But only for you. We still don’t have any bands on tour. Did I tell you? I’m trying to get Yestown on the awards show broadcast?”
“Ew. Why?”
“They asked me to.”
An hour later, Tyler arrived at the office and called her contacts in Toronto to see if Yestown could land a performance slot at the upcoming music awards.
She usually ignored what industry insiders dismissed as the “Mickey Mouse” awards, but with the event being held in the band’s hometown of Saskatoon, she felt obligated to push for it.
She’d struck out with her first few calls so Allie was next on her list.
Allie picked up her phone on the first ring. “I was just about to call you!” she shouted over noise in the background.
“Where are you?” Tyler asked.
“Winnipeg. Hold on, I’ll go somewhere quieter.” Her boots stomped away from the bustle in the room. “There,” she said, out of breath. “I’m at the Voyager Festival.”
“The Festival du Voyageur?”
“Yeah, that. I’ve got a band playing here.”
“How is it?”
“I like it here, man. Lots of cool shit, nice people.”
Tyler pulled up their artists’ calendars on her computer. “Sebastien has one of his legacy acts there. Brad’s band, in fact.”
Jamespoke had some notoriety in the nineties but didn’t become a festival draw until a popular American act covered one of their songs.
After that, Brad—the lead singer and resident Captain Jerk—changed the song splits in his favor, ensuring he earned more in royalties than his co-writers—a dick move by anyone’s standards.
Allie let out a laugh. “I’m well aware Brad’s here.”
“What do you mean?”
Tyler doubted Allie gave a shit about Jamespoke or any of the guys in the band. Their hospitality rider had two items: whiskey and coke—and not the bubbly kind that comes in a can.
“Are you ready for this?” Allie’s voice became giddy. “They played all new material last night.”
“No!” Tyler shrieked.
As a legacy act, the festival hired the band to perform their back catalog—their old songs, the hits—not the new ones people didn’t know or care about.
“Fuck, yes.” Allie laughed. “Not one popular tune in their set.”
“Not even—”
“Nope. Not even their number-one song. I’m not going to lie, man, it pissed people off.”
“Jamespoke,” Tyler said with a heavy breath. “Is Tommy still their agent?”
“Totally.” A thud came from the other end and a curse word followed. “I dropped my phone. Just hearing his name ruins my day, man. You called for a reason?”
Tyler had almost forgotten the purpose of her call. “Any chance you can get Yestown on the awards’ live broadcast?”
“Are you punishing them for something?”
“No, it’s their hometown. They’re from Saskatoon.”
“Saskatoon, that’s right,” she repeated. “Sorry, man. Fucking Tommy has it on lockdown with that dipshit from the awards.”
“That guy sucks.”
“Yeah, he really does.”
“Thanks anyway,” she said, defeated. “I’m going to tell Sebastien about Jamespoke. He can’t stand that band.”
“Can’t stand them?” Allie sounded confused.
“It’s just a cash grab, like all his legacy acts.”
“Would you ever sign a band just for the money?”
“Never.”
“Me neither,” Allie said with certainty.
“I’d rather have one artist I’m in love with than ten mediocre acts.”
“Same,” she said. “See you in Toon Town.”
Tyler was about to give up on the awards when she received an email from Yestown’s producer. The subject line read banger.
They’d finished recording Cary’s song.
Fuck my life up the butt.
She clicked on the track and played it again. And again. “Banger” was an understatement. Yestown had to play this song at the awards, but she would need Sebastien’s help.
Dammit.
A few minutes later Tyler knocked on her boss’s door. “Hello?”
“What?” he barked at the disturbance. “Do I look like Lionel Richie?”
You’re not as handsome . . . or talented.
She poked her head inside. “Have you got a minute?”
“What is it?” Sebastien grumbled, though he didn’t appear to be busy.
Tyler sat in the chair across from his desk, knowing it was risky. People didn’t sit in his office unless he’d invited them in, like the old Tonight Show comedians.
“I need a favor, please?” she asked him politely. Being nice to him almost killed her, but it was necessary. He loved it when people kissed his ass.
He raised the bill of his baseball cap. “I’m listening.”
“I want Yestown to play on the awards’ live broadcast.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands on her lap. “I know there’s a slot left.”
Sebastien reclined in his chair and put his feet on the desk. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice lingering. “I’ll help you if you help me.” A pending negotiation came from his nicotine-ridden breath.
“What is it?” she dared to ask.
He adjusted his baseball cap to its original position. “You and Cary are chummy, right?”
“I wouldn’t say chummy.” She drew her eyebrows inward. “But we’re friends, I guess?”
Were friends, no apostrophe.
“Friends, whatever. If you can persuade him to accept his Lifetime Achievement award, I’ll see that your little band plays on the idiot box.”
You’re an idiot box.
“He’s not accepting it?” she asked, shocked. The awards were for the fans and she couldn’t imagine him disappointing them by not showing up.
“He’s accepting it by video,” Sebastien said before clearing his throat. “I need him there in person, you know.”
In other words, Sebastien wanted the recognition for himself.
She shook her head. “Cary hates that kind of thing.”
“What do I hate?” The voice behind her sent needles down her spine. She instinctively turned her head toward him but didn’t smile.