I nod, being careful to keep my mouth shut. I know that she and my agent have both worked hard. I’ve worked pretty fucking hard, too, but that rarely gets mentioned or even acknowledged.
“It’s been a long day. I’m good. Tired. But good. Promise.” Basically a bus and then a tiny hotel room in Nashville have been home for the past few weeks. And I’m about to hop my ass right back on the road tomorrow night. Thank fuck my sister is ending her little excursion just as this tour is beginning. I really don’t think I could handle this and worrying about her, too.
“Well, get some sleep then. The car will be waiting out front at nine A.M. sharp to take you to the airport.”
I nod while standing up from the table. “Got it. See you in the morning.”
“You’re not walking me to my room?” Mandy pouts. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”
I swallow the uneasy feeling that rises in my throat. It’s not the first time she’s hinted at crossing the professional line with me and I can’t ever tell just how serious she is.
“I am a gentleman, Miss Lantram. That’s why it’s better if I don’t. Have a good night now.” I grin and make my way quickly out of the room.
There. Maybe she’ll feel flattered.
For as much as Mandy Lantram keeps reminding me to stay focused and keep my eyes on the prize, I’ve noticed her focus and her eyes wandering a bit. To my mouth, across the expanse of my chest, and down to my cock.
More than once.
Either my alarm is going off or the building is on fire.
I roll over and groan, throwing an arm over my face when sunlight hits me square in the face. Stretching as far as my back will allow, I yawn before my hand drops to my morning wood.
Sorry, buddy.
My schedule is so fucking tight I don’t even have time to jerk off these days. A cold shower and a cold breakfast and then I’m dressed and sliding into a black Lincoln beside my manager.
“Good morning, Superstar,” Mandy purrs while lowering the cell phone that seems permanently attached to her palm. A thick curtain of black hair sweeps over her left shoulder.
How she manages to look this hot at nine in the morning is beyond me, but I’m trying damn hard not to notice. She smells like expensive shampoo and flowers—it’s almost overwhelming but my dick has no sense of smell so he twitches to inquire about whether or not she’s available.
Not to us, big guy.
If there is one thing I don’t want to fuck up, literally, it’s my relationship with anyone who has power over my career. So there’s a line, whether Mandy’s wandering eyes realize it or not, and it’s one I won’t cross. No matter how interested my dick is when she stretches her mile-long legs.
Thankfully the airport isn’t far from the hotel and I’m free from the suffocating confines of the backseat.
As we make our way through security checkpoints, Mandy hands out tips as if I haven’t just finished one tour.
“Be sure you’re tweeting and posting on Facebook about how excited and honored you are to be on this tour. Tag Jase and Midnight Bay Bourbon when you do. Hashtag KickinUpCrazy.”
I grumble a little under my breath. Dixie typically handled the social media bullshit for Leaving Amarillo. Pulling out my phone, I try to fire off a quick text to my sister to see if she’s heard from Gavin yet, but I have no service.
Mandy scoffs at me. “I didn’t mean right this second. I just meant later tonight. You need to put your phone on airplane mode anyway.”
I don’t bother informing her of what I was actually up to.
Mandy stops walking down the aisle. “Oh. This is me,” she says halfway through the first-class cabin.
I glance down at my ticket. I’m in coach. I chuckle under my breath. Of course she wouldn’t lower her standards even though Capitol has yet to consider me worthy of a first-class upgrade.
“See ya in Denver,” I call out as I pass. I’m actually relieved to have a break from her.
A few drinks in and the exclusive mile-high club might become a little too accessible.
4 | Robyn
“YOU READY TO CALL IT A DAY?” MY ROOMMATE, ANOTHER MARKETING assistant at Midnight Bay named Katie O’Rourke and whom I call Katie-O for fun, laughs when she opens the door to the office we share and finds me sitting on the floor already half into a bottle of bourbon. It’s the single-barrel blue line and it’s my favorite, but despite my favorite coffee mug that proclaims “this is probably bourbon,” I don’t usually imbibe at work. “Damn, girl. It’s not even the weekend yet. Why you no invite me to the party?”
I start to answer but I gesture a little too wildly with my arm and knock over the bottle. Thankfully it’s mostly empty so not much spills before she sets it upright.
“Oh, it’s a party all right. A what-did-I-do-to-the-universe-to-make-it-hate-me-so-much party.”
“Okay,” Katie says, lowering herself onto the floor beside me. I’m far too honest to have a horde of female friends, but Katie is pretty fantastic. And she has a thick skin so she puts up with me just fine. “I give. What did you do?”
I shrug and glance listlessly down at the mock-up of the poster in front of me.
“I don’t know, Katie-O, but it must’ve been something bad. Like shove orphans in front of a speeding train for kicks bad.” I tip my empty highball glass back in hopes of a few merciful drops landing on my tongue. They don’t. Not even when I tap the bottom of the glass, causing it to clink against my teeth.
“Wade still flirting with you? Is that what’s got you all worked up?” Katie’s tone is empathetic and even in my stupor I appreciate that she isn’t being condescending about it. Some of the other girls we work with would jump at the chance to hook up with Wade. And most all of them wouldn’t pity me for being on the receiving end of his flirting.
“No. I mean, yeah, he kind of is. But that’s not why I’m swilling liquor like a sailor.”
“Do sailors drink a lot of bourbon? I feel like they’re more into rum.”
I huff out a laugh on a breath. “You know what I mean.”
She sighs and lifts the Kickin’ Up Crazy tour poster from the floor beside me. “You have to admit, he’s a good-looking son of a bitch.”
I nod. “He is.”
“So . . . sailor, you gonna fess up or what? Did you hook up with him? I promise I won’t tell Mr. Martin. You work your ass off for this company and Wade hasn’t exactly been discreet about his interest in you. I’d say you could probably—”
“It’s not Wade. And no, we didn’t hook up or anything. It’s, um, this guy.” I point to the name at the bottom of poster, the recently added one that I just googled.
“The Baker Street Boys?”
“The other one.”
“Who’s Dallas Walker?”
Now there’s a million-dollar question.
Who is Dallas Walker?
Taking a deep breath, I turn my laptop to face her. Katie scrolls down the page and whistles when she presses play on the YouTube video on his website.
“Well. Hello, handsome.”
Bile rises in my throat. I’d prayed it was a coincidence. It wasn’t. It was him.
“Robyn? You okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
I just shake my head. No, I’m not okay. And no, I’m not going to be sick. But yes, I am having a panic attack because the only man I’ve ever loved, the one who’s made it so completely clear he’s no longer interested in me that a diamond mining company would envy his clarity, is on the tour I’m heading up the promotional campaign for.
“You know this guy?” Katie hits play on the song again, the damn song that is so full of shit it makes me want to chuck my computer out the window. “Better to Burn,” it’s called and it’s about risking it all for love, which I’m not sure Dallas Walker would ever actually do.