by Caisey Quinn
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.
I struggle to find my voice and the words to accurately describe how I know this man, this man I haven’t spoken more than a few words to in years, the man who at a funeral not that long ago basically told me he couldn’t care less if he ever saw me again.
“I do. I do know him.”
She whistles again. “Lucky you.” When I don’t say anything else, she reaches out and touches me on the arm. “Robyn? You mean you like know him know him? Oh God. Oh no. He’s the one, isn’t he?”
Oxygen is suddenly a scarce commodity.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “He’s the one.”
5 | Dallas
DENVER IS SLIGHTLY COLDER THAN I EXPECTED AND MORE MOUNTAINOUS than anywhere I’ve ever been.
Mandy and I arrive at the amphitheater for sound check just as the sun slips below the giant peaks. I slide off my sunglasses and out of the backseat.
Holy fuck. The entire amphitheater has just been carved out of the red rock and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
My manager seems amused at my wide-eyed gaping as I stand there awestruck by the sight of it.
“See what I mean? This is where you belong. Not in those Podunk back-alley bars.” Mandy presses her full lips together in a self-congratulatory smirk. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to a few people. The reviewer for Country Music Weekly is here and some local radio people are, too. Oh and the tour sponsor is here. They’ve set up a meet-and-greet for you tonight.”
I’m still processing the fact that I’m about to play in front of at least ten thousand people when she links her arm with mine and tugs me toward the stage.
Half a dozen eighteen-wheelers are parked beside where we pulled in. A giant Jase Wade is giving everyone “come suck my cock” face from beneath his cowboy hat. Neon blue letters scream about Midnight Bay Bourbon sponsoring the Kickin’ Up Crazy tour.
About a million shirts and hats and can coozies with the sponsor’s name were delivered to me via Mandy this morning.
“That’ll be your face on those trailers one day,” Mandy says, noticing where my attention has drifted.
“Remind me not to make some stupid-ass pouty face when it is.”
She laughs but her grip on me tightens. “Behave, Dallas. He’s the headliner this time so be humble. Even if you have to fake it.”
“Fake it till I make it. Got it.” I nod as we make our way up the metal stairs, and try not to acknowledge just how true that statement currently is.
A roar of laughter goes up from where a group of guys are gathered.
“So I told her, darlin’, I’ll give you a ride wherever you want to go. Just let me get my pants on first.” More laughter rolls outward. The guy in the center pulls his hat off when he sees us approaching. “My bad, Miss Lantram. Didn’t know there was a lady present.”
“There isn’t,” she says evenly. “Jase, this is Dallas Walker. He’s Capitol’s newest artist and your new opening act.”
She’s already filled me in on how this spot came open at the last minute. Some other new guy rightfully had it. But he snaked one of Wade’s groupies and Wade had him kicked off.
Wade eyes me up and down before giving that same expression that irked me on the tour trailers. “Nice to meet you, Dallas.”
He extends his hand and so do I. We shake hands briefly and I can feel the entire group sizing me up.
“Same here.” I keep my shoulders straight and maintain eye contact. Not because I have something to prove but because I want him to know I belong here. And that the last thing I care about is competing with him when it comes to women. He can have all the groupies to himself.
Wade smirks. “Gues
s we’ll have to watch our language around here, fellas. Seein’ as Dallas here is going to have his babysitter with him.”
The urge rises in my throat to laugh—and not with him. At his juvenile bullshit. Wade has some chart-topping hits. Several successful albums.
Guess how many of the songs he wrote himself?
Zero. None. Zip. Zilch. Not a single fucking lyric.
Not that I have much room to talk at the moment, but typically I do write my own music.
Dude probably knows all of three chords. I may not have his sales numbers, but at the end of the day, I can look myself in the mirror and be proud of working my ass off for music I believe in instead of shit that was forced on me by someone else.
So if he wants to put me down to establish his alpha male dominance? No sweat off my balls. I’m just here to play my music.
“She spank you if you act up?” Wade nods to Mandy, who stiffens beside me.
“Only if he asks real nice,” she snaps back.
I toss both of my hands up in a gesture to let them know I’m bowing out of this little scuffle. I didn’t know they had history but it’s clear now that they do. Even some of the members of Wade’s crew are backing away.
“You two enjoy your foreplay. I’m going to go introduce myself to the tour sponsor.”
“Tell Red hi for me,” Wade says without taking his eyes off Mandy.
“I’ll do that,” I say, even though I have no idea who Red is. Don’t know, don’t care.
It’s the number-one rule Mandy has reiterated since the moment we found out I was being added to this tour. Hands off Wade’s women. I highly doubt he and I have the same taste anyway. Wade likes the drunk ones with the biggest tits from the front rows, from what I hear. I’ll pass on those walking sex tapes and TMZ exposés waiting to happen, thank you very fucking much.
Stepping offstage, I glance at the empty seats once more.
According to the sign posted by the stage, maximum capacity is 9,450 people. The largest audience I played for on the unsigned artists tour was a little under five thousand folks.
This is it. I made it.
There’s a lyric here somewhere. The quiet before the storm. I know it’s in there somewhere, but I can’t find it with both hands.
Despite my writer’s block, I can feel the enormity of this moment in my bones. The building buzz in my veins. Adrenaline and anticipation fortifying me in their purest forms.
This is only the beginning.
And no amount of adolescent fuckery from Wade or Mandy or anyone else is going to get in my way.
6 | Robyn
“HEY, DIXIE. THANKS FOR GETTING BACK TO ME.”
I’m half out of breath from running across the amphitheater. I’ve left half a dozen voice mails for her but I didn’t know how to ask what I needed to on a recording.
“Sure. Sorry I crashed early last night. But I got your messages. What’s up?”
I move behind a concession booth for a modicum of privacy. The VIP fans are already in line and Dallas and Jase will be down here any minute for the meet-and-greet.
“It’s about Dallas. Well, me and Dallas. We’re on the same tour.”
“Oh God, Robyn. I meant to call you. I completely forgot you told me you were heading up the promo for Wade’s tour. Dallas was so excited about getting added to it and I was on the road when he called me. The pieces didn’t snap together until last weekend and I—”
“It’s fine. Really. I just, um, I just wanted to know . . . Does he know? That he’ll be working with me?”
The other end of the line is quiet. Then I hear her exhale audibly.
“No. I was trying to recall if I’d mentioned your job to him. But I haven’t. Our conversations have been pretty short, actually. I think he’s keeping something from me, something about Gavin, which I can’t really complain about because I’m keeping some information on our favorite broody drummer from him, too. But I know for a fact I haven’t said anything about your job or you working on Wade’s tour.”
Relief spreads through my chest, clearing it of the intricate webs of tension that had formed when I’d been researching Jase’s new opening act.
I want to ask her what she thinks is going on with Gavin, if she’s okay, and what she thinks I should do about Dallas. But before I can, he appears in my line of sight and I have to go. Jase Wade follows not far behind and a curvy brunette is hot on his heels and looks mad as hell. Probably a woman scorned. He seems to leave a trail of them in his wake.
“Hey, thanks. I have to go. I’m actually at work right now. But I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Sounds good. And I am so sorry, Robyn. Seriously. I suck. I should’ve—”
“It’s fine. Promise. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Him, I mean. I can handle him.
At least I hope I can. Because he’s walking directly toward me.
The brunette stops Dallas and pulls him aside so Jase reaches me first. He gestures to the pyramid of bottles behind me.
“Lookin’ good.”
I smile and smooth the lace dress I’m wearing under my denim blazer. “I’m glad you like it.”
“The display looks great, too,” he adds with a sly smile.
I shake my head and turn just in time to see the brunette glaring at Jase. I’m distracted by the outrage glowing in her eyes so I notice a second too late that Dallas is close enough to recognize me.
Our eyes meet and I wonder for a full minute if this is the movie of my life being shot without my permission.
He looks different than when I saw him at his grandfather’s funeral a couple of months ago. There’s just enough dark scruff on his chin and jaw to make me wonder what it would feel like in the palms of my hands, in the valley between my breasts, and Heaven help me, on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I would slap some sense into myself if I were alone right now.
Dallas stills completely, the questions clear in his gaze. He has no idea what the hell I’m doing here. Tension ripples tight on both sides of his jaw. He probably thinks he’s having some kind of nightmare.
“Drew here will get a few shots of both of you with the display.” I smile at the freelance photographer that works for Midnight Bay from time to time. “Then he’ll take the VIP shots separately. Just smile and act natural.”
That’s what I’ll be trying to do.
Drew’s been doing this a lot longer than I have. He already has his camera up and is snapping candids. I can only imagine what the shots of Dallas’s face are going to look like.
You’re prepared, Robyn. Dallas isn’t. Brace yourself for him to possibly behave like an ass in five . . . four . . . three. . .
“Robyn? What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t look at all happy to see me. Not that I can blame him.
“Hi, Dallas. It’s nice to see you, too. Now if you’ll just step over to where Jase is standing we can get a few shots of both of you with the—”
“Is this some kind of joke?” he asks low so that only I can hear. I watch helplessly as he looks around as if he expects a film crew to pop out and tell him he’s been Punk’d.
The entire group has turned its attention to us since he hasn’t stepped over to where he should be standing. I take a deep breath and school my features so they remain professionally polite. “No joke. I am here working. Same as you.” I force a tight smile while making deliberate eye contact. I telepathically send him a harsh “We have a job to do, suck it up, you big baby” message but he narrows his eyes and sends one right back. “We will discuss this later.”
He has questions. I’ll probably have to answer them. Honestly.
I am so screwed.
But for now, my career is more important than explaining myself. And our exchange is garnering entirely too much attention. So I usher the guys over to where I need them and Drew takes several pictures. Two different women and one man from local radio stations come up and interview each of them briefly before the fans get to
come in. Dallas has a few young girls in his line but Jase’s is never-ending.
Once the dozen or so young women are satisfied with Dallas’s photo and autographs, he walks purposefully over to where I’m hanging back off to the side. His broad shoulders have remained stiff and slightly bowed since the moment he laid eyes on me.
Every inch of my body is alert and aware of just how close he’s standing. I can smell the scent of his sharp, clean cologne and beneath that, masculine soap. There’s always the hint of wood in the air around him, as if that guitar he’s permanently attached to has somehow seeped into his skin.
My mouth waters at the intoxicating aroma that is Dallas so I swallow hard and keep my eyes trained on where Jase is standing smiling with fans, some of whom are crying and others practically groping him. What a strange life these guys lead. I couldn’t imagine part of my job being letting people fall all over me.
“Well, I can honestly say you’re the last person I expected to see here.” His voice is low in my ear, causing a shiver to roll down my spine. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
I answer without looking at him. “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I told you. I’m working. I’m an assistant marketing coordinator and promotional relations specialist for Midnight Bay Bourbon. I was on this tour before you were.”
“You just caught me off guard is all.” He clears his throat harshly. His hand falls to a spot that used to be familiar to him—the small of my back—and I feel it like fireworks.
It isn’t quite as startling as it was when Jase placed his unwelcome hand there. Dallas places his hand on my lower back like it belongs there, and my traitorous body welcomes his touch as if it agrees.
This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-three years old—a grown woman. And when a man who hasn’t touched me in years places his hand on my lower back, my bones become blobs of jelly. Damn him. Damn bones.
I fist my fingers in an attempt to return my body to a solid mass. “So you’re not gonna call my boss and request they remove me from this tour?”