“Are you sure she’d be interested?”
“Definitely. And I think your styles would mesh well.”
Meaning what?
“She’s a woman closer to your age,” he explains as if I’d asked the question out loud. His mouth quirks. “She’s spirited…and opinionated.” He jerks his head toward Dawson’s now-empty chair. “You two have some similar ideas.”
Finally, I get what he’s saying, and I can’t help laughing. “Shoot. You think I offended Dawson?” I whisper.
“Nah. He’s not stupid. He knows his sound has gotten stale. He wouldn’t have fought so hard to drag me out of retirement otherwise.”
“Why retire? You clearly love doing this.” I hope that’s not too nosy but I’m dying to know.
“It’s…complicated. But I’m actually glad I’m here. I worked with Dawson when he was first starting out and it’s a real kick to see how far he’s come.”
Well, dang. I’d sure love if he could say the same thing about me one day.
Chapter Forty-One
Rooster
I expected to have a quiet night with Shelby. Hear all about her session. Maybe listen to whatever she came up with in the studio.
I wasn’t expecting to go to dinner with Dawson tonight. But it’s important for Shelby. Thankfully, Chaser and Mallory join us.
Since Dawson knows the area best, he chose the place.
“Classic American food with a global spin. That sound all right?” Dawson asks. He hands the menu back to the hostess.
“I’m dying for mac and cheese,” Shelby says. “Like gooey, gourmet, real stuff. Not boxed.”
“Yes!” Mallory says. “I vote for that.”
“Mac and cheese it is.” Dawson claps his hands together.
The staff rushes to find us a table large enough in a quiet area of the crowded restaurant.
People rubberneck it to gawk at Dawson as we pass. The staff keeps us moving along, though.
“How’d it go today?” I ask Chaser.
“Not bad.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “Shelby’s not afraid to share her opinions.”
Pride thrums through my chest. Knew my girl would find her footing.
“Where’s Jigsaw, isn’t he still traveling with you?” Chaser asks.
“At our Deadbranch charter helping out.”
“Digger still running things there?”
Surprised Chaser knows or cares about our Tennessee charter, but it’s not like it’s top-secret information. “Yeah.”
“Tell him I said hello. He and my dad used to be tight. Dad always had a lot of respect for him.”
Interesting bit of LOKI legend I wasn’t aware of. Maybe I should talk to Z about putting together some sort of LOKIpedia for all of us younger brothers. Then again, if I suggest it, I better be prepared to do it myself.
We’re seated at a round table in a quiet section. Dawson recognizes a couple nearby and stops to talk to them.
“The guy is Buck Ainsley,” Shelby whispers to me. “He’s a big record producer.”
“Shelby,” Dawson calls, curling his fingers to motion her closer. “Come here, darlin’.”
Her scared eyes meet mine for a brief second before she slips into professional mode, pastes on a big smile, and struts over to the table.
That’s my girl.
Chaser raises an eyebrow. “I’m guessing Dawson’s not impressed with whoever’s lined up to produce her album?”
“No clue.”
In a lower voice he asks, “Whatever came of Glenna Wilson being involved in Shelby’s kidnapping?”
“Jack shit. She all but admitted it.” I shrug. “But with him dead, there’s not much to tie Suggs to her. She’s pretty much off the hook.”
“Interesting.” He watches Dawson and Shelby. “He’s taken an interest her. In her career,” he adds quickly.
“You trying to tell me something?” I really don’t want to have to punch Chaser tonight. Or Dawson.
“No, no, no. I don’t get that vibe from him at all. Nothing like that. The guy Glenna cheated with was Dawson’s best friend.”
“I think I heard that somewhere.”
“Dawson also mentored him, brought him into the business, got him signed to his record label, and collaborated with him. He got fucked over by Tucker and Glenna ten different ways.”
“Shit.” No wonder Dawson seemed so impressed with the loyalty I share with my club brothers.
Shelby returns to us. “Sorry,” she whispers in my ear, pulling her chair closer to mine so our legs are touching from hip to knee under the table.
“That’s what you’re here for. Networking.” I pat her thigh, hoping she understands I’m not mad at all.
“Sorry about that, everyone.” Dawson grins as he takes his seat and rubs his hands together. “Glad I ran into him. He liked you, Shelby.”
“I’d love to work with him one day.”
“We’ll try to make that happen,” Dawson says, opening his menu.
Shelby freezes for a second, then picks up her menu. “That’d be nice,” she says casually.
Shelby
My hands are still sweaty from talking to Buck Ainsley. Greg had him on my pie-in-the-sky wish list of producers, but Ainsley supposedly didn’t work with new artists.
Dawson talking up my experience now that I’ve finished a tour and my “depth” in songwriting—whatever that meant—might change his mind.
Under the table, I reach for Rooster’s hand and twine my fingers around his. His patience when he has to be bored silly means the world to me.
“Still going for the mac and cheese?” Mallory asks me.
“I don’t know. I’m eyeing those chicken-fried chicken thighs.” Damn, they’ve got salsa in the mashed potatoes. Why the heck would anyone do that?
Rooster seems to be thinking the same thing. He leans over and taps the description of the dish on my menu.
“I know. I saw it.” How sweet is he to remember my tomato allergy and be looking out for it? I scan the dinner list again. “The steak, egg, and potato waffle looks good too.” There better not be any stinkin’ tomatoes with waffles.
“Ooo.” Mallory’s eyes gleam with interest. “You had me at potato waffle.”
We place our orders. Everyone orders a steak of some kind.
“Lordy, they’re gonna need to butcher a whole cow for our table,” I joke after the waitress leaves.
“Dawson Roads.” A breathy voice draws all of our attention. Dawson and I both turn around to find the source.
I scan our visitor from head to toe—twenty-something. Long, pale blond hair like a cloud of cotton candy. Bright plaid short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned enough to show off firm cleavage and tied up under her bra to showcase her concave stomach—complete with winking belly button ornament.
“I’m such a huge fan of yours,” she gushes, curling her hand over his shoulder.
“Well, thank you, sugar,” he drawls, laying it on with a trowel.