“Crazy. Between special orders and closing the shop on Wednesday for this big event, I’m losing my mind,” I blurt out. “Not that I’m complaining,” I quickly add. “What about you?”
“Too many injured athletes, too little time. Thank God it’s my day off. Mom and I are going to visit her sister in San Diego. By the way, I’ll also have another dozen to go. Aunt Finley and Uncle Jerome love your donuts.”
Skylar Grey Bickford-Smith followed in her father’s footsteps by becoming a sports doctor. Her elite roster of top professional players is jaw-dropping. Ainsley keeps pushing her to connect me with one of them, but Skylar keeps reminding her she has strict rules about those things.
“What a gorgeous bouquet. Who did you impress, Everly?” Skylar asks.
“They’re from a very hot client,” Virginia answers before I do.
“They’re just a little thank you,” I dismiss.
“She keeps insisting it’s nothing, but those flowers say otherwise,” Callum chimes in.
“Although he’s been quite unpleasant with me since I walked into your shop, I have to side with Callum,” Skylar says.
I knit my eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“Purple and burgundy ranunculus.” She pauses. “Interesting.”
When she remains silent, I prompt her. “Are you going to add to that?”
“Hmph.”
“That’s it?”
“Same colors as your hair. Very observant,” she nods, her index finger tapping against her chin. “Your very hot client put a lot of thought into this. He did his research.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being thoughtful,” I counter.
“No, there isn’t. But this is more than that. He’s sending you a message,” Skylar says.
“Pfft! He is not.” I roll my eyes.
“If your very hot client had sent you hyacinths, peonies or tulips, it would’ve been a different story. Even roses.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask. She’s piqued my curiosity.
“As you know, I know a thing or two about flowers.” Her mom is a hard-core gardener. “While many flowers have multiple meanings, the ranunculus is the exception to the rule.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I retort.
She shakes her head. “No, Everly. Those are definitely ranunculus.”
“So what message is this guy sending her?” Callum asks the question I’m too chicken to ask.
“A pretty clear one. You send ranunculus when you want to tell a woman you find her charming and attractive.” What? “In other words, this guy thinks our little Everly is very hot!”
“That explains why there was so much sexual tension between the two of them. It was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife,” Callum says.
My heart begins beating so hard in my chest I think I’m going to faint.
Mother of God.
CHAPTER 9
Holt
“Can you feel the electricity in the air?” Xander asks, pausing at the entrance to the Bedford Room.
“It's undeniable,” I say, scouring my surroundings.
“A drink?” Xander asks.
“I need one.”
“Let’s make our way to the bar,” he suggests.
“Good idea,” I say, trailing behind him.
Although relatively new, the StreamTunes Awards has become a big deal in the industry. It’s taking place at the Brighton Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills. The Who’s Who of the music business is here tonight. A conversation with the right person could change your life in the blink of an eye and turn into a shit-ton of money.
There truly is no business like show business.
Once we order our whiskey drinks, Xander and I stand side-by-side, facing the large stage.
“Cheers!” he lifts his glass.
“Cheers!” I say, clinking my glass against his.
We take a long swig of our drinks, appreciating the smoothness.
“Wow. My palate never gets jaded,” Xander shakes his head.
“Especially when we’re talking about a rare Midleton Dair Ghaelach Bluebell,” I point out.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Xander says in an awful American accent.
“This goes down nicely with the pre-award buzz.”
“Even more so when one of your artists is the darling of the evening,” Xander says.
“I have a good feeling about Misty Ace.”
“So do I,” he says. “Her talent is mind-blowing. The fact she comes in an attractive package that isn’t tacky or overtly sexual is the cherry on the sundae.”
“I couldn’t have said it better. Her weekly sales numbers are staggering.”
“This single mom is setting records.”
“She is. My team of publicists is on standby, waiting to milk every second of tonight’s highlights just in case she wins.”
“She will. I’m certain of it. If I were you, I’d warn your PR team because they’ll be up half the night just trying to keep up. With the lineup of artists you have tonight, something tells me you’ll come out the big winner.”
“Fingers crossed.”
You can never get too cocky in this industry. Arrogance can quickly become your demise.
Xander Emerson and I have been in the music industry since we were young. He’s British. He’s in LA for the awards. While he was breaking records on the pop charts in the UK, my band and I were setting the world of rock music on fire. In other words, he has better dance moves than I do.
I stayed in the industry by becoming the head of my own record label. Xander became one of the best talent scouts in the UK and Ireland. He’s the one who discovered Misty. Since she’s American, he thought she would be a perfect fit for me. He was right. I signed her to my label and she’s been topping charts ever since.
“Looking at the crowd,” Xander says, “I can already tell, the after-party will be cracking, mate. Alas, I’ll miss it.”
“I guess since you arrived earlier today, you must be jetlagged?”
“I’ll undoubtedly feel the trip, but that’s not it. My girl has been in California for the past week. She’s replacing a colleague who was supposed to scout new American artists for the London gallery. Unfortunately, her colleague became violently ill at the last minute, so Delilah’s boss asked her to step in. She’s at a gala as we speak. She won’t stay too long. I’ll head back to the hotel early to spend the evening with her.”
Xander and I are close enough for him to confide in me. He’s in a ménage relationship with a Texan. In other words, he and his best friend, Ethan, are in love with the same woman. It’s not for me, but I respect his choice.
“And I thought you were going to party hard,” I tease.
“Nah. That life is behind me,” he grins. “Good news for you, though. More chances for you to score since you won’t have any competition,” he chuckles.
“Fuck off.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, mate. Language. As a father, you should be more careful.”
I roll my eyes.
“Regardless. I don't plan on sticking around,” I tell him. “I'm sure things will get crazy later on—like they always do in our industry.”