Convinced now that this was some kind of gift for her father that had been sent to the wrong address, she found the card at the bottom of the box. Pulling it out, she expected some kind of kiss up note from Waterloo, asking her dad to consider them for future signings or whatever.
What she found instead…what she found instead had her hands shaking and tears blooming in her eyes.
To Poppy,
I went looking for a song that reminded me of you, and instead found two dozen that all say what I want to say better than I ever could.
Thanks for last night. It meant a lot to me. Wyatt
At the bottom of the note was a playlist, one or two songs listed from each of the albums he’d sent her. As she read the titles, the tears she’d been struggling to hold in check overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
“Beth” from KISS.
“Lady” from Styx.
“You’re My Best Friend” from Queen.
“If I Fell” from The Beatles.
That was the song that did it, that took her from tearing up to ugly sobbing. For long seconds, she just stood there, shoulders shaking, with the playlist in one hand and The Beatles album in the other.
Wyatt had done this for her. Wyatt, who thought he was a loser. Who thought he didn’t have anything to give. Who thought all of them would be better off without him. Wyatt had done this. Just to make her happy.
No one had ever done something this elaborate for her before…and until she’d opened the box, it had never even occurred to her what she was missing. She’d spent so much of her life chasing her father’s approval, trying to placate journalists and band management and label execs and temperamental musicians, that the idea of someone doing something for her, just because it made her happy—just because she mattered—was foreign to her.
This and a song written exclusively for her? How could she help but fall for Wyatt? Wounded as he was, messed up as he’d been when he’d left her apartment that morning…and still he’d done this.
She picked up her phone to call him, but decided against it when she saw the time. He was probably still in rehearsals with the band. After firing off a quick text instead—one that expressed her intense pleasure with the gift and her desire to show her appreciation with sexual favors—she crossed to the state-of-the-art stereo in the corner of the room and was thrilled to see it still had the turntable she’d added to it a couple of years ago when she’d been in town for South by Southwest.
As she put on Something New, she noticed the jewel case from Smoke and Mirrors’ latest CD laying next to the CD player. As she stared at it, an idea came to her. It was insane, ludicrous even, and yet…and yet, she couldn’t get it out of her head.
It would be perfect. Absolutely perfect. If her father didn’t have an actual stroke. And have her committed to an insane asylum. And that was only if Caleb was willing to step up and ask him…
Knowing there was no way she’d be able to relax until she at least tried, Poppy pulled out her cell phone and dialed her brother. The second he came on the line, she blurted out, “I need you to do me a favor.”
Caleb’s long-suffering sigh came through the phone loud and clear. “Aren’t I already doing you a favor keeping Dad off your ass while you’re in Austin? After what happened during the conference call yesterday—and the way Shaken Dirty have sicced their lawyers on us—that has to count for something.”
“And here I thought I was doing you a favor, since you’re the one who sent me down here to babysit a rock star when you didn’t want the job.”
“I already told you. It’s not that I didn’t want the job. It’s that I knew you’d be better at it than I would be.”
She made sure her tone conveyed just how hard she was rolling her eyes. “Kissing up will get you nowhere.”
“I’m not kissing up!” he answered with mock indignation. “Besides, if anyone should be kissing up, it’s you. You’re the one who called me for a favor, after all.”
“Yes, well, it’s a favor that will benefit all of us, so you just need to do it and not think too hard about it.”
“What exactly do I need to do?” Suddenly he sounded a lot more wary. Then again, no one had ever accused her brother of being an idiot.
With that thought in mind, she decided to just rip the Band-Aid off and tell him what had to be done. “You need to get Drew Fitzpatrick on a plane to Austin no later than tomorrow morning.”
When he didn’t immediately explode, she told herself maybe this was going to go better than she’d originally thought it would. But then several long seconds passed with no response from her brother, and she knew that was wishful thinking.
“Caleb?” she finally prompted when they were coming up on a minute of full radio silence. “You still there?”
His only response was a fairly alarming gasping sound.
“Are you actually dying or are you just being dramatic?”
“I’m imitating the sound Dad is going to make choking on his scotch if I even suggest putting Drew on a plane to Austin. Have you lost your freaking mind?”