Xavier’s concerts were always sold out just minutes after tickets were offered for sale. The Boston concert was no exception. She was hoping that XO would offer her tickets, but as it turned out he offered her much more.
At the end of XO’s call Isabel thought her heart was going to explode, it was beating so fast. She ran down the steps. She found Nick and Dylan in the kitchen. They had architectural blueprints spread out on the table.
Nick was in the middle of asking a question but stopped when he saw Isabel’s face. Her cheeks were flushed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You’re not going to believe . . . I mean, I can’t believe it . . . It’s crazy,” she stammered.
“Completely crazy . . .”
“Take a breath,” Dylan suggested. He pulled out a chair next to him for her to sit.
She inhaled deeply, then said, “It’s good news. But first things first. Michael’s out. You’re in, Nick, if you’ll agree.”
“Agree to what?” he asked.
“Agree to be my attorney if I need one to talk to Detective Samuel. It makes sense since you live in Boston. I know you travel for work, but you’re based here,” she hurried to add so he wouldn’t ask her why Michael had been booted.
“Sure, I’ll do it.”
She sat down, took another deep breath, and tried to slow her racing heartbeat. “Do you know who Xavier O’Dell is? He’s known as XO.”
“Isabel, we aren’t that old,” Dylan said, exasperated. “We know who he is. Everyone knows him.”
“Laurant loves him,” Nick said. “She swears she’d leave me in a heartbeat for the man she calls a sex god.”
Dylan laughed. “Sex god?”
“I can see that,” Isabel said, nodding. “He kinda is a sex god. The man oozes sex appeal.”
“What about him?” Dylan asked.
“He just called me.”
“The sex god called you?” Nick looked astonished. “Are you sure it really was XO?”
“He prefers to be called Xavier,” she said. “And yes, I’m sure it was him.”
Dylan leaned back in his chair. “What did he want?”
“He told me he watched the video of me singing, and he liked it.”
She appeared to be dazed, and Dylan laughed in reaction. “Of course he liked it.”
“He said he watched it over a dozen times.” She paused to shake her head. “I can’t imagine why.
It’s not my best work.”
“I thought it was pretty good,” Nick told her.
“Isabel, you’re sounding like Kate now,” Dylan remarked. “Whenever she’s excited or nervous about something, her voice takes on a thicker Southern drawl. Try to calm down before you pass out.
Your face is bright red.”
Calming down wasn’t possible, but she did take a couple of long deep breaths. They actually helped. She finally got her mind to stop whirling and said, “He’s performing at The Garden Friday night. This Friday night.”
She looked at both of them and waited. She seemed to think they should know something she hadn’t told them yet.
“And?” Nick prodded.
“Did he give you tickets? Is that why you’re so excited?” Dylan asked.
“No. He wants me to be part of his concert. That’s what he told me.”
“Hold on a minute. Are you saying he wants you to sing onstage with him?” Dylan asked, trying to clarify.
“He wants me to sing my song from the video . . . alone . . . in front of thousands of people, and he also wants me to sing another song with him. Oh, and he wants to buy my song, and offered to pay me a heap of money.”
“What’s a heap?” Nick wondered.
When she told them the amount, they were both speechless. Their stunned expressions made her laugh.
“That much?” Dylan asked.
She nodded. “That much.”
“Hell, that is a heap of money,” Nick said.
“Xavier said he’s going to email phone numbers, and my people are supposed to contact his people . . .”
Her voice trailed off while she thought about selling her songs. It had always been her dream, and now it looked like it was coming true.
Dylan could tell from the look in Isabel’s eyes that she had spaced out.
“Isabel, snap out of it.”
“Yes?”
“What did you tell him when he asked you to have your people contact his people?” Nick asked.
“I told him I didn’t have any people.”
“Yes, you do,” Dylan said. “Nick and Theo and Michael are all attorneys—”
“She needs an entertainment attorney,” Nick suggested. “I’ll find a good one for you, Isabel. Don’t sign anything yet.”
“I won’t,” she said.
Nick and Dylan spent a few minutes discussing the next steps to be taken, and when they finally turned their attention back to Isabel, she seemed to have deflated. She was leaning her elbow on the table with her chin in her hand, staring into space.
Dylan brought her back to the moment. “Isabel?”
“I don’t think I can do it,” she said, sitting up and shaking her head. “Xavier said he’s sending a car Thursday. He’s on tour now and will arrive in Boston late Wednesday night, and Thursday afternoon from one to three is the only time we can rehearse.”
She couldn’t be still another second and began to pace around the kitchen. Her mind was racing again. She took a bottle of root beer out of the refrigerator, opened it, and handed it to Dylan. Then she got another one out and gave it to Nick.
“Guess we’re drinking root beer now,” Nick whispered to his brother.
Dylan nodded. “Guess we are.”
They were both watching Isabel pace.
“I should have said no right away. That’s what I should have done. I’m not ready to be a performer. I’m a songwriter.” She was really starting to freak out, now that it was all sinking in.
“You got up onstage and sang. I watched the video,” Nick said. “You didn’t look at all nervous.”
“I was drunk,” she admitted. “Are you saying I’ll have to get drunk every time I want to sing onstage? I can’t do that . . . can I?”
“No, you can’t,” Dylan said.
“For God’s sake, Isabel.” Michael was standing right behind her.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice. She whirled around and demanded,
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear you say you have to get drunk to sing.” He shut the door behind him and looked at Dylan and Nick. “What’s going on?”
Michael joined his brothers at the table, and Isabel continued to pace while Nick caught him up on the latest news. When Isabel opened the refrigerator, Dylan said, “Michael, you’re getting a root beer.”
“I don’t want—”
“Just go with it,” Dylan suggested.
Isabel walked over to the table, shoved the bottle into Michael’s hand, and pulled a chair out. She didn’t sit, though. She stood gripping the back of the chair. “Michael doesn’t need to know what’s going on. No one but you, Nick, and Dylan need to know. I don’t want the rest of the family involved.
This week is a celebration for your parents. I don’t want anything to take the attention away from them.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dylan said. “The thing is . . .”
“Yes?”
“Nick just told Michael everything.”
“Why did you do that?”
Nick shrugged. “He asked.”
Isabel hadn’t looked directly at Michael since he walked in. That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.