Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(12)

She’d tried her hardest to help this band get what they deserved that the idea of backing away now, of trusting anyone else—even Caleb—to make sure that they held together, was anathema to her. At the moment, things were so delicate with them, the line they were walking between being rock gods or screw-ups who were just a footnote in rock and roll history was so thin that they couldn’t afford to blow this chance. The next steps they made didn’t just have to be right. They had to be perfect. Now that she knew they weren’t just laying low for the next couple of months, she wasn’t ready to trust Caleb or their management with them. Not when so many mistakes had already been made.

No, she was sticking around. Sticking this out. There was no other option. Not when she was standing here in the audience of this too-small club watching every single person in the room melt for them. Not when she was watching the show of a lifetime unfold right in front of her eyes. Shaken Dirty was on the brink of making history—she could feel it in her bones—and there was no way she was going to miss it. No way she wasn’t going to do everything in her power to make that happen.

And so she didn’t call her brother, even though her phone was burning a hole in her pocket. She didn’t mosey over to the bar where Richard and Gus from their management team were currently watching the show with eagle eyes. She didn’t even strategize about what to do to keep the post-show meet-and-greet from becoming one big humiliation for her.

Instead, she said to hell with all of it and settled back to finish the best club show she’d ever seen. And if at the end of Shaken Dirty’s set, she snuck out of the club without ever introducing herself to the guys, well then, there was no one but herself around to blame her. Besides, tomorrow morning was soon enough to start fixing the mess she’d made with Wyatt. Or at least, that was her story and she was sticking to it.

…

Of course, as it turned out, the next morning she was no more ready to deal with the mess she’d made than she’d been the night before. The only difference was, today she didn’t have a choice. Not if she was going to do the job Caleb had entrusted her with.

As her alarm went off for the third time that morning, Poppy threw back the luxurious duvet she was cowering under and crawled out of bed. According to the schedule Caleb had given her, the guys of Shaken Dirty were meeting at Quinn’s house at noon today to write on the new album. And, she assumed, to discuss the bassist they’d auditioned the night before.

There was no way she was going to miss that, no matter how embarrassed she was. Not when Li had been so wrong for the group. On the off chance that they didn’t recognize how bad a fit he was, she wanted to be there to steer the conversation. Or more likely—since she was going to be undercover as the new social media consultant—to call Caleb and demand he refuse to accept the former Firestarter bassist as the new fifth member of Shaken Dirty.

The fact that she still didn’t know what she was going to do about the whole alley/losing her panties thing from last night was something she refused to dwell on. At least until two hours later, after she’d spent the morning drowning in work emails, and she was standing under a hot shower with nothing else to think about.

How the hell was she going to pull this off? How the hell was she going to face Wyatt after she’d let him do all those wicked things to her in that alley? Or Jared, for that matter, when he’d seen her pressed up against that wall, jeans unbuttoned and Wyatt on his knees in front of her.

She could just brazen it out, could pretend that this was something she did all the time. The only problem was, she didn’t think she was a good enough liar to carry it off. The vibes she normally gave off didn’t exactly scream groupie…

Then again, they were rock stars. They probably did do this kind of thing all the time. What were the odds that they’d even remember it today—or, at least, remember her?

The alley had been dark, so dark that she hadn’t recognized Wyatt even when he was on his knees in front of her. Admittedly, he’d cut his hair and grown a short beard while in rehab, plus his trademark tattoos had been covered up by the long-sleeve black T-shirt he’d been wearing. Not to mention the fact that he’d stuck to the shadows while she hadn’t bothered to.

But still, it had been dark. And it wasn’t like she’d introduced herself. Maybe if she wore her hair differently and acted uber-professional, they wouldn’t put today’s Poppy together with the girl who had let Wyatt do whatever he wanted to her last night.

She figured it was the best bet she had. Was it perfect? Not even close. Was it better than going in there and admitting she’d behaved completely unprofessionally? Abso-f*cking-lutely. She would if she had to, but if she didn’t…well, what was one more lie at this point? She was already screwed …

After finishing her shower, she dried her hair and straightened it to within an inch of its life. Then she wound it into a super tight, super high bun that was about as far from the loose curls she’d worn last night as she could get. A quick stop at the mall yielded a gypsy-looking maxi skirt and peasant blouse that were so not her normal style, and a pair of glasses distinctive enough that she hoped they’d keep the attention off her features.

Which left her just enough time to stop by a local bakery for a dozen cupcakes—she was a big believer in never approaching a band empty handed—before driving to the Island, the small, exclusive peninsula where Quinn Bradford and Ryder Montgomery owned houses.