Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(18)
Jared couldn’t scoot back far or fast enough, even as he made sure to keep his ass planted firmly in the chair. “You know, I’m feeling better already.”
Poppy grinned. “Somehow I knew you would be.” Then she turned back to the others. “Can we please talk about your social media presence now?”
“Now?” Ryder looked surprised.
“Yes, now,” she huffed, exasperated. “I know you want to get down to work and that’s great. It’ll show really well on Snapchat and Tumblr. But I want to lay things out for you first so there are no surprises. At this point in time, my job is to get you on every important social media platform there is—and to document your time leading back to tour so we can show the world that you guys are in great shape and ready to rock. To do that, we need content. Lots and lots of content.”
“You want us to tweet more?” Quinn sounded aggrieved. “Fine, we’ll tweet more. But we have an album to finish writing and to record, a tour to plan for and a bassist to find. So excuse us if tweets aren’t our first priority.”
“That’s the point. Social media should always be one of your top priorities. And, for a while anyway, you don’t have to do anything. That’s what you have me for. I just need access and I’ll—”
“Exactly what kind of access are you talking about?” Wyatt interrupted, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He already had his bandmates looking over his shoulder, watching his every move. The last thing he needed or wanted was Poppy doing the same thing. If he screwed up—which he wasn’t planning on doing, but still—he sure as shit didn’t want it to be documented on Twitter. Or Tumblr. Or whatever the hell other platforms she was talking about.
“I want access to your rehearsals. Your song writing sessions, like today. Your nights out, if you do anything as a band. I can Snapchat it or Vine it, get your Tumblr working for you, call the paparazzi and get some HQ photos of you circulating—”
“We don’t call the paps,” Ryder told her, looking incredulous. “We’re not some pop act. The last thing we want is that kind of attention.”
“That kind of attention, when focused properly, is what’s going to sell more records for you, to people who don’t necessarily listen to Shaken Dirty. It’s what’s going to help sell out the seats in this stadium tour you’ve got planned. You need exposure right now. Lots and lots of exposure, so it looks like you guys are in high demand.” Poppy grabbed one of the unopened sodas and twisted the cap off before taking a long swig. “Which you are,” she continued. “But we want everyone to know just how popular you are so we can take you to the next level and make you guys a household name. And we want to reward your fans by giving them more access to you and your private times.”
“They aren’t exactly private if we give the world access to them,” Wyatt countered. “I don’t want to constantly have to worry about what’s going to get posted and what isn’t. I already have enough of that with the whole drug rehab scandal.”
Just the thought of that kind of publicity—that kind of access—made his skin crawl. He knew it was ridiculous to feel that way. After all, he’d spent the last few years working right along with the rest of them to ensure that Shaken Dirty was successful, was recognized. But being famous for making music was one thing, especially when he got to hide behind his drum kit at the back of the stage. It was another thing altogether to make his life front and center the way Poppy was suggesting.
“Yeah. We’re not reality TV stars,” Quinn said quietly, the unease in his voice echoing perfectly the concern Wyatt was feeling. “We’re musicians.”
“Of course you are, I know that. Which is why we’re not actually going to give them twenty-four-seven access. We’re just going to give your fans the illusion of that access.”
“Wait. You want us to lie to them? Pretend to be something we’re not?” Suddenly, he felt even more uncomfortable. He’d spent too much of the last few years lying—about the drugs, about his feelings, about the past. The last thing he wanted was to get out of rehab and just add to the pile of lies. Not when everything his counselors had preached to him had been about being honest with himself and his world. And since telling the world about his past was out of the question—he wasn’t going there, ever—he’d kind of counted on being able to be honest about everything else.
“No! That’s the last thing I want! If you aren’t honest with the fans, they’ll know—with social media and Google the way they are today, it’s really easy for the fans to catch you in a lie. And if we’re going to rebuild Shaken Dirty’s brand, we definitely don’t want that.”
“Well, then, I’m confused,” Jared said, kicking his feet onto the empty chair next to him. “What exactly do you want from us?”
Poppy leaned forward, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked from one member of Shaken Dirty to another. When it was his turn—when her gaze met his—Wyatt felt himself falling into them, falling into her, despite his best intentions not to. But her eyes were big and brown, with little gold flecks, and he could feel the warmth of them.
What the hell was the matter with him? he wondered furiously. And what kind of power did she have over him that he found himself thinking about f*cking her—about sliding his cock between those lush pink lips of hers—when what he should be thinking about was what was best for Shaken Dirty?