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

The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that if he did it—if he gave in and shattered his hands and his life wide open—then he couldn’t play tonight. And it would just be one more failure, one more f*ck-up, one more way he let down the only people he gave a shit about in the whole f*cking world.





Chapter Two


Poppy Germaine slid into the waiting limo—and its very welcome air conditioning—with a sigh of relief. It had been an absolutely insane day, one that started with a flight from New York to L.A. for a whirlwind round of meetings that had been cut short when she’d gotten the call from Caleb telling her to catch a plane to Austin ASAP.

Austin wasn’t in her itinerary for the week, but he’d said he needed her. And since being his older sister (by only four minutes, but still) was a responsibility she took very seriously, she’d dropped everything and run for the nearest airport.

And now, here she was.

But her relief at being out of Austin’s stifling heat was short-lived, considering Caleb was supposed to be meeting/picking her up at the airport and unless this limo had a couple of secret compartments, he was definitely not in it. Which was a problem, considering she had no idea what she was doing here.

Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she checked both her text messages and call log, but there was nothing from Caleb. A quick glance at her email told her there was nothing there either, though there was a fairly irate message from her father complaining about her “harebrained” penchant for running out on important meetings without notice. He didn’t, of course, mention the fact that she’d held the meeting via Telepresence as she’d raced to LAX. Or that she’d rocked the meeting, putting together a marketing plan that made both the artist’s management and the label’s accountants happy.

But then, why should he when the only reason he’d given her control of marketing on this project was to see her fail? It was supposed to be his big, shining proof that women shouldn’t be record execs. That they were fine as admins and first-or second-level managers, but that they couldn’t hold their own when it came to sitting in on the labels’ top decisions. Not because he was inherently sexist or anything—at least that was his story and he was sticking to it—but because the talent didn’t take them seriously. Rockers and rappers weren’t going to take orders from a woman.

She’d tried to tell him a million times that this wasn’t 1965. Or even 1995. The new generation of rock stars would take seriously whoever made them famous and filled their bank accounts. She wasn’t sure the guys she’d been dealing with today even knew she had a vagina.

Her dad wasn’t buying it though. No daughter of his was ever going to run a record label. No, that was going to be Caleb’s job. The fact that Caleb didn’t want it—not to mention was hopelessly inept at everything but the accounting/business side of things—didn’t seem to matter in the slightest. He was going to get it, and she—she was going to be stuck trying desperately to prove herself to her father for many, many more years.

Since dwelling on it only depressed her, she shoved thoughts of her dad out of her mind and concentrated instead on trying to figure out what the hell was up with Caleb. Glancing around impatiently, she was just thinking about getting out of the limo—maybe she’d taken so long getting her luggage that he had gone into the airport looking for her—when the driver pulled smoothly away from the curb and into traffic.

What the—

Punching the intercom button, she told the driver, “Wait! We’re still missing one person. My brother is supposed to meet me here.”

“According to my itinerary, you’re my only passenger.”

That didn’t make sense. “That’s not possible. I don’t even know where we’re going.” She was so going to kill Caleb when she got her hands on him again.

“I was told Antone’s on Fifth Street. Is that not right?” The driver didn’t sound particularly worried.

Antone’s? They didn’t have anyone playing there tonight, did they? She checked the schedule of artists and gigs that she updated every week and checked it. Nope, nothing scheduled for Antone’s that she was aware of. Still, Caleb wasn’t known for sending her on wild goose chases… “No, Antone’s is fine,” she told the driver. “Thanks.”

Then she pulled her messages back up again. Still no texts. And no phone calls. What the hell was Caleb up to?

Googling Antone’s website on her phone, she scrolled through their appearances list. There were a couple of good bands on there this month—bands she’d been keeping an eye on—but she’d never heard of the one they had scheduled for tonight. Fly by Night. A quick Google search showed they didn’t even have a website. Weird. There were no reviews online. Nothing.

She started to dig deeper, but then a text message from Caleb finally came in. The dick.

Caleb: Hey, Soda Pop! Thanks for saving my ass

Me: I haven’t saved anything yet :/ What’s going on?

Caleb: This is your shot

Me: Unless you mean tequila, I’m pretty sure I don’t know what you’re talking about

Caleb: Shaken Dirty’s auditioning a new bassist at Antone’s tonight in a pick-up show that nobody knows about

Me: Holy shit! Shaken Dirty????? They’re Fly by Night?