Accidental Billionaire (10 page)

Baylee could totally see that. Tyler had a creative way of expressing himself.

“Tyler made me laugh. It got me out of my head.” Logan altered his posture, getting back into a Tyler pose. “Tyler went on, ‘Yeah, they will. And you know what. I’m in such a good mood today, I’ll make you my backup. And if you can’t sing, we’ll throw you on an instrument. Anyone can take on that.’ He was arrogant, brash, and I thought, Mom’s gotta hear about this guy. The thought was so clear, I almost reached for my phone.” Logan’s voice clogged and he cleared his throat, turning his face so Baylee only saw his profile. “Mom said she saw tons of talent, but that the industry was hard, and you had to have guts to make it.” His expression eased like the memory was more now than just pain. “We’d talk about that stuff, you know, all the stuff you need to make it beyond talent. Mom would have loved Tyler.” Logan mimed texting. “I shot a message to my dad that there was a talent I wanted to sign in the lobby. And to make a big deal out of him.”

“What if Tyler couldn’t sing?”

“I didn’t care. He made me think of Mom and made me smile for the first time since the funeral. We’d have found him something, some job. Dad, who was pretty ready to buy me a pony about that time, had a whole crew rush out and bring Tyler in for an audition.” He tugged on the end of her hair, an affectionate kind of tug.

“He was good?”

“Oh. Yeah. You’ve heard Tyler sing.”

“He’s ridiculously talented.”

“They signed him on the spot. Dad used my email to make sure I’d get the credit for bringing him in –”

“So your first call at the studio signed a mega star.” Baylee curled into sitting crisscross.

“Yeah.”

“That’s a good story.” She smiled at him. “So you like this industry. Is it the music? The connection to your mom?”

“All of it. It’s addictive. Until…”

“Until now when you have to give your brother the thumbs up or down? Until now when your dad may sign it away in his divorce. Dads suck. Why would he do that to you?”

“He feels like he’s freeing me from an obligation.”

He’s freeing himself from an obligation to his ex.

“I work there a month every summer. I’m just learning the way things work.”

“Okay, say you’re to decide about your brother. What would you do?”

“If he wants it, I’d be okay with it.”

“Even though it’ll cause more strife? “

“Yeah, but there’s problems. You heard them. Tate’s fourteen. He’s probably not ready; his mom can take his earnings. It’s probably why she moved away from California. They have tight child labor laws.”

It was difficult to believe that every state didn’t have labor laws that protected child stars. “Can you talk to him, maybe find out where Tate stands on this?”

“I don’t know.”

Baylee slipped down off the hood and stood in front of the bumper. “Wasn’t your dad complaining about him playing in the middle of the week at lunch? He probably has something going on tonight? A rehearsal, a gig, something. Why don’t you and I go? We can check him out.”

Logan got out his phone. “He’s got a small gig tonight.” He bit his lip.

“What’s that expression mean?”

“It’s like we’re going behind my father’s back.”

“We’re just going to listen. Well, I’m going. Are you in?”

Logan slid down. “Yeah.”

The club was smoky, as smoky as only an interior space in Vegas could be. Small dance floor, tables surrounding it, long bar. The stage was empty for now, and pop tunes crooned from the juke box along with classic rock.

“I hate classic rock.” Baylee tore the napkin under her soda into small bits, glad she wore a halter top with her jeans given how warm the room was.

“Really?” Logan had dressed in jeans with a navy Henley. He looked great.

“Really. At the factory where I work, we have no control over the music. Jimmy, one of the floor managers, he plays country. Jose, the other floor manager, he plays Mexican music in Spanish.”

“There are amazing songs across all genres.”

“If you believe that, you’ll make a great record producer.” Baylee took his palm and peered into it, as if she were reading his future. His hand was larger than hers, and she traced the rough calluses.

“I rowed at school.”

Rowing had torn up his hands. She traced the main line that ran from his wrist to his fingers. His fingers clenched around hers in reaction.

The lights dimmed before she could ask how his summer jobs compared to hers. Hers consisted mostly of ensuring product stayed straight on the line and pulling off malformed products when she worked quality control.

The band came out. The guys looked like they were all in high school and the thin guy with shaggy auburn hair took the microphone. “Hey. We’re Rowan Desert.” He was apparently the lead, not Tate.

Tate strummed out a chord, taking the band into the set.

Logan watched hard. They kicked off with a rock song. Tate threw in backup. Tate had a haunting, gravelly voice, a voice that went with a much older guy. The lead had an okay voice. He threw in random heavy yells as soon as they hit the chorus, and she suspected he used it rather than go for the bigger notes. He backed his vocals down, and Tate came back on. They went on like that.

The lead tossed out another yell, his chest out, his head back – classic wolf stance. The randomness of it divided the audience. The wincers took off to the casino, and the people into it flocked to the dance floor, where bodies slammed and fists pumped the air.

Tate mostly kept his head down, his hair sweaty in his face. Sometimes when he’d sing, he closed his eyes, other times he searched the crowd. He was doing that now, and he paused. Tate stared hard at their table. His fingers fumbled over the strings, the first chord he’d missed tonight. The lead glared at him as Tate’s hands fell from the guitar, and the drummer played louder to compensate.

The lead cupped the microphone stand. “We’re Rowan Desert, and we’ll be back after the break.” He strode off with rock star attitude. Tate set his guitar on a stool, had a word with the security guy at the corner of the stage and hopped down. He strode straight over, but when he got to their table, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, and his shoulders slumped. He stared at his black unlaced biker boots, his confidence dwindling like a fading melody.

Baylee kicked Logan, arched her eyebrows and bugged her eyes at him.
Say something.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Tate’s head came up, but he still just stood there.

“Good set,” Baylee said.

Tate’s stance didn’t ease much, but he mumbled, “Thanks.”

He wasn’t as obvious as her friend Tyler. When Tyler performed, she knew he loved it, every second of it. He couldn’t help it or hide it. She couldn’t read Tate. Baylee wanted to ask if he was enjoying it, hating it, but she didn’t know him, and tried to picture some stranger staring at her on the factory floor, poking into her business. She’d have pelted him with lizard-shaped chew toys. She got up and went to the bar to give them a second. “Three waters please.”

“Let me get that for you.” The guy in the gray suit had to be at least thirty. He winked. “What do you want besides water?”

“I’m with someone, thanks.”

“I don’t see him.” He held out a ten.

The bartender smiled. “Tap water’s on the house.”

Baylee left the bartender a tip and turned her back on the guy, carrying the glasses over to the table in a tight triangle. She set them down with a lack of finesse that said she’d never been a bartender and nudged one toward Tate. He mumbled, “Thanks,” and chugged it.

“What was that guy saying to you?” Logan asked.

“That the band was good,” she lied.

Tate narrowed his eyes. So did Logan, and they really resembled each other in that moment. It made her smile.

“Looked like he was dogging you,” Tate said.

“Not sure what that means, but nope, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that.”

The band was returning, and Tate looked between them and Logan. “Gotta go.” He turned back. “Don’t let her go over there by herself. You never know who’s in these crowds.”

Awww. That was cute; he was younger than her and looking out for her.

Logan nodded. “Yeah.”

Tate put one hand on the stage and jumped back up. He got into position and the lead said, “We’ve got one more set for you. Then the Kay Town Band will take over.” The audience cheered, hearing the name of the headliner. She’d never heard of them.

Baylee opened her palms when Logan didn’t volunteer the obvious. “Well? What’d you say to Tate?”

“We didn’t really talk.”

“What do you mean you didn’t talk?”

“I asked where Cleo was, he said, ‘at home’ and just sort of shut down. Then we talked about nothing, and then the guy hitting on you, and you returned with the water.”

“Oh.”

His shoulders tensed, and he stared straight out. “He probably wants an answer, but I don’t have it.”

“What do you think of his band?

“Tate’s better than they are. But he’s not ready. He needs practice, more vocal control, more stage presence.” They listened to the last set, and Tate left without coming back over to them. Logan stared at his phone. “Cleo picks him up.” He checked the clock. Eleven pm. “At least it’s early.”

“My curfew was nine when I was fourteen.”

“Midnight at the boarding school.” Logan’s gaze was on the stage. “Tate should reform the band as lead, get more rehearsal time, more coaching.”

“So maybe he’s in a good spot, hanging back, getting experience.”

“Maybe. But it can get hard to break up a band when things get going.”

The other band came on. They started with a slow duet, romantic, whiny. The dancing, fist waving, body slammers left the floor for the bar. A few couples strolled out to take their place. Logan curled his hand over hers. He rose.

Baylee let him pull her up. “You want to dance?”

He grinned and took her in his arms.

Baylee’s eyes drifted closed. She breathed in his cologne, sensing his energy. He led, his hand at her waist, her hand wrapped in his. They traced across the hardwood dance floor. His arms slipped around her waist and she put her own around his shoulders. He tugged her closer. The music met their movements, flowing them together, and apart, and spin and together. Logan could dance. The song shifted to a faster number and more people crowded onto the dance floor. Baylee opened her eyes as the drum picked up the rhythm, taking the song from slow to fast. She forced herself into the moves, her eyes on Logan, his on hers.

She didn’t have a ton of dancing to compare it to, the venue wasn’t the best, the music wasn’t the best, but the guy…. Logan made her feel…warm inside, happy to be with him, wanting to be closer. She didn’t want the date to end. The thoughts jarred her. She’d never felt that way during a date. And, she didn’t even know if this qualified as a real date. She’d asked him out. Did he consider this a date?

The music slowed, and Logan pulled her closer again. She felt floaty, dreamy. She threw her arms around his neck and snuggled closer. Logan’s arms tightened.

“Tate said you were here.” Cleo’s strident voice came from her right. “Are you checking up on me? I’m picking him up. I’ve really been here.”

“No.” Logan looked confused.

“I know the studio’s policy on chaperones and underage.” Cleo had her arms crossed over her chest. She wore a tight dress about a decade too young. “I was just out for a minute and then I was backstage. You just didn’t see me.”

“Okay.”

The mood had been killed; they took off shortly after that.

“Hello?” Baylee spoke groggily into her phone and yawned, shifting up on her pillow.

“Please. Please, will you do me a favor?” Ella’s voice sounded part pleading and part frustrated. “Our flutists didn’t show, well, one of them, but we need at least two.”

Baylee winced against the brightness of her phone and read seven am on the screen. “Is this a joke? I don’t do morning jokes. Can we have a joke later in the afternoon?”

“No. It’s a Christmas thing.”

“It’s summer.”

“That’s how it works. You record that stuff at least six months out. Sell the rights to TV. Get the contract in place… there are a ton of steps.”

“Oh.” Baylee let her eyelids close.

“Wake up. Please, Baylee. I told the producer I could find someone.”

“I’m up.” She struggled back up and kicked at the clinging blanket so she could get her legs over the side of the bed. “Is Tyler behind this?”

“No. We’re recording “Silent Night”. You know it, right?”

Baylee wandered into the bathroom, putting Ella on speaker and snagging her toothbrush. Even the toothbrush holder was made of the same gray and white marble as the walls, as if it sprouted from there. Vegas décor was crazy. She ran the bristles under the water and squeezed out the toothpaste. “I know it.” She’d played it every year in the high school band’s winter concert.

“Please say you’ll help me out.”

“I’ll help.” Baylee said goodbye and made Ella let her go so she could get ready.

She oddly wasn’t nervous. If she could help, she would. If they didn’t want to use her, whatever. It wasn’t how she felt about recording for her friend’s band at all. For that, she wanted to be perfect. Better than perfect. And she wasn’t there yet.

Baylee took a shower and headed out of her room. The car Ella sent was probably already downstairs, but the sight of Logan on the couch made her pause. The driver could wait five minutes.

She sat beside his sleeping form, and Logan’s eyes opened. “Baylee.” He put his arm around her waist and tugged her to him. He sounded tired and confused that she was there.

Baylee let him pull her against him, her back to him. She kept her voice soft. “Logan, why do you sleep on the couch?”

“It’s too quiet.” His voice was half muffled by the pillow. “After four years of boarding school, I need sound to go to sleep.”

“Ah.”

Leithville was small town quiet. Tyler had remarked on it numerous times when he stayed with them. To her, quiet was just normal. “Where I live, the only sounds at night are crickets, and the breeze. I don’t know how I’ll handle the dorms in the fall.”