My skin prickles at my lie of omission as I make my way back inside the bar. Gavin Garrison isn’t with me and he hasn’t been since he left after the audition in Nashville. I thought he would’ve gotten in touch with her by now and as much as I want to tell her, it doesn’t feel like my truth to tell.
Then there’s the fact that I feel like I’m faking it until I make it out on the road alone. I haven’t written a full song in over a year. Not one that was any good, anyway. If it weren’t for my sister’s lyrics, I probably wouldn’t even be here. But I have to push aside my writer’s block or inspiration block or whatever the hell it is that’s blocking me. Because I’m here now, right where I always dreamed of being.
2 | Robyn
IT IS DAYS LIKE THIS THAT MAKE ME THANKFUL PEOPLE ASSUME I am a bitch. Something about my red hair, I guess. Usually I’m pretty chill, actually. But incompetence irritates the ever-loving shit out of me. And I’ve been dealing with it all morning. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to make this day run smoothly.
Ignoring the pinch of pain my Louboutins cause and the dull ache in my calves, I stomp over to where two muscle-covered men are setting up the Midnight Bay blue line display.
“What part of ‘forward facing’ is unclear?” Reaching toward the LED-lit shelf, I turn the bottles so that the labels can be seen. Both men give me their what-do-you-want-from-us-lady face. Once I have the bottles positioned correctly, I force a smile at them. “There. See? Now it actually makes sense to spend several thousand dollars on this display.”
The younger of the two rolls his eyes so I narrow mine.
My blood pressure skyrockets as he hops down from the ladder and smirks at me. “Think you can do it better, Red? Knock yourself out.”
He’s cocky in a way that reminds me of a southern boy who made me a woman. Taking a deep breath, I glance at the older gentleman still arranging the display. With the labels turned every which way.
“You know what? Why don’t you fellas take a break?”
“Gladly,” the one glaring at me says before walking away in a huff.
“Don’t worry about me. I got this,” I call out after him, causing several people in the Midnight Bay Bourbon Distillery to turn and look at me.
“My apologies, ma’am,” the older man tells me, scratching his beard as he climbs down from the ladder himself. His gray T-shirt has “Sanderson & Sons Convention Services” stamped on the pocket. “This is the family business, and believe me, not his first choice.” There’s heavy regret in his voice and I can see the resemblance. Junior is his son, apparently, and I just made an already tense situation worse.
Well now I feel like an asshole.
Sighing, I give him a genuine smile instead of my usual resting bitch face. “It’s okay. I’m just really particular. Y’all did great on this setup. I can handle arranging the bottles from here.”
He nods, but tense lines of worry are etched into his aging face. “We need this job, ma’am. The last thing we need is to lose Midnight Bay’s business because of an attitude problem. Please—”
“It’s Robyn,” I say, reaching out a hand and realizing I never introduced myself. I greeted them when they arrived by giving orders. Maybe bitchy has become my default setting. Damn fiery hair. “And no worries, Mr. Sanderson. It looks great.” I glance up at the nine-foot tower of bourbon bottles. It does look pretty fantastic, minus some hidden labels that can easily be fixed.
“I’ll just go, um, deal with—” He gestures toward the direction where his son stalked off.
“Good idea. Sorry if I was a little snappy. I’ve only recently been promoted to the head of this huge campaign and the stress must be getting to me.”
“Just doing your job, ma’am. Can’t fault you for that.” He winks, giving me a tired grin before following after his son.
The real reason I’m stretched within centimeters of my breaking point is the meeting I had with my boss this morning.