Take a Bow, page 18
Her mom strode into the conference room just as she hit the button to listen to her voicemail. Deb marched over, lovely in a silvery blue sheath. “Don’t you need to get ready?” she asked, tapping her wrist in a mom gesture for get a move on.
Mimi held up a finger as she listened to the message. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“This is not happening right now.” She groaned and shut her eyes, trying to figure out what to do.
“What’s going on?” Deb asked again. “Bad news?”
“The band isn’t coming. They ate some bad shrimp and are puking their guts out.”
“Gross.” Deb put her hand on her stomach. “Well, what about a local band?”
“It’s such short notice. I don’t even know where to start.” Dammit, everything had been going smoothly, the party timeline unfolding just as she’d planned for weeks. Being an over-organized person had its drawbacks sometimes, but today all her hard work had been paying off. She’d been relatively unstressed, knowing every element of the evening had been planned and checked and double-checked. But she hadn’t planned for this.
Deb pulled out her phone. “Let me help. I’ll call your brother.”
“What could he do?”
“He’s got the contact info for the acts that have played The Cove, right? He can start contacting people while you get ready.” Her mother dialed before Mimi could even react. “You can’t show up in jeans and clogs,” she said.
Mimi experienced the lurching feeling of having something important snatched away from her, but she did feel better knowing her mom was on top of this. And while Jay was probably busy getting ready for the event himself, if he could help, he would.
“All right,” she said, reluctantly ceding control. “I’ll go home and change. Let me know if you guys come up with anything. Worst case scenario, we can hook up someone’s phone and stream a playlist. The band is mostly for entertainment between dinner and dessert.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Deb said. “Now go.”
Nash stood in front of his closet in trousers and an untucked dress shirt, considering the rest of his outfit for the fundraiser. Wanting to look good for Mimi’s big night, he’d had his L.A.-based stylist send him a couple of options. He wished Chloe was there now to give him advice. Tie or no tie?
Even though they hadn’t seen each other since Tuesday, he and Mimi had texted a few times. He wanted to chalk up her distance to the distraction of the fundraiser, but he’d been unsettled. Somewhere, they’d gotten their wires crossed, but he thought if they could talk, they’d straighten them out again.
He’d realized after Mimi left it hadn’t been fair to ask her what she thought about the movie deal without giving her time to think about it. Of course her initial reaction would be supportive—she’d want what was best for him. Problem was, he didn’t know what was best for him.
He knew what Mary-Anne and his management team would say: he was finally hitting the big time; if he took this role, he’d forever be associated with one of the most successful franchises in history. He’d be a household name.
He wasn’t exactly longing to being more famous. He was already recognized nearly everywhere he went. Misty Harbor was a strange pocket of the world where everyone knew who he was, but it was an unspoken town pact not to draw attention to the very recognizable people they had in their midst. It was nice to have a chance to be himself and live a semi-normal life.
But it still hurt that Mimi hadn’t once seemed to care that if he took this role, it would affect them, a lot. He understood intellectually she wouldn’t tell him not to do it just for her. She’d never stand in his way if there was something he really wanted to do. But he still wanted her to care. He wanted her to want him to make a different decision.
Which was totally passive aggressive and unfair. But he still wanted it.
Fuck it. He grabbed a tie—he could start with it on and take it off later if it was that kind of party. He heard a car outside and frowned. It was too early for Jay to pick him up. He started down the stairs, picking up his pace when he heard urgent bangs on the door, accompanied by Jay yelling.
“Open up, Nash!”
The bellow had him thinking the worst. Was Mimi hurt? What was going on? He yanked open the door, heart racing. “What?”
“It’s Mimi,” Jay said, looking grim.
A hundred horrible possibilities flashed through his brain as his stomach suddenly acquired a painful knot. “What is it? Is she okay?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine,” Jay said, suddenly so relaxed, Nash wanted to murder him. He was on an emotional tightrope, and Jay was bouncing up and down on it.
“What the hell? Then what’s wrong?”
“She needs help. The band canceled, and she has three hundred people arriving at the Inn in an hour to be wined and dined and entertained.”
“Shit.” Nash knew how important the live music was to Mimi. Even if none of the guests would complain if there was no entertainment, she’d promised them a show, and she’d feel terrible if she couldn’t deliver. “What can we do?”
“I called a few local bands that have played at The Cove, but they’re all booked for weddings and stuff. A couple haven’t gotten back to me yet. It’s such short notice.” Jay’s voice slowed. “I was thinking, and I know this is a big ask, but I was wondering if you’d consider doing something. Even a short acoustic set would be better than nothing.”
“Me?” The idea was completely out of left field. “I’m not a professional musician.”
“You’re a damn good guitarist, and you know it. I could maybe track down an electric guitar, or I was thinking Jeff could help us set up a decent mic to pick up your acoustic guitar.” Jeff was the sound guy on the show, and Nash was aware he’d be attending the fundraiser as a guest.
Nash hunched his shoulders as he thought it over. He’d vowed to himself he’d never be in this situation, but this wasn’t him trading on his name to try to sell tickets. It was almost like a private show—he knew a lot of the people who were going to be at the event. They were his friends. They wouldn’t boo or hiss. And Mimi needed this. She needed him, even if she didn’t know it.
He pointed a shaky finger at his best friend. “You’re going to talk me through the stage fright, okay?”
“Anything you need, buddy,” Jay said.
“I’ll do it.”
“I thought you would.”
“You did?”
“Men in love do whatever they have to.”
Nash’s stomach twisted into another, more complicated knot. He’d basically figured out he was in love with Mimi the first time they’d fucked and it hadn’t felt like just sex. It had been making love, and it had felt incredible. But it still felt weird to have her brother toss the word out there.
“Is that okay with you?” he asked cautiously.
“I’m rooting for you two,” Jay said with a shrug of his shoulders, as if it was nothing. But Nash saw through his nonchalance. He was giving them his blessing, which all three of them knew wasn’t required but was very much appreciated.
“Thanks, man.”
“You know, I never really cared that much about not having a dad, and Mimi’s the best sister in the world, but I always wanted a brother,” Jay said, looking down at his dress shoes.
“Really?” Nash had never been particularly close to his own brother, who was a stockbroker with two Weimaraners and golfed every Sunday. He wondered if he didn’t invest more in their relationship because he’d had Jay since he was sixteen—someone who got him, who teased him, who supported him and challenged him and always had his back. “You’ve always been like my brother, Jay, since the first week of the show, when we got in trouble for eating the set decorations.”
“How were we supposed to know those bananas were a prop?” Jay grinned.
“Love you, Jay.”
Jay’s eyes widened for a split second but then crinkled up again as his smile returned. “Love you, too, brother. Now go get your guitar.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He was a cowboy poet, composing on his pony, rhyming couplets as he rode
“Stetson,” The Nash Speedwell Experience
Found a musical act. Will take care of everything. See you at the Inn.
Mimi stared at her phone in disbelief. She wanted to feel relief that her brother had apparently fixed the problem, but the Mimi who’d been planning this event for months couldn’t accept what he’d said at face value.
Who??
She waited for a reply, but she didn’t even see any dots. Argh. She turned her attention back to the mirror. She was almost done with her makeup, which she rarely wore but knew how to apply, thanks to Deb’s patient tutoring back in the day.
Her eyelashes were thickly black and accentuated by the tasteful blue shadow that matched the wide streak in her hair, which had morphed a few days ago from electric to cobalt blue to match her dress. Her hair had gotten long this summer, and her hair stylist had put a relaxer into it, so it was more wavy than curly tonight. Her high cheekbones were accented in blush. All she needed was the finishing touch of lipstick.
She carefully applied a classic carmine red and kissed a tissue before declaring herself finished. She picked up her purse, swore when she saw Jay still hadn’t replied to her text, and headed for her car, careful not to damage her beautiful gown by slamming it in the door or catching it under her low-heeled shoes.
When she got to the Inn’s ballroom half an hour before the official start time, everything looked ready. The dozen-odd round tables were set, waiting for guests to arrive. Inn employees were filling water glasses and attending to last-minute details. There were security guards at every entrance to the ballroom to make sure only ticketed guests were admitted, and as another layer of protection for their more high-profile attendees.
In a few minutes, the place would be buzzing with people and activity, and she’d be too busy to eat any of the delicious food she’d ordered. She didn’t have an appetite anyway.
Jay was on the stage, talking to someone she thought worked on Sawyer’s Cove—Joe, or Jeff, maybe? He was setting up some mic stands in front of a chair on the stage.
Her heart sank. It didn’t look like a band was getting set up. She’d promised everyone a band.
She was about to interrogate Jay when Nash walked onto the stage from the rear door, carrying his guitar. She was momentarily flummoxed by where he’d come from—he’d have had to been let into the back staging area by a hotel employee, or Jay, she supposed, who knew this place better than a lot of people who worked here.
What was he doing here so early? And why was he carrying his guitar? Was he lending it to someone to play?
He looked so handsome, she wanted to cry. Three days without seeing him had been stupidly hard. He was wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and, with a start, she realized his tie was the same shade as her dress. Coincidence? Somehow, she knew it wasn’t. He wore shiny black cowboy boots, and he looked healthy and hale, his Will O’Connell stubble tidily groomed. He looked like one of those improbable thirty-year-old billionaire heroes on the covers of the romance novels she loved.
She was too far away to hear what he was saying when he leaned over to talk to the guy fiddling with the mics. He then sat down in the chair, plugged his guitar into an amp she noticed for the first time. He strummed a few chords and bent his head over the guitar. He mumbled something unintelligible into the mic, then cleared his throat and touched his ear. She edged farther into the ballroom until she was almost at the dance floor they’d set up in front of the stage when Mimi had expected folks to be eager to dance. Finally, he caught sight of her.
“Mimi.” Nash’s voice, loud over the speakers, echoed around the room. He managed to sound surprised, chagrined, and apologetic all at once with her two-syllable name.
“What’s going on?” she asked, though she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what was going on. Only it didn’t make sense. Nash never performed live. He just didn’t do it, and it never would have occurred to her to ask him.
He shook his head at her—he couldn’t hear her, so she crossed the dance floor and stopped next to Jay, who looked great, too, in a black suit and crisp white shirt. He whistled flamboyantly.
“You look amazing, sis.” He opened his arms, and she gave him an obligatory hug.
“What’s going on?” she said again.
“Your entertainment for the evening,” Jay answered. “The Nash Speedwell Experience.”
“Seriously?” She looked up at Nash, who gave her an awkwardly toothy smile.
“If you’re okay with it,” Nash said. The mic picked up the words, and they boomed across the ballroom.
Mimi winced. “Are you sure?”
“Your brother is very persuasive,” Nash said, averting his mouth from the mic this time.
Mimi looked at said brother. She wondered what Jay had said, or what he’d blackmailed him with, to make this happen. “Oh, really?”
“Nash wanted to help,” Jay said.
She could get the whole story later. For now, she needed to know Nash could pull this off. “What songs are you going to do?”
“Um…” Nash looked downright scared for a second. “Songs from the album?”
“Maybe you could write down a quick set list, Mimi,” Jay suggested. “You know his album by heart, don’t you?”
How did he know that? She shot him a look. “I guess I could do that.”
“Thanks. We’ll take care of the rest. Jeff’s helping with sound. It’s going to be great.”
She wasn’t completely convinced this wouldn’t be a disaster, but Nash looked more worried than she felt, so she’d keep her qualms to herself. “Thanks for doing this, Nash. You’re saving the day.”
“Just like a superhero,” Jay said casually.
Nash glared at Jay. Was that supposed to be a reference to the role he’d been offered? Had he decided to take it? Was this just the beginning of the end for them?
Mimi turned away before she could get too much in her head. She sat down at the nearest table and began typing out a set list on her phone. She thought about the album, about the songs she and Nash had talked about, listened to, the few he’d sung her. He went on with the sound check, played half of his song “Cranberry Girl,” sounding pretty good, if a little high and nervous. She tried to ignore him, focus on the list. When she’d put together half a dozen songs she thought would both work acoustically and keep the crowd’s energy up, she texted them to him.
People started to stream into the ballroom in groups of two and three. Nash set down his guitar in a stand that had materialized from somewhere, Jay plugged his phone into another cord, and soon a lively mix of pop classics was on rotation over the sound system.
Nash climbed down from the stage and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look wonderful,” he murmured. He smelled like his expensive body wash. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to take comfort in him, to wipe away the last few days of worry and loneliness and stress. But she had a job to do now, and she didn’t know if they were in a place where she was allowed to take relief from him. If he was taking the job and leaving in a matter of weeks, wouldn’t it be more painful to prolong the goodbye?
She kept her hands by her sides. “Thanks for being here,” she said instead. “And thanks for stepping in.”
“Thank me after,” he said. “I might be flat and out of rhythm.”
“You’ll be great.” He was an entertainer. And she’d heard him play. His fingers were magic, his voice was sex, and he knew how to perform a song so you felt like he was singing right to you. Everyone in the room was going to have a huge crush on him by the end of the night—if they didn’t already.
“So, you want to mingle?” he said.
She saw a few members of the board of directors she needed to talk to. “Yeah. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” he said. But when she went to say hello, he stayed with her, walking next to her, patiently being introduced to the board members and their spouses, shaking hands and smiling politely and making small talk like a pro. He helped her segue out of one conversation to greet an important donor, who blushed and tittered at Nash. He took the attention in stride.
When they extricated themselves by telling the donor not to miss her chance to bid on the silent auction items, Mimi let out a sigh. “How are you so good at this?”
“After Hollywood schmoozing, this is a piece of cake,” Nash said.
“Well, you’re making me look good. Thanks.”
“You don’t need any help looking good, honey.” There was no time to search his face to see if the heat she’d thought she’d heard in his words was reflected in his body language, because suddenly Spencer Crosby was right in front of them, flashy in a shiny suit with a metallic silver shirt.
“Crosby, thanks for coming,” she said warmly.
“Wouldn’t have missed it. And Nash wouldn’t have let me,” Crosby said in his mannered way.
Trevor came up right behind Crosby and tackled her with a giant hug. He was dressed to the nines in a slim black suit, black shirt, black tie, his hair pulled back into a neat queue, sheer lipstick, dramatic purple eyeshadow. He looked sophisticated, but he was still Trevor, quivering with enthusiasm.
“Mimi, you look gorgeous. The room is gorgeous. Your date is gorgeous. This is like prom for library nerds,” Trevor said.
She laughed. “Thanks. You look gorgeous, too.”
“Pauline!” Trevor waved madly to the world’s foremost expert on Captain Zachariah Bragg. Pauline wore a satiny canary yellow A-line dress with matching heels. On her arm was Colin, in a baggy suit and sneakers, smiling from ear to ear. Pauline looked pretty happy herself, and everyone traded greetings, then Nash, Colin, and Crosby left to fetch beverages.
“Are we at Almack’s, waiting for the proverbial lemonade?” Pauline wondered.
“I don’t understand that reference, but my advice is to enjoy being waited on,” Trevor said.
