Chapter 9
Just because he’d made Charley like him again, and sounded amazing on the radio, did not mean she and Dylan had resolved anything. Why did he have to be such a hard-luck case? Charley was a sucker for an underdog story. Not that Dylan should have been an underdog in anything.
He had the looks, the voice, and the songwriting chops to stand with any artist on the charts, past or present. In fact, she’d have bet that next to the term the whole package in the dictionary would be Dylan’s picture. Was the term the whole package even in the dictionary? Maybe not, but if it was, his face would be there.
The moment he’d finished the song, which was upbeat and catchy as all get-out, Charley thanked him for coming into the studio, encouraged listeners to request and download the song, and then fired off the Alabama tune up next in the computer.
Before she and Dylan had removed their headphones, the door flew open and the three men returned, along with Sharita from the PR team, who’d been snapping pictures through the window to the hall while Dylan played.
“Good job, everybody,” praised John. “That’s the way to debut a song, Dylan. The listeners will light up the phones in no time.”
No comment was made about Charley’s interviewing skills.
“Charley deserves the credit,” Dylan replied. “Pretty sure she could tell that I was nervous, and she put me right at ease.”
The boy could spin a yarn with the best of them. Four seconds before she’d cracked her microphone, she’d nearly cracked him in the jaw.
“Of course,” John agreed. “Charley made you look good.”
“Doing my job,” she muttered, setting her headphones on the console.
Fluttering like a hummingbird on steroids, the schmoozing manager shook the record exec’s hand as if he were pumping a well. “Once Dylan packs up his guitar, we’ll head to the conference room to meet some of our staff and snap pictures with our newest star.”
Charley was happy to avoid the photo shoot—and any further conversation with her guest, in public or in private. They’d established their positions, formed a tolerable truce, and could now retreat to their respective corners, never to cross paths again.
With three songs scheduled back-to-back, she took the opportunity to visit the ladies’ room, certain that Dylan would be long gone by the time she returned. Stepping into the hall, she pivoted toward the restroom.
“Hey,” Dylan called from behind her. “Can I talk to you a second?”
Charley sighed as she turned around. “There isn’t much left to say at this point. You think I’m a heartless floozy, and I think you’re a gifted actor who manipulates the truth to suit his needs. We’re both a little wrong, but got some awesome sex out of it, so let’s call it even.”
His laughter took her by surprise. “You really are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”
“Glad I could show you a new side to half the population. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Go out with me,” he said.
Sweet bread and butter, the man didn’t know when to quit.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you like me,” Dylan declared with unwavering confidence and a tell me you don’t grin. “And because I should have been up-front about my singing, and you shouldn’t have cut out while I was sleeping. So let’s start over. I promise to have you home and in bed by midnight. Alone,” he clarified.
A big fat no teetered on the tip of Charley’s tongue. She’d fled Dylan’s bed for a reason. A very good reason. Only she couldn’t quite remember that reason with him hovering all hot and sexy and smelling like an apple crisp closed in a cedar chest.
A combination that made her think of home, and then feel guilty for thinking of sex and Grandpa’s farm at the same time.
“I’m not sure you can call a do-over once two people have slept together.”
With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “But we haven’t slept together, remember?”
Now he had her on a technicality.
“This is pointless.”
“What if I said I plan to make one of your wildest dreams come true?” he asked.
Charley rolled her eyes. “You think a date with you is one of my wildest dreams?”
The self-deprecating grin chipped away at her resistance. “My ego isn’t that big. Just trust me. You don’t want to pass this up.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “Where are you taking me?”
Tipping up the black hat, Dylan said, “I’ll pick you up at four on Wednesday.”
This told her nothing. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Can’t a guy surprise a girl?”
“I don’t like surprises,” she said, tapping an impatient foot.
Dylan tucked his hands in his pockets. “You’ll like this one.”
Out of patience, Charley threw her hands in the air as she stomped off toward the bathroom. An entire song had likely played through by now.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Monroe.”
“I need your number,” Dylan hollered with a chuckle.
She waved the request away as she picked up her pace. “Leave yours in the booth, and I’ll considering getting in touch.”
Twenty minutes into the meet and greet that Dylan hadn’t been aware would take place, he received a text from his manager. A cryptic message out of the blue.
Come see me. I’m at the house.
Dylan didn’t have time to respond, instead tucking the phone back into his pocket and smiling through another round of pictures. When he thought they’d finally reached the end, he turned to find Charley’s roommate leaning against the wall. He searched the room for Casey, finding him in what looked like deep conversation with an intern who’d been introduced as Gunner a few minutes before.
“Are you waiting for a picture?” he asked Matty.
Appearing bored, she shook her head. “I’m not the selfie-with-a-celebrity type. Especially not when that celebrity is a complete unknown.”
Coming from Charley, the comment would have struck him as a harmless, if blunt, observation of the truth. From Matty, the words felt more like a verbal attack.
“You’re used to making the first cut, aren’t you?” Dylan asked. “Insult them before they insult you?”
“You should have told her who you were,” she said, ignoring his question. “Charley deserves better.”
“When she disappeared from the Wildhorse, did you notice? Charley said she didn’t have any texts from you asking where she’d gone.”
Though he hadn’t mentioned it at the time, several things that night had bothered Dylan. First, a supposed friend had put Charley in a situation knowing she’d be uncomfortable, and then the other friend didn’t seem to notice either her distress or her disappearance.
Matty straightened off the wall. “Casey told me she was with you. I didn’t know that you two had left the club until later, when one of the interns said she’d watched you go out the door.”
“That still leaves a good half hour before Casey got my message,” Dylan continued, closing the distance between them. “You didn’t lay eyes on your friend for that long, yet you weren’t concerned enough to even text her.”
Blue eyes flashed with anger, but not before a hint of guilt slipped through. “She’s a big girl, and that’s a big place. I figured she was out dancing. I’m her roommate, not her babysitter.”
“You and I both know how the bar scene works, especially for women, so that excuse isn’t going to fly.”
“I don’t give a shit whether it flies or not. You’re the one who took her home under false pretenses,” she snapped. “So you can stick your judgmental attitude up your ass.”
“Not that either of you seem to care,” Casey said, joining them in the corner, “but you’re drawing an audience.”
Dylan managed to keep the expletive under his breath.
“We’re done here anyway,” Matty quipped. “Stay away from Charley.”
The blonde sauntered out of the room.
“Looks like I dodged a bullet there,” Casey murmured. “Hateful woman.”
Shaking his head, Dylan turned to face his friend. “She hates herself more than she hates anyone else.”
Casey looked flummoxed. “Did we witness the same thing?”
“Forget it.” Surveying the now dwindling crowd, he pulled out his phone. “I got a text from Mitch.”
“What’d he say?”
“Wants me to come see him at his house.”
“We’ve got rehearsal at two,” the drummer reminded. “He’s all the way down in Franklin, and it’s already after noon.”
Dylan shoved the cell back in his pocket. “I can make it if I leave now. Think Clay will mind if I go?”
The redhead glanced around. “This thing is about over. I doubt he’ll care.”
“Did the others really hear my talk with Matty?”
“Who’s Matty?” his friend asked. “You mean Matilda?”
“Charley told me she goes by Matty. Didn’t you get that info Saturday night?”
“She left that part out. And no, but you two were getting louder, and Clay noticed. You’ve got to be on your game, man. That chick isn’t worth blowing our chance over.”
Antsy to hit the road, Dylan grabbed his guitar off the table. “I know how important this is, all right? I’m not going to do anything to screw it up. Tell Clay I’m leaving.” Walking away, he added, “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
“That man is a total asshole. You were right never to see him again.”
Charley had never witnessed Matty this angry. She’d also not expected her to storm into the booth twelve seconds before the end of a song.
“Hold that thought,” she said, slipping on her headphones. “Blake Shelton wrapping up another ten in a row here on Eagle 101.5. Charley Layton with you, and still to come this hour is our Manic Monday giveaway. When you hear the sound of maniacal laughter, be the ninth caller and you could pick up those Country Music Hall of Fame passes. Twelve twenty-three now, and after the break I’ll have the new one from Luke Bryan.”
The second the headphones were off, Matty resumed her pacing. “How dare he call me a bad friend?”
No need to ask whom she was talking about. “Dylan called you a bad friend? Why?”
“Because I didn’t frantically text you Saturday night after you left the club. You weren’t gone that long before Casey told me you were with Dylan, and I assumed that meant you were with him in the club, not alone together somewhere else.”
“We weren’t alone in the restaurant,” Charley pointed out.
“I mean,” Matty hedged, ignoring the comment, “I wondered where you were before that, because you had my purse, but I found it backstage once I remembered that Ruby had dragged you into the spotlight with her.”
So she’d really only been worried about her purse. Nice.
“Why do you care what Dylan thinks?” Charley asked. Matty hardly respected her boss’s opinion, let alone anyone else’s. “Without the message from Casey, you would have looked for me eventually, right?”
As if this were a stupid question, Matty rolled her eyes. “Of course I would have. We had that cake for you, remember? I’d have found you for that.”
According to Vivi at the front desk, they hadn’t brought out the cake until ten thirty. A full two hours after Charley had left the club.
“Then we’re good,” she said, understanding her place.
Charley had always been content to accept people for who they were. So Matty was self-centered. She was also drama-free, moderately tidy, and didn’t chew with her mouth open. All bigger deal-breakers than a lack of social backup.
“I knew you’d understand.” She finally stopped pacing. “He’s such a jerk. How did you spend a whole evening with him?”
Though Charley had tagged him with a matching insult less than an hour ago, she didn’t like Matty doing the same. “You two have clearly gotten off on the wrong foot. If you get to know him, you’ll see that Dylan isn’t a jerk at all. He’s actually a really nice guy.”
“Jesus, Charley. Tell me you aren’t falling for his aw-shucks routine.”
Checking the computer, she found a minute to go before the weather. “I’m not falling for anything, Matty. You hating all men doesn’t mean I have to.”
The accountant threw her hands in the air. “He lied to you.”
“He didn’t lie,” Charley confessed, acknowledging a truth she hadn’t admitted until that moment. “I never asked him what he did for a living. Not in those exact words. So he didn’t volunteer the information. Fine. I’ll deal with that. But he never lied.”
Blonde hair swayed as she shook her head. “You’re so naive. He’s using you. You work in radio, and his little dream depends on getting airplay. What better way in than to butter up to the DJ?”
The truth became glaringly obvious.
“We both know that I have no pull when it comes to what gets played on this radio station, and I doubt Dylan is delusional enough not to know that. The truth is, you don’t think a guy like Dylan would ever be interested in me without some ulterior motive. Someone who isn’t petite and blonde with curves in all the right places. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it?”
“Men are scum,” Matty replied. “That’s what I’m saying. If you want to learn that the hard way, go for it.”
Charley didn’t offer a response as the final seconds of the last commercial counted down. Instead, she grabbed the forecast and reached for her headphones, remaining silent as her roommate left the booth.