Page 58 of Side Trip

Dylan shakes his head, yawning. He rises to his feet, tosses his empty cup into the waste can, and goes to the window.

“What the hell, Dyl? How do you expect us to produce albums without a producer?”

“Oh, you’ll get your producer,” he tells Chase over his shoulder and smirks. “The best.”

“You?” Chase guffaws. “What about LA?”

“Sharon’s ready. I’m promoting her.”

Not to pat himself on the back, but he’s trained her well. Her style and vision for their artists is aligned with his, and she’s a phenom at not only guiding them through the recording process but doing so within budget.

Chase stares at him and Dylan scratches the scruff on the underneath side of his chin. He can’t read his cousin’s expression. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Who’s Joy?”

Blood surges through him, making his skin hot. That came out of left field.

He plays innocent. Pulls a straight face.

“Who?”

“The woman with you in that photo you keep on your phone. The one you look at all the fucking time.”

His mouth falls open, then clamps shut. Has he been that obvious? And how the hell does Chase know her name?

Dylan shakes his head. Denial. Best policy.

“Cut the bullshit. You’re obsessed with her.” Chase stands, stabs a finger in the air in Dylan’s direction.

“Am not,” Dylan objects with an internal wince. He sounds like a complaining teen.

“When was the last time you stalked her Facebook profile?”

When his plane landed and he powered on his mobile.

Dylan grinds his jaw. Chase is always looking over his shoulder when Dylan is on the phone. Nosy bastard. His cousin must have picked up her name from Facebook. He then connected her to the photo on his phone. He’ll have to be more careful around his cousin.

“Who is she?” Chase pushes.

“No one.” That’s the way he should think of her. Hasn’t worked yet.

“She lives in New York, doesn’t she?”

His mouth pinches. He turns back to the window.

“Hell,” Chase swears behind him. “Please tell me she’s not the reason you’ve been pushing for a studio there.”

“She has nothing to do with it. I’ve been pushing for New York long before. It’s still the heart of music. It’s logical for us to be in the center of it. Our presence demonstrates Westfield Records isn’t a fly-by-night label. We’re sticking it out. So much of the competition is gone that there is a demand for studios. They need us. We can do this smart and on budget and come out way ahead.”

Chase raises his hands. “No need to pitch me. I’ve read the location analysis. I’m sold. But your head had better be in the right place. On your shoulders, not between your—”

Dylan cuts him off, knocks his own forehead. “It’s right where it’s supposed to be.”

Chase sinks back into his chair and digs an elbow into the armrest, taps his chin. A slight frown darkens his expression. Dylan can hear his brain whirring.

“What?” he snaps, exhausted. Pissed off he’s been called out. He really needs to stop checking her profile, wondering when her relationship status will change tomarried, when she’ll update her last name. Maybe she just forgot or doesn’t care. Maybe she kept her last name.

Or maybe he just needs to delete the damn app from his phone.

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