Page 127 of Wingwoman
Most of the night passed in a blur, as these things always did.
I hardly saw Hope. She was whisked away by her friends, while I was stuck at Matt’s side. It was an opportunity to schmooze the higher-ups at my label, he had warned me.
He wasn’t wrong.
I just didn’t want to have to do that tonight, here of all places.
“How’s Maggie doing?” I asked him when we had a moment alone.
He looked up, catching a glimpse of her across the room chatting with Maxie. “She’s great. She loves Hope’s friends.”
“Good,” I nodded. “Good. Can you tell if the producers like the song I sent?”
Matt’s mouth pressed into a line and he shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. They’ve been a little radio silent about it. Even when I try to bring it up to them, they just ask when they can expect the other songs.”
Dammit. That was exactly what I was afraid of. It’s a new sound. A new image for me. And producershatedthe uncharted waters of change.
“I’ll be back, Matt.” I squeezed his shoulder, then headed for the bathroom to take a break. These events were exhausting in a whole other way. The constant glad-handing and schmoozing was a lot for me.
In the bathroom, I locked myself into a stall, just to have a moment alone to calm my racing heart and dry my clammy hands.
Outside of the stall, the door to the bathroom opened and the click of men’s dress shoes echoed against the tiled floors.
“This is going to be rough.” I recognized my producer, Erik’s voice immediately.
“Look, tonight’s not the night to have this conversation with him,” Micah, my other producer, responded.
I sat straighter, my breath stalling in my lungs.
The water at the sink turned on and I heard some splashing as Micah continued. “It’s literally an evening honoring his mother and their horse rescue. Let him have his night… next week we’ll break it to him that young women don’t want to hear their fucking heartthrob crooning about his mommy issues.”
Mommy issues.
The rest of their conversation turned to white noise until after another minute, they finally left.
The ringing in my ears grew louder.
Deafening.
I had no idea how long I sat in that bathroom, but finally I forced myself to go back out to the party.
People were waiting on me.
Counting on me.
Everyone was counting on me. Everyone needed something from me. My label, the horses, my dad, my producers, Matt… hell, even Hope.
“Josh!”
Back in the midst of the party, I whipped around toward the sound of the tinny, high-pitched voice cutting through the white noise of the crowd at the rodeo.
There were so many more people than last year filtering in… something I could almost definitely attribute to the leaked photos and the promise that this mystery woman might be here tonight.
Bitty McGowen, an older woman who was on just about every board imaginable came rushing over to me, kissing each cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself this year,” she said, pointing at me. “And that silent auction?Finally.Some pieces I actuallywantto bid on and not just feel obligated to bid on!”
I tilted my head at her. “Oh yeah? What caught your eye?”
Maybe the handmade saddles? I knew Bitty loved riding.
