Love at The Bluebird

“How we doing over there, sunshine?”

Shane’s question interrupts my thoughts, and I look up from my computer to smile at him.

“We’re doing excellent,” I say confidently while looking him in the eye.

“I swear you are glowing so brightly that you’re about to burn my eyes out. Looks like my little Aly has done the nasty with Mr. McNeer.” I shake my head at him and try to keep a straight face but can’t control the blush that stains my cheeks. He throws his head back and laughs hysterically at my reaction. “Thank you to your cheeks for answering my question.”

I throw my notebook at him, causing him to laugh even more. Seeing that nothing is going to stop the hyena like sounds, I choose to ignore him instead.

He takes a couple deep breaths and composes himself before asking, “Are we all set for the game tonight?”

“We sure are,” I confirm. “Food and beverages have been ordered for the suite and all personalized jerseys are in.”

Shane decided to use some of his marketing budget to get his staff and the artists who are attending tonight’s game personalized jerseys. I added some to the order for Gavin, Sosie, and Willow, paying for theirs out of my own pocket. I’m excited for tonight, especially to see how Willow and Brodie get along. I sent Brodie a text this morning, letting him know we’ll be at the game and inviting him out to meet us for drinks afterward. Fortunately, the team isn’t flying back to Detroit tonight, so he agreed to meet us at the rooftop bar across from the arena after the game.

“Wonderful, thank you. Let’s put the jerseys in gift bags and we’ll hand them out to everyone when they arrive in the suite,” Shane tells me before walking away from my desk.

Excitement is buzzing throughout the office for tonight. It’s the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs and the Predators are tied with Detroit in the series. It’s crucial that the Preds win tonight and then try to win the next game in Detroit if they want to advance to the next round in the playoffs.

I grab a stack of our branded gift bags and tissue paper we keep on hand from the supply closet and start wrapping the jerseys in the paper before putting them into the bags and writing that person’s name on the outside. I’m halfway through when I hear the sound of someone’s high-heeled shoes coming toward me. I look up to see Kathleen Davidson standing in front of me.

“Hello, Aly,” she greets me with a nod. She’s an attractive woman in her late forties, who takes care of herself by working out. Her youthful appearance is courtesy of Botox and fillers, and her straight, red hair is made up of the best extensions money can buy. I’ve always admired her style of clothes, and today is no exception with her lacy, emerald-green tunic, skin-tight black leather pants, and black, pointy heels I recognize as Louboutins with their red bottoms.

“Hello, Mrs. Davidson, how are you?” I ask, my smile overly bright to cover up how shocked I am that she knows my name.

“Oh please, call me Kathleen.” She laughs, waving her hand in the air.

“Okay… Kathleen.” I look behind me at Shane’s open door to see he isn’t back in his office. “Shane is around here somewhere. Do you want me to tell him to go see you in your office when he returns?”

“Actually, you’re the one I wanted to see. Do you have a moment to chat?”

My eyes widen in surprise at her request. Kathleen Davidson doesn’t spend alone time with A&R assistants. Anything she needs gets streamlined down through the A&R directors and managers. A knot in my stomach forms, my intuition screaming at me that she wants to discuss my new relationship with Gavin.

Please, God, don’t have her tell me to break up with him.

“Sure,” I say and follow her back to her office, which is upstairs on the second floor. She stops at her door and gestures with her arm for me to go inside. I walk past her, and she shuts the door behind us.

“Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

I obey and sit down while she walks around her desk to sit in her own seat. I’ve never been to her office before, and I glance around, admiring her decor. Her large office is decorated in a charcoal, gold, and white color palette. My eyes follow around the platinum albums of past and present artists of Big Little Music that decorate the walls. Her accomplishments are impressive in an industry that is predominantly ran by men.

“You’re office is gorgeous,” I tell her while I continue looking around in awe.

“Thank you! My favorite part is seeing all the beautiful, blingy records on the walls,” she says laughing. I smile while studying her, hoping she cuts to the chase soon, so I don’t have to sit and make small talk with her.