Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty 3)

“Of course you do!” Her eyes widened at the thought of her father being on the other end of the line, fuming at the insult of Wyatt’s absence. “Go!” She pushed him toward the door.

“Come with me.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged.

“No.”

“Yes.” For the first time, his tone was firm. “You’ve been in on everything else since you got here, so why not this? Besides, the last thing I’m going to do is get you off and then leave you out here on the damn porch. You deserve better than that.”

She started to argue more—she really, really didn’t want to face any of the men on the other side of that door—but Wyatt was serious. He wasn’t letting go, and she knew he couldn’t afford to miss any more of the meeting than he already had.

Which was why she let him tug her through the door even as she damned him and all rocks stars straight to hell. She was so going to make him pay for this before the day was over.

Chapter Eight

The second they got inside she realized she’d made a huge miscalculation. Because it wasn’t just a conference call going on in there—it was a videoconference call. Her father was on the big monitor set up in the center of Quinn’s desk, and he was staring straight out of it. Straight at her.

Oh shit.

She shoved Wyatt forward into the camera’s range and started to duck back outside—anything was better than seeing her father right now. Partly because it was the first time she’d seen him since Caleb had pushed her into taking his place in Austin, and partly because she was pretty sure she looked like she had just come. Her dad so didn’t need to see that and neither did her brother, who was lurking at the corner of the screen.

But Wyatt grabbed her hand before she could so much as open the door. “I already told you, you can totally be here for this.”

“Yeah,” Ryder seconded. “We’re just talking about the bassist auditions and the show at Antone’s. Maybe you’ll come up with some cool ideas for social media for the second show.”

“The second— There’s going to be another one?” Seriously? Li had done enough damage to Shaken Dirty’s sound the other night. Letting him loose on another club for another gig was a very bad idea.

“Yeah. Probably a couple more,” Quinn said. “So we can audition—”

“You were there, Poppy,” Caleb interrupted Quinn as his face became the large one on the screen and her dad’s stern countenance shrank down to one of the smaller boxes. Thank God. “You know music. Give us a non–band member opinion. What did you think of Li?”

“I, umm…” Suddenly, every eye in the room was on her, including her father’s, since he had once again taken over the main screen in the teleconferencing app. He was looking her over and—she was sure—cataloging every hair out of place. Unable to meet his disapproving gaze, she kept her eyes on the small box at the top of the screen, where Caleb was waiting.

“Go ahead,” he urged. “I’d like your opinion.”

Him wanting her opinion wasn’t the problem—it was everyone else in the room she was worried about, especially considering how unimpressed she actually was with Li. She wished she’d walked in a few minutes earlier so she could have heard what the others thought of him, could have gauged the feel of the room. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was bash the guy if everyone else loved him.

At the same time, though, she was positive that Li wasn’t right for the band. And though she was currently just a social media director—or a glorified babysitter, depending on who you spoke to at the label—she knew this band. She knew their sound. She knew their songs. And she knew Li wasn’t it for them. Which meant she didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t speak up when she was specifically asked, and he ended up getting the job, she’d regret it forever.

So she took a deep breath as everyone looked on—as Wyatt and her father and Shaken Dirty’s manager all stared her down—and told herself to be honest about this even when she couldn’t be honest about anything else.

“He’s not right. I mean, he’s a good bassist and his fingerings are really good. But he’s not in Shaken Dirty’s league. He couldn’t keep up with Jared or Ryder and he definitely couldn’t keep up with the drum fills Wyatt laid down. Plus, his style just doesn’t fit. When they were doing ‘Closer’ and ‘Mastermind,’ he couldn’t get the feel. And his work on the two new songs was a disaster. He came in way too heavy and it threw off the whole sound.”

She glanced at Wyatt as she finished, saw him watching her with brows raised. It was the only sign that he was surprised by her summation. The same couldn’t be said for the other guys, all of whom were looking at her like she’d grown a second head.

For the first time she wondered if her father was right—if the new generation of musicians was just as sexist about women and music as the last one was. Why else would they be so shocked that she understood the nuances of their music so well?

But Jared’s surprise turned quickly to satisfaction. “She’s right,” he told her father and brother and whoever else was on the call with them. “That’s exactly what we were saying when she and Wyatt came in. Li sounded sloppy on the new stuff. He blurred the notes, and bass for us has to be super clean, super tight.”

“You don’t think he can learn it?” her father countered, just as she expected him to. God forbid the man take her word on something or believe, for one second, that she actually knew what she was talking about. “He didn’t have much time with the songs.”

“He had more time with the new songs than Wyatt did,” Quinn told him, adding his voice to the discussion for the first time. “And Wyatt nailed both without breaking a sweat.”

“Oh, I broke a sweat,” Wyatt interjected, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was pleased his bandmates were happy with his work.

“Still, he did it,” their manager agreed from the box at the bottom right of the screen. “Wyatt fit in seamlessly. It was Li who was the problem.”

“Yes, but the argument can be made that Wyatt knows your style,” her father pressed. “I don’t think he’s any more talented than Li. Just more prepared.”

It took every ounce of self-control she had not to disagree. But this wasn’t her meeting and she wasn’t in charge of this band. So she gritted her teeth and metaphorically sat on her hands.