“I know. I’m with one of the bands.”
He glances at Layla, then back at me. “I’m sorry, but I have strict instructions not to let anyone in who isn’t on the tour.”
“I’m with Wayward Sons.”
He snorts. “No, you’re not.”
This guy is pissing me off. I get out my phone and dial Jace. He doesn’t pick up. So I dial Frank. “Can you come get me? I’m at the restaurant, but apparently, I don’t look like I belong with the band.”
“Sure thing. Hold tight.” When I spot him, I sigh with relief. His scowl is fierce. “She’s with us.”
The maître d’ nods like he doesn’t care.
If he didn’t care, why was he being a dick?
“Thanks, Frank.”
“No problem. We’re back here.”
The pulsing music is louder in the main room, which has dark velvet curtains and booths along the wall. In the middle are tables filled with bands and label executives.
I push the stroller, nearly stumbling when I spot Garrett Gamble, who’s talking to a table of important-looking men in dark suits.Play it cool, Rory.I rush to catch up to Frank, who escorts me to where the guys are seated in one of those big circular booths.
Everyone turns to face me. Jace is sitting on the other side, in the very middle, next to Marlowe, whose whole body is turned to him as they talk.
“Hi, guys.” I wave, feeling like an idiot.
Jace looks surprised to see me. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I told you I was before you left to deal with the merch.”
God, everyone’s looking at me. I glance around at all the full tables. There’s literally no place to sit. Frank left to mingle, and I’m standing here with a baby in a stroller.
This is why I avoid public spaces. Because when I go out, I debate things like what I should do with my hands or whether I’m breathing too loudly.
People resume talking, but Jace’s side of the table scoots out so he can come see me.
I hate my life right now.
When he gets out, he grins at me and pulls me into his arms. I pat his back awkwardly.
“Sorry, Rory. We must’ve gotten our wires crossed.” When he pulls away, his smile widens as he takes me in. “You look great.”
I’m too flustered to care about my appearance, and I rush to explain why I’m here. “Frank wanted some behind-the-scenes stuff. Asked me to come this morning.” But now I don’t know why. I’m not sure that video of everyone sitting around a giant booth is interesting.
“Cool. Wish I had known so I could’ve saved you a spot.” He leans down, unsnaps Layla, and picks her up. “Hey, pretty girl. How you doing?”
“Dada!” She kicks her legs and tries to eat her fist.
Jace freezes and his frontman persona melts away. It’s as though the crushing weight of this room, of the need to be on in this restaurant full of industry sharks, suddenly evaporates. In this moment, he’s not the popular lead singer of Wayward Sons. He’s just Layla’s father.
Pulling her tight against his chest, he kisses the top of her head. “Yeah, baby, I’m Daddy.”
His voice is raw. Vulnerable. His words hang in the air as warmth blooms in my chest. When he turns to me, his eyes are bright as a boyish grin breaks across his face. “That’s the first time she’s called me that,” he whispers, his words laced with relief.
“She loves you.” I smile as I smooth down her dress, hyper-aware that people are watching us and wishing we were alone. “She took a nap and ate some lunch. We read a few books.”
Jace bounces his daughter in his arms. “I’m so glad you brought those for her. It never crossed my mind to bring her books.” Layla smiles at her dad and gives him a slobbery kiss that makes him laugh. “Let’s see if we can get some chairs to push to the end of the table.”