It was awkward with him at first. For a while, he tossed snippy “groupie” comments at Daisy, which infuriated Jameson, and he’d exit any room they were both in. But as weeks passed and it became obvious this wasn’t a flimsy teenage fling, Sean came around. He still had his moments, but overall, they got along. Even Daisy’s dad was surprisingly receptive. Sure, he tried to scare the living daylights out of Jameson whenever he could, but such was a father’s love.
The cost of going public was eyes—everywhere. Her parents laid down strict rules. The bedroom and studio doors stayedopen when Jameson visited. Curfew meant curfew: 11 p.m., not one second over. They kept the rules… mostly. Some nights, after the house quieted, Jameson would slip into the studio and they’d talk about everything—their dreams, his music, her paintings—or watch ’80s movies until the world narrowed to the glow of the screen.
They were slow in their physical relationship. There were kisses that left Daisy feeling dizzy, hands that learned to stop before going too far, and a closeness that made Daisy feel held rather than hurried. Jameson wanted more, she knew, but he matched her pace. She treasured their stolen quiet because there wasn’t much of it. Life was a merry-go-round of school, art, and the band.
Bullets had become a second home. For seven straight months, there wasn’t a week without a set. Frankie now booked TKC regularly; the bar was busier with them as the house band. As the crowds grew, so did the chances of being seen by the right people. And one night in early April, Hollywood came knocking—by way of Erik Soriano.
Erik was a well-known record executive, who worked for one of the most prominent labels in the country, Luxor Records. Luxor had produced some of the most recognized artists of the 21stcentury and anyone who was anyone wanted to be represented by the label. Daisy clocked him the second he slid onto a stool, LA Dodgers cap pulled low. She didn’t tell the guys. Knowing would only make them nervous.
She held her breath as TKC took the stage. She knew that the moment they started, their lives would forever change. There was no way Erik Soriano was walking out of the bar without falling in love with their sound. The second the chorus of the first song hit, Erik’s mouth curved into a grin. He watched three songs, then stood up and… left.
Daisy blinked. Had she misread him? She was sure he’d loved them.
What an ass, she thought, heat crawling up her neck. No way was she telling the guys he’d been here. Someone else would come along.
She forced herself to focus on the remainder of the set. When it ended, she hurried toward the dinky dressing room and froze at the rumble of laughter inside. Peeking through the door, she saw a tall, dark-haired man twirling a Dodgers cap in his fingers, talking to the band. The guys were starstruck.
“You kids are the real deal,” he said. “A buddy told me I had to come see a young rock band in San Mateo. I’m glad I did.”
“Thanks,” they mumbled in chorus.
“I was impressed. So impressed I called my team during your set to get some things moving.”
“What things?” Kyler asked.
“Good things.” He flicked a business card toward Lenny. “You’ll be hearing from me very soon.”
Erik shook hands, nodded to each of them, and brushed past Daisy as he exited the room. Jameson found her instantly, burying his smile in her neck. “Did you hear that, Daisy?”
“Just the end. What did he say?”
“He likes us—really likes us. Said we could be the next big thing in rock. Erik Soriano said that.” He was breathless. The whole band buzzed for the rest of the night, and Daisy knew: this was just the beginning.
The call came a few days later. And a few days after that, the guys were on a plane to Los Angeles.
Whirlwind didn’t begin to cover it.
Charlie and Margot joined them for the weekend. Daisy missed them, Jameson most of all. Even Sean moped around without TKC in the daily mix. He quickly realized he was out of his depth, “resigning” as band manager pending an actual record deal. Jameson could barely find a minute to call; Daisy poured the ache into a commissioned piece in her studio and worked until the rough feeling of missing him smoothed out.
It was late Sunday night when Jameson opened the door to Daisy’s studio. He immediately took in the odd scene. Daisy wasn’t on her tarp, painting away as per usual; instead, she was lying on the couch, wrapped in the Aerosmith blanket Jameson had gotten her for Christmas, watchingThe Breakfast Club.
“Not painting tonight?”
Her head whipped around, her whole face brightening. “Hey! You didn’t say you were coming over.” She flew into his arms.
“I missed you too much.”
“I missed you, too. How was LA?”
He raked a hand through his hair and sank onto the couch. “Crazy. We were on the go the whole time—recording, meetings, more recording—”
“Whoa, slow down. Start from the beginning.”
So he did.
They’d been rushed straight from the airport to the studio to play originals for more execs and, unbeknownst to them, Luxor’s president, Don Luxor. They were impressed. Erik had lunch brought in; they talked through what a deal would mean. Erik was mindful that they were still in school. Margot was adamant that the boys would graduate regardless of where their career took them. Luxor would work around it. Lenny was a senior, the others a year behind. They laid out everything, shows, recording, touring, and gave them a week to have the contract reviewed.
“So they offered you a record deal?” Daisy squealed.
