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I groan.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Without opening my eyes, I grab the extra pillow next to my head and chuck it in her general direction. I spent the early morning hours with Atticus and I swear my head just hit the pillow ten minutes ago.
She laughs. “Now that you’re awake, can we talk for a second?”
“No,” I whine, lifting the blankets up to cover my head.
Clearly undaunted by my verbal discontent or projectile bedding, the mattress dips as she settles near my waist.
I flip the blankets down and blink at her. “Seriously? What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Don’t you have to go to Veronica’s soon? What time did you get home anyway?”
I scrub at my face. “Late.” I pause and then make an attempt to avoid further questioning. “I had some paperwork and things to do.” Which is true, if Atticus can be considered “things,” and I did spend all night on him.
The fog of sleep is drifting away, clarity returning. My gaze sharpens on Finley’s face and the way her lips purse in thought, the groove between her brows, and the way she’s fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt.
“What’s up, Fin?”
“I wanted to ask you something before you left. I have to greet the new counselors that are coming in for the camp that starts next week,” she glances at her watch, “soon.”
I shift onto my side to face her more fully. “Ask away.”
“I was talking to Mindy and—”
I groan. “Finley.”
She holds up a palm. “Just hear me out. Please. I swear I’m not going to talk about you two reconciling or anything. This is something else.”
Ugh. “Fine.”
“She signed this amazing band with one of the most talented singer-songwriters she’s ever met, an almost complete unknown who would be perfect for one of the performances you’re setting up at Veronica’s.” She watches me, waiting.
I do need one more act to fill the last Saturday night available. And no matter my personal animosity toward Mindy, there is no denying she has excellent taste in music. She signed some of the biggest bands in the country when she was working at Rebel Records. I would be foolish not to at least give this band a chance. “I’m listening. What’s the band like?”
She grins. “They’re sort of pop funk, I guess. They call themselves Discontinued Barbies.”
A laugh huffs out of me. Good name.
Finley smiles, encouraged by my response. “She has some other industry peeps she can invite too who might be interested in the other talent you’ve got going. We had this idea where you could pool your resources.”
Great. They’ve been talking about me. Again. But the thought doesn’t make me as angry as it once did. They’re not talking shit, after all.
“So in exchange for letting this band have a spot, she’ll bring in more interest.” I blow out a breath. It’s a good idea. Great idea, even. But... “I don’t want to talk to Mindy.”
“You don’t have to talk. You can text or email. She won’t even come to the performance if you don’t want her here. She said she can send the band on their own or with their manager and you can schedule it through them.”
I sigh. I don’t want to live up to what Mindy always used to accuse me of, being the immature little sister who can’t get her act together and behaves like a brat instead of an adult. I’m twenty-seven years old. I can be mature. Sometimes.
“I’ll reach out to Mindy today and listen to Discontinued Barbies and see if they’ll be a good fit.”
Finley beams, reaching over to pat my leg, her touch muffled by the comforter. “I’ll let you rest before you have to get up and get ready.”
She practically slips out the door, shutting it behind her.
I fluff my pillow and roll onto my stomach, shutting my eyes.
