She’s My Kind Of Rain (Rawlings Ranch #1)

Chapter 33

33

DAISY - JULY 26, 2004

I was hoping I would gain some clarity after talking to my mom on the phone about everything that has transpired since moving here—at the very least, she would have some type of advice to help lead me in handling this situation I’m now in with Sawyer—but, of course, she didn’t. Follow your heart is not helpful when my heart seems to have lost signal, my stomach is in knots, and my brain feels like the fog just rolled in.

Signing Sawyer would be such a great experience had I not slept with him, or even worse, fallen head over heels in love with him.

I came early to the office per Blake’s request, and now I sit, waiting at his desk, feeling like if he finds out about us that one or both of our dreams will be crushed and there’s no undoing what’s already been done. If I’m being honest with myself, it won’t be easy to walk away from him now that I’ve met him, even if that’s the answer to solving this entire problem.

He enters the room, holding a Southern Sip cup, and the reminder of Kaylee makes it feel like she’s here supporting me even when she’s not.

“Good Morning, Miss Holloway. Did you discuss the paperwork with Mr. Mason the other night?” He sets his coffee down and pulls out his large leather office chair, taking a seat.

“Yes sir,” I say, with a smile, unsure if I’m trying to convince him or myself that everything is going well and that I have no hesitation. “I also saw Sage Summers backstage when I went to deliver the papers, and she was really lovely. I think she will prove to be another great face to the company.” The stark contrast in my own actions makes me feel even more guilt when I make the statement.

He nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Good, good. I’d like to know how he handled the news. Walk me through what happened.”

His eyes are fixated on me while he crosses his arms. Nothing gives away what he’s thinking, but his stone-like manner leads me to believe that this is a test or he has some concerns, and I’m just hoping they aren’t with me.

“Yes, Sir, I—” Before I can answer, there is a knock at the door.

Holding up a single finger, he invites whoever is there to come in. His assistant strides in, giving me the strangest look—almost like a warning. “Good morning, Samantha.” He nods, acknowledging her, and I mirror his action, doing my best to hide my confusion for the interruption. “Is there something you need? I had this morning blocked off until lunch.”

The nervous look on her face transfers over to mine when she hands Blake what appears to be a tabloid and looks toward me like I should run. I watch him as he reads the cover, my eyes remaining locked on him, hoping whatever the problem is surely has nothing to do with me.

“Thank you for your help, you may go back to work now.” He dismisses her in such a cool tone, I can’t tell if he’s mad at her or whatever he has read, but something tells me it’s the latter. The moment she shuts the door, he begins shaking his head.

He drops the magazine in front of me, and my head falls in the same path both stopping once it hits the table. My heart sinks the moment I see what it is. I reach forward to grab it and survey every photo and subtitle. There is no denying that the photo is of Sawyer and I know that it’s me right there with him.

It only takes me a moment before I know exactly who sent that photo in.

Victoria. It had to be right? She’d been the only other person in the alley way with us, and even now my skin crawls thinking of her interaction with Sawyer when she’d given him her card. She made it abundantly clear she had some sort of issue with me, so there’s no doubt in mind. This has to be her handiwork.

My head reels, and I can’t bring myself to look at Blake yet. This is all my fault. Everything’s ruined and I have no one to blame but myself.

I spent my life following the rules, even prior to losing my dad, and at this moment, I feel like a disappointment. Not only to myself, but to this company, Blake, my parents, and most of all, Sawyer.

Blake clears his throat, and my hands begin to tremble in my lap, my nerves releasing themselves, thankfully not in the form of tears. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, knowing that the acceptable amount of time to avoid eye contact with him is coming to an end, while regretting all the opportunities I had to nip this in the bud and chose not to.

“I thought it was crazy to see how similar Sawyer’s talent is to Hank’s.” He exhales a laugh, his statement so matter-of-factly that it doesn’t sound like anger at all.

I bite back a frown, second guessing what I just heard. Shock and curiosity flood through me as I wait for any kind of follow up he may provide. Surely, he means to end that statement with some famous singer’s last name or maybe he misspoke. My eyes slowly drift upward toward his, and when I meet his gaze I am met with a look much like my father used to give when he had to discipline me.

“Your dad really had something special. I’ve had plenty of people try to copy him for years, but never once has someone with the same natural raw ability to make a song feel like it was theirs and theirs alone, like he did.” He places his elbows on his desk, laying his face directly into his palms while he rubs his forehead with his finger tips, presumably taking a moment to think before he proceeds. He leans back up to look at me. “It makes sense that you noticed him, his talent shines exactly like your dads did. Honestly, I was hoping that the same rang true for you, but you landed on the opposite side of the industry, like I did.” The casual demeanor he puts off has me intrigued and the trembling in my hands has since dwindled as curiosity takes over.

He turns a photo on his desk toward me, and my jaw drops open. Plain as day, there he and my father are at some kind of event. My dad’s guitar is slung across him—no stamp in sight—and he and Blake look ecstatic. A lump in my throat rises, because it feels special to know that Blake knew him, yet it also feels that much worse knowing I’ve disappointed him.

“I guess you could say I was the rep that found him. To me he will forever be the diamond in the rough, the one artist I will always wish I’d been able to sway into staying. He was a good man, Daisy. He was a legend. But most of all, he was my best friend.” A reminiscent smile surfaces on his face, and I can tell he means every word he speaks. “Unfortunately, we all had to make choices, and it took me a really long time to understand his.”

I wonder why my mother never mentioned their friendship, or why this is the first time I am being made aware of their connection. I want to be angry and yet there are so many questions left unanswered that the only person I am angry with is myself.

“I never got to apologize to your dad for thinking music was more important than anything else, and when you walked through the door, it was like seeing a piece of him right there in front of me. I didn’t plan for this—” He gestures to the photos of Sawyer and I. “Though because of the uncanny way Sawyer’s music feels like Hank’s, I can’t say I’m shocked that signing him won’t be as easy as I’d hoped.” He lets out a huff, and I hold my breath, unsure of where this conversation is about to go.

I nod my head, focused on the disappointment that lingers in the air, expecting another gut-wrenching loss. Only this time, I’m the only one to blame.

“I had worked for Jordan Entertainment when I met your dad, and he and I both felt Mr. Jordan was rather crooked. We played with the idea of opening our own record company and came up with Telluride together. He was going to be the very first artist, but then your mom got pregnant and he made the choice that was right for him. Unfortunately, I was too young and naive to understand it and we never talked again. I put a hold on Telluride because without any artists or help I figured that I was better off staying put with a sure thing.” He lets out a laugh at his last comment. “I fell in love with the next artist I signed. She was magnificent and loved music as much as I did. But, as I’m sure you are well aware,” he pokes his finger into the front cover of the tabloid on the table, “it looks awful for the company.”

Guilt pools in my stomach, and I can barely look at him, the weight of his words feeling like a ton of bricks. I muster out, “Yes, sir.”

“Long story short, she had a choice to make. Her dreams or me. She chose her dreams.” He doesn’t deliver this portion of the story softly, and I feel the blow to his heart even now—twenty some years later. “To make matters worse, one way or another, her decision didn’t change the trust I’d broken with Mr. Jordan. There was no saving face, I was fired immediately after she made her decision.”

Here it comes, all I have worked for is in shambles, without even a moment to defend myself or to try and convince him otherwise. I’m about to be fired, and as much as I don’t deserve redemption, I find myself hoping he’ll come up with some sort of loophole, or have mercy, just, well, some sort of resolution that doesn’t involve me having to give up one of the two things that have come to mean so much to me.

“I decided to take a leap of faith, I think was the way you put it.” His tone is hard for me to read, but I’m hoping for something to give. “I wasn’t lucky enough to have a warning, not with my job, and sure as hell not with the one woman I wanted to spend my life with. So, I’m going to pay my misfortune forward and give you this chance to make a choice. Let Sawyer know the meeting is canceled for today. Think it over.” He lets out a soft sigh. “Talk it over. We can’t have you both.”

He glances down at my dad’s picture with sorrow-filled eyes and I can tell that he doesn’t want this to be our cruel reality, but he’s doing everything in his power to make it up to my dad in the only way he sees how—by helping me.

He gets up from his desk, straightening his suit jacket and then walks toward the door, opening it and gliding his hand in a sweeping motion, directing me out. I oblige without argument, still silent because I don’t want my emotional response in this situation to outweigh what he is trying to do. He’s giving me the chance to make this choice myself, allowing me the right to decide if Sawyer deserves the courtesy as well.

The moment I reach the doorway, he says in a hushed tone, “I’ll give you until Monday, Miss Holloway.” And he promptly closes the door behind me.