Insider - Olivia Cunning Page 0,199

I’d much rather spend time with you. I’d much rather Birdie get to know her mom than to have all the benefits of your hard work handed to me. I can carve my own niche into this world, you know.”

Mom turned and looked at her. She stared so hard, Toni began to fidget. “You can’t mean that, Toni. Christ! What have I been killing myself for all these years?”

Toni shrugged. “Beats me.”

Mom’s shoulders shook as she snorted, and then her entire body quaked as she laughed. Laughed so hard she couldn’t find air. Laughed until Toni couldn’t help but join her. Until they collided in a tight embrace tempered by the release of tension and all the affection that had been lacking between them for too many years.

When their laughter turned to intermittent chuckles and eventually uneven breathing, Mom pulled away to search Toni’s eyes. Toni couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom look so happy. So relaxed and, and free.

“I hope I didn’t mess up your relationship with that rock band too much,” Mom said. “You really do have a gift for gaining an insider perspective.”

“Logan says they’ll be fine. Except Reagan. I’m not sure she’ll ever get over it. Her reputation has been all but destroyed.”

Mom cupped either side of Toni’s head and pressed their foreheads together. “So you write the best damn book you can, fix the woman’s reputation, hit the best-seller list, and save the company from financial ruin.”

Toni laughed. “Well, I will write the best damn book I can. The rest is out of my hands.”

“My husband raised you right.” Mom kissed the tip of Toni’s nose and released her. “It’s getting late. I suppose you still have time to call that boyfriend of yours. You are still involved with him, I take it?”

“Logan!” Toni cried. She’d been so wrapped up in her dealings with her mom that she’d forgotten to call him.

She read through his string of text messages. They were almost identical to the cards he’d sent with the flowers. She didn’t bother to listen to his voice messages before calling him. Her call was forwarded directly to his voicemail. She checked the clock to see if he was still onstage, but as it was almost one a.m. in Phoenix, he should be on the tour bus and on his way to the next venue.

“Logan,” she spoke to his voicemail. “I’m sorry I took so long to get back to you. I didn’t get any of your messages until late and then I didn’t have my phone with me, so I couldn’t call you back until now. I really need to memorize your number.” She laughed at how frustratingly inconvenient convenience could be. “Call me when you get this. I don’t care how late it is, I promise I’ll answer. I believe you when you say you didn’t cheat, but we still have a lot to talk about. I’ve had quite a day.” That was an understatement. “I love you. Hope to hear from you soon.”

She disconnected and turned to find herself alone. Mom had apparently decided she needed privacy while she made amends with Logan. Toni trudged upstairs to her room, turned her ringer up to maximum volume, and plugged her phone into the charger. She refused to miss his call. But as she lay in bed staring up at the balloons floating overhead with no word from him, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given up on her.

Thirty-Six

At some point, Toni must have dozed off, because an unfamiliar, low-pitched rumble pulled her from a fitful sleep. Headlights reflected off her ceiling as someone turned into the driveway. Lost and turning around, she decided, until the engine died and the lights were extinguished. She lifted her phone and glanced at the time. It was three thirty in the morning. And she’d somehow missed an hour-old text from Logan.

OMW

As far as she knew, that acronym was short for on my way, but that made absolutely no sense. He was on his way to where?

Her phone rang, startling her so badly that she tossed it onto the floor as if it had sprouted fangs and tried to strike her dead. She rolled out of bed and onto the hardwood with an oomph before crawling after the flashing device that was blaring “I’m-Too-Sexy.”

“Logan!” she answered, her heart still tripping over itself from being scared out of her wits. Or maybe the battered organ was just happy he’d finally called.

“Which room is yours?”

“What?”

“You’re

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