“That sounds exciting,” Mom said, her eyes wide with wonder.
“That sounds dull,” Susan said as she pretended to stifle a yawn. “Where’s the real dirt on these guys? That’s what will sell books.”
“There’s no dirt,” Toni said. That was exactly what she didn’t want in this book. No dirt. Nothing that could potentially hurt a member of the band.
“There has to be dirt,” Susan said. “You’re around them twenty-four seven. You have to be privy to things more exciting than what they had for breakfast.”
“You’d be surprised how much preparation goes into getting them breakfast. Their tour runs like clockwork.”
“Which is boring,” Susan said. “This is all very boring.”
“I think the fans will love it,” Mom said.
“Oh, yeah, they’ll eat this shit up,” Susan said. “But we discussed this, Eloise. Remember? The fans are a niche market. And you want to sell this book to millions of people. To do that, you need dirt.”
“Exodus End has millions of fans,” Toni said. “It may be a niche market, but it’s a huge niche.”
Susan and her mother stared at each other for a long moment, as if communicating by telepathy.
“Before I saw this, I was convinced the book needed dirt to sell, but I think Toni is on to something here,” Mom said.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Susan said. “Let me take over. I’ll create a book that will sell like wildfire.”
“This isn’t only about sales,” Toni said. “If we do a good job with this book, other bands will come to us to have their biographies written. If we publish a bunch of scandal, it might make us money now, but our chance at future projects will be obliterated. No one will trust us.”
“Publicity is publicity,” Susan said. “Even if it’s bad publicity. Actually, bad publicity gets more attention than good publicity. What are you more likely to recall: Steve Aimes cheating on his wife or Steve Aimes sending shoes to poor kids in Africa?”
“Steve sent shoes to poor kids in Africa?” Toni mused.
“See what I mean!” Susan said.
“Toni,” Birdie interrupted, tugging on Toni’s sleeve.
“Just a minute, Buttercup,” Toni said absently before continuing to plead her case. “Maybe this book isn’t about publicity.”
“Of course this book is about publicity,” Susan said. “That’s the only thing their manager wants out of it. He wants it to draw more attention to the band. And how better to do that than to get people’s attention with dirt?”
“Just because someone reads the book to get this so-called dirt you’re so fixated on, that doesn’t make it more likely that they’ll buy Exodus End’s music or go to their concerts, does it?” Toni had never argued with a nonfamily member before. She wasn’t sure why it was so much easier to stick up for her new friends than it was to stick up for herself, but she wasn’t backing down on this. She wasn’t writing the book to sell it to a bunch of nosy people who would snigger and ridicule the band members for their mistakes. She was writing this book to glorify a group of men—and one woman—who deserved to be recognized for their greatness.
“Toni!” Birdie said, yanking on Toni’s sleeve anxiously.
“I said just a minute, Birdie,” she snapped, prying fingers from her sleeve. “Can’t you entertain yourself for a few minutes?”
“She’s bleeding,” Mom said, jumping to her feet.
Toni looked down at Birdie, who had blood trickling out of one nostril, over her lip, and down her chin. “Oh God,” Toni said, forcing Birdie to tilt her head forward and catching the blood in her hand so it didn’t get all over the boldly patterned carpet. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Birdie said. “I just sneezed and blood came out.”
“Just a nose bleed,” Toni said. “Don’t panic.” She looked at her mom. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”
“Just down the hall,” Mom said. “Do you want me to take her?”
“I want Toni to do it!” Birdie wailed.
Mom bit her lip and nodded her go-ahead. Toni wondered if the reason Mom struggled to care for Birdie was partially her fault. Toni was always the one to jump in and fix Birdie’s tragedies. This situation was no different.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Toni promised.
“Can we look at the rest of your mocked-up manuscript pages while you’re gone?” Mom asked.
Toni was rather proud of those few pages, especially since Logan had approved of them.
“Sure. They’re in the folder labeled manuscript pages,” she said before steering Birdie out of the conference room and hunting down the nearest restroom.
“I think Mom liked your hard work,” Birdie said as Toni packed her nostril with toilet tissue to stem the flow of blood.
Toni smiled. “I think so too.” It felt great to have won her mom over to her side. And she was pretty sure Mom liked her ideas because they were sound, not because her flesh and blood had come up with them.
“That other lady is not nice to you.” Birdie gave her a comforting pat on the arm.
“I noticed.” Toni doubted anything would convince Susan that Toni knew what she was doing. She hoped that Mom didn’t head back to Seattle and immediately cave to the outspoken editor’s wishes. She liked to think that her mom was made of stronger stuff than that, but Susan was as persistent as she was opinionated.
“Are you coming home with us?” Birdie asked, her inquisitive brown eyes enlarged by her thick glasses.
A pang of guilt twisted Toni’s heart. She stroked Birdie’s cool cheek. “I still have work to do.”
“Mom said if I rode on the plane like a big girl, you’d come home.”
So that was how Mom had gotten Birdie on the plane. “I’ll come home in a few more weeks.”
“It’s too long.”
“I know it feels like a long time—”
Birdie shoved her away and stomped out of the bathroom. By the time Toni returned to the conference room, Birdie was already sitting cross-legged in the corner and writing bold angry words across a page. Probably things like Toni is a jerk and I wish Susan was my sister.
“I think we’ve seen all we need to see,” Mom said from the end of the conference table. The sample page Toni had made about band promotion was displayed on the screen at the front of the room. Susan was conspicuously absent. Thank God. “Continue with your vision for the book.”