Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(42)
“Yes, this will be special news to break to your father.” I can hear the amusement in her tone. “You conveniently called me at the time of day when you know he works out. Am I meant to let him know? Using your mother as a shield in your thirties is kind of cheap.”
“You know how Dad is. He’s like Willa. They fly off the fucking handle, and then they calm down and get to work. You know he’ll be here wearing his World’s Best Grandpa T-shirt in a matter of days. I just don’t need him to call in the cavalry to save me from this, okay?”
She laughs now. “No doubt about that. Except we’re in Portugal for another few weeks. Then we’ll spend the summer in Rose Hill… You know, I’m really excited to meet her. Why don’t you tell me more about her?”
I’m ready to launch in, already feeling the relief of talking to my mom. “So she’s?—”
“No. First, how are you? My boy. How are you holding up?”
I shrug in the empty office, and all it does is remind me of Cora. How am I?
I’m like Rosie. I’m a mess. But I’m keeping it together. However, I don’t tell her that. I opt for, “I’m all right, Mom.”
And then I gush about my daughter.
Mr. Grant,
Just a heads-up that I’m helping Sebastian pick up supplies and will be back in the office shortly. But I wanted to touch base while I wait at the hardware store (so boring!).
I’ve been thinking a lot about merchandising opportunities and took it upon myself to have something drawn up. Attached here is a possible design for a company sweatsuit.
Based on the number of emails the info account gets from female fans I think this could be a great item to offer when the new website goes live. There are plenty of merchandising opportunities for us to explore but, as a woman, I can tell you that I would wear the hell out of this. Artists might like them too! We could even do them as Christmas gifts or something.
Please let me know if you have any thoughts or feedback.
All my best,
Rosalie Belmont
Business Manager at Rose Hill Records
Rosalie,
These sweatsuits are pink. The logo has flowers. And the name of the company isn’t even listed.
Have a happy day!
Ford Grant
CEO and Producer at Rose Hill Records
Mr. Grant,
The pink and the flowers are pretty and feminine and directed at the people who will be purchasing. Maybe we can make a manly version for you with a big, lifted truck and those steel balls that some men like to hang from their back bumper? If you’re interested, I would be happy to get that sample drawn up! You would look downright dashing in blue.
And I’m so glad you brought up the company name. It’s not on there because I’m wondering if you want to go back to the drawing board on Rose Hill Records? I feel like everything in this town is called Rose Hill something or other. It’s very on the nose, you know? Kind of… uninspired.
Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this. If you’re scowling at me upon my return, I’ll know I’ve gone too far. But it needed to be said.
You’re welcome,
Rosalie Belmont
Business Manager at Rose Hill Records Located in Rose Hill, British Columbia (duh, obviously)
Rosalie,
I appreciate how enterprising you are. You can have the sweatsuit. Especially can’t wait to receive my manly one for Christmas. It sounds exquisite.
But I’m not renaming my company.
Have a happy day!
Ford Grant CEO and Producer at Rose Hill Records (and that’s final.)
“I’m here! And I brought Sebastian!” Rosie announces as she waltzes through the door to the old barn, with my bowling teammate following behind.
Where she’s all smiles, he’s all frowns. But his frown isn’t nearly as deep as when he scowled at Stretch last night.
Bash tips his chin at me and says, “Gonna take a look around,” rolls up the sleeves of his thick plaid shirt and storms off like he’s on a hunt for someone to fight with.
“He’s charming, right?” Rosie whispers conspiratorially as she approaches my desk.
I lean back in my chair, like the extra distance between us will help me want her less.
Spoiler alert, it doesn’t.
I steeple my hands beneath my chin and regard her. She’s doing that thing she always done where she acts extra chipper to smooth out any ripples. I’ve watched her do it with West as a teenager and now she does it so naturally I wonder if she even notices. It’s like she thinks her problems aren’t worthy of attention and solving because they might be inconvenient to other people.
And in that she’d be wrong.
Her glossy smile doesn’t hide the skin around her eyes that’s still puffy from her tears. My chest aches at the thought of her crying alone in that old dingy bunkhouse. And I can’t even bring myself to scowl at her over the suggestion that I rename the company.
Aside from that, she’s polished from head to toe. Hair ironed straight. Wide-leg dress pants in a camel color, topped with a soft, creamy sweater. A gold necklace dangles around her neck, and I remember the way her fingers felt gripping my chain last night on the dock.
My hand absently moves up to it, and I mimic the motion, realizing how close she came to the pendant. When her eyes pop down to my hand, I stop.