I could bring up the songs he’s posted to Instagram and TikTok, which he obviously posted in the hopes of going viral. Honestly, when I discovered his accounts after some swift googling, I thought I’d have a night full of laughs, but I was surprised when he was actually pretty good. Wyatt’s voice is smooth, like honey, and his fingers move effortlessly on the strings of the guitar. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

He’s never sung that much in front of me. I don’t know if it’s stage fright, or if he’s afraid I’ll make fun of him. Which is probably a fair assumption, honestly.

“Because I know you love music,” I say. “And this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

I drop his hand and it falls to his side. He’s still thinking about it.

“I really need your help with this,” I say, pressing him a bit more.

“Why me?” he asks.

“Because there’s no one else who can do it,” I say. “And because I’m asking you nicely. So please, help me with this.”

Wyatt closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, letting the air out through his nose.

He licks his lips quickly. “I’ll have to talk to my moms about this.”

“You will?”

“If they say no, that’s it. I’m done. I’m not going with you and you’ll have to find someone else. Or go alone. I don’t care.”

“Yeah, of course,” I tell him. “And the offer does still stand. I want to pay you for doing this.”

“I don’t want your money,” he says. “And the audition won’t be enough.”

What more could he want? This is a free trip to Beverly Hills, a free stay in a five-star luxury hotel, free food, an audition that could make his future. What else could I possibly give him?

“I want you to be nice to me,” he says.

“What?”

“I want you to be nice to me,” he repeats. “I want to see if you can do it.”

“Yeah, fine … sure.”

“Seriously?” Wyatt eyes me, like he thinks I’m about to pull the rug out from underneath him.

“I can do it,” I promise.

“You really think so?”

“You’re doubting me?”

He snorts. “I think you’ll last five minutes after we land.”

“You’re on.” I’ll be too busy with my family and avoiding Josh to even think about insulting Fowler, so this works out perfectly. I’ll still pay him, though; anyone who is being forced to spend an entire week with my extended family certainly deserves some form of monetary compensation. “Give me your ID. I’ll book your ticket now.”

Wyatt grabs his wallet and tosses it to me. “First class, please.”

“You’ll take what I give you.” I look down at the ID, spying his October 31 birthday. Huh, a Halloween baby.