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Sienna sits all the way up. She pulls a piece of dried grass off the sleeve of her sweatshirt and stares at me like she can see straight through to my soul.

“Was that the label?” she asks, but from her tone I can tell it’s not a question.

“You sure you don’t want me to buy it?” I counter, pushing up onto my elbows. “It would take two phone calls tops.”

She releases a heavy sigh. Then she reaches for her boots.

“Let’s see what they want first.”

16

SIENNA

“Are you seriously bringing that bastard coffee?” Grayson grumbles, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen.

“Yes,” I say, switching the coffee maker on. “Even with an unwanted guest I can still be hospitable. Grandma Mary always said not to let rude people mess with who you are.”

“Grandma Mary would pour that cup on his head.” Grayson snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, that’s still an option.” I wink, moving to grab two mugs from the cabinet.

He watches me from the doorway with the expression he has been wearing all morning, the one that has been on his face since we pulled into the driveway last night and saw the rental car sitting at the end of the drive and we looked at each other without saying anything.

“Do you know what he wants?” Grayson says.

“I have a general idea,” I say, which is not a lie. I have a very specific idea. I have had a very specific idea since Nicki’s eleventh voicemail, the one where she stopped being gentle about the number and just said it out loud, fifty million, Sienna, fifty million dollars, like repetition would make it easier to hear.

I don’t say this to Grayson.

I don’t say it because I know what his face will do, and I know what he’ll say after his face does that thing, and I need to walk out to that car and have one conversation before anyone else starts making decisions for me. I love him. I love that he would burn the label to the ground for me. But right now, I need him to be patient.

“It will be fine,” I say, filling the mug.

“Sienna,” he says. “Let me⁠—”

“It will be fine,” I repeat, cheerfully, in the tone I use when I’m choosing optimism as a survival strategy. “Labels send lawyers when they want something. I’m the something they want. I’m going out there, and we’re going to have a conversation about it.”

“No, I have a bad feeling about this, Sienna,” he says firmly, shaking his head like a good country boy who saw something that was just not right. “They shouldn’t be trying to intimidate you.”

“No, they shouldn’t, but what am I supposed to do, Gray?” I huff, grabbing the hazelnut creamer out of the fridge. “I was eighteen when I got my deal. I basically signed my whole life away because it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.”

The coffee maker beeps.

“Sienna, you don’t want to sing for them anymore, and you can’t believe I’m just going to sit here and let them abuse you.” His voice comes out as a harsh plea.

My chest twists, guilt building behind my ribs as I turn my back on him.

“Grayson. I got it,” I say, filling both mugs with coffee and chewing my bottom lip. “Just let me figure it out. I won’t let them hurt us.”

I don’t add anything to Gray’s cup, setting the black coffee on the counter and sliding it to him.

He picks it up and takes a sip, and I avoid his gaze pouring the creamer into the mug for the label guy outside.

“You’re getting better at making coffee.” He licks his lips.

“It helps that your machine is so fancy.” My eyes settle on the curve of his abs through his tight white shirt, and my pulse races.

“Songbird…” He sighs.