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CHAPTER ONE
SERENA
We have company downstairs.
It’s been a good few weeks since my sister ran off with country music singer Coen Taylor and blew up our placid ranch. Dad was livid. So mad I secretly called his sister, Aunt Eugenia, about it because he wouldn’t calm down. I think it was a combination of Sabrina, my oldest sister, not knowing Coen well and my dad thinking every man is out to get his daughters. But I’m tired of dealing with it.
Aunt Eugenia helped, but what really helped is the man downstairs.
Jamie Iron, agent to Coen and bigshot owner of Iron Talent Agency. He’s the right-hand man to some of the biggest country musicians of our time. He’s also the son of Dad’s former friend, Scott, which makes him a safe person in Dad’s eyes. At this moment, they’re both at the table, and Jamie is doing his best to smooth things over.
Coen and Sabrina are on their way home tomorrow. They sent Jamie on ahead, which was smart on Coen’s part. It’s clear Jamie knows how to sweet-talk, and he’s putting in his time.
I sit on the edge of my bed, feet hanging above the floor.
A few days ago, Serena called to tell me she was in Nashville with Jamie and Coen, at his studio. He’s fixing to go on hiatus and settle down with my sister, from what I can tell. That conversation led into me looking Jamie up online and admitting the obvious—he is gorgeous. Big, broad, with a rough-around-the-edges wrangler feel. I guess it carries over from his upbringing in Wyoming, through all his years in Nashville. It doesn’t hurt that he showed up today, swinging out of a truck, beard short and mustache just long enough to give him that look.
My stomach knotted up, and I went upstairs.
It’s after dinner, so no real need to return to the kitchen. Dad’s been talking at Jamie for a good hour or two, but it’s almost his bedtime. It’s rare that Dad misses bedtime. Which means I can go downstairs and get a snack and a cup of tea before going to sleep. Hopefully, Sabrina and Coen will get here early, so I don’t have to be alone with Jamie. I’m not sure whether I can get through a conversation with him, not without getting flustered.
So I wait, watching the digital clock glow.
Around nine, Dad’s chair scrapes the floor. His voice booms—I think he’s telling Jamie to take the guest bedroom. That’s on the other end of Sabrina’s room. Dad’s footsteps echo, accompanied by Jamie’s. Then, silence. I linger for a while longer, until I’m positive it’s safe. Softly, I get up and tiptoe out of the room in my tank top and sleep shorts.
I’m being a bit silly; I know that.
I just don’t want to deal with this man.
The stairs creak. I make my way into the kitchen where the light over the sink glows gold. A pack of chocolate cookies sits beside my tea—pomegranate leaf. I pull the electric kettle out and turn it on, waiting for it to bubble.
The stairs creak, the house settling. I lean on the counter and bite the inside of my lip.
“You must be Serena.”
Spinning, I gasp. Jamie stands at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed. I don’t like him now he’s right in front of me. He’s handsome, but there’s a glitter in his gaze that rubs me the wrong way. He’s too…cowboy. And too stern, like he’s waiting for me to misstep.
I don’t know how, but I glean all that from one look.
His eyes, though…those are harder to read.
“Yep,” I say. “I am.”
He comes into the kitchen, glancing over the kettle and my stack of cookies on the napkin.
“Your dad said you must have gone to bed early.”
He says that like he’s poking at me a little bit. I force myself to ignore the heat traveling down my spine.
“I figured I would just let you two talk,” I reply.
His stare lingers on me, too long. “You seem kinda prickly,” he says after a while.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs and braces his hands on the counter. We’re pretty close, separated only by a couple of feet. He’s really fucking handsome. There’s something about the stern furrowing of his brows that makes me want to climb him like a tree.
Calm down, Serena. Focus on being pissed off.
