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But she had to pick them up before the bakery closed.
She was just about out the door when she was stopped by a voice calling her name.
Not just any voice, but one of the most famous voices in the world.
She turned to see Hannah Lee James aka Ashton James, world famous pop star, striding toward her in that badass, cool as hell way that seemed to come naturally to her. Two months into their arrangement and Sabine still wasn’t used to it.
Which said more about Hannah than Sabine.
Sabine had been employed by a variety of rich and famous people over the years. She had a box of NDAs at home so full that she could use it as a stepstool.
She was (mostly) unfazed by celebrities.
But Hannah carried an energy with her that caught her breath and made her fingers tingle.
Sabine was pretty sure it was because of all the “celebrities” she’d met over the years, Hannah was exactly who she appeared to be. There was no pretense, no façade.
Which were equal parts enthralling and terrifying.
“How are things?” Hannah asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She jerked her chin back the way Sabine had come. “With Piper?”
“Good.” Sabine tugged her earlobe, her earring hole still sore from earlier. “She knows the material. She just hates doing it. But I have some ideas to incentivize her.”
Hannah’s icy blue eyes studied her, and she finally heaved a sigh.
Sabine recognized that look and secretly she loved it. Sometimes parents or guardians were annoyed at the idea of needing a tutor. They thought their kid should just “know” how to do school successfully. Getting a tutor was used like a punishment meant to humiliate the student into “getting their shit together.”
Hannah was different. It had been apparent in their first meeting. All she wanted to do was make sure Piper had what she needed to succeed. And she would go to the ends of the earth to find it.
Which made Sabine’s job that much more delightful.
“What can I do?” Hannah asked.
Sabine’s lips curved up and her heart warmed. “You’re already doing it.”
“Right.”
“Right,” Sabine replied. She held Hannah’s eyes for a beat, and then left the warmth of the recording studio for the frosty air of a Chicago evening.
Well, of Avondale.
Which was basically Chicago but not really.
She jogged to her car and not for the first time lamented never installing a remote start. Three out of four seasons she’d convince herself she didn’t need it, but then winter would arrive like a mugger in an alley.
She fired up the engine of the Toyota 4Runner and shivered her way out of Avondale down to West Loop.
“Whoever invented heated seats deserves a thank you note,” she murmured. “And maybe a fruit basket.”
She stopped at the bakery and picked up her order, and then hurried the last few blocks home.
Well, hurried as much as Chicago traffic on a Wednesday evening would allow.
By the time she pulled into the underground parking garage in her building, the heat was blazing and she forgot (again) that she wanted to get remote start installed.
The moment she stepped off the elevator onto her floor she heard it.
The oppressive and enthusiastic banjo playing from the loft across the hall.
