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His confused expression deepens. “Are you supposed to be in here?”
“I’m looking for the guesthouse.”
At that, he laughs. “What guesthouse?”
I try to ignore the anxiety swirling inside of me. “Mabel sent me this way.”
A little of the confusion clears, like clouds parting to reveal the sky. “Well, there’s the old bunkhouse, but no one has stayed there in ages.”
No one has stayed there inages.
Whatever bonus I’ll receive from the label in exchange for this trip, it won’t be enough.
I paste a smile on my face and nod. “That must be what she meant. Can you show me where it is?”
He rubs a hand across his sunburned forehead, expression creasing with concern. “I should get Spencer and see—”
It takes me a minute to realize he means Kyle. Since no one hascalledhim Kyle since I arrived here.
“No!” I quickly temper my tone since I sound ridiculously desperate. But I figure my odds of remaining on this ranch are much higher if Kyle discovers I’m staying hereafterI’ve unpacked and settled in. I’m banking on him being less heartless than his flinty expression earlier suggested. “I don’t want to bother him with this. Mabel gave me directions. I’m just…bad at finding my way around.”
I hold my breath, hoping mentioning Mabel again will help my case.
It does.
“Yeah, all right. This way.”
I hurry to follow him outside before he changes his mind.
“So…how long have you worked here?”
He aims a strange expression my way. “A while. How do you know Spencer?”
I decide striking up a conversation might not have been the smartest decision. There’s still a lingering note of mistrust in his voice that mentioning Mabel didn’t fully erase. I’m an outsider, and something tells me that matters here in a way I’ve never encountered in the melting pot that’s New York.
“Music.” I decide to keep my answer brief. And honest. “I’m Piper.”
“I’m Jamie.” Jamie tilts his head as he studies me. “You writing with Spencer?”
It’s news to me that Kyle has collaborated with other artists. He’s always been a solo act. An attraction all in himself. Then again, all I really know about the guy is what’s been covered in the meetings I’ve attended.
“Uh, no. I work for his record label.”
Jamie grunts, giving no indication of how he feels about that response.
His strides pick up as we approach what looks like another shed. It’s slightly larger than the converted studio we just left with an overgrown shrub planted right next to the front door. We pass it, and Jamie opens the door, gesturing for me to walk in first.
“Thanks.”
The air inside is musty and still. Both walls house bunk beds, and straight ahead is a small bathroom that’s attached to the rest of the space. A woven tapestry is tucked off to the side, presumably as a makeshift barrier between the bathroom and the beds. It’s all bare bones, nothing fancy or new. But it’s clean. Better than I was picturing, based on Jamie’sno one has stayed there in agescomment.
Jamie flips a switch that makes the overhead fan whir to life. “Open up all the windows,” he advises. “It’ll cool off at night. A little.”
I swallow and nod, another bead of sweat dripping down my spine.
“I think Linnia kept all the towels and sheets in that chest.” He nods toward a wooden rectangle at the base of the beds on the left.
“Linnia?”
