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Piper’s hand stills mid-scoop. Barely, but enough to tell me she wasn’t expecting that response. That she assumed I didn’t know who the band was, just like Mia.
And I experience an overwhelming, unexpected thrill of satisfaction, knowing I surprised her.
“They don’t have a twang,” she tells me.
This time, I don’t bother to hide my amusement. “A twang?”
“Yeah.” Piper pulls in a deep breath. “Howdy, y’all. Sure as heck looks like a beautiful day.”
Her “country music” accent is exaggerated and embellished. And nothing like my voice sounds. At least,Idon’t think so.
She glances at me, her voice returning to normal. “That kind of thing.”
I raise one eyebrow in response. “A ‘beautiful day’ and yet you’re wearing rain boots.”
Piper rolls her eyes as she presses a button on the coffee machine. “Do they not have rain boots in Texas? You seem weirdly interested.”
Iamweirdly interested. But not in her rain boots.
Just like I’m strangely affected by her knowing where I’m from.
“So, just to recap, you don’t like me because of my accent and my genre’s unoriginal material?”
Piper’s cheek twitches with what isalmosta smile, and that feels like a victory in and of itself. The coffee maker glugs to life, the scent of freshly brewed coffee flavoring the charged air between us.
“Pretty much.”
She steps away from the counter, grabbing her mug.
She’s leaving, I realize.
“I can’t do anything about mytwang.” My entire team tells me to play my accent up becauseladies love it. I’m definitely not telling Piper that. “But I’ll write a song that has nothing to do with beer or trucks or heartbreak, just for you.”
Piper scoffs. Loudly.
Her detached disbelief is more invigorating than any form of caffeine. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have something to prove—something Iwantto prove—to this redhead who wears inappropriate footwear and makes snap judgments.
“You don’t think I can?”
“I don’tcareif you can. Take the Cowboynova act somewhere else because I’m not interested.”
I grin, and she glares.
“Thanks for the coffee.”
Piper stalks out of the kitchen without saying anything else.
I stop and ask for a notepad and pen on my way to the conference room. My manager, Brayden, is the one who runs these meetings. I just nod along.
And I have a song to write.
CHAPTERONE
PIPER
“Isn’t this so fun?” Serena asks.
Flashing lights illuminate her animated expression, her black-rimmed eyes wide and eager as she takes in the commotion surrounding us.
