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  It occurred to her to ask Savana why she wanted Heather as her exec, but she didn’t want to seem too grateful or unworthy of the task. She didn’t need Savana thinking she’d made a mistake and that Heather wasn’t the woman for the job. Savana must have her reasons, and they were largely irrelevant as long as Heather lived up to her expectations. And those should be set now to make sure they were realistic. Emma had gotten it right last night—she’d never said no to anything Aaron or Donny had asked of her—but she hoped she wouldn’t be tied to Savana twenty-four seven. Donny had already reallocated her scouting duties, but she didn’t want to be suffocated.

  “I want you to tell me what you want from me.” Heather opened her leather portfolio and turned to a blank page.

  “That’s beautiful. Is it real leather?” Savana reached over and touched the inside of Heather’s organizer. “Where did you get it?”

  “It’s real. I had it made for me and shipped over from Europe.” Heather was suddenly aware of how pretentious she sounded and backpedaled. “It was a reward to myself for finally getting a paid job with a top label. I’d never usually pay that kind of money for…” She didn’t want to sound cheap either. Savana probably used toilet paper that cost more than Heather’s folder.

  “Well, it looks like it’s worth every cent.”

  Heather smiled at Savana’s generous response and appreciated not being pushed. She felt like she was already making a fool of herself and they’d barely broken bread. “So.” Heather tapped her pen on the pad between them. “How do you envisage this working?”

  “I want you to be everything a perfect A&R exec is. And I need you to be everything an A&R exec is not.”

  Savana relaxed back into her chair as if her words were enough explanation. They weren’t. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?” Heather wanted Savana to come out with whatever it was she was talking about. She was awful at guessing games. They frustrated her and made no sense. Savana obviously wanted something very specific from Heather, so why not simply say it and save a whole heap of time?

  “I’m sick of all this machismo. I’m tired of being the country singer that heterosexual white males want me to be.” Savana leaned forward and placed her hand over Heather’s. “I’ve been in this business a decade, but the woman you see on the records and on stage, the woman you hear on the radio, that’s not the real me.”

  “You want me to curate your reality.”

  Savana smiled in a way Heather hadn’t seen on magazines or on billboards or TV. It exuded an authenticity that went beyond her facial expression and deep into her soul.

  “Exactly right.” Savana released her grip and clasped her hands together in her lap.

  The assignment just took an unscheduled detour. The country world had expectations of their heroes, male and female. Success came for those lucky enough to fit the standards and for those willing to conform. It was hard enough for female singers to get recognition for their work even when they were long-haired, slim, and sang of their adoration for men and God. Donny had signed Savana looking for more of what she’d become famous for. If she deviated from that path and failed, it would be viewed as Heather’s mishandling.

  Or it could be the start of a stratospheric appeal to a far wider audience, transcending the confines of country music. Either way, their careers were now inextricably linked for the foreseeable future, for better or for worse.

  Why Savana wanted Heather as her intermediary between her and Rocky Top started to make sense, but Heather hoped it wasn’t because she thought she could walk all over her and get every decision to go her way. “Are you talking about a completely different sound or image?”

  Savana reached for her mug and sipped her coffee before answering. “Both. I’m tired of women not singing about the things that are important to us. I’m sick of singing about Jesus, cheating lovers, and the all-American dream.” She slammed her mug down, and coffee slurped out onto Heather’s folder. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry.”

  Savana pulled off her scarf to dab at the liquid, but it was too late and the cognac-colored calf leather was stained. Heather pulled the portfolio away to stop Savana from spreading it and making it worse. “It’s fine. It’ll add some character.” She smiled and told herself it didn’t matter. It could be cleaned.

  “I really am sorry, Heather.”

  Heather shook her head. She could see Savana was mortified, perhaps more so because Heather had told her the embarrassing story about its origin. “Honestly, don’t worry.” She wondered if Savana had something that meant more to her than a material possession should. “Let’s start with who you want to work with. Do you have anyone in mind to write your songs?” Savana’s previous material had always been written for her, but she said she wanted a new direction… “Or are you thinking of writing your own?”

  “I don’t have any fixed ideas aside from not wanting to work with anyone I’ve already had songs from.”

  Heather nibbled at her top lip. That narrowed the field since Savana had worked with all of the big hitters on the songwriting scene over the past decade. The top artists tended to work with three or four favorite writers, and few opted to give the lesser known writers a chance. “You don’t mind trying out some no-hit wonders?”

  “If you think their writing is good enough for me, I’m willing to hear them out. But I get final say—always.”

  Heather recognized the signature determination that had made Savana the country royalty she was. Savana had been sweetness personified to that point. This was what Heather had signed up for: keeping Savana happy and making the record label money. And it was good practice for when she had her own label.

  “Let’s see what I can come up with.”

  Donny was going to have something to say about this, but if he wanted to keep his biggest ever signing happy, he’d have to be more flexible than he’d anticipated. If Savana was happy with Rocky Top, it would signal a new era in its history and could make it the destination label.

  No pressure, then.

  Chapter Seven

  Louie had been sitting in the breakfast café for ten minutes thanking the bean god and paying homage to a giant mug of coffee that the wall sign accurately proclaimed to be “Black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love.” And she’d watched all manner of amazingly presented breakfast dishes scoot past in the hands of deft serving staff before she decided to ask for their menu. As the morning rush ebbed to just a few laid-back customers, she scanned the laminated card for what she could afford to order. Her stomach growled impatiently at her time wasting so she motioned to the closest server to take her order.

  “How’s the coffee treating you?”

  He looked barely out of his teens, but his voice was deep and mature and belied his apparent age. Louie wondered if the cliché were true and every waiter in the city was chasing their own Nashville dream. “Your sign does not exaggerate.” He smiled, and Louie noticed how unusually rounded his top teeth were. And they were the kind of bright white that toothpaste commercial models had. Self-consciously, Louie closed her returning smile to hide her own less than perfect ivories.

  “Are you new in town?”

  The question stumped Louie. Did she look that green? What gave her away? And why did he care?

  “Sorry. The boss keeps telling me I’m too familiar.” He gestured around the café. “This place is off the beaten track for tourists. It’s mostly a locals kind of joint. And you’ve got that same wide-eyed look I had when I hit town a few months ago.”

  He must have sensed her discomfort, but his easy nature made Louie relax. She’d been around criminals a little too long and had forgotten how regular people who didn’t have anything to hide behaved. “It’s fine. You just surprised me. I’ve come from a city where it’s almost too much trouble to ask for your order, let alone take any interest in you.” She let go of the mug she’d been gripping to white-knuckle status and offered her hand. “I’m Louie. Louie Francis.”

  The ser
ver dropped his order pad onto Louie’s table and shook her hand with vigor. She’d always appreciated a firm handshake. Her mom had drilled it into her that it was the sign of a trustworthy person, someone reliable. And this kid seemed nice.

  “I’m Gabrielle Duke, but everyone calls me Gabe.”

  “It’s great to meet you, Gabe.” Louie pushed her misgivings away and pulled back memories of living in a town where people were genuine and honestly curious about getting to know newcomers. In a city whose population she’d read was increasing by a hundred people a day, that was a lot of newcomers. But then, people always brought their stories with them, and stories made great country songs. It was in her interest to be more open to that experience and forget the insular city life she’d become used to. “What brought you to Nashville?”

  “Do you want my story before or after you order something to eat?”

  Louie laughed. She’d got so caught up with Gabe that she’d forgotten she’d had nothing substantial to eat since around the same time yesterday. The cereal bars and chips she’d munched on her road trip had minimal nutritional value and had failed to satiate her ever-demanding appetite. “I’m going to go with after because it feels like my gut is about to start eating itself.”

  Gabe retrieved his order pad. “Go.”

  Louie picked up her menu and found the dish she’d been coveting since she’d seen Gabe take it to a previous customer on the next table. “I’ll take a chicken and biscuit sandwich with country potatoes, a half order of beignets, and two peach cobbler pancakes.” She handed Gabe the menu and noticed he looked a little surprised when he’d finished scribing her order.

  “Wow, you’ve got a helluvan appetite.”

  Louie pointed to her legs. “They’re hollow. All I’ll have to do is stand up and shake it down some.”

  Gabe chuckled and slapped her on the back. “I’m about to go on a break. You mind if I eat with you while I answer your question?”

  Louie surprised herself when she said, “Sure thing.” Gabe reminded her of her childhood buddy Jake. He had the same innocence and zest for life, the same openness and inquisitive nature. Louie wasn’t a great believer in fate, but she was already glad she’d met him. Making friends in a new city had been difficult for Louie in Chicago once she started working at the WoodBack because she hadn’t wanted to get anyone involved in that world. In the year since Mia had left, Louie had concentrated on her jobs and on earning the cash to get to Nashville, so she had no social life to speak of. She was glad she’d found it so easy to slip back into relatively normal conversation.

  Gabe returned with their breakfasts twenty minutes later, and strangely, she’d missed him. She and Jake had been inseparable from age seven through to seventeen, and as weird as it was, Louie found herself feeling a similarly instant connection with Gabe.

  He slipped into the booth seat opposite her. “Okay, first of all, you can’t laugh.”

  Louie frowned and pointed her fork at him. “Why would I laugh? And if you already think I’m going to laugh, then it must be something funny, so you can’t ask me to make a promise I’ve got no chance of keeping.”

  Gabe wrinkled his nose, seeming to ponder Louie’s objection. “Fine.”

  He shoved both sleeves of his shirt up to reveal some serious ink. She’d already spotted tattoos behind his ears, on his neck and on his chest, and she wanted to know the story behind all of them. “And when you’re done with your funny story, you can tell me all about those.” Louie swept her hands through the air.

  Gabe shook his head. “Not happening. I’ll tell you my story, and then you can tell me yours…then I’ll think about the tattoos.” He touched the tombstone on his right forearm. “They’re all very personal.”

  His voice had lowered when he spoke about his ink, and she wondered if she’d been too bold and assuming. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

  Gabe’s dazzling TV smile returned. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve got a good feeling about you and me. I don’t expect it’ll be too long before we’re swapping tattoo and scar tales.”

  Louie relaxed, picked up the overflowing biscuit sandwich, and attempted a bite. The egg immediately broke and ran everywhere, along her hands, and onto her shirtsleeves. She placed it back on the plate, sucked some runny, hot yolk from her fingers, and shoved her sleeves out of the way.

  Gabe pointed his fork at Louie’s forearms. “Looks like we might be a while exchanging fables of our flesh.”

  “That’s an awesome line. Mind if I steal it?” She pulled her writing journal from her satchel but waited for Gabe’s permission before she opened it.

  “You think?”

  Louie nodded.

  “Then sure. As long as you let me have first dibs on the finished song.”

  Louie tried to keep her surprise unnoticeable as she unfurled the leather strap and quickly scribbled the line on the top of a blank page. She closed it but left it on the table. “I’ll leave it out in case you come up with more.”

  Gabe grinned before he tackled a mouthful of banana and pecan waffle. “That’s not my strength, but you’re welcome to my words if they’re of any use. You just have to promise to write me some occasionally.”

  “You came to Nashville to sing?”

  Gabe waved his fork at her again. “I thought I told you not to laugh?”

  Louie held up her hands. “I’m not laughing.” And she hoped her disbelief hadn’t been that obvious. She cursed herself for being so quick to make assumptions based simply on how Gabe looked. Given how much she’d been subjected to judgment and expectation, she should’ve known better.

  “But you are surprised.” He swigged a mouthful of orange juice. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. Most people think I got lost on my way to Los Angeles.”

  Louie wasn’t following. “LA?”

  “Hip-hop. When you look like this—” He motioned from his head downward with a sweep of his hand. “You’re only allowed to do hip-hop. If that’s even the phrase. Sing hip-hop? Whatever. I’m supposed to be rapping, apparently. Or just waiting on tables with no ambition to be anything better.”

  His words were spoken with humor, but an unmissable swirl of dark pain hummed around them. Louie sensed that Gabe had experienced more than his fair share of malevolence in his twenty or so years. Maybe that’s why she felt drawn to him. A kindred spirit, trying to stay unguarded and open in a world that was only interested in hardening and hurting them. Louie felt like she’d lost that battle when Mia broke her heart. She wouldn’t be skipping down that path anytime soon. But cultivating a friendship certainly couldn’t hurt.

  “You still with me?”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m listening. What you said got me thinking.” She wanted to say this right without causing offense or comparing their experiences. “We’re both here against the odds, fighting to make our dreams come true. Maybe we met so we can keep each other going when it gets tough?” Louie heard herself say the words and couldn’t quite believe she was allowing them voice. Her hardships were probably nothing compared to what Gabe had been through, but he clearly needed support just as she did. She looked at Gabe to try to see how he’d reacted to her weird destiny shit. A small part of her thought about backtracking in case he thought she was interested in him romantically, but she reasoned he was plenty worldly enough to know she was queer.

  He looked contemplative, screwing up his mouth as if he were measuring his words because he didn’t know how Louie might react.

  “Okay. I’m gonna come straight out with it, because if I dance around it, it’s probably going to sound stupid.” He put his knife and fork down decisively. “We’ve just met, but I feel like we’ve hit it off in a way that seems totally natural and easy. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t happen very often for me.”

  Louie shook her head but stayed silent to encourage him to continue, unsure of what he was about to say.

  “I’ve got a place in East Nashville on Berry Street.” He sighed. “I can’t af
ford it. I had a buddy who moved here with me, but it wasn’t for him and he bailed a month ago. I need a new roomie and I need one fast…What do you think?”

  Louie ran her hand through her hair and pulled at her quiff. “You’re asking me to move in with you?”

  “Hey, whoa, I don’t mean it like that.”

  Louie smiled at Gabe’s worried look, reached over the table, and shoved his shoulder. “I’m kidding. Relax. What’s the rent like? I’m kind of a broke cliché pursuing the dream.” She hadn’t thought about spending any more on housing. She’d expected to stay in her truck for a week or so before she found a job, but this meeting did seem…fated.

  “They’re looking for waiting staff here. I could introduce you to the boss when you’ve finished eating?”

  “Wow, you can hook me up with a job and a place to stay?” Louie couldn’t have been any luckier with this breakfast stop. “You’re like an urban Rumpelstiltskin without the creepy, gnarled skin.”

  “Gross.” He frowned and gave her shoulder a light shove. “It’s twelve hundred a month between two. It’s a three-bed, two-bath house with a garage and yard. Decent neighborhood. Friendly folk on either side. Lots of singles and couples in the area, not many families. It’s a great district for creatives.”

  “You sound like a Realtor. Is it furnished?”

  Gabe nodded then shook his head. “A little…it’s got the basics, and there’s some great thrift shops around. We could kit the place out pretty cheap, and I’m good with my hands. We could repurpose some pallets and make most of the furniture we need.”

  Gabe looked so hopeful and excited that it didn’t occur to Louie to politely decline his offer. Perhaps this was her life now. Relax and just let it be. How could she not take up Gabe’s offer of what seemed like the perfect base to launch her assault on Nashville? “It sounds great. How about you take me to see it when your shift ends?”

  Gabe bounced in his chair like an excited kid being taken to see Santa for the first time.