Page 14 of Just Business

“Penny?”

“Hmm?” I hum, still refusing to look up, though I can’t stop the small grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Did you forget to mention something?”

“Like what?” I keep my gaze fixed firmly on the papers in front of me.

“Like, maybe that you’re the owner?” He gestures pointedly at the pictures hanging on the wall.

I look up, my eyes meeting his. “It’s nothing, really. Don’t make this a thing, please. It kind of fell into my lap, and I did what I had to do. I’m literally a nepo baby.” I try to brush it off, but the guilt lingers—the weight of knowing I got this position, one I’m not even sure I want, simply because I inherited it, not because I earned it.

He breathes out a short laugh, repeating my words “nepo baby” under his breath, but his amusement quickly fades, his tone shifting. “But it is something. It’s rare to have a woman-owned studio. You know that, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum. Okay, earlier he was impressed, not annoyed, to be working with a woman. Good to know.

“I’ll go grab my keys,” I say, desperately needing a subject change.

After I’ve locked up, I head to grab my car and quickly return to where he’s waiting in my gravel parking lot.

“I don’t know if you know this, but your back tire is the spare,” he says, folding his tall frame into my Honda Civic.

Placing a hand over my heart I mock gasp. “What? It’s the spare? I would’ve never known without a big, strong man pointing it out.” He snorts at the dramatic flutter of my eyelashes but waits for me to continue. “Yes, I’m aware.” I sigh. “I’ll get to it.”Eventually, I think to myself. I am on a minuscule tight budget trying to get the studio bills back on track, and who is pricing tires these days, anyway? Daddy Warbucks? Plus, I run out of hours in my day buried under all I’m juggling.

“How long have you been driving on it?” He cocks one eyebrow at me.

“Two months?” My words squeak out, sounding more like a question. I scrunch my nose bracing for his reaction.

He stares at me, mouth open and blinking rapidly. “Two months? You do realize spare tires are only meant to be temporary, right? Like, a couple of weeks—max.”

“This is temporary! It’s temporarily on there until I get a new one!” I’m fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that explanation sounds.

“Nope, I’m driving. C’mon.” He’s shaking his head as he climbs from my car and heads to the van.

I give in easily and climb out too. She really is on her last leg. Dad bought her for me on my eighteenth birthday, and now, fourteen years later, she needs an extra dose of TLC.

Once I’m buckled in his van, I glance around, taking in his makeshift living quarters. Sleeping in here must have been miserable for him. A masculine scent hits me and I inhale deeply.

“Where to?” Austin asks as he reverses out of the parking lot. Even though the van has a reverse camera, he still throws his arm over the back of my headrest, glancing behind us as he backs onto the road. When he pulls his arm back, his fingers lightly brush against my shoulder, and a zing of electricity shoots up my spine.

“Let’s go to my friend Jackson’s diner. He has the best French fries. Head thataway.” I point toward Main Street and he pulls out onto the road.

Singing River is small enough that we could’ve walked, but it’s July in Alabama, and today is not the day to test the limits of my all-natural deodorant. Besides, despite jumping on that stage last night, I’m guessing Austin wants to lie low for now.

“It’s only fair I warn you. Jackson is a huge fan of yours.”

His eyes jump to mine, shooting me an accusatory look. He grabs his ball cap from the dashboard, and I instantly feel bad.

“You have nothing to worry about!” I quickly add. “He’s not gonna out you for being here or anything. This town isn’t like that. But he might gaze at you longingly with stars in his eyes. And it’s late enough in the afternoon that odds are nobody will be there but us. That’s his diner right over there.” I point toward Jackson’s building, and Austin pulls into the empty parking lot, a relieved expression crossing his face.

“You sure it’s okay if I’m out in public like this? I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

“Last night was you trying to keep a low profile?” I shoot him a dubious look, arching an eyebrow.

“I was an idiot. Yes, I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

“Well, your secret is safe. We’re used to it here,” I explain, shrugging up one shoulder. “We have an unspoken agreement in our town: if someone famous comes to record, we don’t do anything to draw attention to them. You’re not the first person with a story, and we’re good people here in Singing River.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that,” he replies, glancing over at me with one side of his mouth hitched up.

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