Page 15 of My Favorite Mistake

The label house was now completely quiet. Jimmy had gone out earlier, and Liza guessed Brennan had slipped out the back door to join Connor and Scott for lunch. And since she was completely alone in this new place—and not to mention emotionally exhausted after yesterday’s drive from Austin to New Orleans that was rife withawfulmemories—she allowed herself to give in to the pang in her chest and her now-trembling bottom lip.

For a moment, while the tears spilled over her lower lashes and she carefully dabbed them with a tissue, Liza wondered if she would really be able to do this. Even if, when the truth came out, Connor was completely civil about everything, could she really handle working with the man who was directly responsible for the single worst thing she’d ever lived through? Not just the break-up, but the—

“Liza?”

She snapped her bleary gaze up to see Brennan standing next to her desk, his dark-as-night brows knitted with obvious concern.

“Oh.” She hastily wiped her nose and dabbed her eyes again, then tucked the tissue into her palm, hiding it. “Hi, Brennan. I thought everyone had gone to lunch.”

Brennan’s eyes were trained on her as he stood in silence for a beat, and then he effortlessly picked up a heavy oak desk chair and set it down next to hers. “Are you all right?” he asked, sitting down and facing her.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m fine. I think I’m allergic to something in the air here.” She faked a small cough behind her hand. “I’m sure you need to go meet up with…um, Connor and Scott.”

“They can wait.” The way he was looking at her practically screamed that the gears in his head were turning. She couldn’t help wondering if Connor had said something to him about their history. “I can see that you’re upset, and if I just ignored that to go to lunch, my mama would have my ass on a silver platter.”

The idea of a man like Brennan being concerned about what his mother would think aboutanythinghe did caused a laugh to escape Liza’s throat. “I appreciate that, but I really am okay.”

Except that shereally wasn’tand being explicitly asked about it forced her to hastily turn toward her screen so it would be less obvious. Her chin trembled, and she pressed the tissue to her nose, attempting to play off her fake allergies.

“Liza,” Brennan said gently, “Darlin’. If you need to talk about anything at all, I’m happy to listen.”

Nobody had ever called herdarlin’before. Brennan’s accent was nothing like Connor’s. Whereas Connor spoke with authentic New Orleans Yat, Brennan had a more refined accent with just a hint of a southern inflection. It was warm and welcoming and everything you’d associate with the hallmarks of southern hospitality. She half expected him to pat her head and say, “Bless your heart.” It wassokind and warm that it only magnified the ache of all the baggage with Connor that had been dredged up that day, and quelling her tears became impossible.

“I’m so sorry.” She fanned her face, eyes glued to her screen so she didn’t look at the absurdly attractive and excruciatingly kind man seated in front of her. “I really am okay. I have an awful tendency to cry at the drop of a hat, especially when I’m tired. I may have the tiniest touch of homesickness, too.” She waved her hand again and swallowed the lump in her throat. “That’s all this is. I’m really okay, but thanks for checking on me.”

Liza felt the weight of his eyes on her for a beat and looked at him out of sheer reflex. His expression was as kind and warm as his accent, and surprisingly, it didn’t look at all like a man who feigned comforting a woman, but who had ulterior motives. And that was probably the most comforting thing of all.

Again, the last thing in the world she needed was to get involved with a man she worked with—especially one who obviously had a friendship with the one man she’d loved more thananything.

Brennan offered her a pleasant smile and then pulled out his phone. “Any food allergies in addition to…you know…thoseallergies?”

He winked. It was clearly his way of calling her bullshit, and that caused her to laugh lightly. “No, none.”

He placed the phone to his ear and casually rested his wrist on the back of her chair as his gaze flitted across the ceiling. “Hey there, Gillian. This is Brennan Riley. How are you, honey? Just wonderful. Yes, I’d like an order of the shrimp and crab pappardelle delivered to Frenchmen Street Records for one Miss Liza Hardin. Yes. And throw in one of the chocolate hazelnut truffles, too, if you can. Excellent. Yes, on my tab. Thank you, sweetheart.”

With that, Brennan stood and slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “There’s a courtyard out back, and the weather’s decent today. Maybe take a long lunch. Try to give this place a chance to make you fall in love.”

Even though the look he’d given her moments ago didn’t look at all like Brennan was hitting on her, the fact that he just bought her lunch and used suchchoicewords as those caused a defensive retort to slip out of Liza’s lips.

“Withwhat, pray tell?”

He tilted his head and gestured elegantly with his palm at the room. “With New Orleans. This is the greatest city in the world, Liza. It’s infused with puremagic. Whatever else is going on…” He lowered his hand and picked up hers, then pressed a kiss to her knuckles like she was a damsel from an old Hollywood movie. “…there’s enough beauty around here to provide a spectacular distraction.”

She smiled genuinely as she slipped her hand out of his. “Did your mama teach you all that, too?”

Brennan flashed his blinding white, dimpled smile at her. “No, honey. That’s all me.” He knocked his knuckles on the desk and then pivoted to head to the door. “Lunch should be here in twenty. I hope you enjoy it. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods. I’ll see you around, Liza.”

She flitted her fingers at him. “Bye, Brennan. Thanks again.”

He dipped his chin in a nod and slipped out the door.

Liza sat back in her chair, watching him stroll up the sidewalk through the windows. She wasn’t going to change her mind about getting involved with him—if a man like him would ever eventhinkof getting involved with the likes ofher—but…that sort of kindness was something she could definitely get used to.

6

Frenchmen Street, New Orleans

That evening, perched at a high table in one corner of the Spotted Cat jazz club, Liza made notes on her tablet. After a conversation with the club’s director of promotions, she had a lot of ideas to discuss with Sylvia, the manager for Uptown Kitty, the jazz quartet whom Liza and the Frenchmen Street team were all here to see that evening. For the fourth or fifth time in the past ten minutes, Liza glanced up from the screen to look across the dark, crowded club at the front, right corner, where Connor, Jimmy, and Scott Latimer, the local music reporter, stood with Sylvia and a couple of other people who appeared to make up the band’s small entourage. Brennan was across the room, chatting with people and also intermittently glancing at her. The lights were low and warm, and a handful of people stood clapping and hollering in front of the small, low stage where Uptown Kitty was pealing rifts and slapping out a raucous rhythm.

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