Page 29 of My Favorite Mistake

Farther down the street, a few houses still sat here and there amongst empty lots, but most of them looked long-since abandoned. The GPS informed Liza that their destination was on the left, and she glanced at a weathered house that looked like it used to be white. A beat-up Chevy sat on a fractured concrete driveway, partially covered by grass poking up through the cracks.

“Is this where he lives?” she asked.

“Yeah, and just stay in the car,” Connor said, gruff as ever.

She cast him a scathing look. “If you wanted me to stay in the car, why did you ask me to come with you?”

“Because you have to be part of this, too.”

“Even though you don’t want me to be part of this.”

“Liza.” Connor paused and exhaled loudly, clutching his temples for a second. “I’d just rather go in there and talk to him first. I didn't realize his place was this bad, and I don’t want you going in there at first.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me?”

The quick, cold, sarcastic laugh resurfaced as he flipped his open palms at her torso. “Because you’re completely… like…” He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You won’t make a good first impression for the label.”

Her jaw fell open. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”

“It means you look like… like… uhh…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Likewhat?”

Connor exhaled loudly and scrubbed his close-cropped medium brown hair. “Come on, Liza. You just kinda stick out like a sore thumb around here because you obviously have money.”

She scoffed. “I do not have money! If I had money, do you think I would have moved all the way from Texas for a job and thenstayedafter I realized my exwho hates my guts is working there, too?”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling and then settled on her face. “I told you I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah, you said that after Jimmy and Brennan got on your ass about being nice to me.”

Liza turned off the car and shoved the door open, leaping outside and slamming the door shut behind her. Thankful that she’d had the good sense to wear jeans and flats that morning, she carefully stepped up the broken path toward the splintery front door and knocked.

A few moments later, the door pulled open, and a lanky young man offered her a bright, wide grin.

He swung the door wide and pointed a finger-gun at her. “Either you gonna repo my lot, or you with that record label.”

He chuckled, and she laughed with him as she offered her hand.

“Yes, my name is Liza Hardin, and I’m with Frenchmen Street Records.”

“Great to meet you, Ms. Hardin. My name is Oscar Quinn Washington,” he said, stepping out on the porch and closing the door behind him. “I’d invite you inside, but if I let a classy lady such as yourself in that mess, my mama would be rollin’ in her grave.”

A pang slammed against Liza’s sternum, and she fought to keep her pleasant expression. “Out here’s just fine with me, but I don’t mind a mess. You should have seen my dorm when I was in college.”

Oscar laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… it’s a bit different kinda mess than just clutter.” He gestured at one of two folding lawn chairs set up at one corner of the porch. “Care to sit?”

“Thank you.” She eased onto a chair, which creaked in protest as if it hadn’t supported the weight of a human in several years. Connor was now approaching the porch, hands shoved in his pockets and wearing a sour expression Liza knew was reserved for her. She ignored it, gesturing toward him, but looking at Oscar. “This is my colleague, Connor Deneau. He’s the head of artists and repertoire. I believe you two spoke on the phone this week.”

“Yeah, yeah. How you doin’, Mr. Deneau?” Oscar said, stepping to the edge of the porch to meet his outstretched hand with Connor’s.

They shared a quick, firm handshake. “Doing good. How are you, my friend?”

“Just fine, just fine.” Oscar gestured at the other lawn chair as he sat on an overturned crate positioned at the opposite side of the porch. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Connor picked up the chair and moved it farther away from Liza, andgood.She didn’t want to sit next to him either.

Oscar shifted his weight to pull a handkerchief from his back pocket and then dabbed his forehead and neck. “So what’s all this?”

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