“I’m good,” he says, the slightest southern twang shading his words.
“Thanks. Can I get a sparkling water with lime and an old-fashioned?”
The bartender nods, and a few minutes later, I have our drinks in hand, but there’s still no sign of Mindy.
“You’re Piper Fox,” the cowboy says.
Surprised, I turn to face him. “I am.” Please don’t ask me what I’m working on.
The cowboy doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of this crowd, and it’s not just the hat. His suit is nice enough, if a little worn, like he only has one or two good jackets he brings out for special occasions. His jeans are brand-name but about a size too large, and his boots are dusty. He appears to be around my age, maybe a little older. He’s also bright-eyed, eager, and friendly. Something about him reminds me of a puppy. Like a golden retriever. He hasn’t been a part of this scene long enough to be dead eyed and discouraged or callous and jaded.
“You look a lot like Mindy,” he says.
Mindy and I are similar in more than build. Her nose is a little bigger than mine, her face is less rounded, and her hair is shorter and straighter, but if you put us in a lineup, the similarities would be palpable.
“This is true. Do you work with her?”
“Not yet.” The slant of his grin is roguish.
I take a sip of my sparkling water, my brows lifting. “Not yet?”
He rests his elbows on the bar. “Can I tell you something, Piper Fox?”
Curious, I say, “Please.”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
I laugh, relaxing a little. “How did you sneak in?” It couldn’t have been easy. He would have had to get through multiple security checkpoints not to mention make his way along the red carpet.
“Snuck in with the caterers.”
“Ballsy.”
He grins at me, which pushes him from merely cute puppy to outright handsome. “Luke Fletcher.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake it.
“So you want to work with Mindy’s record label?”
He nods. “I’m a songwriter.”
“You’ve sent in your demos?”
Another nod. “Yes, but that’s not generally how your sister operates.”
Mindy likes to search out talent on her own. It’s why she has the position she’s in now at Rebel Records. She spent years wading through thousands of artists other record labels were rejecting, went to shows all over the country, offered the ones she liked exclusive rights to shop them, and discovered a knack for turning them into a success. Her first big client was a guy she found busking on a street corner who ended up opening at the Grammys after the release of his first album.
“This probably isn’t the best place to pitch to her.” I give him an apologetic wince. “It is a good way to get kicked out of one of these places, though. I don’t know if that’s how you want to be remembered.”
He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his shaggy hair. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything. If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.”
“There you are.” Mindy pushes her way between us, her gaze flicking from Luke to me and then whipping back in his direction. “Hey. Didn’t you stand outside my office for hours with a boom box?”
Luke slides his hat back on, his ears going red even though he plays it smooth. “That might have been someone who vaguely resembles me.”
Her hand goes to her hip. “How did you get in here?”
He attempts to charm her with a grin. “A friend invited me.”
“Right.”