Page 80 of Sing Your Secrets
Sienna takes a seat, then quickly stands again. “Wait, should I go? Do you guys want me here, or I can duck backstage?”
“Sit down, honey,” Law says with confidence. “My business is your business. You’re always welcome where I am.”
I need to start carrying a notepad around to write down all these Lawrence money lines. Maybe it’s his age, but the man knows how to speak to his wife.
Sienna wiggles her fingers. “I don’t normally get star-studded, but all the secrecy is killing me. I wonder who the hell this celebrity buyer is. I really hope it’s Joanna Gaines and she goes Fixer Upper all over this place.” She glances at Law’s perturbed expression. “What? This place could use some country-rustic charm. And there’s no law saying you can’t hold concerts and weddings at the same venue—”
“I think it’s Petey,” I say in a low whisper.
“The rapper? Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s Petey at the entrance.” Sienna follows my stare. I blink a few times, trying to ensure my eyes aren’t playing tricks. No, I’ve seen him so many times in concert. I recognize his silhouette. That’s fucking Petey Pete the Sneak with two other people walking toward us.
“I’m sorry we’re late.” The brunette with the noisiest stilettos power walks toward us, the rest of her landing party dragging behind.
I nearly knock over my chair as I shoot to my feet. Law rises to greet her far more smoothly. He extends his hand. “You’re not late. We said around three o’clock.” His voice changes into a confident, booming drawl—his business voice. “It’s Ms. Rosen, right?”
She takes his hand, then mine. “Delilah’s fine. But yes, I represent Peter.” She holds her palm up as Petey and another person finally arrive in front of us. Be cool, be cool, be fucking cool, Miles. “This is Jacob—with Primrose Realty. And of course, Peter Mills—the interested buyer.”
“Hey, y’all, thanks for meeting with us.” Petey smiles and takes the time to shake each of our hands, even Sienna’s. I’m not sure why I always pictured him off stage wearing a gold grill, in thick faux fur coats, with a permanent brandy in his right hand. This Petey looks so normal. He’s dressed down in a simple black collared shirt and jeans. No chains, no jewelry, just simple studs in his ears. His cornrows are neat and his beard, even shorter than mine, is very neatly trimmed. He looks like he belongs in an office, not on stage.
Petey points to the cookie in the center of the table. “Nice touch. Is that for everyone?”
Sienna beams, shooting me a snarky look. “Why yes, it is, Petey. Or Peter—sorry, what do you prefer?”
He chuckles. “I answer to both.”
“Okay, Peter, let me just cut you a slice.” She glances at Delilah. “For you too?”
Delilah turns up her nose and shakes her head. “No, thank you. I’m strictly Keto.” Petey and Jacob both roll their eyes at some unspoken annoyance with her response.
“Does everyone want to take a seat?” Law gestures to the table. “I drafted up some financial projections. It’s hard to get an understanding of the business’s worth prior to opening, but I pulled some data from former years and crossed them with the current performance of a few other venues in a twenty-mile radius. There’s a piano bar about a mile North that has some decent numbers to go off of. We can talk about the feasibility of those projections as we try to agree upon a number.”
Petey’s face goes blank as he looks at Law like he just explained quantum mechanics to a toddler. “Uh…”
Reading the room, I step in. “Petey, I can walk you through the renovations while they talk numbers if you want?” I’d rather watch paint dry than discuss profit margins and financial projections. I get the impression Petey feels the same.
“Thank God,” he groans. “Yes, please.” He takes the little plate with the triangle chocolate-chip cookie slice Sienna offers him and says, “D, just give them whatever they want. I don’t care what it costs. I’ll pay anything for this place.”
Delilah presses her fingertips against her closed lids. “Worst negotiator ever,” she says through gritted teeth.
* * *
“All of this has been rebuilt and restored.” I jump up and down in place on stage to demonstrate my point. “My dad and I fell through a weak spot, so we rebuilt it with extra reinforcement.”
“Looks great, man,” Petey says, checking out the four corners of the wooden stage. “You know when I was first starting out, I used to perform here.” He wears the same mystified expression that Reese wore the first time I met her. What is it about this place?
“Oh, I know.” I head to the back of the stage. Using my toe, I tap on the floorboards where Petey’s name is etched in several locations. “We salvaged these when we rebuilt the stage.”
“Damn.” Staring at the boards, his lips twitch in a smile. “That was a lifetime ago. You saved these?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s history. There are all sorts of big names on this piece of wood. Maybe it’ll be good luck for the reopening.” Not that The Garage needs luck. This place bleeds magic, lucky energy. The girl of my dreams barged in over a month ago, and now my idol? I’m never locking those front doors again. “Look, I’m trying to keep it together, but holy shit—you’re Petey.”
“You’re a fan?”
Superfan. Obsessed. Studied your come up and tried to replicate your success.“Yeah, I’m a big fan.”
“Do you have a favorite song?” he asks. I’m assuming a lot of celebrities are liked simply because they’re famous. He doesn’t understand I listen to his music religiously.