Page 91 of Archer

I stepped back, giving her space.

She positioned the microphone, did a sound check, then pulled up her guitar.

Her first take was a struggle, her distraction and emotions too much. Her voice cracked on the chorus. She stopped, took a breath, started again.

The second run-through was better.

By the fifth take, Harper had visibly let go of everything except the music, and it was perfect. Raw and honest and heartbreakingly beautiful.

She set her guitar aside with a smile, then exported the file, attached it to an email, and hit send. “There,” she said. “Done. I think it was good.”

“It was fantastic.”

Her phone rang a few minutes later.

“Alexis.” Harper bit her lip as she put the call on speaker. “That was fast.”

“Oh. My. God.” Alexis’s voice carried equal parts relief and concern. “This song. This is the Harper Lawson I know. This is what the label’s been waiting for. Hell, this is what everyone is looking for.”

“It’s still rough. I recorded it in my kitchen.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s honest. It’s real. It’s you.” Alexis paused. “The label’s going to beg to extend your deadline when they hear this. I’m certain I can convince them to give you the time you need to finish the album, but I’ll warn you. They’re going to want proof of life. A remote interview would be ideal. Something we can share on social media to keep fans engaged. You’ve been radio silent for too long, and people are starting to speculate that you’re in trouble.”

Harper laughed, the sound bitter. “They’re not wrong.”

“I know, but at this point, I think we need to control the narrative. I don’t know what’s going on with this lunatic who’s after you, and I don’t want to feed that or start a frenzy. I think five minutes is all they need. You can record from wherever you are, the PR team will edit it and release it. Just show your face, say you’re taking time to write, and that you’re excited about the new music.”

Harper looked at me, eyebrows raised in question.

I nodded.

“Set it up,” Harper said. “I can do it here, in the cottage, with my security team present.”

“Done. I’ll send you the questions in advance. We’ll schedule for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow works.”

After she hung up, Harper turned to me. “That was okay, right? Saying yes?”

“You should do whatever makes you feel good and happy. I can keep you safe.”

“Okay. But I’m asking your opinion, because I value your input.”

I worked my jaw, fighting the pleasure that swam through me. “Then yes. It was okay. And I’m proud of you.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Proud that I managed to record a rough demo while having a nervous breakdown?”

“Proud that you’re not letting him win.”

Chapter 29

Harper

A UPS delivery truck pulled into the driveway around three the next afternoon. I watched from the window as the driver set a package on the porch, snapped a photo, and left.

Archer strode from the bathroom, rubbing a towel against his still damp hair. “What’s up?”

“Delivery.”