It’s a little unsettling—being waited on.
I flew to Australia in a private jet with Jameson and JT when they were going for a golf tournament, and I tagged along with Bryn and Lila for Jaxon’s concert. But then it felt like a fun party that I just happened to be invited to.
This feels much more intimate.
Jaxon treats it like it’s normal, like flying across the country with a woman he’s fake dating is just a regular part of his routine.
And for him, maybe it is.
But for me? Surreal.
It’s also an important reminder of just how far apart our lives have drifted at this point. I may have a ton in common with Jaxon Reid, but I am not in the same league as Jaxon Steele.
We’re met at the tarmac by a black SUV with tinted windows and a driver who hops out of the front seat and gives me a hug as soon as he sees us.
“Izzy!” the man says, and I’m glad I spent part of the flight quizzing Jaxon on his team and which members I’ll be seeing while we’re here.
“Andre!” I say, trying to match his enthusiasm. “So good to see you again.”
I met him briefly in Australia, but I was so busy trying to avoid interacting with Jaxon that I hadn’t remembered it.
Andre spends the drive to Jaxon’s house quizzing me on the basics of what I do, where I went to college, and what I do for fun. Jaxon, who insisted on taking the back seat while I sat in the front, seems to be paying more attention than Andre is to my answers. Every once in a while, Andre stops his interrogation of me to update Jaxon on his schedule and music empire.
I’d forgotten that he is essentially the CEO of a major company, complete with a huge team, millions of clients worldwide, and so many moving parts that it's amazing he can keep track of it all with only two assistants.
And then we’re here—Jaxon’s home.
The house sits tucked behind gates and tall, green trees, perched on a hill with views that make my lungs feel too small. It’s modern but warm, with whitewashed brick and sprawling porches, ivy trailing along the walls, and a wraparound balcony that practically begs to be used for late-night stargazing.
I blink, trying to take it all in. “This is not a house. This is a mansion. A mega-mansion. Anestate.”
As soon as I’m out of the car, I’m greeted by Annie, who feels too poised and put together to work for a musician.
“Izzy,” she says warmly, clasping my hand between both of hers. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh no,” I say automatically. “I can explain everything you’ve heard, I promise.”
She laughs. “All good things, of course. Plus, Jaxon is writing again. And laughing more. I’ve worked with him for a long time, and I haven’t seen that man genuinely happy since…” She trails off with a meaningful glance at Jaxon that I pretend I don’t see.
He clears his throat and frowns at her. “Since my tour last year. Obviously.”
Andre rolls his eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“How’s Tim?” Jaxon asks Annie, eyes lighting up with mischief.
Her professional demeanor doesn’t change, even if her cheeks turn a bit pink. “He’s doing well. A great gate guard.”
“I heard he’s gained ten pounds from all the food you’re bringing him,” Jaxon teases.
Annie lets out an indignant huff, and with that, we walk into the house through the large front door, and I stop short.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathe.
The ceilings are tall and beamed with dark wood. The walls are white and bright, with huge windows that flood the space with natural light. Guitars are propped in corners like casual afterthoughts and a wall of built-in bookshelves is filled with everything from vintage vinyl to Jaxon’s old songwriting journals. The kitchen is big enough to host a small wedding, and through the huge glass doors on the other side of the house, the back patio boasts a fireplace so fancy it could probably roast your marshmallow for you.
I turn in a slow circle. “Now that I know what your house looks like, I’m going to be a lot more embarrassed when you sit on my thrift store couch in my tiny living room.”
Jaxon snorts. “I like your living room. Come on, I’ll show you upstairs.”
