“Nice night,” she said. “Quiet out here.”
“Yep.” Still holding back on him. “So are you waiting for someone?”
Her brows furrowed. “Who would I be waiting for?”
He pursed his lips. “A certain cameraman maybe.”
She frowned at the cell she still held. “I didn’t invite him to the cottage. He just showed up. To check on me--like you.”
“Mmm.” But she hadn’t invited Jet in for wine. Unable to stop himself, he strolled over. “So are you working?
Standing, she walked to the back edge of the stone lined with bushes, and ripped off a leaf. “No. I’m done working. Lately, all I do is work.”
“I understand.” Work had taken over his life. Some reality.
Ripping a leaf apart, she tossed bits to the ground. “Yeah, we’re stuck in the same weird little bubble.”
She seemed none too happy about it, either. If he had to be stuck in a bubble with anyone, he’d select her. What did she want from him? Anything? Or did she open to him sometimes simply because he was there?
She turned. “It’s safe to speak, you know. I’m off the clock, off the record.”
“Are you?” He eased closer.
“Yes.”
What did being off the clock entail? Leaving her guardedness behind too? At the creak of the backdoor, he swung his head. “Dammit.”
Videocam poised to shoot, Danny came into view.
“Dammit is right.” With a sharp breath, she moved closer to the darkness of the hedge.
Probably to avoid being on camera with him. Still, it gave him an idea. He lifted a finger to his lips, grasped her arm and nudged her through.
She stumbled into a wedge of space near a wall.
Still holding her, he stumbled behind, pinning her against it. “You okay?” He placed his hands on the wall beside her, and liked the way she fit. Liked the way light and shadows played across her features. The space was just big enough for both of them, but he didn’t mind. She didn’t seem to, either.
She nodded, and whispered, “Where are we?”
“Outside the garage.” An idea lit his brain like a floodlight. “Where I keep the Wrangler.” Maybe they could kidnap each other.
Whatever spark he’d felt seemed to condense in her eyes. “They say if you don’t run your car every so often it ruins the engine. How long has it been?”
“Before the other night?” He withheld a smile. “Too long. Maybe I should take it for a spin.”
Her voice fell flat, all enthusiasm gone. “Yes. You should.”
Disappointment coursed through him. But maybe she thought he didn’t want her to come along? They had argued, after all. “To give it a fair run, the weight should be evenly distributed.” Easing away, he skimmed his gaze down her body, imagining his weight distributed across it.
“I’m a few pounds lighter than you, but--”
“It doesn’t need to be exact.” He tugged her to the corner and paused, glancing left, then right. “Let’s go.”
Halting, she winced. “Wait. My bag.”
“Leave it.” What was with women and their purses?
“I can’t. It has my cell phone, the recorder, the camera… I have to go get it.” Quietly, she whirled in the opposite direction.
His hand on her arm halted her. “Where is it?”
“On the table.”
“I’ll get it.” He grazed past, but stopped when she clutched at his shirt.
“No--what if Danny sees you? I’ll go.”
She had a point. He glanced toward the hedge. “Okay, but hurry.”
Her expression lightened with something like delight. “You’ll wait?”
His gaze locked on hers, and his chest tightened. “Of course.”
“Be right back.” Creeping along the hedge, she found the spot where the branches thinned, and stepped through.
“Who’s there?” called Danny.
Shit.
No.
“Just me.” Her voice wavered.
The cameraman neared. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been sitting here a while.”
Jet parted the branches, and leaves rustled. Maybe if he reached through and pulled her back, Danny would disappear too.
Slipping her arms behind her back, she waved him away.
“But I checked and no one seemed to be here.”
“I didn’t notice you either, though I was texting my editor and he demands my full attention.”
Glancing around, Danny seemed to lose interest in interrogating her. “Any idea where Jet is?”
“Haven’t seen him. Have you tried his studio?”
“Yeah, Stu’s looking there.”
Oh, man. The whole world hunted him down.
“Why, what’s up?” she asked.
Danny shrugged. “He disappeared.”
Billie moved closer to the cameraman. “Can’t he have a little time to himself?”
Might as well surrender. He’d catch up to Billie later. He’d make sure of it.
His runner’s feet took him silently around the garage to the front of the house, and he emerged on the opposite walkway.
Brows furrowed, Danny turned. “Jet.”
“Danny.”
Jerkwad
.
Jet continued toward the backdoors.
“Jet,” Stu called from the walkway, and Jet turned to wait. “Where the hell have you been?” With one wave at Danny, the videographer shuffled off.
“Nowhere.” Jet couldn’t keep irritation from his tone.
Stu came at him, scolding. Yammering on.
Jet stared at Billie. “Yeah, yeah,” he responded to whatever Stu had said. His chest expanded with a breath, and he strode away. Fuck it all. He still had to play the
Rock Bottom
himbo--male counterpart to the bimbos inside.
Opening the backdoor, music and laughter drifted out. Surreal. Maybe they should’ve called it a surreality show. More fitting. Not a reality he wanted to experience, but for now, he had to endure it.
* * * *
The door closed, muffling the noise.
Billie crept onto the patio. Inside, Cat still danced, now with Ashley and Brittany, Julie on a stool by the breakfast bar drinking a glass of wine. All turned when Jet entered, and they surrounded him. He joined their dance, even Julie now, facing each in turn, their hands on his chest, waist, thighs, ass…Justin and Danny crouching for the zoom shots.
Sudden tears blurred her vision. “What the hell.”
A few minutes ago, Jet had made her feel as if she was the only woman alive. When their gazes met across the patio, it felt like being caught in a
Star Trek
tractor beam, dragging her in toward Jet’s blue-ray eyes. When he’d captured her against the garage wall, she’d even congratulated Everett for finally getting something right: things had heated up. Their plan to escape made her sure they’d definitely heated up.
Now this.
Swiping at her cheek, she stomped away, then remembered and went back for her bag. Another Friday night wasted.
Slamming the door to the cottage, Billie dropped her bag to the sofa and paced. “Tomorrow I’m getting out of here. I don’t care where.” Screw Everett. Screw
Strung Out
. After grabbing an iced tea from the mini fridge, she sat cross-legged on the sofa and Googled visitor guides for Malibu and LA, then remembered. The Bimbo Brigade would be hiking the Santa Monicas tomorrow, and then possibly hauling Jet off to a club. If she didn’t tag along and get pictures for at least part of it, she’d never hear the end of it.
With a groan, she lay back and scanned the schedule. At ten in the morning, they’d leave in the limo. Only in Malibu would anyone take a limo to go hiking.
She checked the camera. Not even one photo to upload to the blog. She had to go tomorrow.
“Guess I’ll be the tagalong bimbo.” But Sunday, she would disappear somewhere. Anywhere. Before she disappeared even to herself.
* * * *
Whining had its merits, Billie learned, especially when conducted in harmony with nearby whiners. When she climbed into the van with Danny, he glanced at her sandals. “Good thing we’re not going to the mountains today. You’d be in trouble in those things.”
“We’re not? Where are we going then?”
He pulled out behind the limo. “Point Dume State Preserve. Easier walking. We may never get past the tide pool.”
True to Danny’s prediction, the women insisted on inspecting the tide pool at great length. When Ashley bent to tickle a sea star, Billie had to pause her picture taking and speak up. “Those are protected.”
Frowning, Danny snapped his head toward her. She’d ruined his shot.
Billie glanced at Jet. “Sorry, but this is national television. Someone will report you and it’s a hefty fine--California law gives its highest protection to this area.”
“She’s right.” Julie stepped forward. “If
Rock Bottom
doesn’t want to pay through its teeth, you’ll erase that.”
“Let’s go, girls. We should move on.” Jet walked close by. “Thanks.”
Nodding, she folded her arms to keep from touching him, pulling him aside.
You’re no better than the others
, she told herself. The memory of last night crawled across her skin like fire ants. What might have happened if she’d escaped with him? More importantly, what happened with Jet and the Bimbo Squad after she’d left?
Bending to take a few close-ups of the colorful anemones and sea stars, she hastened to catch up.
Brianna’s arms swung as she picked her way through the high grass. “Can we just go back to the house and…Ahh!” She jumped out of the way of a long-legged bird running across her path.
Jet laughed. “It’s a roadrunner.”
“Like the Wile E. Coyote road runner?” Ashley asked.
With a wince, he turned away. “More authentic.”
Cat clucked her tongue. “Even I knew that, Ashley.”
A feeling of doom hovered over Billie. If she had to listen to their nonsensical babbling any longer…she paused to look out over the ocean, and zoomed her lens in on a brown pelican that swooped down and landed on the bluff. Not far away, two sea lions sunbathed on a rock. Out to sea, a dolphin leapt up, then disappeared under the surface. Great shots for the blog.
Walking toward the limo, a few butterflies settled on the giant coreopsis. Billie crouched low to capture it digitally.
“Oh, let me get in the shot.” Ashley crept close to the flower and smiled.
Billie obliged. The readers would eat it up. And so would Everett.
Justin shot Brianna at close range. She struck several poses, then giggled and ran to Jet. “Can we go back and shower? You’re taking us to dinner, right, Jet?”
“Yeah, if I don’t go dancing tonight, I’ll just die.” It might have been Ashley speaking, or maybe Amber. They’d all become indistinguishable from one another.
If Billie had to go, she might die too. Even a night alone in the cottage topped spending more time with these women.
Later, when the limo pulled away, something tugged at her. Maybe she should have gone, if only for the sake of leaving here. Each day in this place made her more claustrophobic.
After she called a cab, she went inside the house. “Cindy?”
“Yes?” came the reply from the back of the hall.
Did the girl never stop working? “I’m heading out for a bite to eat. Want to come along?”
“Can’t, I have paperwork to catch up on.” Sure enough, there she sat, papers scattered across her desktop.
“Can I bring you anything?” Her heart went out to this woman who apparently had less of a life than Billie.
Cindy shrugged. “I have a salad.”
So much for conversation. “All right. Just thought I’d check.”
A buzz sounded, and Cindy said, “Your taxi’s at the gate.”
“Thanks.” Billie hurried to the front and gave the driver the address of a small café she’d found online. In the small, casual eatery, she read
The Malibu Times
. When loneliness engulfed her, she reminded herself the assignment had to end sometime, preferably sooner rather than later, but she’d endure it like a professional. She refused to call Zinta again to complain.
Instead, she called a cab to take her back to the gate, and walked up the long drive. Music caught her ear, and she followed it to the back of the house, which sat dark and quiet.
* * * *
Sitting on the edge of the pool, Jet strummed his guitar. Where had Billie gone? He’d been just as disappointed not to get away last night. She had to understand. He had to make her.
As if on cue, she wandered onto the patio. “Hey. A new song?”
To hide his excitement, he picked a few notes. “It’s nothing. An old one.”
“I thought you were out clubbing.” She glanced around warily.
Chuckling, he swigged his beer. “The rest of them are. It’s not really my scene. Where did you go? Off with your boyfriend?”
Scowling, she folded her arms. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I went to some little café. Takeout’s getting old.”
“You could have come to dinner with us.”
Grinning, she said, “No stomach for it.”
He understood. He’d much rather have been with her.
“I’d love to hear more.”
Flamenco-style, his fingers flew across the frets in a powerful riff. “Put that on your blog.”
“Amazing. I can’t remember hearing it before. Or in that way. What album was it from?”
He paused, the beer bottle and a smile, at his lips. “If I told you the name, would you know it?” Her articles seemed well researched.
“Of course. I have some of your albums.” She slipped off her sandals, sat on the edge of the pool and dipped in her toes.
“Some. Ooh.” He tuned the strings to ease the sting of disappointment.
“I can’t afford to buy every CD I like.” She raised her feet from the water and wiggled her toes.
“You’re that passionate about music?”
“Why do you think I’m in this business?”
He shrugged. “A groupie with a permanent backstage pass?”
With a frown, she said, “I’m no groupie. My judgment’s subjective, not obsessive.”
“Obsessions can be fun.” He’d like to show her how much.
“Until they bite you in the ass.”
“A bite in the ass can be fun too,” he growled.
Her breath left her in a huff. “Do you ever relax? Just be yourself?”
Leaning his elbows atop the guitar, he eyed her warily. “What do you mean?”
“Seriously? I mean, turn it off. Turn off the Jet stream and relax.”
“Jet stream.” He chuckled. “Unfortunately, darlin’--”
“Billie. Please.”
Good for her, not wanting him to relegate her to that level, a nameless bimbo in a fawning crowd. “An unusual name. What’s it stand for?”