“Sure.” Not that she had a choice. She shot a questioning glance at Jet, who followed.
“You understand how important it is to
Rock Bottom
that none of these unusual events are made public. Don’t you?”
Jet stepped outside behind them.
Damn, Jet must be worried she’d go behind his back after all.
Extracting her arm from Stu’s grip, she straightened. “Of course.” Journalistic integrity. Personal integrity. One and the same. “
Strung Out
is not a gossip rag.” Though lately, she had trouble saying that convincingly. She hadn’t written any music reviews in months.
Stu’s smile appeared less than sweet. “I’m sure that’s true, but I have to be sure everyone’s on the same page.”
Straightening, she spoke clearly and emphatically. “My reputation is every bit as important as yours.”
Easing closer, he leered at her chest. “I’m sure that’s true as well, but unless--”
“Stu.” Jet stepped closer. “Give it a rest.”
Holding up his hands, Stu backed away and went inside.
Frowning, Jet blocked the door. “Sorry about that.”
“I told you I wouldn’t write about this.” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.
“I know.”
“Well, don’t sic your pit bull on me to keep me quiet.”
And why didn’t you make love to me last night?
He frowned. “I didn’t sic Stu on you. He’s worried about everyone, not just you.”
“Himself most of all,” she grumbled.
“What do you mean?”
Keep out of it,
Willamina
.
“Just be careful of him, will you?”
The French doors opened and Stu leaned out. “Can you two join us please? We’re going to review the fact sheet point by point. I’d hate for you to miss anything.” His syrupy tone fooled no one.
Jet exhaled. “Yeah.”
His palm warmed the small of her back. Instantly, her nerves unwound. She turned to him. “I’m so sorry about all this.”
For the first time that night, his face relaxed into a smile. “Don’t be.” His arm slid around her waist. “We better go in. If Stu comes out again, I’ll be tempted to punch him.”
Relaxing, she nestled into him, then caught Ashley and Cat’s glare and pulled away. So much for integrity.
* * * *
Jet’s gaze glazed over listening to Stu recite the “facts.” Not in any position to argue or bargain, he couldn’t do more. The show already lined up a replacement for Justin, which should be seamless for viewers, but incidents like this had a nasty habit of making their way to the public.
Leaning his elbows against his knees, he pretended to read the sheet, but he found reading the people around him more interesting.
Despite his complaints, Stu obviously got a kick out of bossing everyone around. They’d been through some tough times together, and sometimes his manager acted more like a brother. The past few years, they hadn’t been as close, but Jet blamed himself. He’d be the first to admit he hadn’t been pleasant to be around. He couldn’t even stand himself.
That all changed. His pride wanted to be able to claim responsibility himself, but if he hadn’t met Billie, he’d be in the same rut. She was just the kick in the ass he needed. His stubbornness prevented him from seeing it at first. He’d also be the first to admit what an ass he could be.
“Something funny, Jet?” Stu stared down at him like a haughty teacher.
“No, nothing funny about this. Thinking of something else. Carry on.”
Stu wasted no time falling back into his speech. Jet wasted no time getting back to studying Billie.
Prettier than any of the
Rock Bottom
contestants, she knew her music. Her professional ethics guided her writing. He knew he could count on her not to write a word about any of this.
* * * *
Finishing the blog entry, Billie gave a frustrated sigh. It provided sparse details. Justin left, and Brianna left to be with him. Photos filled in what words could not.
Rock Bottom
’s remaining contestants appeared haggard, embattled. Desperate.
If only she’d set her camera to video Jet playing guitar. Even a few seconds, to give people a glimpse… Stupid Stu had ruined it all for him.
A soft knock sounded, and Billie jumped up, knowing it would be Jet.
The dim light softened his features, glinted in his eyes. “Hey. Can I come in a minute?”
“Yes.” When he stepped inside, her nerves tightened in expectancy, but he walked past.
Don’t be a fool. He’s just being polite and checking in. Or checking up.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Fine. Are you?”
He gave a wan smile. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
“This place is getting to you worse than me.” That didn’t come out right. She didn’t dare hope she’d gotten to him.
“Yeah. It’d be nice to get away from it, even for a day.”
“Why don’t you?” To keep from touching him, she jammed her hands in her back pockets.
He leaned against the credenza. “I meant without an entourage. Spend a day in private.”
“Why don’t you?” she repeated. “Surely you can have at least a day to yourself?”
“Not until the season’s over.”
Unsure what to say, she kept silent. He must have come here for a reason. She’d let him take his time. When quiet stretched too long, she blurted, “The song you played earlier sounded great.”
“Mmm.” He frowned at the floor as if the memory pained him, then peered into her eyes.
Her brain blanked, thoughts replaced with a feverish need to touch him. Slowly, she moved toward him.
Another knock at the door startled her. “Who now?”
“Jet?” Stu called.
Her shoulders slumped. “Damn him.”
“At the very least.” Touching her arm, he went to the door.
Stu smiled. “Ah. I thought I might find you here.” His gaze slid to Billie.
Ugh. She felt slimed, and folded her arms.
Stu jerked his head. “We have some unfinished business we should wrap up tonight.”
“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Glancing back, Jet paused.
Billie’s pulse fluttered, then fell when he followed his manager outside. Her gut twisted. Something felt wrong. She went to the window, but she couldn’t see anything, so she slipped outside. Still no sign. She crept around the side walkway and halted as she rounded the corner.
Jet stood near the French doors speaking to Stu. Scowling, his words inaudible but sharp. Wincing, Stu shook his head as Jet spoke. Stu’s expressions went through acrobatics as Jet gestured, his voice slightly louder but still not audible.
With no way to get any nearer without attracting notice, she retreated. Instinct told her Jet wanted his guitar segment to be aired, but Stu wouldn’t allow it. Bastard.
Somehow, she had to make Jet see how dangerous Stu really was.
* * * *
“Five minutes,” the producer called.
Tonight, Jet would select whom to eliminate. Which one? Billie’s stomach churned.
In the kitchen foyer, Ashley sipped a glass of wine, her wide eyes glazed over. Cat had draped herself across a chair, one finger unconsciously twirling her hair. Julie stood behind the kitchen island, gripping its edges, her darting gaze indicating her nervousness.
“Let’s go face the music.” Cat threw her head back and strutted to the patio, Ashley and Julie in tow.
The contestants reassembled in a loose huddle on the other side of the pool, but Jet continued to argue with Stu by the door.
Careful to stay out of the camera’s line of sight, Billie crept around the opposite way and stood behind a cameraman. Must be the new guy, blissfully ignorant of her existence. His dark skin contrasted with the white tee shirt.
The producer frowned when Stu waved him over. “We’re on the clock.”
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
“Temperamental star.” The new guy rolled his eyes, then crouched to straighten a cord and moved away.
She backed against the stone wall and sat.
Jet’s argument expanded to the producer, apparently. The three of them spoke at once, until Jet raised both hands, said something she couldn’t catch and stalked inside.
Stu murmured to the other man.
The producer raked a hand through his hair. “This better be the last time.” Turning, he called, “Girls, we’re going with something a little different tonight.”
“Where’s Jet?” Ashley whined, and they all took up the cry.
“He’s not well,” Stu said.
“He looked fine,” Julie said.
Ashley smoothed her short skirt. “He looked great.”
The producer held up a hand. “We’re shooting without him.”
Cat stepped forward. “But how? Jet’s supposed to be here.”
Billie sighed. Where was natural selection when it was needed most desperately? She slipped toward the door.
Cat pointed. “Where’s she going?”
Like a feral pack, they glared in unison.
“Bathroom,” Billie lied.
“Yeah, right.” Cat shot back. “You’re going to meet him, aren’t you?”
Ashley’s cold gaze scanned her. “That’s not what the show’s about. We’re supposed to spend time with him. Not her.”
Uh-oh. A bimbo riot in the making--the most dangerous kind. “I’m only headed to the restroom.”
Ashley’s lower lip jutted. “I have to go too.” She stomped toward her.
“Me too.” With feline speed, Cat slunk ahead.
“I’m not missing this.” Julie followed.
“Are you kidding?” Stu’s face twisted with apparent nausea.
The producer cursed. “All right. Take ten. But be ready to shoot, ladies.”
They clamored behind Billie as she scooted inside, but not fast enough to lose them. Dread filled her as they surrounded her like a lynch mob. Did bimbos know how to lynch? Maybe not, but they could strangle her with their scarves, or pound a spiked heel into her skull to the same effect. Encircling her, they moved up the stairs to their dressing room.
Cat slammed the door behind them. “Get this straight, Billie bitch. You keep your hands off Jet.”
She summoned up the old Billie. The Philly Billie who took crap from no one. “I haven’t laid a hand on Jet.” She wouldn’t admit he had touched her.
Ashley inched nearer. “Yet, maybe. But you want to.”
“We can tell,” Cat sneered.
As if they thought with one mind. Probably the sum of their minds didn’t equal a complete one between them. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: I’m here to do a story. Not to do him.”
Their responses swirled anonymously. “What do you mean, you told him?”
“Did he come on to you?”
Before she could answer, Cat replied for her. “He comes on to every girl. He can’t help it.”
They seemed to take strength from this.
Ashley held a hand to her hip. “Yeah, don’t think you’re something special.”
Cat lifted her chin. “I slept with him twice since we started shooting.”
Billie’s insides lurched. Something close to her heart--the valves kinked up, not letting blood through. She slumped to the bed.
Ashley whirled to face Cat. “Liar!”
The other laughed. “You wish. He’s totally picking me.”
A melee broke out, a cacophony of shrieks, a chorus of drama as they fell upon the closest, yanking hair, shoving shoulders.
The journalist inside said this was great fodder. If only she had her digital camera. Or at least her cell phone. A few seconds of this video would be great.
Yet she felt an unfamiliar alliance with them. No--empathy.
The catfight raged. An opportune time to get the hell out.
Downstairs, Stu barged inside. “Where are they?”
She pointed. “You might want to bring some pepper spray.”
He blanched as the shrieks echoed in the hallway. “Oh, man.”
Billie heaved a breath. No good going out the backdoor. The front proved much safer. Closing it behind her, she glanced around. Now where? A bang from upstairs reminded her: anywhere. Without aim, she walked.
Strains of a guitar sounded from the studio. She snuck close. Through the window, she saw Jet on a stool, arched over a guitar, eyes squeezed shut. The tune made her forget everything else. Such a gorgeous song. Like his older songs, but indefinably beyond that sound. Like the one she’d heard him play earlier.
Footsteps clacked behind her along the walk. Awkward if someone found her snooping. From her purse, she grabbed her pad and pen and scribbled as if preparing for another interview.
A crew man approached. “Are you going in? Give him this, will you?” He shoved a folded paper at her.
“Sure.”
As he made his way back, she wondered whether she could shove it under the door. She bent, but the door opened.
* * * *
“Hey.” He leaned against the jamb. “What are you doing?” Hopefully coming to see him. She was just the person he wanted to see.
“Nothing. I was out walking and heard your music. It sounded amazing.”
Her voice sounded strained and breathy at once. He shifted against the doorway and studied her.
She held out a paper. “Oh, and someone asked me to give you this. I was about to leave it under your door. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Interrupt anytime.” He pushed the door open wide. “Come in.”
“No, not if you were in the flow. And it really sounded like you were. It sounded great.”
At her shyness, he cocked his jaw in a half smile. “I thought you weren’t an ego massager.”
Her response came straightforward. “I’m not. Unless it deserves to be.”
He smirked. “So you only give your honest opinion?”
“Always.”
Voices came from beyond the gate.
He grasped her arm. “Come in. Quick.”
Closing the door, he slid the bolt across, then drew the blinds shut. “They know better than to bother me when these are closed.” He held her gaze. In the dim light, her dark eyes mesmerized him, and he eased closer.
She stepped away and said uncertainly, “We could always continue our interview.”
“If you want.” If that’s what it took to keep her here. Erase the awkwardness between them.
Strolling inside, she glanced around. “I love your studio.” Retrieving her recorder from her purse, she switched it on.
“Me too. It’s the only place I feel at home. Nothing in the house is mine, so I tell myself not to get too attached.” Part of the reason his life was so unsettled. He had no real home.