Rock Bottom (17 page)

“I’m not so sure I do,” he muttered.

“What?” Stu snapped.

“It’s a little hard to warm up to them after what happened.”

Like a wasp, Stu hovered in Jet’s face. “Last night
didn’t
happen. It’s off the
Rock Bottom
radar. Leave it there.”

“Yeah, sure.” He assessed the girls, posing on the chaises. Brianna, Cat and Ashley coolly preening, adjusting their bathing suits, hair, whatever. Empty shells of people, all of them. Except for Julie, who read a book. The only one who had no hand in it, if his gut steered him right. And it usually did.

At that moment, he decided the process of elimination. Julie would be the last girl standing.

A weight lifted from him. “All right then. Let’s get this party started.” The sooner it started, the sooner this gig would end. And the sooner he could concentrate on Billie. See if his gut was right about her too. He smiled as he approached the contestants. It usually was.

* * * *

Sipping the wine Cindy had sent, Billie silently thanked her, then set her feet on the ottoman and propped the laptop on a pillow atop her legs. Tonight, she’d stay in, answer emails, maybe write a little. When someone knocked at the door, she felt tempted to ignore it, but the lights would give her away.

When she pulled open the door, Justin smiled and stepped inside. “Hi.”

“Justin. What are you doing here?” Still holding the door open, she hoped he’d get the hint.

He plopped onto the sofa. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right. You’ve been scarce all day.”

Not one to take subtle cues, apparently. “I had other things to do. I was going to turn in early. I’m kind of tired.”

Extending his arms across the back of the sofa, he mock-frowned. “You’re not even going to offer me a drink?”

She shouldn’t be rude, and she couldn’t afford to lose one of the few friendly faces here. Closing the door, she went to the fridge. “Sorry. What would you like?”

“The wine looks tasty.”

“It is, actually.” She poured a glass, handed it to him, then settled on the sofa.

“Cheers.” He touched his glass to hers. “So are you all right, really? You’re not leaving or anything?”

“No.” Only if she could convince Everett to replace her. Threaten to sue for cruel and unusual methods of breaking up.

“Good.” His voice softened. “I’d hate to see you go.”

Tensing, she shrank back. “That’s very nice.”

Another knock sounded.

Justin pursed his lips. “Wow, you’re popular.”

“Unless Cat’s come to finish me off.” Grinning, she went to the door.

From the doorway, Jet glanced from her, to Justin, to the wine she held. “Hey.”

“Jet. Hi.” She tensed, wishing she could block Justin from his view.

He cocked his jaw. “I wanted to see if you needed anything. But I see you have everything you need.”

An ache surprised her, an invisible tether drawing her to him. He could give her what she really needed.
Stop. Keep your distance.
“I’m good, thanks.” Saying it felt like a betrayal.

With a nod, he stepped back. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Closing the door, guilt twisted her insides.

Downing his wine, Justin winced. “That dude’s a pain in the ass.”

She forced a smile. Then why did she feel so terrible?

Justin prattled on about the events of the day, and Billie did her best to focus on what he said, but the image of Jet haunted her.

When he slid closer on the sofa, she stood. “I’m sorry, but my head is splitting. I need to hit the sack.”

“I could keep you company.” He looked up, his face a mask of sincerity.

Not the company she wanted. “That’s sweet, but I’m not fit to be with tonight. I really need to rest.”

Frowning at his glass, he finished it off and rose. “Thanks for the drink.” He bent to kiss her cheek.

She froze, not wanting to encourage him. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Maybe when you’re feeling better you can invite me back.”

Or not.
“Good night, Justin.”

When he opened the door, the soaring strains of a guitar echoed from Jet’s studio. “He’s at it again. You might think he had a tour coming up.” Justin shut the door, and so muted the music.

She closed her eyes and stood there a moment.
Keep your distance. Keep your head.
“Think Philadelphia.” Home. She’d be there in a few more months, and all this would be a surreal memory.

* * * *

Running had grown into a daily necessity. The only way Jet could escape and try to clear his head.

Try
being the operative word. No matter how many scenarios he assembled, he couldn’t figure Billie out. Why so warm and open one night, and so guarded the next? Except with the camera guy, apparently.

For the second time today, his running shoes pounded on the pavement, now hot from the late afternoon sun.

Fool.
He’d been ready to open his heart and take a chance. He hadn’t realized it until the chance had been snatched away. Hadn’t realized how much he wanted it, either.

Sweat pooled on his forehead and trickled down. Wiping it away, he cursed Danny, whose camera pointed out the van window. It was a wonder he could take a piss alone.

A few more months
, he reminded himself.

Then what? Everything seemed turned upside down. Until he learned the truth, he couldn’t decide. Life had a way of screwing up whatever plans he made, anyway.

Might as well head back. He could use some water.

In the spacious kitchen, the crew worked behind the markers. Danny had arrived back first, and the two cameramen filmed at cross angles as the contestants nibbled their dinner salads.

Jet forced a smile as he entered. “Hello, ladies.” A generous description.

Near the French doors, Billie visibly cringed. Maybe she didn’t appreciate him lavishing attention on the contestants. Ironic when her charm proved so fickle.

Ashley wrinkled her nose. “Ew, you need a shower.”

Cat slunk closer. “I’d be happy to scrub your back. And your front.” She bit into a celery stalk.

“Thanks, darlin’. You girls know I exercise every day. I’d want my partner to support that.” That should dampen their enthusiasm.

He dragged his arm across his forehead. “So tomorrow we’re hiking into the Santa Monicas.”

“The mountains?” Brianna whined.

Amusement buoyed his spirits. “Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll take the beginner trails. But you’ll need better shoes.”

Cat shifted her shoulders. “I have brand new running shoes I’ve been hoping to break in.”

Approaching, Ashley blocked the camera’s view of Cat. “We all do. Hiking will be great.”

Danny shifted to bring Cat back into view, and signaled Justin to circle around.

Her lower lip jutted out, Brianna held a hand to her hip. “What about us? Don’t you care what we like?”

Jet pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “Of course. It’s not all about me. We have other things planned. A trip to the Getty Villa--”

Billie gasped. Audibly. Shrinking back, she held up a hand and backed away.

Brianna and Ashley glanced over, daggers in their gazes. Cat, as always, never shifted her attention from Jet.

“What’s the Getty Villa?” Brianna asked.

“Oh, a really cool museum.” To keep from rolling his eyes, he tilted the bottle to his lips.

“Museum?” Brianna and Ashley whined in unison.

“Yes, it has amazing artifacts from thousands of years ago.” According to his contract, this season aimed to find common interests. If none of them shared his interests, the show served its purpose.

Wincing, Brianna gave a
tsk
. “What about LA? I want to go clubbing.”

Cat pointed a sharp fingernail. “Ooo, dinner on the rooftop patio at The Kress.”

Brianna’s eyes widened. “Or that restaurant where Wolfgang Puck cooks.”

Billie covered her mouth with her hand, but Jet could see her chuckle. Yeah, if Puck merely cooked other chefs made mud pies.

Jiggling like a five-year-old, Ashley gasped. “Universal Studios! Come on, Jet--you can’t say no to Hard Rock Café, can you?”

With a sigh, Jet glanced up at Stu, whose eyes gleamed. Jet could see the cogs in Stu’s brain chugging to life with dollar signs, scheming potential gimmicks to make a buck. Majority ruled.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll go.” His tone sounded heavy with defeat.

Cat sashayed toward him, hips swaying. “Ooh, I’d love to merengue with you at The Rumba Room.”

Holding up his hands, Jet backed away. “I don’t know if that’ll happen.” Ever.

Cat slid her hand into his and slithered downward, then up. Apparently either not caring or unaware he had no interest in dancing, she continued twisting and shaking her head from side to side, using him as a human pole.

His gaze met Billie’s in a silent plea. He’d never wanted someone to rescue him from his own sorry life so badly.

Sorrow filled her face. Silently, she slipped outside.

He closed his eyes for a moment.
Focus. Camera’s rolling.
When he opened them, he smiled and opened his arms. He’d never open his heart. Not to them.

* * * *

Billie could take no more. Gathering her things, she slipped out the door. Fresh air didn’t ease the queasiness building up. She needed a walk. A break from this place.

To her surprise, Everett picked up his cell. Before he could ply her with lies, she blurted, “I want to come home.”

“Babe, the ratings spiked after the Cat episode. Viewers are totally invested in the outcome. Things are just heating up.”

A laugh escaped. “You said it.” If she had to watch the contestants maul Jet one more night, she might puke.

“What do you mean?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she told herself not to bother. If anyone was invested in her being there, it was Everett. “Nothing. I’m sick of the heat. Sick of the bimbos. Sick of this assignment.” Sick of Jet looking at her as if she might throw him a lifeline. Didn’t he know those were his decisions to make? He’d put himself here. If anyone needed rescuing, Billie would like to go first.

“It’s not like you.” Everett sounded like a scolding father.

His patronizing tone galled her. “Of course it is. I didn’t become a journalist to write about a Bimbo Squad chasing a loser. I write about music, the culture--”

“Reality shows are today’s culture. Like it or not.” Professionalism stripped his sincerity.

“But--”

“Our readers love the show. And they love reading your reaction. Our single copy sales rose along with the show’s ratings.”

Clenching her teeth, she had a sudden urge to spit. “So you’re not letting me come home.”

“Not yet.” Two more decisive words he’d never spoken.

Try a different tack.
“Maybe you need a fresh voice on this piece.”

Through the phone, she heard him shuffle papers, then the click of the keyboard. “Readers like your voice, babe.”

You used to like more than my voice.
She ushered that thought away. It seemed ludicrous now. “Only because they can’t hear me say how much I hate the damn show. Tell them I have Jet lag.” If thinking about him too often could be called that. Never had she met anyone more infuriating. Frustrating. Enticing.

“Billie…”

Don’t beg.
“Hanging up now.”
Before you can hang up on me. Creep.

Pressing the
off
key, she slumped into a wicker chair and stared through the leafy canopy overhead. Not even a star to cheer her tonight. How long had it been since she’d had a day off? Any free time? With no way to mark off her hours, she felt as if she had to be present each spare moment, or risk missing something. What was the worst that would happen? Everett would replace her with someone who actually cared? He obviously didn’t.

Instinctively, she called Zin. Her voice of reason and sanity.

Music blared through the cell. “Hello! Billie, my wild girl, what are you doing calling on a Friday night? You should be out in LA with some hot man.”

“You’re my voice of reason and sanity?” Billie was in deeper than she thought, though a hot man wasn’t a bad idea.

“What? Speak up, love, I can’t hear you very well.”

“I said, is it really Friday night? I’ve lost track.”

“Oh, my poor sweets. Can I come rescue you?”

“Would you?” Though she wouldn’t ask Zin to travel in an inebriated state.

“You might wish you’d stayed if I did.”

A warning if she ever heard one. “Tell me, I can take it. What’s Everett doing now? Or should I ask who?”

“He spends hours behind closed doors with some girl. He takes long lunches and leaves early.”

“Sounds serious.” She could care less, she realized.

“He’s boinking her in his office, apparently.”

“A new low. I must have been insane.” She still felt slightly crazy where he was concerned, but the time away had lent clarity to her perspective. Everett was officially a lost cause. Her favorite mistake, as Sheryl Crow cawed.

“Sorry to break the news so abruptly, but I had to.”

“Yes. Shock treatment’s good therapy. Thanks.” Just what she’d needed, a good jolt to her psyche. Yet somehow it had little effect. Let Everett boink whomever he wanted.

“So have some fun yourself. Go do something. Don’t stay in blogging at all hours. And don’t tell me you haven’t. You’re spoiling the frenzied masses, making them eager for more. They love you as much as Jet, you know.”

“No, they envy me. Want to be here instead of me.” If only. With a sigh, Billie stood. “Hey, have fun at the party and I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

A thundering beat drowned out Zin’s response, then the phone display went dark.

Lights inside the house lit the patio. The backdoor creaked open, then shut. Jet strolled past the outdoor fireplace and chaises to the open patio, threw his head back and sighed up at the sky.

Funny he should be so alone too in the middle of the noisy crowd.

So she didn’t alarm him, Billie softly said, “Hey.”

Approaching slowly, he might have been facing a snake pit for all his caution.

She couldn’t blame him.

* * * *

Jet closed his eyes for a moment before he turned. If he’d known she’d lingered out here, he might have stayed inside. So many unanswered questions bottled inside him, threatening to explode. He couldn’t afford for any to repeat in the media. “Hey.”