Rock Bottom (6 page)

She unlocked the door and gripped the knob. “Can’t think of anything,” she lied. If he were anyone but Jet Trently, she could think of plenty.

Easing away, he gazed down the path. “Guess I’ll go find my guitar then.”

“Good night.” She stepped inside.

He stood, hands in his pockets. “Mmm.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he walked on away from the house and disappeared around the bend.

After closing the door, she slid the deadbolt across. A key wouldn’t get anyone inside.

With a sigh, she turned. Unpack, she told herself. Frowning at the suitcase, she instead sank into the overstuffed sofa, her muscles reminding her how many hours they’d put in.

“Better not get too comfy yet.” Scooting to the edge, she dug out her laptop and powered up. Sure enough, the internet came up on the first try. She downloaded the photos and skimmed through them. The beach photo would be as big a hit as the dining room pic. She could almost hear the collective sigh of Jet fans across the globe.

He hadn’t aimed that million-watt smile at them, though. Or taken them to dinner.

She shot off a text to Zinta.
Malibu better than expected.

In a few minutes, her cell buzzed. Zinta’s name showed in the display.

“Spill.”

The events of the day bubbled forth from Billie’s mouth, somewhat incoherently. Zinta’s silence unnerved her. “Hello?”

“You do know he’s playing you.” Zin’s words stung sure as a slap.

“What?”

“Buttering you up. To get you on his side.”

“He’s not like that.” Irritated at her for ruining a nice day--unexpectedly nice--Billie hadn’t intended to snap her response, but felt no shame, either.

“Billie, my sweet. Don’t fall for it.”

Despair welled up.
But he likes tree houses.
Such a ridiculous thought, it snapped her to the realization she was heading for disaster. The kind of disaster she swore she’d never get into again. “God, you’re right. It’s like I landed in Oz instead of Malibu.” Maybe the two were closer than she’d thought. “My brain got lost in the whirlwind, but it’s on straight now. Thank you.”

“I know you’d do the same for me.”

And had several times, but she wouldn’t rub it in. In this business, the buddy system proved critical for survival. “Listen, I have to get this blog up. I’ll talk to you later.” She clicked off, thankful for her best friend, the person who knew her intimate secrets.

Zin was right. Jet made a living from practiced charm. And she made a living from guarding against it. How careless could she be?

She downloaded the photos onto the laptop, and scrolled through. Not bad, considering she had no photography training other than on-the-job. The pictures captured the house in a warm light, and Jet’s striking good looks. His ocean-blue eyes reached out from the screen and pierced hers as they had when she’d snapped the shot. Yes, the pic would get great reader reaction. But posting it on the blog felt almost like sharing something personal.

Drafting an accompanying entry proved more difficult. She typed a sentence, read it over and deleted it, sickened by its gushing. Did the Malibu breezes infect her brain? Disconnect her thought process? She came across as an empty-headed fool with stars in her eyes. True to her original thought, she left it at: The Bu.

Logging off, she yawned. The time difference had caught up to her, and her energy faded.

After rummaging some items from her suitcase, she changed in the bathroom and climbed the stairs to the loft.

Windows ringed the space, and she wound them open to let in the night air. Muted music sounded, and a light shone through the trees. Jet’s studio? Another thing to investigate. Tomorrow.

The house stood in the opposite direction, a light on the far side silhouetting it, Jet’s bedroom dark and empty.

Weariness washed over her. She laid her head on the pillow, and the soft strains of his guitar lulled her to sleep.

* * * *

Muted musical tones caused her eyes to flicker open. Much too bright sunlight stabbed them closed again. Instinctively, she reached for her cell phone. Unable to read the display in the morning glare, she flipped it open. “Billie Prescott.”

“The one and only?” Everett teased.

At hearing his voice, she sat up. “Hey. What’s up?”

The washed-out blue walls crowded the king-sized bed, which seemed suspended in space. Like one of her nightmares where she awakened naked in public. But she wore a tank top and shorts, and no one else was in sight. All seemed quiet. So where the hell was she?

“Apparently not you. But I’ll let it slide, since you worked so hard yesterday.”

“Oh.” Cobwebs slowly dissipated from her brain. “Thanks.” Rubbing her forehead, she couldn’t think straight. The enthusiasm in his voice confused her more than her surroundings. “What are you talking about?”

“The blog--fifty-some comments already. Did I seriously wake you?”

“Uh, yeah. Like you said, yesterday went late.” At the window, the sprawling mustard Mediterranean house reminded her: Jet Trently’s house. And the curving walkway below beckoned her to follow it, though the soft music had long ended.

“I didn’t say that.”

Uh-oh. A hint of irritation in his tone.

“Jet kept you up late, huh?”

And maybe a touch of jealousy. California might be just what she needed to get back on Everett’s Lust Have list. “A little. The time difference poses a challenge. After dinner--”

“He took you to dinner?”

“I hadn’t eaten all day, Everett. We started an interview.”

“But the walk on the beach and the house tour interrupted?”

“No.” He wasn’t letting her finish. “Look, the trip fried my brain. I have notes, but I’m not putting anything out there until I can make it coherent.”

A sharp exhale came as his only response. Time to change subjects.

“So the blog’s a hit already?” The pics of Jet--she knew viewers would love them.

“They’re clamoring for more. Keep the camera handy and post as many shots as you can.”

“I’d planned to.” Why so stiff all of a sudden? Had she exhausted his patience already? That usually came later.

“If you plan to post any substantive text, run it by me first.”

“That’s not exactly blogging.” Did he not trust her to post professional entries? His comment about her writing going stale stung anew. Had that only been two days ago? Already it seemed like forever.

“
Rock Bottom
isn’t exactly reality, either. Everything needs polish and spin.”

“Right.”

“Okay, gotta go. Great job.”

“So when can I come home?”

“You just landed yesterday, babe.”

Babe. Now he turned on the charm, just before leaving. A pattern was taking shape… Irritation boiled up. “Everett…”

“I’m late. Talk to you soon.”

Late? A glance at the clock showed nine twenty. Six twenty in Philly. “But how long do I have to stay? Everett?”

Holding the cell out, the display showed the call had ended. With an aggravated groan, she descended the stairs to the main floor and closed the blinds, though outside the walkway appeared deserted and the house quiet. Staying in the cottage would keep her out of the camera’s range. Better than upstairs with the bimbos. And Jet.

It reminded her of what he said yesterday. Jogging upstairs again, she peeked out the window. His blinds stood closed. No seeing into his room this morning. Plopping on the bed, the events of yesterday replayed in her head. The interview with Jet had surprised her. What other surprises awaited, she now looked forward to finding out.

“Not so boring as I thought.” Another interview--or more--would provide her better insight. It felt more like a conversation with an old friend than an interview. He had a way of putting her at ease and exciting her at the same time. Those blue, blue eyes seared into her. Standing next to him felt like standing next to a bonfire full of crackling heat and energy. Scorching her skin.

“Yeah, you and every other female.” But every other female didn’t have press credentials, and weren’t living in his guest house.

Everett hadn’t liked her spending time with Jet. Giggling, she lay back. “You sent me here, babe. All in the line of duty.” Groaning, she sat up. “Speaking of which…”

After a shower, she powered up the laptop. A few emails cluttered her inbox, and the blog’s comments now numbered more than eighty. She jotted down a few of the questions posed.

A commotion outside grabbed her attention. A squabble, so early? She peered through the blinds. Three women strutted down the walkway toward the house. All appeared high-maintenance, done up to the hilt. Right--the contestants. She’d managed to block them from consciousness, but now they’d occupy front and center whether she willed it or not. Their incessant high-pitched chatter, their preening and nudging to get closer to the camera. Her earlier dread returned. She’d spend lots of time with these females.

The
Rock Bottom
guy who’d helped her yesterday hauled their luggage. He caught her watching, rolled his eyes and shook his head. She didn’t envy him.

The contestants’ arrival prompted her into action. After dressing in black slacks and a silky tee, banging made her pause the blow-dryer.

“Hello?” called a woman outside.

Barefoot, Billie ran to the door.

Cindy shot her a tight smile. “Hope we’re not interrupting. Just here with supplies.”

A man stood behind her holding a plastic crate.

Opening the door wide, she stood aside. “Not at all. I appreciate it.”

The assistant went straight to work unloading into the refrigerator. Cindy opened a cabinet and revealed a coffeemaker.

“Oh, bless you.”

Static erupted on Cindy’s walkie-talkie. “Anything else you need besides the basics?”

“Fruit yogurt would be great. And power bars.” At Cindy’s skeptical look, she added, “I work late a lot.”

“Me too. I’ll let you know when we’re doing a takeout run.”

Though Cindy appeared calm on the surface, a harried woman lurked beneath, Billie suspected. And she might be the only person to talk to. Jet’s time would be occupied now by his Bimbo Brigade. At that thought, her insides gave a familiar twinge.

Cindy frowned. “Are you all right?”

A flush went through Billie’s cheeks. “Yes, great. Hey, we’ll have to have a drink by the pool some night.” Her cell buzzed. Zinta’s name appeared. “Excuse me, I should take this.”

“Sure. I need to get back anyway.” Cindy ushered her assistant out.

Billie flipped open her cell. “Hey, you’re up early.”

“I needed to check on you. Are you all right?”

Last night. She’d practically drooled into the phone. “Yes. I’m well rested, and my head’s clear now.” Especially now that the Bimbo Squad had invaded, bringing reality with them.

“Whew. You had me worried. You sounded…different.”

She couldn’t admit that yesterday, some naïve version of herself overwhelmed world-wise Billie. She reminded herself what she’d learned long ago: life didn’t give anyone sunshine and roses. Not without taking something in return. “Thanks for worrying. I miss you.”

“It’s weird not having you here.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping bad ratings will kill the show early so I can get the hell out of here. Hey, if you hear of any good bands playing out here, let me know, will you?” Already she felt starved for good music. New music.

Zinta promised to call.

After starting a pot of coffee, Billie settled on the sofa with the
Rock Bottom
packet of information. Last night hadn’t left much time for actual work. An image of Jet leaning in the doorway, saying good night, returned vividly. Startled her from her thoughts. It seemed like a dream.

Or like a reality show
, she reminded herself. Too unreal to be true. Oh, he was good--he must make every girl believe he wanted only her. His mesmerizing gaze probably convinced every female he only had eyes for her. Beautiful eyes, clear blue as the Caribbean.

Coffee. She needed coffee. The time lag must have gotten to her more than she realized.

Voices outside returned her to the window for a peek. The remaining divas had arrived.

Now the show would begin in earnest.

Not even his guitar distracted Jet. He’d played for hours last night, into this morning, after leaving the cottage. Striking a hard chord, he stilled the strings with his palm and set down the guitar. Standing, he strolled to the window.

You’re
outta
your head.
It had been months since Carrie. She should have been enough to teach him he couldn’t find love on a reality dating show. Ah, hell. He never expected to find The One. Not really. Stu set this up for the publicity. So far, so good. Except he’d rather play concerts, and now those presented a conflict.

Quite a predicament. Held back from doing the thing he loved most because he had to market himself.

The one woman who interested him for the first time in a long time held the key. He heard his brother saying
Tread very carefully
. If he fell through this thin ice, he might never be able to resurface.

It’s the jitters, nothing more.
Something about this new round of contestants put him on edge. Their video interviews either left him cold or grated his nerves. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that for months on end?

The response rang through his head in Stu’s voice:
Like a pro, bro.

Yes. If anything, he was a professional. He’d be careful around them all, but especially Ms. Prescott. The one who might pry open the door he’d closed long ago within himself--and then prop it open for the world to see.

No way could he let that happen. Music was the only thing he could depend on in life, and he had to protect it.

* * * *

Outside the cottage, Billie paused only moments. To stay in the sun any longer would invite heat stroke in these dark colors. Instead of heading left to the rear patio, she strolled the opposite way and followed the winding offshoot path veering off the main walkway where the edge of another outbuilding came in view. Surrounded by overgrown bushes, Billie guessed it might be Jet’s studio. Silent now. Of course. Jet wouldn’t be there at this time of day.