“Good.”
“Enjoying the weather so far?”
“Yes,” she said, finishing a few scribbled notes.
He gestured to her notebook, craned his neck to steal a peek. “You…planning to share with the class?”
Brinton snapped it shut, face stretched into an almost painful smile. “Sorry, no. That’s not how this works.”
Damn, getting right down to business. Pleasantries apparently weren’t a thing with this woman. He respected it though.
“James Sawyer Crawford, Jr., I know you’re not tracking water onto my clean floors,” Liza admonished, her whisper-shout cutting through the awkward tension from the archway.
“I know, I know. And I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” He went in to hug her, but she playfully swatted him with an oven mitt.
“Tell the truth and shame the devil,” she said, casting a knowing grin.
Sammi crossed to Liza and wrapped her into a decidedly drier hug. “Liza, this is Brinton, the journalist I told you about.”
“Charmed to meet you,” Liza said, and braced Brinton so hard she almost tipped over. Liza pulled back, eyes wide with concern. “You okay, baby?”
“Yes,” Brinton said, pantomiming an awkward hug. “I guess I’m not really…”
Jamie chuckled. She was a little uptight, but she probably meant well. Again, endearing.
“Oh, we’ll fix that,” Sammi said, crunching on a thinly sliced cucumber from a tray on the island. “Liza is head chef, and she’s behind every sinfully delicious thing you’ll put in your mouth.”
“You hungry?” Liza asked Brinton. “Dinner’s in a few hours, but let me know if I can fix you something. No trouble at all.”
Brinton smiled, a shy but blinding one. Jamie’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I’m good for now, thank you.”
Liza nodded, and like some kind of textile genie, she produced a dark blue towel, which Jamie took. Her one flaw? She couldn’t ever stay mad at him for too long.
He planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “You’re an absolute angel, you know that?”
At the stove, Liza stirred a boiling pot of macaroni. “Uh-huh. Now, take that outside. I don’t wanna see your handsome face until the party, you hear me?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, then glanced at Brinton. “Guess we’ll have lots to catch up on at the party tonight?”
Sammi nodded, but her usual smile grew tight. She stepped a few paces closer to Brinton, lowering her voice. She was a heat-seeking missile, launching into PR mode.
“I want you to have the best experience. In fact, I’m here to ensure it. Some things you see and hear during your stay may be sensitive, so all I ask is that, when reasonable, we keep those moments off the record.”
Brinton looked up from her notebook, her expression unreadable. Jamie wanted to interject, but there was no stopping Sammi once she’d locked in.
Brinton’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “I understand that, butI’m a journalist. I’m here to write about what I see, hear, and experience. I won’t sign an NDA.”
At least she stood for something. For his plan to work, this was exactly the kind of thing he needed.
Sammi’s expression softened. “I swear, I’m not trying to dictate how you do your job,” she said, as earnest as he had ever heard her. “At the very least, give Jamie a fair shot.” Her feline emerald eyes met his. “This interview means a lot for the new record.”
Brinton tugged on the hem of her blouse. Damn, why was he studying her like a textbook? He averted his eyes to the bank of windows before he creeped her out more than he already had.
“I’m committed to writing this story with integrity,” she added, unsmiling but warm. Like she meant it. It reminded him of their Grammys interview. She had a willingness to go beyond the surface level. Excellent.
“That’s good enough for me,” Sammi said. Her smile had returned to its former glory.
“Me too,” he said, probably too eagerly. Sammi and Brinton’s heads jerked his way, like they had forgotten he was standing there.
