“Hardball it is.” Jamie laughed. “Shame, I bet you could make a grown man cry. That ain’t a bad thing, by the way.”
He was trying to be a good sport and make her comfortable. She needed that. Her ears had started to ring as the crowd’s cheers swelled.
“I like to be thorough with my questions,” Brinton said. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
“No, ma’am.”
No, ma’am.
Without permission, her lips tugged upward into a soft smile. Brinton didn’t even know this man, and he didn’t know her. But she couldn’t deny the spark of familiarity between them. It flared each time he spoke. Or when she breathed.
When Jamie smiled back, it seemed like a real one that reached his eyes. It should be locked away at the Pentagon.
Unfortunately, the moment was fleeting. Anothersurprise wave of nausea thrashed in Brinton’s gut. Her microphone slipped from her clammy grip.
Mercifully, Jamie’s open palm shot out before it tumbled to the ground.
When he pressed it back into her hand, he didn’t say a word. He was helping her, and she was grateful. Behind him, Jamie’s entourage—an older white man with a salt-and-pepper goatee and a pageant-worthy brunette—whispered conspiratorially.
Brinton was running out of time. She still needed an exclusive angle thatLandmarkcould run on the website’s front page. Rich warned that she had to drive clicks.
Lucero circled his wrist in a “wrap it up” motion. This was her last shot.
“Does being a musician, and playing for thousands of fans, help you express yourself more authentically in your real life?” she asked. “Or does that ever hold you back?”
It was her favorite question of the bunch. She was surprised to have pieced it together, given how the circuit breaker in her brain was officially fried.
Jamie cocked his head like she had asked for the universe’s deepest secret.
“Myreallife?” he started. Jamie spoke even slower than his Tennessean accent deemed possible.
“Nobody’s ever asked me a question quite like that before, so thank you. I guess I believe music is where artists lay themselves bare—what keeps them up at night, and what gets their boots on the floor in the morning. In my real life, I wanna be that kind of person. No ego, just…honesty. That’s why, I hope one day?—”
Jamie glanced over his shoulder to the brunette and goateed man. Their expressions were tight and silently expressed something Brinton couldn’t decode.
The goateed man shook his head.
For the first time, Jamie’s broad shoulders stiffened. “Um, that’s why I’m proud to share, for my forthcoming second album, my father once again took the reins as producer. And he’s as authentic as it gets.”
Beneath Jamie’s lukewarm smile, there was a hint of something that felt like reservation. He seemed to bristle with every word that formed next. Why was that?
“You’re hearing it here first,” Jamie continued. “The album will be out this summer.”
That was it—she’d landed an exclusive quoteanda new album announcement. She had done it. There was no way Rich could deny her a cover story now.
Yes, she was close enough totasteit?—
Then, a wave of stale coffee crested in her stomach. She swallowed a burp.
Oh God.
Jamie’s brow creased. “You all right?”
Brinton jumped as his fingertips grazed her elbow. “Mm-hm.”
Her lips twisted into a grimace. As her shoulders dipped backward, Jamie’s palm spread over the small of her back.
She gripped his shoulders as one of his hands inched up to cradle her neck. A thin gasp escaped her lips when his calloused fingertips teased the springy baby hairs at her nape.
