As she looked up at him, her nose brushed against his soft, freshly shaven neck. She wondered how it would feel against fingertips.
Or, a pair of lips.
He smelled divine, like honeyed whiskey spiked with cloves.
It was only a few seconds. However, all around them, the screaming fans and barking reporters flattened into a whisper. Jamie’s breath hitched as his eyes searched hers.
What was he looking for?
Jamie brought Brinton back to level. “Sweetheart, why don’t you sit?—”
Just try to focus, she begged herself.Just keep him talking.
“What else can you tell us about the new album?” Brinton sputtered as her stomach throbbed.
For the second time, Lucero circled his wrist to signal Brinton to sign off. They needed to reset for the next interview.
“Can I get you some water?” Jamie asked, ignoring Lucero’s pantomiming.
Oh God. Oh God!
It was too late.
Watery, hot bile tinged the back of Brinton’s throat. She couldn’t stop the rush. Seconds later, she was doubled over and spewing her sins onto Jamie’s very expensive-looking cowboy boots.
“Woah,” Jamie gasped, jolted by surprise.
Lucero dry-heaved. The brunette behind Jamie shrieked.
“Good Lord, that smell,” the goateed man croaked. He jostled Jamie down the red carpet.
Presumably to burn his cowboy boots.
Brinton prayed to every deity that her exorcism had gone unnoticed, but as she stood and straightened, every bystander’s phone was a sniper’s scope trained on her.
“Um—we’re on a commercial break,” Lucero stuttered. Disgust streaked his hardened face. “But I heard from Rich. The live stream has over five million viewers. A new record.”
Brinton didn’t watch as her microphone splashed into the fresh puddle at her feet. She had gotten her interview, her big moment. But it had cost something she couldn’t afford to lose.
Inside the Crypto.comArena’s bustling auditorium, Jamie sat in his dress socks. Regretfully, he’d stashed his favorite boots inside a VIP bathroom.
On stage, a willowy pop star wore yellow pasties and a skirt fashioned from matching caution tape. As she announced the nominees for Best New Artist, Jamie tried to mentally check-out.
Industry tastemakers had predicted that Jamie would win, but that was the last thing he wanted. Not after what he had done.
Jamie’s stomach rumbled. They never served enough food at these events. When he got back to the fancy hotel his team had booked, he’d grab a cheeseburger, crispy shoestring fries, and a double whiskey on the rocks. He’d cap off the night in bed, watchingSports Center.
It would bea rare reprieve from the circus he called life.
His mind wandered back to Brinton, theLandmarkreporter. Lordy, he felt for her. His team informed him that the red-carpet interview had gone viral. Great for the album, they said. Jamie knew that was far worse for Brinton.
Should he have someone send her a fruit basket? What was the protocol for “sorry you became a meme”?
He didn’t know.
With all the cameras and shouting, Jamie understood why Brinton had seemed stressed. But he wouldn’t wish what happened to her on anyone. In fact, he admired her grit.
Had he done something to trip her up? He wasn’t trying to, but he kept getting distracted by her shy little smile. And how she squinted hard when searching for the right words. It was cute.
