Jamie tutted, and slowly unclenched his fist. “I wouldn’t believe everything you read about me.” That tender smile returned. “Unless it’s something you wrote.”
She set her hands on the table, close enough to touch his. But she didn’t quite have the nerve.
He sighed. “Brinton, I’m sorry about what happened in the car. I signed the new contract because my father threatened to get you pulled from the story. He’s got friends in high places. I couldn’t—I refused to let that happen.”
Brinton felt terrible for misreading Jamie’s withdrawal and making it about herself. She was also unnerved to know his father would stoop as low as to sabotage her. And worse, that he’d punish Jamie in the process.
Jamie was willing to take it, for her.
“God, Jamie. Please know I appreciate you, but what about your plans to start fresh? You signed a binding contract.”
He dragged his hand down his jaw. “I figure we double down. If we can get your article published, cover story or not, my father will cancel the contract. He’ll have no choice once the truth is out there.”
“That’s a huge if.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Go big or go home, right?”
She smiled, clinging to hope. For him.
“But if we do this, I want to go at your pace. Especially about your mother.”
He pushed his hands closer, closing the gap between themuntil their fingertips faintly touched. It was probably for the best; they were in public, and he was still extremely famous.
But it felt so good to be this close. Heat and intrigue sparked between their fingertips.
She couldn’t speak, only drank him in. Her breath hitched. To her delight, his did too.
“Thank you, Brinton,” he said. “I wanna tell you about my mom. I wanna tell you so many things, if you can bear with me. You make me feel like I’ve got a story to tell, and that what I want for my music—for my life—is in reach. Can you forgive me?”
She cracked a smile. “Only if you promise not to make insanely important decisions on my behalf.”
He smiled back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The pigtailed hostess appeared at Brinton and Jamie’s table. “Can I get y’all a drink?” she screeched over Florida Georgia Line’s “Cruise.”
Jamie winced but smiled politely. “Some more water for her, and?—”
“Actually, I’ll have what he’s having,” Brinton interjected, eyes lassoing him in. “It’s part of my cultural immersion.”
Jamie didn’t fancy himself an adrenaline junkie. He preferred calculated risks within his grasp. However, the possibility in Brinton’s smile flooded his head with endorphins. He was eager for the bungee cord’s euphoric jerk.
Intrigued, he leaned back into his seat. “Two Bulleits on the rocks, please.”
“Coming right up,” the hostess said before bouncing to the bar.
“I normally go for whiskey, but bourbon is sweeter,” he said.
Brinton waggled her eyebrows. “I like it sweet.”
“I bet you do,” he breathed. His tone sounded a little needier than intended.
But hell, he was. For anything she had to give.
Jamie traced feathery circles with his thumbs across the silky backs of her hands. “Is this…okay?”
It occurred to him that he may have moved too quickly, a Polaroid recklessly shaken before its beauty was revealed. “I know you’re here to work?—”
