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“Who works for a music publication as a reporter.”
“I’m just asking as a fan.”
A fan who happens to be secretly recording your answer…
Jackson looks away, taking a slow sip of his drink.
“Fame is fucking boring.”
I nod, eyes locked on him, waiting for more. But, as the seconds tick by, my brow furrows.
“And?”
“There’s no and. That’s just it. Fame is boring. I got bored, so I left.”
“Yeah but—”
“Oh myGodare you a pain in the ass,” he grunts, sighing heavily.
I let it sit a minute before I open my mouth again.
“Why here? I mean why does a rich rock icon who’s already got the Beverly Hills mansion, the loft in New York, the townhouse in London, and all of that, buy an old mansion on an island off the coast of Maine?”
Jackson’s gaze flicks to mine.
“I like islands. It’s the Brit in me.”
I smirk. He grins, draining his drink before standing and walking past me again towards the kitchen. When he returns, he’s got the whole bottle, along with a fresh pour in his glass.
“Top you up?”
I glance at my own glass, which I’ve barely put a dent into.
“I…think I’m good.”
“Catch up, enemy.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
“The enemy. The press. Tell me you’ve seenAlmost Famous.”
I grin as I get what he’s saying. “Right, the enemy. That’s me.”
He makes a “drink-drink” motion with his hand. I flush as I bring the glass to my lips and take another sip.
“Ever heard of the Big Pink?”
“What?”
“The Big Pink. You asked why this place.”
My brow furrows.
“Is this a crude joke?”
He smiles darkly.
“Dirty girl.”
