Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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      Not even his guitar distracted Jet. He’d played for hours last night, into this morning, after leaving the cottage. Striking a hard chord, he stilled the strings with his palm and set down the guitar. Standing, he strolled to the window.

      You’re outta your head. It had been months since Carrie. She should have been enough to teach him he couldn’t find love on a reality dating show. Ah, hell. He never expected to find The One. Not really. Stu set this up for the publicity. So far, so good. Except he’d rather play concerts, and now those presented a conflict.

      Quite a predicament. Held back from doing the thing he loved most because he had to market himself.

      The one woman who interested him for the first time in a long time held the key. He heard his brother saying Tread very carefully. If he fell through this thin ice, he might never be able to resurface.

      It’s the jitters, nothing more. Something about this new round of contestants put him on edge. Their video interviews either left him cold or grated his nerves. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that for months on end?

      The response rang through his head in Stu’s voice: Like a pro, bro.

      Yes. If anything, he was a professional. He’d be careful around them all, but especially Ms. Prescott. The one who might pry open the door he’d closed long ago within himself–and then prop it open for the world to see.

      No way could he let that happen. Music was the only thing he could depend on in life, and he had to protect it.

      * * * *

      Outside the cottage, Billie paused only moments. To stay in the sun any longer would invite heat stroke in these dark colors. Instead of heading left to the rear patio, she strolled the opposite way and followed the winding offshoot path veering off the main walkway where the edge of another outbuilding came in view. Surrounded by overgrown bushes, Billie guessed it might be Jet’s studio. Silent now. Of course. Jet wouldn’t be there at this time of day.

      Stepping backward, she wished she could see inside. Hear him play. An image floated into her mind of Jet serenading her, and her alone. One of his songs sounded from near the house, so she followed it to the back of the pool house. One of the two guys from the previous day–the tall, wiry guy, kinda cute, she’d noted yesterday–entered the equipment-loaded workroom, and the door closed, muting the music.

      “Ms. Prescott.” Arms pumping, Stu Gilbert walked her way. “I’m glad I caught up with you.”

      “Hi, Mr. Gilbert.” Thank goodness she’d worn sunglasses. The lime shirt he wore glowed in the sun like neon.

      “Call me Stu.”

      His heavy-lidded gaze and ever-present grin grated her nerves. “Stu. I wondered if I might be able to get a look inside the editing room.”

      “Great idea. They’re pre-editing the show now. Come in. I’ll introduce you.”

      “Pre-editing?” What the hell could that mean? Hopefully repeating his lingo would entice an explanation.

      She followed him inside. The cabana appeared deceptively smaller from the outside. Half had been partitioned off to allow an impromptu editing room complete with extra-wide flat screen monitors connected to the Macintosh computer.

      “Danny, Justin, meet Billie Prescott. She’s on board to follow the episodes for Strung Out.”

      The two men glanced back, mumbled hello. Justin’s glance lingered longer, his brow arched as his gaze lowered.

      Stu ran through the projected schedule for the day, then touched Billie’s arm. “You do understand how critical it is for you to stay behind the cameras’ line of vision, correct?”

      “Oh yes–”

      “Because I reviewed it repeatedly with Everett, and he assured me you’d be on board.”

      Affecting a serious expression, she nodded. “Completely.”

      As if she hadn’t spoken, Stu continued. “Because Justin and Danny work very hard at shooting from the best possible angle and…”

      Tuning him out, Billie folded her arms and struggled to keep her face a mask of seriousness as he droned on about maintaining the integrity of the videography.

      Integrity! As if Rock Bottom might win an award of excellence.

      “These two only get one chance at a shot–isn’t that right, boys?” He winked at the cameramen.

      The two grunted in bored acknowledgment.

      Stu clasped his hands. “Wonderful. The girls are changing into their bikinis now.”

      The swimsuit competition? Billie fought to keep a straight face. “Their bikinis?”

      “Yes, they’ll be poolside when Jet arrives at two thirty.”

      His gaze wandered across her as if in comparison, and she stifled a shudder.

      “Great photo op.” Justin glanced back with a grin.

      At Stu’s throaty chuckling, Billie clenched her teeth.

      After reminding them everything needed to be in place well in advance of two thirty, Stu exited.

      The video onscreen caught Billie’s attention. Jet and his band on some outdoor stage. “What’s this?”

      Danny’s nasal reply came through the fist propped against his chin. “One of Jet’s concerts a few years ago.”

      Before the show began then. “Where?”

      Justin shrugged. “Lollapalooza? Farm Aid? Some days-long event.” He winced at an off note, his puckered lips exaggerated for effect.

      The camera panned to the audience–a huge crowd, but every woman was riveted to the stage. Jet played with little effort. Very little. If ever she’d seen a rote performance, she viewed one now. The women in the audience didn’t seem to mind.