Rock Bottom. Cate Masters

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СКАЧАТЬ gaze unnerved Billie. She’d have to confer with her after the meeting to find out what was up. And to catch her up on the weekend. An entire weekend this time. A first for Everett. Things definitely had heated up between them. Well, until this morning.

      Jet’s clear blue eyes captured her attention again. “Panting over him? Or the spotlight?” Sure he looked great, but had they no self-respect? Over the years, stories of his bad boy behavior had overshadowed his music. Trashing hotel rooms, showing up late for concerts, bitter arguments with his band.

      Everett leaned back, his signature cool in deep play. Very convincing how he avoided her gaze and affected a stern boss persona. “They’re after both, probably.”

      “Ugh. When will he give up? Or at least ditch the nineties persona.” The hair style, at minimum.

      “When he finds true love, apparently.” Wide-eyed, Zinta glanced at Everett.

      Something definitely must be up. “Yeah, right.” Her confidence waned.

      Ryan Watts yawned. “Or another record deal. He’s already gone through two wives, hasn’t he?”

      Francisco Perez sat forward. “One, actually, and two fiancées. And God knows how many supermodels.” A tabloid addict, Frank updated the gossip blog daily, though he tended to post on trendier people than Jet.

      Billie could care less about gossip, or a musician’s celebrity. She lived for the music alone. “And he hasn’t found true love? Shock. But no hit record for what, five years?” She let the magazine fall to the tabletop. “So all the covers–market research?”

      Standing, Everett touched his fingertips to the tabletop. “And your new assignment.”

      “No.” Fresh bands. Exciting concerts. She lived to share those with readers. Not recycled rock.

      Stacking the magazines, he set them atop her blank notepad. “Yes.” His emphasis lent sibilance to his response. A hiss of warning he’d stand firm in his decision.

      A softer tactic seemed required. If only the others would leave, she could sway him. In more ways than one. “Please no. The guy’s music sounded passable at best then, but now it’s intolerable.” Listening to it nonstop would be akin to music hell.

      The rest of the staff made excuses about the time, their workload, anything apparently, to vacate the room. Zinta’s look of pity as she exited did little to ease Billie’s impending sense of doom.

      Everett held the portfolio to his charcoal cotton shirt. “Anyone can write compelling stories about great music. Only you can infuse some life into this story.”

      As she stood, she flipped the magazine over so she wouldn’t have to see Jet Trently’s smug smile. “I don’t think–”

      “Look, Billie, I can’t give you every good assignment. Besides–” He turned, his voice softening. “–if you truly despise his songs that much, this will provide just the challenge you’ve needed.”

      Challenge? “What do you mean?” She spoke slowly to convey the depth of her dismay. To dismiss her offhand posed one insult. Attacking her writing stretched the truth beyond believable.

      Pausing, he tilted his head. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but your writing’s been a little stale lately.”

      “Never.” Squaring her shoulders, her earlier sentimental feelings for him fell away. “I put my heart and soul into every article. Every paragraph and sentence.”

      His mouth turned down, the warmth faded from his eyes. His expression read: bullshit. Okay, so occasionally she rushed through an article to finish. Only because the magazine wouldn’t hire any more staff, and Everett overloaded each reporter, trying to keep up with Rolling Stone.

      Her mind raced. “But this is a TV series.”

      “Correct.” He navigated past the chairs and made for the door.

      Close on his heels, she followed. “Which means I can cover an episode and–”

      Turning, he held open the door, all business now. “A few episodes. I want daily blog posts and a weekly article.”

      “Don’t do this.” She clutched his shirt. “You’re sending me away. Why?” She spoke through rigid lips in case others watched. “Is it because of this weekend? We both had too much to drink. We can cool it for a while.” The hell she would. She’d hung on for two years waiting for him. Things had finally gotten to a good point. Almost.

      “Billie. C’mon. We’re both professionals. This is about the magazine, not our personal lives.” His overly casual tone harkened to the same one he used while escorting unwanted salespeople to the door.

      Sure. Okay. Facts dropped into her brain from obscurity. She’d never actually watched the show, but… “Isn’t this set on the West Coast?”

      “Mmm hmm.” His mouth appeared a grim line. Nothing like the soft, sensual, full lips that had kissed her and had unleashed his oh-so-talented tongue. No tongue, whatever its level of skill, had a chance in hell of escaping those tight lips.

      “In California?” The smog. The traffic. The general lack of cultural amenities, sequined shows aside.

      “Yep.” He popped the p. It sounded so final.

      Her throat thickened with dread. “You probably already bought my ticket, didn’t you?” Bastard.

      “No. You can do that. But make it quick. They start shooting season two the day after tomorrow. I want you there the day before.”

      Tomorrow, then. Mere hours to pack.

      Damn. Damn damn damn. He intended to railroad her out of town. Or fly her. Inwardly cringing at the humiliation, she balled her fists and debated whether to pummel him.

      Sidling closer, she played the siren card, walking her fingers up his button placket. “Are you sure–”

      “Book the flight, Billie. And no five-star hotel. You’ll be staying on site. Oh, and stop in to see me before you leave today.” With a wink, he strode toward his office.

      “Wonderful.” Her life was ruined. And he couldn’t be happier.

      Life went from blissful to bleak in a blink.

      * * * *

      At her desk, she stared past the computer screen where the receipt was displayed for her flight. The one-way ticket to a hell occupied by Beautiful People. Tanned with absurdly white teeth and plastic smiles to go with their surgically enhanced bodies. Tomorrow, she’d arrive–and stand out like a crow among peacocks and cockatiels. That reminded her: she needed to check on The Black Crowes tour schedule. She seemed to recall them having an upcoming concert on the West Coast.

      Zinta approached and perched on her desk. “What’s up with you and Everett?”

      Despite her objection, she’d act professional. Cool. Calm. “Nothing. Things are…fine.” She’d reserve her bitter venom for later.

      Zinta sucked СКАЧАТЬ