she didn’t get that same response every freakin’ time. Biting back a snide reply, she forced out, “Do you have an information packet for me? Something that will help me catch up on where season one ended?”
Stu glanced at Jet. “Cindy can put something together.”
Jet tilted his head. “Not a fan, eh?”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he appeared pleased.
Wrinkling her nose, she grinned. Let that be answer enough.
“Pity you weren’t a contestant.” He arched a brow and turned to the third man. “Now there’s an idea.”
Shaking his head, the man winced. “No.” He slid his hands in the back pockets of his khaki Dockers, wrinkled like his faded denim shirt. The producer, had to be.
“What?” She’d missed something.
“It’s perfect–an insider’s perspective.” Again Jet’s gaze meandered across her. “I could make it worth the magazine’s while.”
Ugh. Now she understood. “No. I’m a journalist, not a reality show contestant.”
He hunched his shoulders, not quite a shrug. “It’s a fresh angle.”
“Not if I can’t stay objective. Journalists can never allow ourselves to become part of the story. I’ll get a much better, um, perspective from staying neutral.”
Jet’s grin widened. “Neutral’s no fun.”
Time to move this conversation along to a new topic. “It gives me the big picture, which is what I’m after.” All I’m after, she stopped herself from adding. No way would she ever join a pack of feral females to compete for one guy. Especially a shallow has-been like Jet Trently. She had zero respect for an artist who let his talents go to waste.
Though he did have amazing eyes. She’d give him that. And an incendiary presence. He’d toned up since she’d last seen him in concert six years ago when he’d sported the beginnings of a paunch. It had gone along with the DUI charge or two, plus busting up a few hotel rooms. Had he checked into rehab after? She’d have to research it.
“So? What’d I miss?” The phrase would be her epitaph if she weren’t careful. At least she’d caught them during their meeting.
Stu reached for a folder on the table and thrust it in her direction. “Here’s a schedule. We start shooting tomorrow at one.”
Jet groaned. “Couldn’t we make it three? Or four?”
Adopting the condescending tone of a parent, Stu asked, “You don’t have a concert tonight, do you?”
Hugging his arms to his chest, Jet widened his stance. The stubborn child. “No but–”
The third man heaved a sigh. “Your contract states–”
“My contract states the show’s about me. And I’m not at my best at one.” Though Jet smiled, the tone of authority in his voice warned against trifling with him.
Hmm. Maybe the show should’ve been named Jet Trently: Center of the Universe.
Narrowing his eyes, Stu smiled. “All right. Two thirty. I don’t suppose it will hurt the girls to wait a while. Might make for some interesting onscreen tension. But you’d better be on set, ready to go, no later than that.”
“Oh, I’ll be ready. And I live ‘on set,’ remember?” Jet glared.
Speaking of tension… Fishing out a pen, she jotted some notes, hoping to appear inconspicuous, but feeling the group tense. As the outsider, she had to be careful not to alarm them, put them on guard. Or she’d miss all the good stuff.
She slid the notepad behind her. “So nothing going on tonight? No pre-show parties?”
Jet sidled near. “There’s always a party. I’m looking forward to you joining us.”
Shoving his hand between her and Jet, Stu effectively blocked him. “We haven’t been formally introduced. Stu Gilbert, Jet’s manager. No parties tonight. Tomorrow’s the first shooting day. We want to be fresh, don’t we, Jet?”
“We certainly do. Fresh as can be.” His gaze crawled across her to punctuate the double entendre.
Billie’s skin crawled, though not uncomfortably. She could almost imagine his hands caressing her instead of his gaze. Perhaps steroids had become part of his daily regimen. If only she weren’t the sole female in the room, she’d escape his intense attention. It brought out some animal instinct against her will. As if his testosterone piqued her pheromones to life.
Shifting to relieve her discomfort, she focused on Stu. “Can I connect with any of the girls before tomorrow?”
“Not likely. Half haven’t checked in yet. They’ll arrive as a group tomorrow. Makes for a dramatic entrance.” Rubbing his hands together, Stu’s enthusiasm contrasted Jet’s disinterest.
“How many–”
Pointedly, Stu glanced at the folder. “All in the packet.” Turning, he slung his arm around Jet’s shoulder and steered him toward the door, murmuring.
Smiling, Jet glanced back and winked.
She’d almost forgotten. “Wait–where can I bunk?”
Jet broke away from Stu. “With me, if you like.”
His manager steered him to the hall. “Cindy’ll take care of you.”
Shuddering, alarm bells went off in Billie’s head in realization of her instinct to take Jet up on the offer. She had enough problems without Jet Trently adding to them. And no matter how re-energized, his libido wouldn’t impress her into sparkling reviews of praise.
Oh no. She’d developed an immunity to rock stars years ago.
Chapter 2
He couldn’t stop staring. Rude, yeah, but something about her got to him. Like the second she’d walked in. Bam, straight to his core.
“Did you know about her?” he asked Stu.
His manager tugged him along the hallway. “What about her?”
“Being female. When you said Billie Prescott, she is not what I imagined.” The best he’d hoped for was someone new, a fresh face. Someone to hang with, drink a beer, talk about music. Life. Women.
Forget that.
As they continued outside, Stu droned on about the schedule, other stuff Jet could care less about. Stu had a good head for details, but didn’t work as hard as he pretended to.
Every so often, Jet interjected a grunt or nod so his manager would think he listened. Or gave a shit.
With Jeff gone, he hadn’t talked to anyone about things that mattered. Issues. Opinions. He knew better than to
