"You're seeing there's more than one side to it," he suggested. "There's the good part-the being paid like a queen, having your work loved by many and seeing your records go gold. But there's a downside, too. Your private life is fodder for sleazy journalists to spread across their rags for every Tom, Dick and Harry to consume with their morning Wheaties, and you've got a potential stalker who apparently feels perfectly justified in sending you sick, incomprehensible messages."
"Yes!"Relief surged through her that he understood, and, stepping forward, she leaned her forehead against his chest in sheer gratitude. He smelled of soap and man and laundered cotton, and her itchy restlessness settled as she breathed him in. She rocked her head back and forth against the solid warmth of his chest. "I know nobody likes a whiner, J. But that photo really shook me up."
"Hell, yes, it shook you. You wouldn't be human if it hadn't." Cruising his hands up over the curve of her shoulders, he slid them in to lightly encircle her neck, his thumbs resting on her collarbones and his fingertips working the vertical slope of her nape like a maestro coaxing a symphony out of a sax. "But I'm good at my job and I'm telling you this flat out-I will keep you safe. Trust me."
She raised her head to gaze up at him. Usually when a man said, "Trust me," it was the last thing she was inclined to do. But Jared meant trust him as a professional, and in that arena she did.
It made her uneasy to realize that she'd apparently been harboring a secret wish to trust him on a more personal level, as well. But she merely met his eyes and nodded. Then she drew a deep breath and eased it out before taking a casual step back. When his hands slipped away to drop to his side she shivered against the sudden lack of warmth in the air-conditioned lobby.
"I'll do that," she said, then cast a meaningful glance at the receptionist, who was clearly pretending she wasn't straining her ears for all she was worth in an attempt to overhear their conversation. "Right now, though, I think we better ask little Miss Nosy over there to call us a cab."
NELL LAY QUIETLYin her bed in the stateroom she shared with P.J. and stared through the stygian gloom as if she could actually see the ceiling that hid behind the darkness overhead. When the linens on the other bed rustled quietly, she turned her head in that direction. "You awake?"
"Yeah."
"Good interview today. I meant to tell you earlier that I'd tuned in to listen. I was impressed Lonesome Jack didn't once bring up the business with your mother." She smiled in the darkness. "But then he had an entirely different surprise in mind, didn't he?"
They'd celebrated when P.J. had returned from the radio station, but then it'd been time for sound check, after which she'd had a hundred details to see to. And when those had been done P.J.'d had to get her stage makeup done and get dressed for the concert. The next thing Nell knew it had been showtime. This was the first opportunity she'd had to discuss anything in private with her friend.
She heard a return smile in P.J.'s voice when she said, "Wasn't that something? I called Ben back as soon as we quit partying and of course he'd staged the whole thing. But he also said the positive press is starting to outweigh the negative-and that the bad stuff probably fueled sales, anyway." She blew out a noisy sigh. "What a business."
"Yeah, it's lunatic." Nell hesitated, then said casually, "This is changing the subject, but have you ever seen Hank without a shirt on before today?"
"Sure, once or twice. It's a rare thing, though." P.J. laughed. "Too bad, too. The boy's got a six-pack on him, doesn't he?"
"I'll say." It had blown her away. She didn't know why, exactly-he generally wore his shirts neatly tucked in and it wasn't as if she'd ever seen them stretched over a beer belly or anything. It was just:
She'd never once considered him in a sexual way. "He's no Eddie," she said, thinking out loud. "But-" Seeing him half-naked and disheveled as she had this morning had made her look at him in a brand-new way.
"He might not flaunt it like Eddie does, but his build leaves Mr. I've-got-the-attention-span-of-a-gnat's in the shade." P.J.'s bedding rustled once again and her voice sounded closer, as if she'd rolled to face her. "He's more man than Eddie will ever be, if you ask me."
"Oh, I know. I like him a lot. He's easy to talk to and he's professional and really talented. But Eddie is so gorgeous." She shook her head. "And my God, that makes me sound shallow."
"Ya think?"
"I know, I know. But the thing is, I've had a crush on that man for what seems like forever."
"Yeah." P.J.'s voice was soft in the darkness.
"And I realize he's never going to look at me the way he does his parade of sweet young things. Stilclass="underline" " She drew in a deep breath, then eased it out again. "I want to fix myself up a bit. Trouble is, I was born without the girly gene, which means I don't have the first idea where to start. You always look pulled together, though, with all your dresses and skirts and funky jewelry."
"A woman named Gert, who took me in after my homeless spell, bought me the first dress I ever owned that wasn't a hand-me-down," P.J. said. "I'd pretty much lived in jeans and T-shirts up until then, and that little sundress made me feel so feminine that I started buying more whenever I could get the moons to align."
"And how does one accomplish that?"
P.J. laughed. "Well, in my case it was when I'd scratched together a few bucks and Wal-Mart had a sale. Those skirts and dresses made me feel good about myself during a period when that wasn't often the case."
Nell turned on her side to face her friend who, now that Nell's eyes had adjusted, was a dim outline in the other bed. Tucking her bent arm beneath her head, she said, "Would you go shopping with me, Peej? Help me find a few pieces that are flattering and get a haircut and some makeup and stuff? Just a little makeup," she quickly qualified. "I know myself well enough to realize I'll never use anything too complicated."
"Are you kidding me?" P.J. pushed up in the next bed. "That would be a wonderful break. And this is L.A., baby. There's gotta be all kinds of great shopping in this town."
An edge of panic niggled her stomach. "I'm not talking about Rodeo Drive or anything."
"No foolin'. I may have graduated from Wal-Mart, but I still can't bring myself to pay three hundred dollars for a little T-shirt or six hundred dollars for a pair of shoes. Maybe next year."
"That's the attitude we like to hear." She grinned in the lessening dark. "Now that you're a big hotshot Digital Gold performer and all."
P.J. made a rude noise. Then she suddenly went very still. "Oh, man," she whispered. "This is too good."
"What is?"
"Well, it just occurred to me. You heard Jared this morning. He insists on attaching himself to me as my own personal bodyguard." She flopped onto her back, kicking her legs in the air and laughing like a loon. Even after she had finally settled down, her teeth were a light beacon in the dim room. "How you think he's gonna like spending the day shopping and hitting the salons with the girls?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jodeen Morgan signs with literary agent Sue Mitchell. Can we expect a book deal in the future?
IT WAS GOING TO BE A long day.
Jared sprawled on the trendy pink love seat that dominated the waiting area of the Mane Event salon. Stretching across the small couch at an angle, he extended one foot out onto the floor, his opposite knee drawn up and deliberately positioned spread-eagle across the seat to discourage any of the black-kimono-wearing clientele surrounding him from getting the wrong idea. Sharing his space was not an option.
Rock music pounded out of the overhead speakers, which P.J. insisted was a good thing. She claimed that anyone who tuned in heavy metal as their normal listening preference was unlikely to be familiar with the country music world-let alone its gossip. And that, she asserted, made her anonymous-which in turn gave her a heaven-sent opportunity to be just like any other woman in the place.