“Carlene Matthews.”
The voice — deep, smooth, and confident — rolled through the space like velvet and steel.
She turned.
And there he was.
Jami Hart in daylight was a unique creature, different than the man who’d stood onstage under stadium lights.Barefoot, jeans riding low on lean hips, a plain white T-shirt clinging to him.Hair damp from a shower, faint stubble catching the light.
He looked every inch the star, and completely unaware of it.
“Morning,” she said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blouse.“I didn’t expect to see you here this early.”
He smiled, slow and lazy.“Didn’t think I'd see you at all last night.”
Her spine straightened.“I was there.”
“I didn’t see you until the last song.”His gaze dipped briefly, unapologetically, before meeting her eyes again.“Figured maybe we’d hired a ghost.”
Carlene refused to rise to the bait.“I prefer to observe unnoticed.Gives me a clearer read.”
“On what?”
“On you.”
The silence that followed thrummed like a bass line.
He tilted his head, intrigued.“And what’d you see, Miss Marketing Expert?”
“That your crowd adores you,” she said evenly.“They’d follow you anywhere.But there’s a gap between what they feel and what you give back.That gap’s dangerous, Jami.”
He crossed his arms, and muscle shifted beneath the cotton.“Dangerous how?”
“Fans start noticing when a performer stops connecting.They don’t call it burnout; they call it boredom.You can’t afford that narrative.”
He studied her, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.“You always talk like a press release?”
Her jaw tightened.“You hired me to make sure your image stays strong.”
“Maybe,” he whispered.
That quiet tone threw her off balance.She turned to her laptop, pretending to focus on the screen.“I’m here because your manager wants this tour to feel personal again.You’re the frontman.You drive the story.”
“And I’m not enough of a story anymore?”
She looked up.“You are for now, but with the distance, you won't be.And that's dangerous.If fans think you don't care, why should they spend their money coming to see you?”
He laughed, a low, husky sound that curled through her stomach.“That's true.”
“Public connection,” she said briskly.“Fans need to see you living the music.They love authenticity, but they also love a fantasy.We can use that.”
His amusement faded into something wary.“You’re talking about PR stunts.”
“I’m talking about visibility,” she countered.“Photos, appearances, maybe...”she hesitated, then pressed on, “...a relationship storyline.Something to remind fans you’re still emotionally engaged.”
He stared at her for a long moment."What makes you think I'm not emotionally engaged?"
She turned her laptop toward him.She watched as his eyes read the headline.He sat heavily on the sofa to her right."This is what makes me think that.And what I observed and overheard last night from fans in the audience.We need to make fans believe you believe what you sing."
