“You should look at this.” Ruth showed Jamie her phone but she waved it away, uninterested in the latest gossip about her and Clayton.
“Whatever it is, I don’t care,” Jamie said. “I’ve been trying to write this song for thirteen years, and in just one day he turned it into some country ditty. It was supposed to be a rock anthem, for your information.”
“Uh-oh.” Ruth’s eyes were glued to her screen. “We’ve got a problem, Houston.” Jamie turned her head slowly and her assistant said, “Some of the tweets are . . .” She looked up from her phone. “Unflattering.”
“People are mean.” Jamie slumped into her seat, not bothered by it in the least. “I’m used to it from being on reality television.”
“There’s a threat from a woman, Memphis Girl, who says you’re dead if you sing with Clayton again.”
“See, someone’s on my side!” Jamie laughed as her assistant frowned. She wasn’t about to let an internet troll scare her, although it baffled her why someone would be obsessed with Clayton.
“It’s not funny.” Ruth chewed her gum. “I’ll block her, but we have to report it.”
“No one’s going to kill me over Clayton Langley.”
“It’s for your insurance,” Ruth told her. “As a precaution.”
“Fine.” Jamie crunched her hair into a bun. It felt like a rat’s nest from the hairspray, minus the twigs and rocks. “Hey, did Derrick say anything when you saw him? I’m kind of surprised he’s not freaking out about this video.”
Ruth’s nose twitched as she put her phone down. “He said you guys are never getting back together, James.” The rock star smirked and her assistant said, “He mentioned something about you using Clayton to get back at him.”
“The funny thing is”—Jamie moistened her lips—“I didn’t plan on making him jealous.”
But I’m sure I did.
CHAPTER 8
CLAYTON
“Where’s Jamie at?” Clayton asked Shorty, who was still backstage atHello, Nashville!He’d spent the past hour signing autographs and taking pictures with the audience. A few mother-and-daughter pairs, along with some grandmas, mentioned they’d waited in line for hours to see him.
“She’s long gone, Clayton.” Shorty adjusted his hat. “You know, you shouldn’t have put her on the spot like that.”
“What?” Clayton scoffed as he shrugged on his suede jacket. “What’re you jawing about?”
“You asked her to go on tour with you and she didn’t have an out.”
Clayton couldn’t recall the last time Shorty had given him a hard time about anything other than his drinking. “I’m just trying to make up for not taking her on board five years back.” He stretched his elbow, which always got stiff and tingly in the cold weather. “Besides, I’d be introducing her to a whole new audience.”
“I don’t know if she can do it.”
“Dang! Why? Is she on the road?”
Shorty shook his head and his hat tipped forward. “No, but the guys in her band are booked solid playing with other artists.”
Clayton sighed, disappointed by the news. “Now hold on just a minute,” he said with a sly grin. “She can use my band, just like on New Year’s.”
“I don’t know if she’ll do it, Clayton.”
“Do me a favor, now, and keep her schedule clear. Let me handle the rest—”
“Clayton Langley,” Shelby singsonged as her high heels clicked toward him. “Why don’t we meet for a drink later so you can tell me about your new album?” Her reputation as an opportunist preceded her, and he wouldn’t soon forget how she’d exploited his divorce for ratings.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Shorty said to his artist, exiting abruptly.
Clayton slung his Gibson over his shoulder. “I’ve got to write it first. I’m heading to the studio to finish recording that song with Jamie.”
“Jamie Keaton doesn’t know the first thing about country music,” Shelby hissed, rolling her eyes.
