“Doofus,” Jamie and Clayton said simultaneously.
Shorty shook his head like a disappointed father.
“So we don’t have a choice is what you’re saying?” Jamie crossed her arms and rested a leg over her knee. “How are we traveling? By private jet or commercial?”
Shorty cleared his throat. “A bus from here to DC, then a flight to New York.”
“I’ll fly the whole way, thanks.” She shuddered at the thought of Clayton being her travel companion. “I’ll pay for it myself.”
“The schedule won’t allow for it,” Shorty explained. “You have meet-and-greets between cities and a few radio stations to visit.” He looked at Clayton. “I’m assuming Gus can drive?”
Clayton nodded. “If the Good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.”
“Who’s Gus?” she asked.
“My bus driver.”
“Your bus driver’s name is Gus?” Jamie asked as if it were another one of his dad jokes. She wouldn’t have put it past him, always trying to get a laugh.
“You’ll love him,” the country singer promised.
“Thanks, but I’ll take my own bus,” Jamie said tersely. She wasn’t about to spend more time with the country singer than absolutely necessary.
“Now, Jamie.” Shorty smiled at her, trying to persuade her. “That’s a great offer. Clayton owns his bus, and since you won’t be bringing a band it’ll just be the two of you and Gus.”
“What about Buddy?”
Shorty shook his head. “You don’t need a tour manager for this.”
“I’m bringing Ruth.” Jamie straightened her back and uncrossed her legs. “She can keep everything organized. I’m bringing Poppy Rose too, or I’m not doing it.”
“Great, I’ll bring Duke,” Clayton said.
Shorty exhaled, frustrated. “This isn’t Noah’s ark, you guys.”
“I’m not going without Poppy.” She stood her ground, waiting for her manager to give in.
“Fine,” Shorty said. “Jamie, you need to brush up on your knowledge of country music.”
“Why?” She pointed at Clayton. “He doesn’t know the first thing about rock music.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Shorty said. “Your single’s on country radio—whether you like it or not.”
Clayton stuck out his tongue and she almost reached over and yanked it from his mouth.
“There’d better be hotel rooms.” She scrunched her nose in disgust. “I’m not sleeping on Clayton’s stinky bus.”
Later that afternoon Clayton opened the door to the control room. Dusty and the guys were packing up while Jamie was in the vocal booth with her headphones on.
“Grab your coat.” Clayton’s voice echoed through the speaker as he waved at the apricot poodle resting on a makeshift bed. “Hi, Poppy!”
The dog turned her head, curious about the source of the voice.
“I’m not leaving yet.” Jamie placed her hands over the headphones. “I’m working on a new song.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Dusty asked, already wearing his coat. “It’s not a problem.”
“No.” She waved him away. “I’m still working on it.”
