Ruth popped a stick of gum in her mouth. “Oh, come on, James. It’s Vegas. It’s going to be fun.”
Jamie barely stopped herself from groaning. Vegas. Home. And as if that weren’t bad enough, she had to present an award with Clayton.
She exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Can’t wait.”
Shorty’s truck was parked outside his building as he insisted on driving them to the airport—he didn’t trust Jamie to board her flight. And he wasn’t wrong to be cautious. She’d done everything she could to get out of it, even reaching out to the ACMs herself to suggest alternative presenters. But her plan backfired. They’d responded with enthusiasm, insisting they were thrilled to have her.
“Ladies,” Shorty announced as they climbed into the truck. At Jamie’s insistence, they took the back seats. If Shorty was going to act as chauffeur, she was determined to treat him as one. “All set?”
“Where’s Clayton?” Ruth asked.
“He’s meeting you at the airport,” he said. “Jamie wouldn’t let him ride with us.”
“James!”
The rock star looked out the window, ignoring her assistant.
“That’s not very nice.”
Jamie turned her head. “Neither is asking someone to go to Vegas without telling them, and that goes for you too, Shorty.”
“We didn’t lie to you, Jamie,” Shorty said from the driver’s seat.
“Withholding information and lying are the same thing.”
They drove to the airport in silence—or rather, they simply didn’t speak. Ruth had already FaceTimed Nolan, asking him to show her Reba. With the patience of a saint, Nolan let her watch the puppies playing the entire way.
At the airport Jamie got out of the truck without saying goodbye to her manager. He’d offered to travel with her but she didn’t want him on the same flight. It was bad enough she’d have to talk to Clayton, the reason she was in this mess to begin with. She would see Shorty later at the awards, as he chose to take a later flight.
When the ladies arrived at the gate Clayton was already there. Jamie wanted to wait in the lounge, but they were short on time and Ruth wouldn’t let her.
“I saved you seats,” Clayton said, standing to greet them.
Ruth hugged him. “Thanks, Clayton.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jamie said, taking the seat farthest away from him. She pulled out a highlighter and the study books from her bag. She’d flagged them with differently colored Post-it notes for each subject.
“You’ve been studying?” Clayton asked.
“It’s not pleasure reading,” she answered sarcastically.
“Damn, girl, you got more tabs than a honky-tonk jukebox. Guess I’ll be making some flashcards when we hit the hotel.”
Jamie cracked open a book and uncapped the highlighter. “That’s not necessary.”
“How are the puppies?” Clayton asked.
This guy and his never-ending questions.
“Oh my God.” Ruth pulled out her phone. “I have so many pictures!” She scrolled through the hundreds she’d taken since the puppies were born, then turned the screen to Clayton. “It’s easy to tell them apart—Reba’s blond like me, Heathcliff’s red like Poppy, and Earl’s strawberry blond.”
“Can you text me some pictures of Heathcliff?” Clayton asked. “The girls are dying to see him.”
“Of course!” Ruth grinned. “We can call the girls when we get to Vegas.”
The four-hour flight was uneventful. Jamie switched seats with Clayton so he could sit beside Ruth and gush over more puppy pictures. Fine by her. Instead of enduring whatever half-hearted conversation he might have forced on her, she ended up next to some suit who spent the entire flight buried in a spreadsheet.
He looked like the type of guy who listened to Beethoven on purpose and discussed stock portfolios over brunch. He probably had a symphony subscription and a wife who collected wine like it was an Olympic sport. But he barely acknowledged her beyond a polite hello,which made him her favorite person on the flight. No small talk. No forced pleasantries. Just blissful, uninterrupted silence.
