Jamie shot her a glare. “He’s not going to the green room.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Here.”
AJ looked at the bill like it was a personal insult. “This won’t go far, sweetheart. Places have gotten expensive.”
Clayton reached for his wallet. Jamie grabbed his wrist. “Don’t you dare.” She pulled out another twenty and slapped it into AJ’s palm. “That’s all you’re getting.”
AJ lingered a second longer, like he wanted to say something, then pulled her into a half-hug. She barely returned it before he was gone.
And to think she’d told herself she was just here visiting, that there was nothing to worry about. But her gut had never steered her wrong. Now she’d be waiting for him to show up later to ruin everything like he always did.
“I’m sorry about him,” Jamie muttered to Clayton. “He’s embarrassing. Always wanting something.”
Clayton brushed a hand over her shoulder, his touch light. “No, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have jumped in.”
She sighed. “He’s always got some racket going—pyramid schemes, timeshare scams, get-rich-quick garbage.” Her eyes locked onto his. “Promise me you’ll never give him money. Don’t invest in anything he pitches.”
Clayton grinned. “Not a chance, darlin’. I only invest in gold.”
“Smart.”
He tilted his head. “Got a question, though. Why’s your daddy not allowed in the casino?”
Jamie’s lips curved. “He counts cards.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Clayton’s face. “No kidding? Do you know how to do that?”
She leaned in just enough to tease. “Taught by the best. Why do you think I always win at blackjack?”
Back in her room Jamie’s nerves were still rattled from seeing her dad. She poured herself a stiff drink, hoping to shake off the encounter. The audacity of him asking about the winners made her blood boil—she hoped he’d lose in every category.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. When she opened it a hairstylist and makeup artist stood there, their rolling carts in tow like traveling saleswomen.
Sinking into the plush orange chair she let them go to work, sipping her cocktail and doing her best to stay still. At least the worst part was over, she told herself.
A few more hours and it would all be over.
Another knock came minutes later. Probably Ruth. Jamie started to rise but the hairstylist was already setting her curlers. With no way to move without disrupting the process, she glanced at the makeup artist. “Can you get that, please?”
“Hi, Jamie!” a woman’s voice said behind her, but the voice wasn’t Ruth’s.
“Hi, Lisa,” she said to her publicist. “What brings you by?”
Lisastepped around the orange chair to face Jamie. She looked even prettier than the last time she’d seen her, which was annoying. Her sleek brown hair had been cut into an angled bob that showed off her sharp cheekbones, and she wore a white three-piece suit—bold, stylish, and infuriatingly perfect.
“I was next door helping Clayton with his socials,” Lisa said casually.
In his hotel room?
Her pulse rocketed, irrational jealousy creeping in before she could stop it. Was Lisa always this helpful, or just with him? She probably knew exactly what to post to make him look good.
Lisa continued, “He asked me to stop by and grab his bottle of Jack.”
Jamie rubbed her palms against her thighs.Of course he did.“It’s over there,” she said, jerking a thumb toward the bar.
“Thanks,” Lisa said with a nod, walking away with a confidence that made Jamie clench her jaw.
Before she could dwell on it a sharp knock rattled the door.
Jamie huffed. “What is this, Grand Central Station?” She winced as she shifted. “Lisa, would you mind? I can’t move.”
