“But what?” Clayton prompted.
“He doesn’t think it’s a good match . . . musically,” Matilda laughed. “He said Jamie isn’t a country singer.”
“Well, he ain’t no martial artist,” Clayton shot back.
“He’s not?” Matilda looked at Jamie and she shook her head. “Oh, I didn’t know that.” She shrugged. “Anyway, tootle-oo! I’ve got a plane to catch.” She clicked her heels toward the exit and disappeared from their sight.
As the performer wrapped up her song, Jamie’s palms turned clammy. The stage manager appeared, pressing an envelope into her shaking hands.
“Clayton!” She grabbed the arm of his jacket. “I can’t go out there.”
“Let me handle it.” He grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs as the announcer introduced them to a roar of applause and cheers.
The teleprompter scrolled to their lines, indicating it was Clayton’s turn to speak.
“Howdy, Vegas!” he said, and the women in the audience screamed. “Jamie . . .”
She turned her head and gave him a look of bewilderment.
He went on, “Now, some folks are saying you ain’t much of a country singer.”
The crowd laughed and she played along with his ad-lib. “That’s true, Clayton.”
“Now, I reckon we’ve got the number-one country song in America.”
“That’s also true, Clayton.”
“So, that makes you a country singer in my books.” The audience cheered. “I’d say you’re more of a country singer than that action hero—one who ain’t no martial artist and sure as heck doesn’t do his own stunts.”
Thecrowd roared with laughter, and she laughed too. “You’ve got every right to be right, Clayton.”
He read from the teleprompter. “Let’s hear the nominees for Best Group of the Year!”
“Let’s do it!”
The pre-taped announcement introduced the nominees amid bursts of laughter. Clayton had just murdered her ex-boyfriend in front of 17,000 people and a live television audience. She could picture Derrick at home, tossing an energy drink at the TV in exasperation.
Jamie opened the envelope and said, “The winner is . . . Old Dominion!”
Old Dominion took the stage and Clayton presented them with their trophy. Jamie and Clayton stepped aside to allow the band to deliver their acceptance speech.
Clayton leaned over and whispered in his English accent, “How are you, love?”
“I’m grand, Clayton.” She smiled at him. “Just grand.”
CHAPTER 22
CLAYTON
The following evening Clayton settled into his worn, overstuffed armchair in the living room, the soft glow of a lamp painting long shadows on the walls. He tipped his head forward and fixed Nolan with a steady gaze.
“You know, Nolan,” he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, “I pulled off one of the slickest moves I ever did. I humiliated that no-good Derrick on live television last night.”
Nolan, perched on the couch with a glass of iced tea in hand, leaned in closer. “Yeah, I saw.”
Clayton’s eyes twinkled as he recounted the event. “Made him look like a fool without even being there to defend himself.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “It was like watching a tumbleweed roll through an empty field—quiet, yet mighty effective.”
Nolan’s grin was unmistakable as he told his brother, “I couldn’t believe my eyes. You turned his own career into his undoing.”
