used-to-be-famous.
“See you tomorrow.” Justin backed away as if reluctant.
Did he think she’d leap off the bluff or something? “Goodnight.”
Raising her camera, Billie captured a few shots. Enough for one day.
She’d spent the dawn hours on the Malibu Pier, famous for its Baywatch babes leaping into the ocean to save men floundering, hoping to be buoyed by Pamela Anderson’s boobs. The Bimbo Squad could give Pam a run for her money in their skimpy tops and shorts, casting their fishing rods into the ocean. Except for Amber, who complained fishing bored her, and yawned frequently. Billie targeted her for Round Two’s elimination.
Predictably, no one caught any fish. The bimbos had bigger fish to fry, anyway: hooking Jet. With his surly attitude, Billie wondered why anyone would want to. Fishing had a reputation for relaxing people, not making them uptight. The fishing industry wouldn’t be asking Jet to be their spokesperson after he’d stomped off the pier an hour later muttering, the contestants scrambling to catch up.
On the beach, Billie stiffened as he neared. Glancing up, his eyes narrowed and he veered away from her. Cat and Ashley paraded by with a gleam of triumph.
Rock Bottom was four weeks into season two. Billie’s body clock had adjusted after a few days to California time. The rest of her never would.
* * * *
Jet’s fingers slid across the laptop’s touch pad, scrolling the blog page. “Unbelievable.” The best set they’d played in too long, and she ripped even that apart. “Vengeful bitch.”
All the pride bolstering his ego fell away. What was wrong with her? They sounded great. He’d sounded great.
And he’d meant what he said about her inspiring him to be better. He’d needed someone to kick his ass into gear, but not to keep kicking it. Damn her. Privately, he could put up with her slams, but trying to turn his fans against him went too far.
A knock sounded. “Yeah.”
Stu peered around the door. “Remember, the winery trip’s on for today.”
Great. Smile for the cameras. Make nice with the girls. Today he felt anything but nice. “What time again?”
“We leave in five minutes.”
“Great.” Some time away from here, at least. “Is Ms. Prescott attending?”
A frown flickered across Stu’s face. “Of course. Why?”
He plopped back against the sofa. “Getting tired of her and her blog.”
Stu pointed. “The blog is shit. But we need to keep Ms. Prescott happy.”
“Right. Like that’s even possible.”
His manager shrugged. “Our ratings are higher every week. Like it or not, the blog’s a big part of it.”
Wincing, he stood. “Whatever. Let’s go.” He’d give her as wide a berth as possible.
“You look great.” Stu’s hand brushed his back. “It’s all good.”
What the hell did that mean? Ah, screw it. Maybe Jet should dumb himself down, lower his expectations so he could say it too. It’s all good.
Repeating it like a mantra, he followed Stu down to the patio, but he couldn’t get the words out of his head. When his gaze settled on Billie, his fists clenched and he stomped toward her. “Is this how it’s going to be? You reaming me out every day online?”
His anger charged the atmosphere. He hadn’t intended to broach this subject. Seeing her ignited all his senses.
“What?” She held up a hand toward Justin. “Stop filming.” To him, she said, “This isn’t the time--”
“It’s the perfect time. I won’t allow you to write this crap.”
“My feelings aren’t crap.” Her brows furrowed, and hurt edged her voice.
“So now it’s about your feelings, is it?” What about his feelings?
“Yes. As a fan. Aren’t you interested in your fans’ feelings?”
“Please. You’re no fan. You’re a disgruntled reporter. About what, I have no idea. Life in general, maybe?” His sneer softened when his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“I wrote the truth. If you can’t handle it--”
“The truth according to
“See you tomorrow.” Justin backed away as if reluctant.
Did he think she’d leap off the bluff or something? “Goodnight.”
Raising her camera, Billie captured a few shots. Enough for one day.
She’d spent the dawn hours on the Malibu Pier, famous for its Baywatch babes leaping into the ocean to save men floundering, hoping to be buoyed by Pamela Anderson’s boobs. The Bimbo Squad could give Pam a run for her money in their skimpy tops and shorts, casting their fishing rods into the ocean. Except for Amber, who complained fishing bored her, and yawned frequently. Billie targeted her for Round Two’s elimination.
Predictably, no one caught any fish. The bimbos had bigger fish to fry, anyway: hooking Jet. With his surly attitude, Billie wondered why anyone would want to. Fishing had a reputation for relaxing people, not making them uptight. The fishing industry wouldn’t be asking Jet to be their spokesperson after he’d stomped off the pier an hour later muttering, the contestants scrambling to catch up.
On the beach, Billie stiffened as he neared. Glancing up, his eyes narrowed and he veered away from her. Cat and Ashley paraded by with a gleam of triumph.
Rock Bottom was four weeks into season two. Billie’s body clock had adjusted after a few days to California time. The rest of her never would.
* * * *
Jet’s fingers slid across the laptop’s touch pad, scrolling the blog page. “Unbelievable.” The best set they’d played in too long, and she ripped even that apart. “Vengeful bitch.”
All the pride bolstering his ego fell away. What was wrong with her? They sounded great. He’d sounded great.
And he’d meant what he said about her inspiring him to be better. He’d needed someone to kick his ass into gear, but not to keep kicking it. Damn her. Privately, he could put up with her slams, but trying to turn his fans against him went too far.
A knock sounded. “Yeah.”
Stu peered around the door. “Remember, the winery trip’s on for today.”
Great. Smile for the cameras. Make nice with the girls. Today he felt anything but nice. “What time again?”
“We leave in five minutes.”
“Great.” Some time away from here, at least. “Is Ms. Prescott attending?”
A frown flickered across Stu’s face. “Of course. Why?”
He plopped back against the sofa. “Getting tired of her and her blog.”
Stu pointed. “The blog is shit. But we need to keep Ms. Prescott happy.”
“Right. Like that’s even possible.”
His manager shrugged. “Our ratings are higher every week. Like it or not, the blog’s a big part of it.”
Wincing, he stood. “Whatever. Let’s go.” He’d give her as wide a berth as possible.
“You look great.” Stu’s hand brushed his back. “It’s all good.”
What the hell did that mean? Ah, screw it. Maybe Jet should dumb himself down, lower his expectations so he could say it too. It’s all good.
Repeating it like a mantra, he followed Stu down to the patio, but he couldn’t get the words out of his head. When his gaze settled on Billie, his fists clenched and he stomped toward her. “Is this how it’s going to be? You reaming me out every day online?”
His anger charged the atmosphere. He hadn’t intended to broach this subject. Seeing her ignited all his senses.
“What?” She held up a hand toward Justin. “Stop filming.” To him, she said, “This isn’t the time--”
“It’s the perfect time. I won’t allow you to write this crap.”
“My feelings aren’t crap.” Her brows furrowed, and hurt edged her voice.
“So now it’s about your feelings, is it?” What about his feelings?
“Yes. As a fan. Aren’t you interested in your fans’ feelings?”
“Please. You’re no fan. You’re a disgruntled reporter. About what, I have no idea. Life in general, maybe?” His sneer softened when his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“I wrote the truth. If you can’t handle it--”
“The truth according to
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