CHAPTER 21
JAMIE
H ow dare Clayton—or Shorty, for that matter—leave her in the dark about going to the one place she despised: her hometown.
The very place where AJ had disappeared during her teenage years, where she once resorted to self-harm, and where her worst memories were buried.
And yet Shorty had signed a contract that was binding save for an act of God, or a force majeure, the legal term in her agreement.
“Are you ready?” Ruth asked, waiting in the foyer of Shorty’s condo and cradling Reba like she might never see her again.
Jamie walked over to the pen and kissed Poppy on the head. The male puppies, Earl and Heathcliff, were tumbling over each other, all paws and teeth, while her poor dog looked utterly exhausted. She slung her carry-on over her shoulder with a sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Nolan emerged from the kitchen, looking like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks.
He’d been crashing in the guest room most nights, helping to take care of the puppies.
Jamie thought it was weird he and Ruth weren’t sharing a bed, but she insisted it was too soon for sex—something Jamie strongly disagreed with .
“Ruth, you have to put Reba in the pen,” Nolan said.
Ruth clutched the puppy tighter, tears welling in her eyes. “But she—”
“Nolan’s right,” Jamie cut in. “It’s good for her to play with her siblings.”
Ruth sniffled. “I’ve never been away from her.” And she hadn’t. Three straight weeks inside, not even stepping out for food. She was now on a first-name basis with their Uber Eats driver.
Nolan gently pried Reba from Ruth’s hands. “I’ll take them to the ranch this afternoon.”
“Will you FaceTime with Reba after we land?” Ruth asked, her voice wobbly. It wasn’t Reba who had separation anxiety, it was her.
Nolan chuckled. “Of course. Now go or you’ll miss your flight.”
Jamie glanced toward the door, her stomach knotting. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
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.
When they arrived at the MGM Grand, Ruth rushed to check them in, sensing her boss was on the verge of a meltdown.
Jamie’s heart pounded erratically, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
Tremors wracked her hands so she shoved them into her pockets, but the heat coiling in her chest soon had sweat pooling at her collar.
Within minutes she was peeling off her jacket, her skin slick with anxiety.
“Are you okay?” Clayton asked, watching Jamie stand stiffly near a marble pillar, her arms crossed over her chest.
She took a slow breath, her gaze flicking to the casino floor beyond the lobby. “It’s this city. Too many bad memories.”
His jaw tightened. “Is there anything I can do?”
She let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “I just need to keep busy.”
“We’ve got a few hours before rehearsal. Want me to quiz you? I sure didn’t see you crack a book on the plane.”
Jamie turned toward him, some of the tension in her posture easing. “I get motion sickness from reading,” she admitted. “But sure. Anything to take my mind off being here.”
At the front desk Ruth turned around and held up two key cards. “We’re all checked in.”
Clayton walked up to the desk and greeted the clerk as the ladies headed toward the elevator. “Call my room when you’re ready,” he told Jamie. “My cell’s dead—forgot to put it on airplane mode.”
She nodded. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then I’ll be ready. What name are you staying under?”
“Clayton Langley,” he said.
She blinked. “You’re staying here under your real name?”
“Why? Is that a problem? ”
Jamie exhaled sharply. “It’s not the best idea in the world.”
“She’s still getting threats,” Ruth chimed in. “It’s probably better if you use a fake name.”
He hesitated for a second, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll stay under the name Steve Trevor.”
Jamie gave him a flat look. “Steve Trevor,” she repeated.
He smirked. “Got it?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
Jamie stepped into her suite and let her bag drop by the door.
She’d never stayed at this hotel but the space was impressive—modern yet inviting.
A cream-colored couch and an orange accent chair sat to one side, paired with a sleek dark-wood desk and warm lighting.
The bar had three upholstered stools tucked beneath it, and beyond that the bedroom opened up, anchored by a king-size bed with a plush, cushioned headboard.
A settee by the window caught her eye—a perfect spot for studying.
She wandered into the bathroom and stopped short.
Marble countertops, gleaming fixtures, and a massive spa tub took center stage.
Her gaze lingered on the deep basin, pristine and luxurious.
With a smirk a single thought crossed her mind—how many people had had sex in that thing?
Then again, she really didn’t want to know the answer.
She undressed, tying up her hair before stepping into the glass shower. As she turned on the faucet, warm water cascaded down like a gentle rain, easing the tension in her shoulders. Maybe Ruth was right. Maybe she was overreacting and tonight would be fun.
She let out a slow breath, watching the steam rise.
If she could look at Vegas through a different lens, maybe it wouldn’t feel so suffocating.
She could pretend she was just another tourist, here for the lights and the spectacle—not the girl who had once called this place home, carrying memories she’d rather forget.
After getting dressed, she called the front desk.
“Steve Trevor’s room, please,” she asked politely.
“One moment, ma’am.”
A second later, a familiar voice came through. “Steve Trevor’s room,” Clayton said in a corny English accent.
She laughed. “You don’t have to impersonate Steve Trevor. You’re not undercover.”
“It’s fun,” he said. “I’m going to be Steve Trevor the whole time I’m here.”
“What room are you in?”
“3120, North Tower.”
She shook her head. “You’re right next door. Shorty’s doing, no doubt.”
“Be over in a jiffy.”