Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The next morning, Blossom Springs woke slow and golden, the kind of Florida morning that made even work feel like a vacation.
Carlene Matthews didn’t have time for that kind of thinking.
Her rental car crunched up the long gravel drive leading to Jami Hart’s property.
The farmhouse rose ahead, sunlight glinting off the modern metal roof, a careful blend of new and old.
A wraparound porch, white columns, warm cedar siding, rustic charm wrapped around sleek lines and big windows.
Not exactly what she’d expected from a rock star.
She parked beside the sleek black truck in the drive and just sat for a second, taking it in. The faint smell of citrus trees floated on the breeze.
Beautiful. Peaceful. Absolutely not her style.
She adjusted the strap of her designer tote, grabbed her laptop case, and stepped out. Heat kissed her skin instantly, the Florida humidity wrapping around her like silk. She squared her shoulders and walked toward the converted barn that served as the headquarters for Hart they call it boredom. You can’t afford that narrative.”
He studied her, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “You always talk like a press release?”
Her jaw tightened. “You hired me to make sure your image stays strong.”
“Maybe,” he whispered.
That quiet tone threw her off balance. She turned to her laptop, pretending to focus on the screen. “I’m here because your manager wants this tour to feel personal again. You’re the frontman. You drive the story.”
“And I’m not enough of a story anymore?”
She looked up. “You are for now, but with the distance, you won't be. And that's dangerous. If fans think you don't care, why should they spend their money coming to see you?”
He laughed, a low, husky sound that curled through her stomach. “That's true.”
“Public connection,” she said briskly. “Fans need to see you living the music. They love authenticity, but they also love a fantasy. We can use that.”
His amusement faded into something wary. “You’re talking about PR stunts.”
“I’m talking about visibility,” she countered. “Photos, appearances, maybe...” she hesitated, then pressed on, “...a relationship storyline. Something to remind fans you’re still emotionally engaged.”
He stared at her for a long moment. "What makes you think I'm not emotionally engaged?"
She turned her laptop toward him. She watched as his eyes read the headline. He sat heavily on the sofa to her right. "This is what makes me think that. And what I observed and overheard last night from fans in the audience. We need to make fans believe you believe what you sing."
“You want me to fake-date someone?”
“Not necessarily fake,” she said carefully. “Just… curated.”
He shook his head, a disbelieving smile tugging his lips. “You think that’s what’s missing? A woman on my arm?”
“I think it’s what your audience needs to see.”
Carlene forced her voice to stay calm, even as her heartbeat thudded. She hated this part, that moment when logic brushed up against something personal. Her purpose wasn't to feel anything. Her purpose was to do a job here.
He leaned back against the sofa; his movement sent wafts of the clean scent of soap and faint cologne. “You think you can fix me, Ms. Matthews?”
“I think I can help your audience see what they fell in love with again.”
“Maybe they fell in love with the music,” he said. “Not me.”
“Then give them both.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Outside, cicadas buzzed, a soft hum under the tension stretching between them.
"How is seeing me with a woman going to do anything other than spread gossip and lies?"
"They'll see romance. They'll see the words to the songs you sing, and in their minds, you'll be the romantic hero of the song you're singing.
Make no mistake, fans want it all. With the internet and social media, they want to swoon or be angry that you're taken by another. They want to feel all of it."
"But it won't be real."
"It doesn't have to be. But it has to look real."
Finally, he straightened. He stared into her eyes for a long time. Her heart raced as she watched him process all she had said. Finally, he took a breath. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m the best,” she said automatically.
"Then prove it.”
He stood and walked toward the door with the easy swagger of a man people had watched his whole life. He stopped at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Next show’s in three weeks. Let’s see what you can do.”
The door swung shut behind him.
Carlene exhaled long and slow, pressing her palms to the cool tabletop. The scent of cedar and coffee lingered in the air.
She’d come to Blossom Springs to set this band's trajectory as their stars rose. But what she realized now was that she was here to revitalize a brand.
But watching Jami Hart in person, seeing that hint of exhaustion behind the confidence, she couldn’t shake the thought that this wasn’t just about marketing.
Something about him felt… untethered.
And she’d just volunteered to help him find his way back.