Tonight’s party is one of the most important of my career, the one Mr. Martin will use to decide if I can really pull this off as well as I’ve said I can. I might as well be wearing a T-shirt that says, “Don’t believe the hype.”
The two-story historic home is fully decorated by the time I feel steady enough to leave the restroom. Guests are pouring in and it looks like I pulled myself together just in time. The main room is alive with neon blue lights streaking the blackened ceiling and our LED-lit displays are strategically placed by each minibar. Maneuvering my way through the crowd in search of Katie, because I basically owe her my life for covering for me, I crane my neck in search of her blond head. The second I think I’ve caught a glimpse of her, a solid mass slams against me, sending me careening toward a waiter in a tux carrying a tray of the signature cocktails Midnight Bay created for Jase’s tour. Just before I crash into him and his tray full of glasses, a strong hand grips my upper arm and yanks me back to safety.
“Shit, Robyn. My bad.” Jase Wade stands with one hand still holding tightly to me and the other wrapped around his cell phone.
Taking a steadying breath I give him a wavering smile. “No worries. I’m fine.”
Sort of. Minus the constant urge to vomit making me wish I could go home and curl up in old sweats. Wade is usually so much smoother. From the bags under his bloodshot eyes and disarray his shirt is in, he looks as bad as I feel and I can’t help but wonder if he’s okay.
“You all right? I think there’s something going around.”
He looks at me strangely, as if I’ve asked if he’s interested in nuclear physics and the atomic properties of space. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”
“You sure? Because the one-word answers don’t exactly scream ‘having the time of my life.’ Congratulations on the album going platinum, by the way.”
He releases my arm and shrugs, giving me a halfhearted grin. “Thanks.”
A modest Jase Wade isn’t something I’ve seen before. If anyone has the cocky country-boy swagger down to a science, it’s him. Dallas has been garnering a lot of attention since “Better to Burn” went gold. Both happening at the same time has likely created some competitive friction but I’m afraid to ask, for fear I’ll hear something I shouldn’t.
“Well, um, I should go check on the hors d’oeuvres, so . . .”
“You want to get some air? You look like you need it as badly as I do.” He rakes a hand roughly over his head and glances around for the nearest exit.
“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”
He rolls his eyes. “Stop. You know you’re gorgeous. You just look a little . . . I don’t know . . . out of sorts or something.”
“Or something,” I say, taking his arm and leading him to the French doors that open to the balcony. Thankfully no one stops us as we make our way outside. Fresh air is actually starting to sound pretty good.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jase says as we step over to a deserted section of balcony. “You tell me why you’re green and look seconds from chunking on my shoes and I’ll tell you why I was barreling through the room like a runaway truck that nearly took you down.”
Sighing, I take a few minutes to breathe in the crisp, cool air around us.
When I turn to Jase, either he missed his calling as an actor or he’s genuinely concerned about my well-being.
“I either have the flu or food poisoning. I’ve been feeling off since New Orleans and I can’t shake it.”
“Did you go to the doctor?”
I gesture toward the party I had all of six days to plan. “When? In all of my spare time?”
He nods like he gets it. “That sucks. I hope you get to feeling better. Can I get you something to drink? Ginger ale or club soda or something?”
“Thanks. I’m good. For now.”
“You should go home if you’re feeling bad. The party is pretty much handling itself here. Hell, I’m the guest of honor and I don’t think anyone even cares if I’m here.” He rests his elbows on the balcony ledge and looks out over the courtyard.