More Than A Feeling, page 8
He swore under his breath, pacing once across the room. “You think they’re trying to take you down, or me?”
“Both,” she said. “They lost their biggest client when I left, and they’ve been waiting for a reason to prove I can’t handle a band this size.”
He stopped pacing and looked at her. “You don’t have to fix this alone.”
Her throat tightened. “I know how to handle it.”
“Maybe. But you shouldn’t have to.”
The softness in his voice broke something in her. She looked away, focusing on the laptop instead. “If I can prove they altered the file, the label will back off. I just need time.”
He nodded, watching her. “Whatever you need.”
She felt his eyes on her as she worked, and it made her fingers stumble. Every click and scroll felt louder than it should. The memory of his mouth on hers made her pulse skip, and she hated how easily her body remembered him.
When the last file finished processing, she exhaled. “Got it. The upload originated from a Reed & Carr account. I’ll send the proof to Tony and the label.”
“Good.”
She closed the laptop and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll have to make a statement. The label will want something from both of us.”
He crossed the room and rested his hand lightly on the back of her chair. “Then we’ll do it together.”
She looked up, and for a heartbeat the air between them thickened again. He still smelled faintly of rain and coffee, and she wondered what would happen if she let herself lean back against him.
Instead, she nodded once. “Together.”
He smiled, slow and certain. “We’ll fix it. And when we do, they’ll wish they hadn’t started this.”
Carlene tried to smile, but her chest felt heavy. She had fixed plenty of PR nightmares before, but this one had her name and heart tangled right through the center.
When Jami walked back toward the door, she let her eyes follow him. She wasn’t sure what scared her more, the sabotage that could ruin everything she’d built, or the man who already had the power to undo her with a single kiss.
Chapter Fourteen
Carlene spent most of the day fielding calls.
By early afternoon, her voice was hoarse, her coffee cold, and her patience nearly gone. The label wanted statements. The band wanted reassurance. The press wanted a scandal. And every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped before she could stop it, half-hoping it was Jami and half-afraid it would be.
Tony’s voice cut through her earbuds as she scanned yet another thread of emails. “The label’s nervous, Carlene. They want an official press release by tomorrow morning.”
“I already wrote one,” she said. “It’s clean, factual, and doesn’t inflame anything.”
“They want emotion.”
“Then they can get it from the music,” she snapped, then immediately softened her tone. “Sorry. I’ll handle it.”
He sighed. “They’re not blaming you, but this is messy. Reed & Carr are denying everything.”
“Of course they are,” she said quietly. “They always do until someone proves otherwise.”
“You sure you’re up for this? It’s personal.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “That’s exactly why I have to be.”
After the call ended, she sank back in her chair and rubbed her temples. Her reflection on the laptop screen looked tired, older somehow. The night before still hovered behind her eyes, the warmth of Jami’s hands, the way his voice had sounded when he told her she wasn’t alone.
She’d told herself she could separate work from feeling. She’d believed it too, until that kiss.
Her phone lit with a new message from Jami.
Checking in. You holding up?
She stared at it, typing and deleting a dozen replies before finally settling on:
I'm fine. Working through it.
He answered within seconds.
You don’t have to handle this alone.
The same words he’d said last night.
Her lips curved, small and tired.
I know.
She didn’t send it. Instead, she put the phone facedown and stood, pacing to the window. The rain had stopped, but clouds still rolled over the water. The calm before another wave.
Her laptop chimed. A new alert from the analytics feed. She opened it, eyes scanning the graph. Engagement had spiked again, but this time it wasn’t for the reason she wanted. Someone had uploaded a screenshot of her email to the label, the one outlining her suspicions about Reed & Carr.
Her stomach dropped. The leak was internal.
She clicked through the source account, tracing the image’s metadata. Whoever had leaked it had used a private VPN, but one detail caught her attention: the timestamp matched the moment she’d sent Tony her draft statement.
The betrayal stung.
Her hands trembled slightly as she typed a message to Tony.
Who else had access to my draft?
He replied almost instantly.
Just me, the label rep, and their digital media coordinator. Why?
Because it’s online.
The typing bubbles blinked, then disappeared. Finally, Tony wrote back.
We’ll get ahead of it. Don’t panic.
Carlene laughed under her breath. Too late for that.
She pushed her chair back and stood, walking out onto the deck of her hotel room to breathe. The air smelled like salt and wet flowers.
She leaned on the railing and looked out over the field. “What am I doing?” she whispered.
Her phone rang again. It was Tony. She answered.
“They’re spinning this as carelessness,” he said without greeting. “Reed & Carr are claiming you mishandled sensitive materials.”
Her throat tightened. “Of course they are. They create a fire and blame me for the smoke.”
“You need a public response, something that takes the heat off you and the band. Our big tour is less than a month away. The label plans to release our album the week before that. Our timeframe for dealing with this couldn't be worse.”
“I’m aware of the timing; it was the major reason you brought me on. I'll draft a response tonight.”
“The label’s getting pressure from investors.”
She sighed and sat in the chair across from her bed. After the call ended, she stayed there, gripping the arms until her knuckles whitened. Every instinct told her to fight back. To expose Reed & Carr’s pattern of manipulation. To stand up for herself.
But another part of her, quieter and deeper, whispered that this wasn’t just about her reputation anymore. It was about protecting the band, protecting Jami, and keeping the story focused where it belonged, on the music.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Jami.
Meet me at the barn when you can. We should talk about the statement.
She typed back,
Give me an hour.
The pull and tug of all of these things played on her stomach and her brain. If she were honest, they were playing on her heart. She couldn't get involved with Jami. He was a client, and as soon as they started on this tour, he'd be off, living his rockstar life, and she'd be in another town, working with another company, trying to focus on the PR she needed to offer them. She'd also be trying not to think of Jami Hart and how he'd ingrained himself into her soul without even trying.
An hour later, she finally walked across the wet grass toward the barn; twilight had settled over the water. The scent of sawdust and sea air mixed inside, familiar and grounding. Jami stood near the mixing table in the studio, guitar slung over his shoulder, eyes lifting when she entered.
“You look exhausted,” he said softly.
“Flattering,” she said, forcing a smile. “You heard about the leak?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
He took a step closer. “Still feels like I should.”
For a long moment, they stood in silence. The tension between them hummed like the amps in the corner; quiet, constant, impossible to ignore.
“Tomorrow,” she said finally, “we issue the statement. I’ll take responsibility for the confusion and clear you of everything.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s not about fair. It’s about control. It's also my job.”
"Aren't you worried how that will look to the next company that considers hiring you?"
She took a deep breath. "All I care about right now is how this is affecting you. Hart & The Hurricanes. That's my job right now, and I'm deeply disturbed that my former company brought you into this vendetta."
He studied her face. “And afterward?”
She hesitated, unsure whether he meant the campaign or whatever this was between them.
“We regroup,” she said softly. “And we keep fighting.”
He nodded, but his gaze lingered on her mouth before he looked away. “Then let’s make sure they don’t win.”
She turned to set her laptop on the table near the mixing board and opened the new draft statement. Her hands were steady again, but her heart wasn’t. Because as much as she wanted to win this war, part of her already knew the battle she couldn’t afford to lose was the one she was fighting with herself.
Chapter Fifteen
Jami hadn’t slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Carlene standing in the glow of the barn lights, her expression a mix of strength and something softer. That look in her beautiful brown eyes when she said she would take responsibility had stayed with him. It wasn’t right. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she was willing to take the blame to protect him.
By morning, he gave up on sleep entirely. The barn was quiet except for the steady rhythm of the waves hitting the rocks below. He poured coffee and scrolled through his phone, news alerts flashing one after another.
The statement had gone live.
Her words were perfect, like always. Honest, precise, and measured enough to keep the fire from spreading. Still, it made his stomach twist to see her name attached to something that should have never touched her.
Tony’s name appeared on his screen. “The label’s happy,” Tony said. “Carlene’s release worked. We’re back on track.”
Jami leaned against the counter. “How’s she holding up?”
“She’s exhausted. They’ve lined up a follow-up interview for this morning. They want you there, too. United front and all that.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Send me the details.”
After the call, he walked outside. The air was clean and sharp, carrying the scent of salt and pine. He told himself to focus on the band, the tour, the music, and that song that lingered at the back of his mind, but wouldn't fully reveal itself to him. Anything but the memory of how it had felt to have her in his arms. She would likely leave soon after they fully implemented the marketing plan and cleared up this mess. And he'd be on tour. One of her purposes was to bring his spark back, which she did, but he suspected, not in the way she meant to. He enjoyed having her around. She had a sharp mind, and she was focused and professional. They had that in common. But he felt she held herself away from him. Invisible walls built more solidly around her heart than any military base walls.
By the time the media team arrived at the barn, he had his stage face back in place. Cameras, lighting rigs, wires, and the low buzz of professionals doing their work. He knew this routine, but today it felt heavier.
Carlene arrived just before nine, hair pulled back, expression calm but tight around the edges. She wore the look of someone who had been up all night thinking instead of sleeping. He knew it because he felt the same. And because he was beginning to know her. She wasn't one to let a problem go to bed with her. She'd beat it into submission before laying her head down to sleep.
She gave him a brief nod. “You ready for this?”
“As ready as I can be. You?”
Her lips pressed together. “I'm ready. I've thought of nothing else for most of the morning. Once this is over, I'll feel better. You need to be the strong, sensitive lead singer, Jami. Show the press you're vulnerable —and that this is the last thing you expected to be attached to your name. Throw me under the bus if you need to. I know the truth, and I'll deal with it.”
His gut twisted. No fucking way he'd throw her under the bus. This wasn't her doing. It was being done to her at the expense of Hart & The Hurricanes.
The reporter entered the room, all smiles and posh-looking. Too slick for his taste, and she was slightly flirty. It raised the hairs at the back of his neck that she was openly flirting with him while she was working. Just the opposite of Carlene, who was always professional. It was he who kissed her first, changing the dynamic of their relationship. It was him.
They sat side by side on one of the worn leather sofas with the interviewer across from them. The first few questions were simple. How were they doing? Thank you for the interview. Then the shift came.
“Carlene,” the interviewer said, “your statement this morning was very direct. You accepted responsibility for the confusion, even though the evidence points to outside interference. Why take that on yourself?”
Carlene’s voice was even. “Because accountability matters. My job is to protect the integrity of this band. We don’t point fingers until we have proof, and we focus on the work, not the noise.”
The interviewer nodded, then turned to him. “Jami, has this experience changed how you see the business side of music?”
He took a slow breath. “It reminded me how easy it is for people to twist the truth. Music should be about connection. When the business drowns that out, everyone loses. We’re here to play, to create something real. The rest doesn’t matter. And for the record, I've always been mindful of the business side of the music.”
Carlene’s eyes flicked toward him, the briefest glance, but it hit him hard. She believed in the same truth, and somehow it tied them together more tightly than anything either of them said aloud.
"Carlene. You've blamed your former company, Reed & Carr. Do you have the evidence?"
Carlene leaned slightly forward, and he felt her arm brush his, but he refrained from looking at her. The reporter’s eyes dropped to where their arms touched, and his gut twisted. She was looking for something to twist everything. He'd seen it before, that ugly little jealousy bug that hit women who had no claim over him, but wanted to. Her flirtatious behavior this morning triggered the warning signals in his brain.
Carlene's voice was calm, and she smiled slightly when she replied. "I do. And we continue to gather more every hour."
The reporter's lips thinned. She turned her puppy-dog eyes toward him and smiled. "Jami, does it worry you that you've attached yourself to a PR firm that seems to have brought drama to Hart & The Hurricanes? From all I've read about you, no drama has been a long-standing tradition with you."
His jaw tightened, and he knew she saw it too. She sat back slightly, and her expression changed to someone waiting to be scolded.
"I'm not at all sorry I hired Carlene's company. She's doing a stand-up job, and we're continually impressed with her. The fact that her former company is sabotaging her work speaks volumes for how good she is."
The reporter's head jerked slightly, but recovered with a terse. "Oh, of course. Thank you again for allowing me to set the record straight."
The interview ended, and the crew began packing up. The barn quieted again.
“You handled that well,” she said softly. “But perhaps a bit too defensive of me."
He waited until the crew began carrying the equipment outside. “You did all the heavy lifting.”
“That’s my job.”
He smiled. “You keep saying that like it makes this any easier.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “It has to be easy for you, you're the client.”
The crew and reporter drove down the long driveway to the road below. Jami closed the barn door, closing them inside.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You didn’t deserve to take that hit, Carlene.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can. But that doesn’t make it right.”
Her breath caught, and she looked away, busying herself with her laptop. “Let’s focus on the win. The label’s happy. That’s what matters.”
He wanted to argue, to tell her what actually mattered, but Tony’s voice broke the silence from the doorway. “You two were great. The label’s already pushing the clip. It’s performing well.”
Carlene straightened, her professional tone snapping back in place. “Good. That’s what we needed.”
Tony left, and the quiet settled again. Jami watched her close her laptop and gather her notes, each movement careful and contained.
When she turned to leave, he said, “Thank you for today.”
She paused. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Their eyes met, and for a second, the air between them felt like that night again. She broke the moment first, nodding once before walking out into the sunlight.
Jami stayed where he was, listening to the waves outside and the faint hum of the amps cooling behind him.
He knew what he was supposed to do: keep things professional, let the tension fade, and move on with the tour. But watching her walk away made one truth settle deep in his chest.
He didn’t want to move on.
And no matter how clean the statement sounded or how calm the headlines looked, nothing about this felt finished.
Chapter Sixteen
Carlene drove back to the hotel with the windows down and the radio off. The sound of the wind filled the car, but it couldn’t quiet the noise in her head. Every word from the interview replayed on a loop, layered with Jami’s voice, the hum of the cameras, and the polite smile of that reporter who had clearly wanted to catch her slipping, and made it known that she'd like to get to know Jami a bit better.
