“Thank you.” Unlike Erik, the women vying for his attention weren’t given a script to follow. Belle had a leg up. A very tiny leg up. Irina knew the outcome, which added to Belle’s unease. It was unfair and deceptive. Yet Belle agreed to do it.
She sat down and frowned when the seat dipped. Once Erik sat to her right, she was pulled toward him by the sheer force of his weight. He smelled good, clean with a hint of starch. Her senses were heightened in her anxious state and she focused on the familiar. Him. “Wow, this chair is very hard to maneuver,” she said. She shifted in her seat and tried not to lean against him. That proved impossible. She arched her leg, trying to get some leverage to correct herself and heard an ominous tearing sound. The side seam in the dress began to rip under her left arm and she pressed it close to her body. Humiliation hit in a wave and she prayed it wasn’t as bad as she thought.
“I don’t know if you remember, but we’ve met before. You work at the agency that represents me.”
That’s the direction the producers decided to go. Good. She was relieved at least part of their history was revealed, her spine relaxing. Big mistake, the dress tore more under the pressure. She sucked in a sharp breath. Concentrate. It was only a five-minute segment. She could do this.
“Of course, I remember. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to do the show.” The words came out more breathy than normal. It wasn’t a bad thing since the show was supposed to be focused on romance. It was difficult to retain her composure when she could literally be exposing herself to millions of people.
“I’m glad you agreed. I was really excited to see you when you walked out of the elevator.”
Lips pressed together she nodded, trying to limit her breathing. “I’m glad. Otherwise it would have been really awkward.”
“It’s still kind of awkward. I mean, first dates always are, aren’t they?” A huskiness lingered in his tone, his voice hardly above a whisper.
Goosebumps chased themselves across her bare arm and she found herself leaning forward, neck arched to better hear him speak. Intense eyes met hers, the connection unmistakable. A spark of something dynamic passed between them. Or perhaps it was her imagination. The glass of wine she’d drank right before she’d come out had kicked in.
A waiter approached, two glasses of champagne on a tray. Erik took the glasses and handed one to her.
Belle stared at it, debating the best way to handle this. “I, um, I seem to be having a wardrobe malfunction.”
“A wardrobe malfunction?” He lifted his brow, expression questioning.
She leaned in closer and whispered. “My dress is tearing. If I lift my arm, well, you get the gist.” She expected to have the director call cut, but the cameras kept rolling.
Laughter lit his gaze. Erik unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket and stripped it off. Eyes dancing, he slipped it over her shoulder. She clutched the fabric, warm from his body heat.
He handed the champagne glass to her once more.
She accepted it, her face flaming. “Thank you. I can’t say that’s ever happened to me before.”
“It’ll be a memory you can tell our kids about.”
“Our kids?” The statement hit her like a ton of bricks. Kids, a home, a husband. Would Erik be that guy? No, he said very bluntly that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. And if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t ready either.
“How many kids are we talking about?” she asked, determined to keep the flirtation alive and not focus on her. This was a business transaction, two people playing a game. The payoff wasn’t a happily ever after, it was a car and a much-needed infusion of cash. This was for J.J. “A dozen, maybe more?”
Erik blinked, taken aback by the comment. She allowed the laughter to come. The wine had given her a nice buzz and she’d ride it out. “That’s a lot of kids. I was thinking more like two, four tops.”
“Our own band. Can you sing?”
“No,” he shook his head and drank from the champagne flute. From the way he gripped the glass, she’d thrown him with the question. “People actually pay me not to sing.”
“Then the whole family band thing is out.” She drifted her thumb over the stem of the glass. Why hadn’t they called the scene? Surely five minutes had passed. “I can’t sing either. Well, I can sing, I just choose not to do so in public.”
Head tilted, he cast her an appraising stare. “Are you a shower singer?”
“You can’t beat the acoustics.” It was a guilty pleasure she indulged in. “My brother J.J. loves to tease me about it.”
“I’d love to hear you sometime?” the innuendo in his comment was unmistakable.
The woman in her wanted to follow through with the flirtation but she had her career to think about. MFF tended to put women in different lanes. She didn’t want to go down the slutty lane. Her reputation depended on being strong. Most of her clients would be men and men respected what they perceived as strength. Growing up in foster care, she’d learned there was more to strength than the physical. “Maybe we can do karaoke and you can prove one way or the other if you’re really that bad of a singer.”
“It’s a date.” He tilted his head the slightest bit.
Was the director talking to him? If he was, it meant she was almost done here. Part of her was relieved. The other part was a bit let down.
“Erik, your date is at an end. Please say goodnight.” Darius said from the wings.
