Heat burned Belle’s cheeks. Discussing the kiss was harder than she thought. Because looking at Erik, it was difficult not to do it again. The way he came to her defense was heartwarming. After her mother died, she’d had to fend for herself in the foster system. She couldn’t let the gesture loosen her resolve. She needed to protect herself.
“I have good news. I got you an audition for a national commercial if you’re interested.” Pride swelled in her chest. It was the one good thing that had happened from the show. “They saw the intro show and liked you.”
One brow raised, a smile creased his lips. The sparkling blue of his eyes was hard to resist. “No way.”
“Way,” she said on a laugh, fingering the charm on the bracelet.
He gripped the energy drink can and nodded, the pleasure lighting up his features was like turning on a light bulb of sex appeal. “That is excellent news. How did you do that?”
“I have my ways.” She’d talked to the reps for multiple companies while manning the front desk at Howler’s agency. Over the years, she’d gained a rapport with the executive assistances, the real people that run the multi-billionaire corporations. “It’s a beer commercial and they’d like to start filming in two weeks. Do you want to see the concept?”
“Shit yeah.”
“Now this is rough.” She pulled up the email with the link to the storyboard.
Erik stepped behind her, the heat of his body warming her back as he bent down to view the laptop. He’d showered before he’d arrived, the faint scent of soap drifting to her nose. She tried not to inhale.
“It’s comedic and they want to do a spoof on the show. Think of a sleight of hand.” She was glad this gave her something to move her thoughts away from the man and onto work. “The first slide has you in a tux and a waiter comes by with a glass of champagne and a beer.”
“Great, I love that beer.” His smooth voice sent a thrill up her spine and the kiss skated across her mind. “This is getting better and better.”
“So next, the waiter starts to hand you the champagne.” She clicked on the next frame. This was the first time they’d been alone in two weeks. The show filmed Wednesday through Friday and she’d be in a segment with him on Thursday. His hair was a bit longer and they’d shaved the sides close. A lot had changed, but somethings remained the same. “Then you pull at your tie. The tux comes off to reveal a jersey, you step into the parking lot at the stadium and start tailgating with some fans.”
“Looks like there’ll be a bunch of special effects.” He stood and raked a hand through his hair and nodded, the grin widening. “Thank you, Belle. This is great. Really great. When do I audition?”
“They’re supposed to get back with me by Friday. I know they wanted to escalate the shoot, so when it happens, it’ll happen quick.”
“Are they willing to work around my schedule? This is only a few days a week but I have workouts and a charity event I need to attend next weekend.” He began to pace; the energy rolling off him in waves. She’d noticed that he wasn’t used to standing still. He exuded vitality, not to mention overt masculinity.
“After they hear the numbers from last night’s show, I think you’re a shoe-in.” The commission alone would be a huge step closer to her own financial future.
A ding went off and he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Shit, I have to get to wardrobe for my lunch date with the physical therapist. I wonder if I actually get to eat anything. I’m starving.” He frowned and glanced at the kitchen, the internal debate written all over his face.
“I’d suggest you grab something to eat.”
“Good idea.” He went back into the kitchen and pulled out a loaf of bread, lunch meat, and cheese. “Do you want a sandwich? Because if you say yes, you’ll technically be my second lunch date in one day.”
“That’s because I’m the show’s slutz.” She should say no and leave. There was no reason for her to stay. Her segment wasn’t until the next day and if she had her way, she’d skip it all together.
He paused in spreading mustard on a piece of bread. “Did you just call yourself a slut?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “No, a s.l.u.t.z. It’s a cross between a klutz and a slut. And no, I don’t consider myself either of those things. But I’ve been pigeonholed by the audience whether I like it or not.” She’d been that judgmental audience member sitting on her couch and making suppositions about people based on what the show had wanted her to believe. Like lambs to slaughter.
His own expression remained serious as he continued to make his sandwich. “I’m really sorry about that. I thought I’d come into this show okay with everything, you know, knowing that everyone was playing the same game by the same rules. The deeper into this, the more I realize how naïve I was.”
“Even if you wanted to back out, I’d advise against it. All seven of the other women are here for their own reasons. Yes, some might hope they’ll be the one but don’t underestimate their bottom line. They’re playing their own game. A lot of contestants—both male and female—have gotten instant fame. They use it to further their career, or in Irina’s case, to get her turn at being the star of the show.”
“Fame is the name of the game.” He placed the second piece of bread over the lettuce and used to a knife to cut it into half. He put half on a plate and slid it over to her. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“And thanks for the sandwich.” She bit into it, savoring the spiciness of the mustard. “You’re spoiling me. This is the second time you’ve cooked for me. Well, not exactly cooked.”
“Believe me, you’d rather not have me cook.”
“I never believe anyone when they say believe me. I predict that you’re a closet chef.” She chewed another bite, watching the way he made a second sandwich. The motion flexed the muscles of his arms, thick and powerful.
“Then your prediction is wrong.” He began to eat his sandwich, hip cocked as he leaned against the counter.
“Lunch is with the teacher. What is the second date? Did they tell you?” Belle had no true desire to know. She just needed to fill the air with conversation.
