God, he hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want America to know what happened. It was something special between the two of them and he wanted to keep it that way. Plus, he was feeling especially protective over Poppy, and he didn’t want her to suffer the same fate he did with that sex tape.
“Where did you hear that?” he demanded.
“Calm down, buddy. It’s clear as day on the show. I haven’t seen you look at someone like that ever.”
“Like what?”
“If you don’t know, it’s not my job to interfere. Closed set, no outside influence, remember?”
Oh, he remembered alright. It was what gave him the timeto turn Poppy’s dislike of him into something deep and meaningful. So while Asher still owed Decker for bamboozling him
into doing this show, he was over the moon that he’d agreed to it. Not that he’d let Asher know.
“What are you doing here? It’s a closed set.”
“I got permission.” The grin on his agent’s face said that there was big news coming.
Unless it was to tell him that he’d found a miracle fix to the Castle screwup and Brian had forgiven him, he wasn’t interested in what Asher was selling.
“More like, we made an exception because we’ve got something to talk to you about.” Jack pointed over his shoulder to the director’s trailer. “In there.”
Something in Decker’s gut was telling him not to enter the trailer—or even open the door, so he dug his feet into the ground. “I’ll pass.”
“Seriously, when have I ever steered you wrong?” Asher asked.
Decker looked down at his designer toolbelt that was more fashion than function, then to his shirt that was painted on his body. “I’m dressed like a Chippendale and haven’t been able to leave the same three-thousand square-feet in weeks. I think you’ve used up your surprise opportunities.”
“Point taken. But you’ll like this one. I promise.”
When he didn’t budge, Asher shoved him forward. “Five minutes and if you hate it, you can punch me.”
“Deal.”
Jack led the way and, the second the door opened, something uncomfortable unfurled in his gut. “No cameras?”
“Not for this,” Jack said.
“Is everything okay?” Because something inside was telling him that this was all wrong.
Asher clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s great. Take a seat.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”
His agent and director shared a look. “Just take a seat.”
“Nope.” Decker started to back away toward the door. “Not doing it. The nextBachelor. The nextS-Ex’s Island. Whatever you two are concocting, I am not interested in. Now if you’ve gotSportsCenteror ESPN on the line, we can have a conversation. If it’s some kind of reality TV shit again, I’m out.”
Tweedledee’s and Tweedledum’s faces went slack.
Jack slapped on a scared-as-shit smile. “We were thinking more likeDecking It with the Deckers.”
Decker had yet to cross the threshold of the trailer. As far as he was concerned, they could have whatever conversation they needed to outside where Decker could leave whenever he wanted. Plus, he felt his chest start to tighten due to the unknown, and he knew if he walked in that trailer he’d likely have a panic attack.
“It sounds like a 1980s sitcom,” he said.
Jack put his hands up like he was framing a shot. “Imagine. Houses, construction, sharing a cold beer while looking out on the gorgeous view from the deck. And scene.”
He snorted dismissively. “Sure, whatever.”
