by L. A. Witt
But this? What the actual fuck?
He rubbed the back of his stiffening neck, wondering who Wes had pissed off to get the honor of approaching him with this asinine idea. Didn’t seem like something Wes would dream up on his own. He was a network mouthpiece just like any of the others, but he struck Reggie the same way some car salesmen did. He didn’t necessarily buy into all the company’s propaganda, but he spouted it anyway because, damn it, dude had bills to pay.
Still, even a car salesman with bills to pay only crossed certain lines if he had iffy ethics. No amount of credit card debt and kids needing to go through college justified knowingly selling a lemon, and that was exactly what Wes was trying to sell him now.
Pity a guy like him had to turn out to be like that.
He was the last one Reggie had suspected. Any of the others? Oh, yeah. This wouldn’t have been a surprise. Everyone else with the network were just suited and booted blowhards. Slimy bastards. Lawyers. Car salesmen. They all looked the same to Reggie.
But Wes? He was different. Oh, he was always strolling around in a designer suit with shoes that probably cost as much as the engine in Reggie’s Mustang, but he wasn’t like the others. He had a presence about him. Reminded Reggie of someone who’d just stepped out of a high-end menswear ad. Reggie had fantasized a few times about getting a few grease smudges on the lapels of one of those jackets, or mussing up that perfectly arranged brown hair. Deep down, he imagined Wes wouldn’t object. He’d probably like it.
Well, if he were gay.
And if he weren’t actually a slime ball like the others.
Reggie shook his head and pushed himself up out of the chair. Pacing back and forth behind the desk, rubbing his chin with his thumb, he swore at himself for all the times he’d gotten tongue-tied around Wes. If he’d known the guy was such a douche….
And that was probably exactly why they sent Wes to do their dirty work. They must’ve seen the way Reggie couldn’t quite keep his feet under him when the two of them were in the same room. But then, if the execs had been tuned in enough to catch on to that, maybe they would’ve figured out why there was no way in hell Reggie was doing a bachelor show. Especially not one that paired him with a woman.
Someone knocked on the door, startling Reggie out of his thoughts.
“Yeah?”
Ray leaned in. “Hey, boss. Director’s looking for you. They want to reshoot something from earlier.”
Reggie rolled his eyes. It had long ago stopped amusing him that a so-called “reality” show had so goddamned many cue cards and reshoots. No wonder the ratings had dipped after the first two seasons. It was all fake. Viewers weren’t stupid.
“All right.” He followed Ray out of the office. They both paused beside the door between the no-camera area and the red zone. Nothing made a work environment more awesome than having to stop and put on a game face for a fucking camera before getting to work.
“Ready?” Ray asked.
“Always,” Reggie muttered.
Ray pulled open the door and made an “after you” gesture. Asshole.
Reggie stepped into the garage, and the instant he was across the red line, a huge camera got right in his face. He was used to it by now—he’d have lost his mind a long time ago if he hadn’t learned to deal with the fucking things—but this time he had to restrain himself from punching the lens.
“Reggie, glad you’re back.” Carl held up his ragged notebook. Not a script, of course. This was a reality show. It wasn’t scripted. It was just dictated by copious notes written in a spiral-bound notebook. Some of which made it onto cue cards. Not a script at all.
Reggie struggled to keep his impatience at bay. “What’s going on?”
“Just need a bit of a reshoot.” Carl made a dismissive gesture. “That argument with Ray was good, but the sound got a little distorted, and I don’t really like the camera angle, so we’re just going to do a quick reenactment so the footage looks right to the viewers.”
The only thing Reggie hated more than getting into it with his crew was reenacting it. It wasn’t an argument for the sake of suspense and ratings. The guys got passionate about what they were doing, and sometimes that meant butting heads. This artificial drama was fucking exhausting. Maybe killing the show wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Reggie shrugged. “Whatever. We should—”
“Hey, boss.” Bill beckoned Reggie over. “Need to borrow you for a second.”
“Not now,” Carl said. “We’ve got—”
“Hey.” Reggie stabbed a finger at the director. “I’ve still got a business to run here. Your reshoots can wait.”
Carl huffed impatiently, but Reggie ignored him and walked toward Bill.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Bill stood shoulder to shoulder with Reggie and kept his head turned slightly, the way they’d all learned to do so they could exchange a few words without the cameras picking it up. They both turned off their lapel microphones.
“Hey, that producer guy is in the break room. Says he needs to talk to you.”
“I just talked to him.”
“Yeah, well—”
“And we’re reshooting,” Reggie said. “He can wait.”
“He says it’s important. He was talking real fast and loud into his cell phone right before that, so….”
Shit. Wes must’ve told the execs Reggie wasn’t interested in even discussing the spin-off. Well, on the bright side, they’d probably have the cameras out of the garage in a matter of hours. When that ax fell, it fell fast.
“Keep him entertained.” Reggie nodded sharply at the director. “Get Ray and work out the logistics on that Smithfield build. That should get everybody fired up and keep them entertained.”
Bill laughed and clapped Reggie’s shoulder. “On it, boss.”
“Thanks.”
Now to deal with the suits. Or the suit, as it were.
Reggie stormed over the red line and slammed the door behind him. The editors would find some way to add that to the disagreement he’d had with Ray earlier. They’d make it look like he’d walked away from the argument. Somehow they always managed to make the drama into something bigger than it was, and he’d just handed them the perfect footage for it this time.
He didn’t care.
Kasey was leaning against the Coke machine, playing on his phone, and scurried out as soon as he saw Reggie. Not that he was worried about getting caught—the kid busted his ass like nobody else, so if he wanted to fuck off on his phone during some downtime, Reggie didn’t care. No, he probably felt the tension in the room tighten the second Reggie entered it and locked eyes with Wes. Everyone on the planet must’ve felt it.
You want some drama, Carl? Bring your cameras in here.
Eyes still locked on Reggie’s, Wes pushed himself up off the couch where he’d been sitting. He slid his phone into his pocket and buttoned his jacket.
“Let’s make this quick.” Reggie pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Your director wants to reshoot some reality.”
Wes pursed his lips. “Back in your office?”
Just what he needed. To be alone in the same room with Wes. Alone in an even smaller room than the one they were in now. For the second time today.
“Fine,” he said in spite of his dry mouth.
They relocated to the office, and Reggie sat behind his desk again. It was funny—he always faced off with employees on the same side of the desk. It always felt more like they were on level ground. Talking to each other man to man, even when it was boss to employee.
With Wes, he needed that extra space between them. A barrier, though he couldn’t quite explain why.
“All right,” he said. “What now?”
Wes sat in the same seat he’d been in earlier, unbuttoning his jacket on the way down. “I just spoke to my boss.”
“And?”
The producer was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers on the chipped plastic armrest. “Listen, I’m o
n your side here.”
Reggie snorted. “Yeah? So you explained to the guys you work for that this is an insane idea?”
Wes shifted, making the chair squeak. “I… I’m not a fan of those shows myself. But the thing is, the network is digging their heels in. Hard.”
Reggie raised his eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Meaning they’re not going to budge.” Wes swallowed. “Either the spin-off happens, or Wrench Wars is going to have a new shop next season. And believe me, there are garages standing in line to get on this show.”
Reggie’s stomach slowly turned to lead. As much as he relished the idea of the cameras and the cue cards getting the fuck out of his shop, the reality was simple. He needed Wrench Wars. In the back of his mind, he’d expected this to blow over just like his moments of “fuck this show” always blew over when he realized how much business—and revenue—the show generated. Without it, the shop would’ve closed a long time ago.
He rested his elbow on the desk and looked the producer in the eye. “Why are they refusing to negotiate on this? I mean, isn’t there some other spin-off we can do?” He gestured at the wall between his office and the red zone. “Hell, put one of my guys on a fitness show or something.”
Wes shook his head slowly. “No. This is what they want.”
“But why?”
Wes held his gaze, but the quirk of his lip told Reggie he was gnawing the inside of his cheek. Though he wasn’t quite squirming, his body was tense like he was very much on the brink. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders dropping, and threw up his hand. “I wish I could tell you, to be honest.”
Reggie blinked. Well, the honesty was refreshing. “So they’re going to threaten me, and they can’t even tell me why it’s set in stone like this?”
“They need someone to fill that billet,” Wes said. “The network wants you and no one else.”
Reggie let his head fall back. Staring up at the ceiling, he said, “I don’t get it. This is going a bit above and beyond the spin-offs clause, isn’t it?”
“Not according to the attorneys.”
“Not according to the network’s attorneys.” Reggie lifted his head again and eyed Wes. “I haven’t had mine look at the proposal.”
“You’re more than welcome to,” Wes said coolly, but not as coolly as he probably hoped. “But I assure you, it’s legal.”
“How about ethical?” Reggie growled, noting Wes’s flinch with less satisfaction than he expected. He exhaled. “You have to understand why I’m not enthusiastic about this.”
“I do,” Wes said quietly. “Honestly, I do.”
Reggie regarded him silently for a moment. Then he leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the blotter. “What should I do?”
Wes straightened. “Pardon?”
“You’ve probably been privy to all these discussions long before they ever told you to pitch it to me.” Reggie tilted his head. “So, knowing what you do about, well, everything…. What should I do?”
Wes broke eye contact. Then he rested his forearms on his thighs and wrung his hands. He stared at the floor for a long, uncomfortable moment.
After a while, he spoke, barely whispering. “How much do you want to keep Wrench Wars alive? Or rather, how much do you want your shop to be present on Wrench Wars?”
Reggie moistened his lips. “I need to keep it alive.” Admitting that out loud was a punch to the balls, but there it was. “My guys need it, and so do I.”
Slowly, Wes sat up straight, drawing in a breath as he did. “Then I would do the spin-off.”
IT WAS almost half an hour before Reggie emerged from the office. He’d given Wes a noncommittal “let me sleep on it” before dismissing him, and for the last twenty minutes, he’d just been sitting there thinking. Strangely, no one interrupted him. That was unusual when the camera crew was on-site. Maybe they were steering clear of the producer and still thought Wes was in with Reggie.
Whatever the case, they left Reggie to a long period of contemplative silence. It probably would’ve been relaxing for him if he hadn’t had quite so damned much to contemplate.
And after the better part of half an hour, he was no closer to a conclusion. Forget sleeping on this. He needed to drink on it.
Time to close up the shop and call it a day. Carl could suck it if he had a problem with that.
After he’d left his office, Reggie stared at the door to the red zone, and he’d never felt so exhausted in his life. He couldn’t face the cameras right then. Hell, he didn’t even think he could face his own guys. In fact, he’d have preferred the cameras over his crew because he had no idea what to tell them. He had no idea what to do.
“A reality show?” one of his buddies had said when they’d been pitched Wrench Wars. “Dude, you should do it! That’s easy money!”
Easy money. Right.
The red zone door suddenly flew open, startling Reggie enough he almost stumbled backward.
“Oh, hey,” Ray said. “Was just looking for you.”
Reggie groaned. “Do I dare ask?”
“More reshoots.”
“Of course.”
Another door opened, and Reggie glanced back as Kasey stepped into the room.
“Hey, boss.” He gestured over his shoulder with a wrench. “Me and Chandler need your opinion on something when you’ve got time.”
Now that he could deal with. Ask him anything about a car, even one troublesome enough to throw off Kasey and Chandler, and he was good. This reality-show shit? Not so much.
“Hey.” Ray elbowed him. “You all right, man? You’ve been edgy ever since that suit showed up from the network.”
“No kidding,” Kasey said. “What’s up?” Then his eyes widened. “They canceling the show or something?”
“Not yet,” Reggie said.
Ray tensed. So did Kasey.
“What does that mean?” Ray asked.
Reggie raked a hand through his hair. “It means the network’s got my balls in a vise.”
“So, they’ve got all our balls in a vise?” Ray asked.
Reggie glared at him. Though he owned the place, he’d never lorded that over any of the guys or pretended this was his show. “No, I mean mine. They—” He glanced at the door to the red zone and sighed. “They’re threatening to boot us off the show if I don’t do a spin-off.”
Kasey shifted his weight. Reggie could almost feel the poor kid breaking out in hives. He hated having the cameras around and would’ve quit ages ago if he’d had to work one minute in the red zone.
“None of you will have to be on the spin-off,” Reggie said quietly. “Just me. That’s why I said they’ve got my balls in the vise.”
“What kind of show is it?” Ray smirked. “They putting you on a dating show or something?”
Reggie shot him a pointed look.
Ray stood straighter. Then his mouth fell open. “No shit?”
“You’re kidding,” Kasey said in a loud whisper.
“Nope,” Reggie said. “Not kidding.”
“Shit,” Ray said. “You gonna do it?”
Reggie gritted his teeth. “I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“Really?” Kasey blinked. “Why not?”
“Contract bullshit.” Reggie shook his head. “I can’t believe they’d even ask. I’m a mechanic, not a goddamned movie star.”
“If you think about it, though, what’s the worst that can happen?” Ray shrugged. “You have twelve women who are hot enough to be on TV and desperate enough to use a show to find a husband. They fall all over each other to win you over.” Another shrug. “Seems like a no-brainer to me. You might even get some tail out of the deal.”
Beside him, Kasey rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Reggie grumbled. “Fuck. I have no idea what to do.”
“What if someone else on the crew will do the show?” Kasey nodded toward Ray. “I mean, you’re the big draw, Reg, but every guy on the crew’s got a followi
ng.”
Reggie shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of doing this at all.”
Ray shifted his weight. “But if it’s the difference between us losing our jobs and not….”
“I know.” Reggie sighed. “That’s why I haven’t told them to kick rocks yet. I don’t want to lose the show.”
Ray grimaced. “That blows, man. Don’t know what to tell you.”
“It’s all right. I’ll figure it out.” Reggie looked at him. “Think you can tell Carl I’m busting out for the night?”
“Roger that. Good luck, boss.”
“Thanks.”
Ray headed back into the red zone.
Kasey waited until he was gone before he turned to Reggie. “They don’t know, do they? The network, I mean?”
Reggie shook his head. Oh, there were rumors. Every gearhead on the planet either knew or suspected, and fans speculated all over the Internet, but Reggie had never given confirmation in any direction.
“If they knew I was gay,” Reggie said, “I doubt they’d be trying to hook me up with a woman in front of millions of people.”
“Christ,” Kasey whispered.
Blowing out a breath, Reggie rubbed his neck with both hands. “I don’t know what to do. What I do know is I need a fucking beer.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Kasey nodded toward the rear exit. “I’ll drive.”
Chapter 3
REGGIE COULDN’T get a beer in front of him fast enough. He wasn’t a big drinker—one or two beers with the boys once in a while—but tonight, he wanted to get shit-faced and made no apologies for it.
He was at the far end of the bar with Kasey sitting kitty-corner to him. They both sipped—or, well, gulped—their beers in silence. Kasey was good like that. He’d always been the type who knew when something was wrong… and knew when it was wrong enough that the other person didn’t want to talk. Not about cars, not about the show, not at all. But he still hung around. The company was nice, Reggie had to admit. The fact that Kasey would get both Reggie and his car home was a plus too. They’d taken Reggie’s car because, good buddy and designated driver or not, Kasey did not let anyone puke in his car, even if it was just a crappy little beater.