“I’m still getting used to the idea of having a store in the first place.” She chuckled a nervous sound. “I’ve been going through mail, tying up some loose ends. You know, trying to get grounded. But none of this, as I said, compels me to sign on for national TV to come in and…” She stopped herself by taking a sip of her wine. “It’s just not something I feel comfortable with.”
“How about the financial contribution provided by the show? I’m sure you could use the ten grand we invest in your store.”
Her gaze flitted across the room, and he followed it. A mountain of envelopes was stacked on one side of a small desk, and the trash can beside it brimmed with wadded paper. Rylee swallowed hard and gave her hair another toss with her hand.
“Well, yeah, who couldn’t use ten thousand dollars? But seriously, I’m just not comfortable having cameras and, um, you hovering around here while I figure out what I’m doing.”
Unable to look away from her eyes, he came to a conclusion. She was attracted to him. Despite that unimpressed look on her face, the jutted chin, the wary eyes, she felt the same tugging he did. Based on the clear message he read in her green eyes, that wasn’t a good thing.
He filled his lungs with air, and the whoosh of release cleared his thoughts. If she wasn’t attracted to him, she might be more interested in letting Wirth More help her. Different time, different place, he’d seize this moment. But not now. Not with all he had on the line.
“Look, I guarantee you’ll be glad you signed on to do the episode. We tape on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Each day we’re on site about six hours—”
“Six hours?”
That quick jab of a comment convinced him he had more work to do. “It goes by quickly. You’ll see. First off, though, I’d go over your financials with you. Find out the status of things.”
“No way.” She sipped her wine. “Are you kidding? No way.”
“That part wouldn’t be televised, Rylee. That would be between the two of us. I need to know where the store stands so I can figure out how best to help it.”
She lifted her wineglass again and closed her lips over the rim, tilting her head back for another taste. The pulling sensation ignited low in his belly. He closed his eyes to regroup. He had some wine. “Look, it works like this. On Monday you and I meet with the production team and go over the paperwork.” Those green eyes of hers filled with a big hell no, but he barreled on as if he hadn’t seen it. “It’s just a simple contract stating you allow me and my crew to film the episode. Later that day and the next, I do an assessment of the store. We, you and I, decide how best to use the ten grand. We film the next three days, and our part is done. The editing and all that stuff takes place without us.”
She was quiet, her mouth quirked up on one side.
“So how about it, Rylee? Who kicks a gift pirate in the mouth?”
“Ha-ha.” She turned her attention to the pot on the stove. She sank a ladle into the soup and stirred. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she bit down on the pillow of her lower lip. “Would you like some soup?”
“Sure,” he said, feeling a twinge of success.
****
Rylee stood on her side of the island while she tasted the soup, watching Darius lift his spoon to his mouth. His lips closed over the bowl of the spoon, and she was riveted to the business of his swallow—the Adam’s apple bobbing, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. Zoom. Holy mackerel, she was so screwed. Her mind roiled with the decision at hand. Could she really walk away from ten thousand dollars when all those unpaid bills mocked her from across the room?
Oh, Rosie, how’d you get me into this predicament?
On the other hand, filming the show would take just a week. One stinking, lousy week and then he and his reality show would be gone from her world. And she’d be on the other side of panic with the financing of Rosie’s Bridals. Could she do it? Could she stand it?
“Ask me any questions, Rylee.” He spooned more soup. “This is great, by the way. You make it from scratch?”
“With my mom.” She laughed and shook her head.
“Why’s that funny?”
“Let me put it this way. My mom and I don’t typically do things together. We’re more like tugging on the opposite ends of a rope.” She poured more wine into his glass and then her own. Holy smokes, he was cute.
When his bowl was empty, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for that. It hit the spot.” He lifted his wineglass. “And for the wine. Good thing I’m not driving.”
“Holy mackerel.” Rylee dashed to the window. “I forgot all about the snow.” She peered out the glass pane. The sidewalk was virtually invisible under a white fluffy blanket. Oh God. She had to get this guy out of here.
“How is it out there?” He got up from the stool and came around to her side of the room and stood next to her to peer out the window. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” She turned to face him. She hadn’t realized how close he was, and her heart was a lone sock in a dryer—flapping around and around in her chest. “You, uh, think you can get to the hotel in this?”
His mouth curved up on one side, and his eyes twinkled “If I leave right now.”
It was odd how relief and disappointment careened around in her chest at the same time. Two trapped bumblebees zipped around, chasing one another.
“Let me get your coat.” She all but ran to the coatrack by the door.
Darius pulled on his coat, and while his hand tugged a lazy path with the zipper, he cocked his head and flashed her an inquisitive look. “So, Rylee MacDermott, you weren’t too keen on my buying you that cup of coffee that day. But will you let me help Rosie’s Bridals?”
And like that, one bumblebee in her chest killed the other one and zoomed a victory lap around her ribs. “I’d meet with the people from the show on Monday?”
“Yes. I’ll be there as well.”
As if that were any comfort. She had to be a big girl and do this for her grandmother’s shop. There was a reason the old woman put it in her hands. She had believed Rylee could rescue it. So she would. “Yes, then. I’m in.”
“That’s great.” He touched a hand to her arm. “You won’t be sorry.”
She already was, but that was beside the point. The shop, the money, and Rosie’s legacy were more important than this guy’s ability to make her zoom.
At the open door he turned to her. “Thank you.”
She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even swallow.
“For trusting me to help your shop. I’m already getting the idea how much it must mean to you.”
Her insides flooded with heat. This guy was reading her, and she felt naked. Her right hand floated up and gripped her left shoulder. An arm shield.
“Oh, and thanks for the wine and the soup too.”
“You’re, uh, welcome.”
“Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I’m curious about something.” He gave her a half smile. “What made you decide that I resemble a pirate?”
Heat bathed her face, and things inside her body thumped. A drum beat. A rhythm she wanted to dance to.
After a hard swallow, she managed a shrug. “I don’t know. The face, I guess, and, uh”—she waved her fingers at him—“probably that hair of yours.” Too much wine and too much thumping prevented her from shutting the hell up. She wagged her index finger toward his forehead. “And your, um, eyebrows, the way they kind of arch like that.” She pointed at his face. “They’re doing it now, as a matter of fact.”
Darius stepped closer and gazed down into her eyes. “Is that a good thing?”
She laughed because something had to fill the space between them. “I don’t know.”
He stepped closer still, his breath so close she could feel it on her face. He smelled of wine and the woods. His mouth was so near. That pillow of a lower lip all but had her name written on it.
“Well, maybe it’s the wine,” he said. “But I’m kind of flattered.”
&n
bsp; Thump. Thump. Zoom. “You are?” She tightened the grip on her shoulder.
“Yes.”
“It, uh, was just an observation, really.” The words trailed off into a whisper.
“But that’s off the record.”
Rylee swallowed hard and found her voice. “What do you mean off the record?”
Darius Wirth moved a step away and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “My producers and the sponsors frown on any involvement between the host and anyone associated with a business we’re filming.”
Heart stammering, she focused on the result, the zoom this pirate gave her be damned. So it was a godsend that the fine people at Living Loud TV had that rule. Maybe that would work better than her flannel pajama pants that were supposed to make them immune to each other.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem whatsoever.” She shook her head. “Not at all. None. Zip.”
“Okay, good.”
“Okay, good.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Did you say you’re going to be on TV?” Zen Angie’s mouth gaped open. “Why? What’d you do?”
“I’m not going to be on America’s Most Wanted,” Rylee said. “Sit a minute. Let me give you the lowdown.”
With her mother and Sonny’s eyes locked on her face, she explained the situation. Periodically, the pair gave each other side-glances, clearly straining to keep their focus on Rylee.
“You see,” Rylee piped in, “it makes all the sense in the world.”
“Seems like it. And, wow, ten thousand dollars. That’s a godsend.” Sonny sounded enthusiastic, but that was him. Life was one big happy surprise to a guy like him.
Godsend. Rylee mulled over the word. A gift horse. Suddenly, an image of a dark stallion came to mind, the steed charging across a field, its muscles rippling, body glistening from exertion, mane whipping behind him. She had to stop thinking about Darius in any way other than the means to a ten-thousand-dollar end. No more old movies either. They had a way of tainting her view of reality. Darius Wirth was not Flicka, and he was not her friend.
Zen Angie slapped her knees with a familiar gesture. “Well, then,” she uttered. It was her way of saying there was nothing she could do about her daughter agreeing to be on a reality television show. Which meant she thought Rylee was nuts, or rather that her daughter was once again making crazy decisions.
She’d prove her wrong. This one time. She would.
****
Her conversation with Kit went better. The two of them did an impromptu jig, arms around each other, right in the middle of the day inside Rosie’s Bridals.
“Honestly, Kit, when I saw all the bills that need to be paid, I thought how the hell am I going to pull this off?”
“And think about this. The publicity for the shop is going to be big. I mean, Wirth More is nationally televised. You couldn’t ask for a better situation. And the icing on the cake, of course, is working side by side with that hunky host. Every girl should have their very own pirate.”
Rylee shook her head. “No, no. None of that, friend. Darius Wirth is strictly off limits.”
“Says who?”
“Says him, for one. And the show execs apparently. No fraternizing with the little people, I guess.”
“There’s ways around that.” Kit flashed a wicked grin. “When the episode’s all wrapped up, you can keep company if you’re so inclined, can’t you?”
“No. It’ll get back to the media, and it’ll look biased or something. I don’t know. But whatever, he’s a no go.”
“But if he weren’t?” Kit smirked. “I suspect the guy makes you zoom.”
Rylee returned the wicked grin. “Since we’re just talking what if, I’d ride him like a horse and put him in the barn wet.”
Kit laughed with her mouth open, face turned up to the ceiling and hand clutched to her chest. “So is this what happens when a guy makes you zoom?”
“Yup. And leave it to me to zoom for a guy I can’t go near.”
“That’s going to be a toughie.”
Rylee took in the interior of the bridal shop, eyed all that needing doing. Despite their cleaning efforts, the place still looked kind of outdated. She thought of Rosie, whose pride in the place was undeterred. Rylee wouldn’t ruin this opportunity with her girlish crush. Besides, Darius Wirth probably had a pack of women hot after him.
****
On Monday Rylee found herself in Hoboken in the reception room of Living Loud TV. The woman behind the desk fielded phone calls and periodically looked up from her task to give Rylee a reassuring smile. Her stomach was a clenched fist, and her lungs made of rock. Her hands in her lap gripped her purse as if it were a life raft and she were out at sea awaiting the coast guard to find her.
She let her gaze filter to the large wooden door to the left of the receptionist, which a woman carrying a stack of files stepped through. Was Darius in there already? Was there a premeeting going on in there? No matter how hard she tried to still her mind, she could not. It whipped around with regret, but she would not let the moment get to her. She couldn’t. She had to do this.
****
“We’re putting all our eggs in this basket, Darius. Are you sure this woman isn’t a screwball? I mean, if the video that college kid sent me were to go viral, it could make us look like idiots.”
“Jake, trust me. This is the business we need. A nice young woman who was bequeathed a bridal shop she has no idea how to keep afloat. It’s a gift that landed right in our laps. Meet her and see. She’s nice.”
“You’ve said that already. I’m going to trust you, buddy, because time’s up. After we meet with her, we’ll report to Parker Paper that we’re ready for production.”
“Great. This will buy us a second season. You’ll see.”
“Because she’s nice.”
“Just meet her.”
“Call her in.”
****
Darius sat beside her while his boss, Jake Somebody, went over what to expect. He sounded matter of fact about how the camera crew would be up in her face, all over her life like a swarm of flies on roadkill. But it wouldn’t be for long. The crew would be at Rosie’s Bridals for three sessions, and then her part in the production would be done.
They wanted to start right away. Wednesday. Her heart did a flip. Didn’t they say TV made people look heavier than they really were? Could she lose ten—no, twenty—pounds by Wednesday when this was already Monday? That was going to be a tough one, considering that all morning she couldn’t wait to attack the bag of peanut M&M’s in her purse. Oh God, what was she doing?
They all shook hands, and she was given a folder of the paperwork Darius would go over with her in detail while he assessed the needs of her business in the coming days.
In no time she and Darius were alone in the room, a space too large for the sense of crowdedness that gripped her. Get used to it. There could be plenty of times in the coming days when she and Darius would be alone in a room. She took even breaths to still her mind, but each intake was teased with the piney scent of his cologne. She’d been wrong to expect relief when the meeting ended. This wasn’t the end of her nervous breakdown. It was the beginning.
Chapter Nineteen
Jake came back into the conference room with his big, gratuitous smile painted on his face. “Will you excuse us a sec?” he said to Rylee.
She uttered a soft “sure” and headed for the door to the reception area. Her hair bounced as she walked and caught the glint of the overhead lights.
“I won’t be long,” Darius called after her.
After she left, Jake gave Darius’s shoulder a fisted jab. “You were right about this one.”
Not sure if this was Jake’s typical sarcasm, he folded his arms and waited for more. He clenched his jaw.
“She’s likeable enough, and we can use that wacky tendency she’s got to our advantage. Play it up.”
“What are you talking abou
t? What wackiness?” His jaw ached.
“Come on, bro. Tell me you saw the way the coffee spoon fell out of her cup and she used her shirtsleeve to mop up the spill.” Jake looked up at the ceiling, and a crack of laughter escaped from his throat. “You can’t script this any better.”
Darius blew out a lungful of air. “No, I didn’t see that. But so what? She was nervous. That was all. Still not sure what you’re getting at.”
Jake slung an arm around his shoulder. “What I’m getting at, my thickheaded friend, is that the audience is going to love that she’s imperfect, and our happy-ending bit will be smooth like butter.”
Darius never liked the part of the show Jake dubbed the “happy-ending bit.” Yeah, it made for better drama, but it was always at the expense of the store owner’s nerves. The time they deliberately had the cardboard companies deliver the wrong-size pizza boxes for Brothers’ Pizzeria nearly sent the eldest brother to the hospital with palpitations. The ploy worked for the show’s sake, true, but Darius didn’t like it, and somehow pulling a deliberate prank like that on Rylee pissed him off.
“What happy-ending bit are you talking about, Jake?”
“Oh, we’ll think of something. Don’t worry.”
****
Before she knew it, Rylee was driving Darius to Rosie’s Bridals. His presence beside her in the car squeezed her insides. His nearness drew gooseflesh over her body, like being trapped with her own worst nightmare. Just inches away sat a guy she wanted to put her hands on and yet was forbidden to touch. Where was tequila when you needed it?
Luckily, he carried the conversation, asking her questions about what she envisioned for the store, what were its greatest needs. All business. And to contradict him was the scent of his woodsy cologne that might as well have been blowing kisses at her.
At the shop they sat together at Rosie’s desk and went over the paperwork. She’d been almost afraid to use the calculator to tally what she owed for utilities and creditors. Why hadn’t Rosie talked to her, or anyone as far as she knew, about the arrearages? To her dying day, Rosie had been the sweet, smart woman with the indelible smile ready for every single would-be bride who graced her shop.
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