Sunshine Beach

by Wendy Wax

  “He’s so little, Daniel. And Montana’s not exactly around the corner.”

  He pulled her gently toward him. “I’ll come pick him up,” he murmured. “And I’ll hire a full-time nanny. There’s a great woman named Tabitha Marlowe we once used in London. I’ll fly her in. She’s worked for the royal family. She’s a sort of a combination of the Supernanny and Mary Poppins. I’ll send you her résumé.”

  He was standing too close. She could feel her resistance melting. He was Dustin’s father. She wanted them to spend time together. But that wasn’t all she wanted.

  “You know I care about you,” he said quietly. “I have from the first time I saw you.”

  “Do you keep everyone you’ve slept with on a string like this?”

  “No.” He pulled her closer, then turned so that she was between him and the counter. “There’s just something about you that I can’t seem to let go of.”

  He bent his head. His lips hovered over hers.

  “It’s because I resist, isn’t it? Because you have to work at it.” Their lips were barely a hairsbreadth apart; their bodies were closer. “I should just sleep with you right now. And anytime you feel like it. Just so you lose interest.”

  “You’re wrong,” he murmured, his warm breath mingling with hers. “But I’m willing to test that theory.”

  His lips settled on hers. His hands ran up her sides. Heat coursed through her.

  “Kyra?” Her father’s shocked voice broke them apart. “What are you doing?”

  Daniel let go of her.

  “Isn’t it bad enough you had such a public affair with that overrated, overpaid prick of a movie star?” Her father shook his head. “Now you’re fooling around with the pool boy?”

  Kyra winced. Daniel muttered an expletive under his breath.

  “What?” her father asked, oblivious.

  “This is not the pool boy, Dad. This is . . .”

  Daniel turned and stepped forward. He extended his hand. “I’m not the pool boy, Mr. Singer. I’m the overrated, overpaid prick of a movie star.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “You’ve got to do something about Dad.”

  They sat on the pool deck, drinks and snacks at hand, watching the sunset play out in the sky above them.

  “Would you like to rephrase that as a ‘good thing’?” Despite having invented their “one good thing” ritual, Maddie was having a hard time getting everyone to participate.

  “Fine,” Kyra said. “It would be a really good thing if you did something about Dad.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Nikki asked without much enthusiasm or energy, both of which had been notably absent. “I was thinking we could maybe hit him over the head, put him in a sack, and release him in a different city.”

  “Good grief,” Avery said. “Has it been that bad?”

  Kyra and Nikki eyed her. “Not to offend the woman who was married to him or the daughter he helped produce, but you wouldn’t have to ask that question if you were living here full-time,” Nikki said.

  “I’ve pretty much given up any influence I might have had with your father,” Maddie pointed out. “You’re the ‘host’ here and his blood relation, Kyra. If you’re hoping for different behavior, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when Dad called Daniel an ‘overrated, overpaid prick of a movie star.’ I mean, I get that Dad doesn’t like everything that’s happened, but at least Daniel has a relationship with Dustin. And he certainly put a pretty nice roof over all of our heads, including Dad’s.”

  There was no arguing with this. “So you need to spell all that out for him, sweetie,” Maddie said. “Your father’s life has been turned upside down, and he doesn’t seem to be able to right himself.”

  “So was yours,” Kyra said. “And you didn’t crumble and take it out on everybody else.”

  Maddie shrugged. “We learn the most about ourselves when things fall apart. What we do with what we learn is what counts.”

  Kyra nodded. “I just don’t think I can ask him to leave. He is my father. I love him. And so does Dustin.” She reached for a Bagel Bite. “I really wish I’d had my video camera to record Dad’s reaction when Daniel introduced himself.” Her lips twisted into a smile. “But he just keeps taking exception to everything that happens here. If he doesn’t like how we do things, maybe he does need to go home.”

  Assuming he had one, Maddie thought as they sipped their drinks and watched the sky turn a golden red that hovered over the Gulf like a halo. “Anyone else have a good thing?”

  Nikki roused slightly. “I’m going with the funds we’ve raised so far. Bitsy has committed two hundred and fifty thousand. Annelise and Renée have put in another two hundred between them. And Ray and I have a list of potential sponsors to approach. Once we’ve talked to all of them and see what sort of shortfall we have, I’ll try to get the crowdfunding thing figured out.”

  “Well, that is a good thing. Because right now we have just about enough money to take care of reroofing, and either plumbing or electrical,” Avery said. “Which is really just the beginning of what the property needs. Has there been any response from Lifetime?”

  “No.” Kyra shook her head. “And given that the first episode of the Mermaid Point season airs in less than ten days, that’s not a good sign. If they thought the audience was going to be significant, they wouldn’t be ignoring my calls.” She sighed. “But if we’re looking for another good thing, I think Nigel’s pretty close to giving up,” Kyra added.

  “I still don’t think that’s a good thing,” Nikki said. “And I have to say for a professional Peeping Tom, he isn’t particularly observant.”

  “My good thing is I’m going to a live rock concert. On a private plane. With a backstage pass,” Maddie said, trying to steer the conversation back into the positive.

  “Not to mention getting to sleep with the star,” Nikki said. “Don’t forget to put that on the list.”

  “I do seem to have an overabundance of good things in my life,” Maddie said, feeling the warmth of this truth deep inside. “And that includes all of you.”

  “Well, not to be too half empty,” Avery said, “but it never hurts to stockpile the good stuff. Things are moving in a good direction, but we’re not home free yet on any front.” She put down the Cheez Doodle she’d been contemplating. “I think we all discovered last summer just how unexpectedly disaster can show up and kick the crap right out of you.”

  As far as Kyra was concerned, Avery’s warning was born out when she returned from a morning run the next day and found a strange car parked in front of Bella Flora’s garden wall. A car that turned out to belong to Troy Matthews, Lifetime cameraman and royal pain in the ass. Whom she found seated at the head of the kitchen table, surrounded by the rest of their merry band, devouring a stack of syrup-soaked pancakes. Her mother was at the stove. Kyra’s son sat to Troy’s right.

  “Broy’s here!” Dustin exclaimed, holding his fork aloft, his syrup-smeared face alight.

  “I see that,” Kyra replied, smiling at her son, but not at the cameraman. “What are you doing here? And don’t tell me you just happened to be passing through.”

  “Kyra,” her mother said. “I know we want to set a better example than that.” She motioned toward Dustin, who was swinging his legs happily as he ate.

  “Okay.” Kyra arranged a large and patently insincere smile on her face. “Hi, Troy. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  He smiled the impudent smile that set his blue eyes twinkling. But the man had been shooting them from every possible unflattering angle and light since they’d arrived in South Beach to do over the Millicent and discovered that Do Over had been turned into a reality TV show with them as its stars. Most importantly, Troy Matthews was nowhere near as straightforward as he pretended to be and had often turn
ed out to have some unpleasant trick up his sleeve.

  “I heard you were shooting a series and thought you might need some help,” he said after consuming a large bite of pancake dripping with syrup.

  “Oh, where did you hear that?” she asked.

  “Around.” He lifted a napkin and wiped his mouth.

  She looked at him. “We don’t need ‘help.’”

  “You don’t think a second camera would come in handy?”

  “Not if it belongs to you.”

  He grinned. “You are direct. Which is one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

  “You’re not,” Kyra replied. “Which is why I’m wondering who sent you.”

  “Sent me?” Troy asked innocently.

  “Last time I checked, you were employed by the network with whom we have parted ways.” Kyra folded her arms across her chest.

  Her father watched with interest, but seemed too busy consuming pancakes to speak. Her mother, poised to mediate as always, refilled coffee mugs, then poured the last of the pancake batter onto the griddle. Avery and Nikki followed the conversation as if watching a Ping-Pong match.

  Troy took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, well, I got caught doing a ‘friend’ a favor and I don’t work there anymore.”

  She looked at Troy. He had sent her the Mermaid Point episodes as promised. Maddie, Avery, and Nikki had opted to wait until the series aired to face how the network had dealt with them. Kyra had watched the entire season before making a copy and sending it on to Bitsy. Personally, she’d loathed the camera angles that had revealed their discomfort and ineptitude, burned with righteous anger at each and every extreme close-up of Dustin, and recoiled at the private moments that had been intentionally invaded. But professionally, she could not deny that Troy was a talented shooter and editor and that the episodes, though humiliating, were compelling. Had Lifetime really fired Troy? Or was this some stealth attempt to put someone in their “camp”? “Can you prove it?”

  “Kyra!” her mother said.

  Kyra looked around the table. “He’s been working for the enemy from the beginning. Am I really the only one here who finds this suspicious?”

  “What kind of proof are you looking for?” Troy asked. “A termination letter? The lack of a pay stub?”

  “Maybe the network sent you to spy on us,” Kyra said.

  “Why would they do that?” Nikki asked.

  This was a good question. But the fact that she couldn’t think of an answer didn’t make it untrue. “I don’t know. But the timing seems awfully coincidental. The episodes are good.” The good was grudging. “The new season is about to air, I can’t get anyone at Lifetime to return my calls, and suddenly out of the blue Troy appears, offering to work for nothing.”

  “I didn’t actually offer to work for nothing,” Troy replied.

  “Then this conversation is definitely over. Because even assuming we could trust you, there is no money for unnecessary crew or equipment.” Kyra had no intention of telling him how close to nonexistent the production budget was.

  “I am, however, willing to work for room and board,” Troy said, swirling whatever coffee remained in his cup. “And a share of the profits if you manage to sell the programs we shoot.”

  Kyra looked around the table again searching for allies. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “What harm could he do?” Avery asked. “It’s apparently no longer a secret that we’re shooting a project. And it’s not as if they could take the Sunshine Hotel renovation away from us even if they wanted to.”

  Kyra knew she was missing something, but she couldn’t figure out what. She narrowed her gaze on him. “Much as I hate to admit this, you’re good enough to get hired somewhere else. Or work freelance. You don’t need to work for us for free.”

  “I told you, not free,” Troy replied. “Room and board and a share of the profits.”

  This time the word “profits” penetrated all the noise that had accompanied Troy Matthews’s arrival. Troy had reason to think there were going to be profits. She looked around the room again taking in Avery and Nikki as well as Dustin and her father and mother, who was still flipping pancakes. At the moment all of them were dependent on what they made of Do Over. They couldn’t afford to make a wrong move.

  “Dad,” she said quietly. “Would you mind taking Dustin outside?”

  “But I . . .” Although his plate was clean he began to protest. Her mother walked over and cleared his plate and Dustin’s. Kyra wiped Dustin’s syrup-covered face and lifted him out of his booster seat. Although Steve looked much less happy about it than Dustin, he took his grandson’s hand and left.

  “Now, then,” she said, taking her father’s empty seat and motioning to her mother to sit down. The four of them looked unblinkingly at Troy. As if he were a specimen under a microscope. Or a terrorist in need of interrogating.

  “I feel like I should be radioing for backup,” Troy quipped. “Are you planning to commit violence?”

  “Only if you’re lying,” Kyra said. “Now would be a good time to tell us what’s really going on.”

  “There’s nothing going on. I just . . .” Troy began to protest.

  “You mentioned a share of the profits. Which means you have reason to think the series has value,” Kyra interrupted.

  Troy squirmed in his seat.

  “What makes you think that?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Avery added. “Spill it.”

  Nikki and Maddie nodded.

  “There has been some audience testing,” he admitted.

  “And?” Nikki asked.

  Troy’s smile was slow. They watched it grow. “And the audience loved you. They identified strongly with you. They think you’re ‘plucky.’”

  He grinned at Maddie. “And then there’s the whole housewife with a rock star thing. It’s golden. Not to mention Deirdre dying in the last episode. Half of the audience was sobbing.” He dialed his glee back a couple of notches as he noticed their expressions. “Sorry. Plus the Keys are really hot right now. Netflix shot an original series down there called Bloodline.”

  “So why isn’t the network returning my calls?” Kyra asked.

  “Because they’re trying to make you sweat.”

  “If the show does as well as they think, we could take the new season we shoot to a competitor,” Nikki said. “This is great news.”

  Troy shook his head. “It would be if they hadn’t started leaking all kinds of stories about how impossible you are to deal with. They’re trying to make sure that even if you manage to shoot a full season, the other networks will be nervous about airing it.”

  “But that’s cheating,” Maddie protested. “That’s defamation. That’s . . .”

  “. . . a really sneaky way of trying to make whatever we do less valuable,” Kyra said, her heart sinking. “Crap.”

  “It’s true,” Troy said. “They figure if they can get the other networks to back off, they can swoop in, play the good guys, and get you and the season you’ve shot for next to nothing.”

  “Jesus,” Nikki whispered. “And I thought Lisa Hogan was ruthless.”

  Avery just nodded numbly. Which was exactly how Kyra felt. So much effort had already been poured into getting the Sunshine Hotel, raising money, reopening the tragedy that had impacted Annelise’s and Renée’s lives.

  “Don’t look so glum,” Troy said. “We’re not beaten yet.”

  Kyra stood, squared her shoulders, and looked at this messenger of doom. “You are not a part of ‘we.’ It’s not like you offered us this information. We had to drag it out of you. Thanks for stopping by and all that, but there’s no place in this for you.”

  “Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but you can’t really refuse,” Troy said, coming to his feet.

  Kyra didn’t have energy or breath to
waste. This was her house, their show. Their disaster. An air of desperation hung as thick as the syrup with which they’d smothered their pancakes.

  “When I agreed to send you the Keys episodes without permission, which as I mentioned got me fired, you agreed that you owed me a favor. Moving in and working on Do Over is it.”

  Once again they looked at him numbly.

  “I think I’ll go out and get my gear,” he said cheerfully. “Then you can show me where you’d like me to bunk.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Good God,” Troy complained as he dragged an old and very moldy mattress out of the cottage, then dropped it at Ray’s well-shod feet. “What did you do before you went into design? Run a chain gang?”

  Ray simply pointed the tip of his imaginary whip at Troy and mimed the snap of said whip as he had all morning. Occasionally he’d hummed what he’d said was the old Rawhide theme song that ended with, “Head em up, move em out”—whip crack—“Rawhide!”

  “You can quit the gang at any time,” Kyra told Troy. “No one’s keeping you here.”

  “I came to shoot, not haul furniture,” Troy muttered.

  “There’s no room at Bella Flora for people who only do one thing,” Avery said, to Kyra’s obvious delight.

  “My dad’s even helping,” Kyra pointed out.

  Avery was not the only one biting her lip so as not to mention just how often Steve had to be found and directed through the tasks he was assigned. “There are no specialists on this shoot,” she said instead. “At the moment your muscles are the most valuable thing you brought with you.”

  She had to admit that Ray was efficient and well equipped. He was also succinct. He’d set them to work with a simple, “Steve and Troy will haul out the mattresses and box springs. The ladies will be pulling out the curtains, blinds, and hardware. Things with a black dot are to be disposed of, things with a red dot will be donated, and things with a smiley face”—he whipped bright yellow smiley face stickers from his pocket—“will be repainted, refurbished, refinished, or repurposed.” He had color-coded stickers for each of those options, too.