by Tawna Fenske
“He’s a professional,” she said mildly, glancing at Viv and Jonah to make sure neither looked alarmed.
They were both engrossed in their packets. Kate turned the page and skimmed the bio on the second couple. Roger and Abby, married for eight years with two young kids under the age of five. Roger complained Abby was never in the mood for sex, and Abby complained that Roger didn’t help around the house.
“The oldest story in the book,” Jonah murmured, taking the words right out of Kate’s mouth.
“So sad,” Viv said, tapping the page with one manicured fingernail. “Sounds like they had a terrific sex life right up until their son was born.”
Jonah flipped to the next page. “If by terrific you mean they both enjoyed dressing up in animal costumes and humping each other in public places, you’re right on the money.”
Viv glanced at Chase. “Is humping better than boning? Because I think either would be better than fucking, but I want to make sure we’re all on the same page here.”
“All depends on who’s doing it, babe,” Jonah muttered.
Kate’s face heated up, and she was grateful both Viv and Jonah had their eyes glued to the words on the paper as Chase muttered something about fine-tuning language preferences at a later time.
“There’s nothing wrong with the animal costumes,” Viv pointed out. “Furries are becoming more mainstream every day, and it’s important for these two to have a shared passionate interest—one we should help them to rekindle.”
Jonah looked up and locked eyes with Kate, and a lightning bolt hit her straight in the libido. “Did you guys go out of your way to pick freaks and drama queens?”
“Judgment, Jonah,” Viv sang again, but Jonah ignored her.
Kate cleared her throat. “Certainly the couples we’ve identified have characteristics and interests that maximize their entertainment value.”
“Fair enough,” Jonah said before looking back at Viv. “So what would you recommend for our friends Roger and Abby?”
A flush crept into Viv’s cheeks, and Kate wanted to kiss Jonah for deferring to her. For knowing the right tone to set in casting Viv as the expert. She crossed her fingers that formula would keep working.
“Well,” Viv said, “I think they could benefit from some alone time. Regular date nights, any opportunity where someone could take the kids for the night. Do they have family nearby?”
Amy nodded. “The wife’s parents are both in town and available for sitter duty. We already looked into that possibility, anticipating you might suggest a romantic getaway.”
Someone from the product-placement team piped up from across the table. “Brasada Ranch resort in Central Oregon offered to put them up in one of their luxury suites for the weekend. Romantic dinners, sunset horseback riding, the whole nine yards.”
“That place is amazing,” Kate said, making an effort to avoid Jonah’s eyes. Did he remember that as the site of their imaginary wedding?
“I hear it’s very romantic,” he said. Kate felt his gaze on her, but she refused to look. Her face was burning enough as it was. “Mountain views and little bunny rabbits hopping all around.”
Amy caught Kate’s eye and frowned.
“You okay?” she mouthed.
Kate nodded and picked up a glass of water from the conference room table. She downed it in two gulps, earning herself a baffled look from the props-department girl to whom the glass belonged.
“Sorry,” Kate whispered. “I’ll get you another.”
“A romantic getaway does sound nice,” Viv continued, thankfully unaware that Kate was considering a leap out the window. “A change of scenery could certainly help a couple in crisis, and we could do some on-location filming.”
“I agree,” Amy said. “As an alternate destination, there’s a vineyard we could send them to with—”
“Or we could order them not to touch each other.”
All eyes swung to Jonah. Amy frowned. “What?”
“No touching.” He set his packet on the table and crossed his ankle over one knee. “At all. Hands off completely. Tell them it’s to preserve the sanctity of the counseling process or some shit like that.”
Amy frowned. “Do we really want to tell a married couple they’re not allowed to have sex?”
“He’s right, actually.” Vivienne folded her hands on the table and glanced at her ex. “In a case like this, what you’d hope to have happen is that the couple will be titillated by the hands-off rule.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “You want them to fail?”
“Not fail, exactly,” Viv said. “The goal is to create a sense of unity from their mutual rebellion.”
“The goal is to get everyone laid,” Jonah added. “Orgasms do wonders for unity, especially if they’re supposed to be off-limits.”
Across the table, Chase banged a hand on the back of the empty chair next to him. “Fucking brilliant,” he said. “Reverse psychology at its finest.”
“I agree,” Luke said, and Kate wondered if she should start recording the number of times he uttered the phrase. Was that three or four?
Amy scribbled furiously on her notepad while Kate began mentally sketching out how much of this they could show on television. Obviously they couldn’t follow the couple to bed with cameras, but they’d be miked up outside the bedroom. She’d have to make sure the cameraman captured any suggestive banter beforehand, any discussion of plans for an illicit tryst. And if the conversation didn’t flow the way they needed it to, they could always make it work in editing. Maybe an interview segment with one spouse, and then a cutaway shot with a little frankenbiting, piecing the clips together to make it look like one solid—
“What about this couple here?” Jonah said. “The third couple on the list. Suzie and Ken. This one sounds pretty toxic. Name calling, finger-pointing, blaming—”
“At least they’re communicating,” Viv pointed out. “It’s the couples who’ve shut down completely that are harder to help. The ones who aren’t even trying to make themselves understood.”
“There’s a big difference between listening to understand and listening to reply,” Jonah shot back. “Trying to make yourself heard isn’t the same as making an effort to hear someone else.”
Viv tapped her pen on the table and looked at Chase. “I’d suggest an immediate communication workshop. They could benefit from learning NVC.”
“Nonviolent Communication,” Kate supplied, thrilled to see the master at work. “That’s a great idea.”
“Learning compassionate communication tools is essential here,” Viv continued. “Also establishing some basic rules, like making a habit of never going to bed angry.”
“I disagree,” Jonah said. “For some couples that’s pointless. Trying to resolve everything before hitting the sack just makes people irritable and sleep deprived the next day. It’s better to get a good night’s sleep and talk once you’re rested.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. I Never Have Any Problem Falling Asleep,” Viv countered. “Some people can’t fall asleep when they’re upset or stressed or—”
“So what do you want them to do, stay up all night screaming at each other?” Jonah interrupted. “Look, it’s simple science. Did you read the study last month that talked about the importance of sleep in replenishing the adenosine triphosphate molecule that serves as energy currency for the body? When the ATP molecules are depleted, the body can’t—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Chase interjected. “Let’s save the science speak for Dr. Viv. Jonah, you’re doing great when you stick with things about boning and orgasms. All the things viewers want to hear from Average Joe.”
Kate bit her lip. She watched Jonah’s eyes flash. Saw him clutch his pen in one fist and look down at the page. She took a deep breath, wondering if she was about to see his famous temper flare.
But Jonah said nothing.
Kate clapped her hands together. “Look, why don’t we take a break for a little bit?” she suggested. “
It’s clear tensions are running high here, and there are going to be some kinks to work out before we reach a point where we’re ready to start filming.”
Jonah looked up, then set the paper down on the table and pulled off his glasses. He dragged his hands down his face and sighed. “I think it’s clear this isn’t working,” he said. “All we’re going to do is argue. No one wants to see a couple of exes squabbling.”
“Actually, you’re wrong there,” Chase said. “This was brilliant. Absolutely perfect.”
“I agree,” Luke said. “Viewers love these kinds of fiery interactions.”
Kate resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wondering if the man had ever had an original thought. But at least he was right.
“It’s exactly what they want to see,” Amy agreed, glancing at Kate before looking away quickly. “The arguing, the shouting—this is all great for ratings.”
Jonah gave her a skeptical look. “Are you serious? People want to watch us fight on a show about trying to save doomed relationships?”
“Judgment, Jonah,” Viv said. “They’re not doomed. They’re coming to us for help. To determine if things can be saved.”
Jonah dragged his hands down his face again, and Kate had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around him.
“God help them,” he muttered, and picked up his packet again.
Jonah tossed his keys on the dining room table and headed straight for the fridge. He was pretty sure he had a beer in there, maybe even two left over from the six-pack he’d grabbed a few weeks ago.
Right now he wanted nothing more than to crack a cold one and sit down on the couch with a bag of chips and a good book.
You should probably skip the book, his brain chided. Might as well turn on ESPN and get back into character as Average Joe.
He sighed and rounded the corner into the kitchen, then stopped in his tracks.
A ball of fluff blocked his path, her white feline face and silvery whiskers a startling contrast against the explosion of black fur that made up the rest of her body. She was lying in front of the fridge, white paws stretched sphinxlike in front of her.
The cat opened her eyes and took him in. “Owl,” said Marilyn.
Her eyebrows lifted in silent reproach, and Jonah felt like a kid caught egging the neighbor’s house.
“What?” he said. “I was just going to get a beer.”
The cat stared at him with huge gold eyes, the beauty mark making her look like a judgmental prom queen. She twitched her tail and sighed as though his presence was a grave inconvenience.
Jonah crossed his arms. “What, you’re my mother now? I just want a beer.”
“Owl.” The cat stayed fixed in front of the fridge.
“Look, I’m not going to let you start dictating my beverage choices,” he pointed out, ignoring the fact that he was arguing with a cat. “I happen to like beer. I don’t care if wine seems more sophisticated. I know for a fact there are a couple of pumpkin ales left in the fridge, and maybe even an IPA—” Jonah sighed and dragged his hands down his face. “Why am I having this conversation?”
Marilyn sniffed and yawned, then twitched her tail again. It would be easy enough to nudge her out of the way of the fridge, but for some reason Jonah didn’t have the heart. He heaved another sigh, then turned and grabbed a lukewarm bottle of iced tea from the pack he’d left sitting on the counter God knows when. He popped the top and took a swig, then yanked open a cupboard door and pulled out a bag of chips.
“You win, cat,” he muttered as he headed for the living room. “You’ve obviously pegged me as a guy who’s used to being overruled by a pushy female.”
“Owl.”
Jonah stalked toward the sofa, his steps accompanied by the tiny tinkle of a bell. Either fairies were stalking him, or Marilyn was on the move, jingling the collar he’d managed to wrestle onto her the night before. He glanced over his shoulder to see her trotting along behind him, disapproval radiating from her like laser beams.
She’d decided he needed to be monitored.
“This okay?” Jonah asked as he dropped the chip bag onto the coffee table.
The cat said nothing, but jumped up onto the arm of the sofa and stared at him. Jonah sat down and grabbed a paperback off the coffee table. He’d dog-eared the page where he’d left off—a habit that used to bug the crap out of Viv—and flipped to the middle of chapter seven. Grabbing a handful of chips, he began to read.
“Owl.” The cat head-butted him—hard—then jumped onto the coffee table and gave a half-hearted sniff at the potato chip bag. Deeming it unsuitable, she hopped to the opposite arm of the couch, the one closest to Jonah. She curled into the shape of a comma and began to purr against his ribs.
Jonah looked at her, then shook his head. “You’re a strange one, cat.”
He went back to reading, settling against the couch with the book in one hand. Somehow, his free hand found its way to the cat’s slender body, and he began stroking the silky fur. She purred louder and tilted her rump to give him a better angle.
The book had held his interest all week, but for some reason it wasn’t cutting it. He’d read the same paragraph three times and still had no idea what it was about. He would have liked to blame the cat for the distraction, but that wasn’t it. He couldn’t even blame Viv, really, though she was part of it.
He did blame himself, though. For falling back into old patterns in that damn pre-production meeting. For letting his ex get under his skin. For arguing just for the sake of argument, instead of because he gave a shit.
For not being able to keep his mind off Kate and what she might’ve been wearing under that slim black skirt and her silky blouse the color of caramel. Did she wear sleek satin underthings, or basic white cotton? Black lace thong or conservative bikini panties in nude?
Focus, dipshit, he ordered himself.
He’d just flipped the page in his book when the doorbell rang.
“Owl.”
“Yeah, thanks. I got it.” Jonah heaved himself off the sofa. He expected to see the UPS woman with some package he’d ordered on Amazon and forgotten about, same way he did every week.
What he didn’t expect was Kate. She was standing there on his front porch like he’d conjured her with his thoughts. No longer wearing the skirt and silky blouse, she’d changed into jeans and a blue sweater that looked unbearably soft. Cashmere, maybe, and Jonah realized that if he opened the door instead of standing here staring like an idiot, he might find out for himself.
Kate met his eyes through the floor-to-ceiling side panel window next to the door. She lifted a hand in greeting, but there was something timid in her expression. An uncertainty he hadn’t seen before in her face.
He opened the door, half-nervous about why she’d come, half-thrilled-to-fucking-pieces she was here.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
Kate started to nod, then stopped mid-gesture and shook her head. Her odd coppery eyes glinted under the porch light, and he watched her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath.
“We need to talk.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kate saw Jonah hesitate as she stood there on his doorstep, feeling the glare of his porch light beating down on her like a spotlight. She took a deep breath, wondering if she should have come here at all. If she should have kept texting or maybe sent an e-mail.
Then he stepped aside and waved her into his home, and Kate released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Come on in,” he said. “I was just helping the cat get settled.”
Kate looked at Marilyn, who was standing on the back of a tan leather sofa with her eyebrows arched in silent judgment.
“Hey, kitty,” she said, stepping over to stroke the cat’s ears. “I’m glad he decided to keep you.”
“Me, too,” Jonah said, and Kate thought she caught a note of embarrassment in his voice.
“You’re her hero.”
“Please,” he muttered. “I’
m her butler.”
“Same thing to a cat.”
Jonah shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her, probably wondering what the hell she was doing in his living room. “I’d offer you a beer, but the cat doesn’t seem to approve.”
“Your cat disapproves of beer?”
“Apparently the cat I acquired to break free from my ex-wife’s pet ban is now enforcing my ex’s beer ban,” he said. “Don’t think the irony is lost on me.”
Kate laughed, relieved he was still joking with her. That he wasn’t as pissed as she knew he had a right to be. “That’s okay,” Kate said. “I’m not really a beer fan anyway.”
“Not a beer fan?” Jonah shook his head in dismay. “What’s wrong with you?”
Kate grinned and scratched the cat under the chin. “Just because I happen to think Budweiser tastes like a skunk that’s been run over?”
Jonah made a face. “It does taste like that. Budweiser? Are you serious?”
“That’s the only beer I know of.”
“Do you live in a cave? Haven’t you had real beer? Not Budweiser or Coors some other mass-produced, yellow, fizzy mess. I’m talking craft beer.”
“Isn’t all beer pretty much the same?”
Jonah shook his head a little sadly, and Kate wondered if this whole conversation was his way of distracting her from what she’d really come to discuss. Wasn’t it male habit to shut down any conversation that began with a woman saying, “We need to talk”?
“Don’t stereotype!” Viv urged in her brain. “Making generalizations about the person with whom you’re in a relationship is a one-way ticket to conflict.”
But since she wasn’t in a relationship with Jonah, and since she was standing here in his living room hearing echoes of his ex-wife’s voice in her head, maybe the whole point was moot.
Kate stroked her hand down the cat’s back again, soothed by the soft rumble emanating from Marilyn’s fluffy body. “Look, I’m sorry about just showing up like this,” she said. “I tried texting and calling, but there was no answer, and I really wanted to talk with you privately.”
“I shut off my phone,” Jonah said. “I wasn’t in the mood to debrief with Viv about how today went.”