“Sure.” She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and her autograph pen from her purse and wrote her name.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” The young woman tucked it carefully into a pocket.
“Just a salad? Bor-ing.” Sterling wrinkled his nose. “No wonder you’re so tiny. You should order some real food.”
The waitress slid his plate in front of him—a sizzling hamburger glistening with grease, surrounded by a mountain of golden fries. A plate of carbs and fat rather than a bowl of vitamins and phytochemicals? Never.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked, eyes on her.
“I think we’re good. Thanks.”
Sterling bit into his burger. “Mmm-mmm. Nirvana. That’s a good burger.” Between bites he gestured to her. “Please tell me you’re not a vegetarian.”
She drizzled dressing over her salad and gritted her teeth. Why did he think her diet preferences were any of his business? She ignored the comment and stabbed her salad. “Michael, I believe you brought us to lunch for a reason?”
Michael nodded as he swallowed his toasted club on whole wheat. “I have some great news.”
His overenthusiastic tone suggested he knew she wouldn’t like it at all.
Sterling looked back and forth between the two of them, a slight frown crinkling his brow.
“Sterling’s show already wrapped for the season. So he’s been invited to cohost this episode of Wantland Files with you.”
Sterling returned his burger to the plate and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I thought she knew. No one told her? No one told you? You said you saw the video. You didn’t accept my challenge?”
Her stomach lurched. She nearly dropped her fork in the salad she shouldn’t have bothered ordering. She couldn’t eat now. This guy was here to crash her show—and she was last to know.
Of course she’d seen his video. Everyone had asked her about it. It had trended everywhere. Practically viral. He’d called her a fraud and suggested she allow him to come on her show and prove it. “Proof. That’s all we’re asking for. You’ve never once captured quantifiable evidence of the existence of ghosts. I’ve never met an illusionist whose tricks I couldn’t unravel. I challenge you to a showdown. Let’s match wits. Either you prove you can talk to spirits, or I prove you’re a fraud.”
She’d ignored it, of course. Why let an obnoxious ass like that on her show? She didn’t need to prove anything. Not to herself and not to her fans. This guy just wanted attention.
“I’m an executive producer on the show. I have approval authority. And I didn’t approve this.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re co-exec, Kimmy. And this comes down from RandMeier himself.”
Sterling jumped back in. “RandMeier? You mean Randall Hoffmeier? Top exec of the network? He invited me?”
“Yes, RandMeier is our nickname for him. Inside joke—goes back to our early days. He saw the video and how much attention it’s drawing and thought it was a good idea to capitalize on it to boost ratings.”
She stared at the dressing oozing from the lettuce leaves and collecting on the plate. “My show brings in good ratings, especially for the seven o’clock Thursday slot.”
“You’re trending down this season, sweetie. We want to shake things up a bit. Keep you on top. I think it’s a good idea.” Michael’s soft voice, intended to soothe, almost brought tears to her eyes.
Do not cry. Not in front of Sterling.
“We don’t need to resort to a cheap trick.”
“Hey, now,” Sterling said. “I’m not a cheap trick.” He leaned forward, attempting to make eye contact. “My show may have a cheap budget and air on a cheap network. And I know a lot of cheap tricks. For example . . .”
He held his open, empty hand in front of her face, then reached behind her ear and flourished a penny. “See that? Not even a quarter. Cheap.”
She reached behind her ear. “How did you—”
“But I, myself, am not a cheap trick.” He smirked again.
She struggled to compose herself. “So you think a guest cohost will boost ratings?”
“This guest cohost, yes,” Michael answered. “It’ll be a crossover from our subsidiary network. His fans will follow him to your show. Not to mention all the people who are clamoring for the challenge.”
“Or he may simply alienate my fans. SpookBusters isn’t remotely similar to Wantland Files.”
“I disagree,” Sterling said. “We both dabble in the art of trickery. You pretend to solve ghost problems. I debunk alleged hauntings, manifestations, and cons seeking to prey on the innocent.”
Her pulse hammered. “I am not a con artist. I communicate with trapped spiritual energy. My show isn’t a hoax. And I don’t need to be busted by you.”
Sterling’s eyebrows shot up and that insolent grin twisted across his face again. “I didn’t intend to bust you yourself, but—”
“Relax, Kimmy. RandMeier loves the idea of you two working together. Sort of a Mulder and Scully thing. Sterling will be the skeptic to your believer.”
“It is rather brilliant,” Sterling agreed.
“And I’m last to know. It’s my show, but I’m last to know. Why?”
“Well, they checked with Sterling to see if the scheduling would work before they told me about it. And then RandMeier said he’d let me tell you the good news. He doesn’t know you as well as I do and actually thought you’d be excited about this.” Michael tilted his head. “Or maybe he knows you better than I think. Maybe he said, ‘I’ll let you tell her the good news,’ and then ran to take cover.”
Sterling laughed. “Of course, I jumped at it. I’d work out the scheduling no matter what I had to do. But SpookBusters already wrapped for the season. And we haven’t been renewed yet for next season. We’re on the maybe list. This is just the boost I need. If we get some good publicity, I should be good to go.”
Terrific. He had no interest in helping solve her case. All he wanted to do was save his show. “How exactly do you see this working? While I clean the house of negative entities and spiritual residue, you’ll be trying to make me look like a fool?”
“Not at all. I’ll just be finding the real causes of the imagined ghostly flickers and thumps in the night. There’s always an explanation. I’ve never seen a ghost.”
“That’s because you aren’t in tune with them. You’re too loud and don’t listen. And it does, in fact, sound like you intend to make me look like a fool.”
“Me? Too loud? What?” Sterling made wounded faces at her until she cracked a smile. “It’ll be fun. I’m a fun guy.”
Michael nodded. “It will be fun. And Kimmy will come around. She’s the best. You’ll see. Okay, Kimmy?”
“Seems like I don’t have any choice.”
5
Kimberly flopped down in her makeup chair. One glance in the mirror at her furrowed brow confirmed she needed to calm down and relax. She would need all her energy focused for the walk-through, when she would take her initial readings of the house. With Sterling breathing down her neck, waiting for any reason to call her a fraud, she hoped to find at least one hot spot.
“Uh-oh,” Rosie said. “I can see the lunch didn’t go well. What happened? What do I need to do?” Her makeup artist darted about the tight space, lighting candles and incense.
She dropped her head in her hands and massaged her temples, breathing deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth. “It’s awful, Rosie. I can’t believe they’d spring this on me. No notice or anything.”
“Here. Have some chamomile.” Rosie pressed a steaming mug into her hands. “What’s the awful news?”
“Sterling Wakefield is cohosting the show with me this week. Hoffmeier’s idea, so I have no say in it. I need lavender.”
Rosie did a double take. “Sterling Wakefield? From SpookBusters?”
She nodded.
“Oh, girl, you don’t need lavender.” Rosie scurried to the collection of essential oils on her makeup ta
ble and lifted bottles to read their labels. “You need some sandalwood, vanilla, and . . . cedar. The aromatic equivalent of the come-hither gaze.” Leaving the bottles on the counter, Rosie whirled the makeup chair to face her. “I’ll get a little more of a sloe-eyed smokiness going up here on your eyes. And let’s find you something a little lower-cut. Revealing, even.”
“Can you please stop trying to pimp me out and help me prepare for the show? I need to focus. And this is not a good thing.”
“You get to spend a week working with a hot guy. Doesn’t sound too horrible to me.” Rosie picked up a powder brush.
“Your ex-husband maxed out all your credit cards, emptied your bank account and your house, and took off with another woman. You last boyfriend dropped you off at work and stole your car. I’d think you’d give up on men at this point.” She turned her head as Rosie touched up her makeup.
“I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind putting a little lipstick on the guy. And I don’t mean in the makeup chair, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Rosie lifted a lock of hair and twirled it around a curling wand. “What about you? When was your last date?”
“You know how I feel about relationships. They’re too entangling. Nothing good ever comes from tying yourself to a guy. I need to keep my emotional and spiritual centers open and free. Not all clogged up with relationship mess.”
“But that can clog you up, too. You must be so constricted and repressed. A good romp would take care of that for you. Free you right up. You’d be good and relaxed after.”
“If that were true—”
“It is.”
“I don’t agree. But even if I did, Sterling Wakefield is the complete opposite of my type. He’s crass and glib and noisy.”
“Bet he makes some noise in bed.”
“Would you stop? Have you seen SpookBusters?”
“Of course. And I follow him on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I could look at that man’s face all day.”
“If you follow him that closely, then you should realize he’s not here to help. He’s here to debunk everything I do. Everything I’ve built my career on.” Her voice cracked.
“Okay. I get it. Deep breaths.” Rosie rubbed her shoulders. “Oh, girl. Your muscles are like steel cables. Relax.”
The trailer door opened, and Sterling stepped inside.
“Is this the makeup trailer?”
“It’s my trailer,” she corrected him.
“Oh. Michael told me to see if someone named Rosie could get me some makeup. I’ll take a massage, too.”
He grinned at Rosie, who flushed a deep crimson. He’s good, Kimberly thought, if he can fluster Rosie.
“I need to finish getting ready.”
Instead of taking the polite cue to leave, he closed the door behind him. “This is quite the setup. Candles, incense. Not your typical makeup trailer. Guess you get whatever you want.”
She bristled at the implication she was spoiled. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. ‘I need to finish getting ready’ means I need to relax and focus. Which means I need to be alone. I’ll let you know when Rosie is free.”
He held up his hands. “Whoa. Didn’t mean to offend. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Thank you.”
He grabbed the door handle, then paused. “You know, I’ve been looking forward to working with you. I think this will be fun. I can tell you don’t, but I hope you’ll change your mind.” He left, closing the door with a soft click.
Rosie resumed freshening up Kimberly’s long, loose curls.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, in slow, measured breaths. The lavender soothed her as she focused on relaxing each muscle in her body and freeing her spiritual center to perceive whatever entity had disturbed Danielle.
“There. You’re ready.” Rosie’s tone was off.
And now that she thought about it, she realized her makeup artist had been unusually silent since Sterling had left.
She opened her eyes. Rosie gave her “the look.”
“What? Why are you upset?”
“You were kinda rude to Sterling.”
“I was honest with Sterling,” Kimberly corrected her.
“I think you hurt his feelings. You could at least try.”
“Try what? Try to pretend I’m happy he’s invading my show and making fun of me?”
“Try to be a little gracious. He was invited here. You probably ought to try to pull it off if for no other reason than to keep your boss happy. And seriously, you can’t tell me your pulse doesn’t race a little bit when he smiles,” Rosie said.
“It definitely does not.”
“Sure. And your cheeks are turning pink right now because . . . ?”
“I need to go inside. Might as well get this over with.”
“Good. Send Sterling in. It’ll be just the two of us.”
“Looks like you get to put some lipstick on him after all. Be gentle,” Kimberly said.
“I don’t have a shot. He’s dating some supermodel right now. Pics of them are everywhere.”
“And you wanted to tart me up for him?”
“Duh. You’re much better than some model. You help so many people. And you two would be adorable together,” Rosie told her.
“He’s not my type. But thank you.” She smiled and hugged Rosie. The woman always knew when she needed a boost. Even when she didn’t realize it herself. The compliment eased her mind far more than the candles and incense. “You know how much I rely on you, don’t you?”
Rosie beamed. “I got your back, girl. Send that hottie in here, and go do your thing.”
6
“How do you want to handle this?” Kimberly asked Michael. “Since we already recorded the opening sequence without Sterling?”
“I did that on purpose. I want to let him make an entrance during the initial walk-through.”
“Right. Big, splashy entrance.” She rolled her eyes. Typical.
“And you’re going to smile and look thrilled to accept his challenge when you announce he’s joining you.”
Her stomach churned. “I’m a clairvoyant and a clairaudient. I am not an actor.”
“You’re a what?” Sterling’s grating laughter hurt her ears.
“Mr. Wakefield.” He didn’t look flushed or embarrassed. Rosie must have decided not to pounce yet. “I see you decided against lipstick.”
“Just a little powder. To tone down my natural brilliance.” He flashed a grin. “And please, call me Sterling. We’re cohosts now. No need to be so formal.”
“You’re a guest on my show for one week. Not a cohost.”
Michael spoke before Sterling could respond. “We were discussing your introduction. Kimmy will introduce you—”
“You mean Kimberly.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. She coughed a few times and attempted to signal the buffoon to shut his face. He didn’t look.
“Well, she’s Kimmy to me.” Michael looked at Sterling like a parent indulging a precocious child.
Could she get close enough to Idiot Wakefield to kick him squarely in the shins—repeatedly, if necessary—before he caused irreparable damage? Not without Michael noticing.
“Michael was just explaining I get to announce you and bring you in during—”
“Seriously, Michael, she hates it. She hates being called Kimmy.”
Silence descended. She felt the eyes of the crew on her.
She took a deep breath to calm her thumping heart. What a jackass. Why did this second-class hack think he could waltz in here from his low-rated, crappy show on a two-bit station and butt into her business?
Michael’s head swiveled in her direction, his brow furrowed, eyes questioning.
She arranged her face in what she hoped resembled confusion. She shrugged and shook her head.
“Tell him the truth. Or were you lying to me when you instructed me to call you Kimberly because you hate Kimmy? You’r
e lying to one of us. That’s what you are—a liar.”
She gaped at him. What provoked this?
Michael’s face fell. The right side of his mouth drooped. Great. The lopsided half frown typically preceded tears. She did not need this drama when she was about to perform an initial reading.
“Kimmy?” Michael’s voice quivered.
Sure enough. Here came the tears. Terrific. They needed to shoot, and her director was about to lock himself in a room and cry his heart out. She had to put a stop to this.
“Michael, this is nonsense.”
“No one else calls you Kimmy, though,” he choked out.
“Exactly. No one else calls me Kimmy. It’s our special thing. Why would I let this . . . this . . . interloper call me by your pet name?”
Michael’s features relaxed. “Yeah?”
“Heck, yeah. Yes. Absolutely.”
Sterling clapped. “That’s the story you’re going with? Well, you nearly convinced me. My apologies, Michael. But just wait until the cameras are rolling. I’ll prove she’s a liar.”
Michael shook his head. “Given how long we’ve known each other, I’d like to think you could be honest with me. How much have we been through? Let’s just start the walk-through.” He looked over his shoulder, then the other shoulder, then spun in a circle. “Stan? Where’s Stan? Anybody seen Stan?”
When she was certain Michael was out of earshot, she whirled on the traitor. “How could you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Crush his feelings like that.”
“I think honesty is important. Obviously you don’t.”
“I want you off this show.”
“Afraid of a little competition?”
That stupid, annoying smirk. She shook, attempting to control her fury, and spoke through clenched teeth. “You are not competition. You are nothing.”
He squared off in front of her and crossed his arms. “We’ll let the audience decide who’s nothing . . . but a liar.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“What is wrong with you? What about everything you just said in my trailer? Did you not mean any of it?”
“Shhhh.” He covered her mouth with his hand, glancing about as if she’d said something scandalous. “Don’t let anyone know we were alone in your trailer.”
The Wantland Files Page 3