Lights, Camera...Kiss the Boss

by Nikki Logan

  The crowd echoed his toast, and the sound of clinking glasses resounded through the stylish bar. Carrie and Brant touched glasses to her left. Ava looked up and met Dan’s eyes, and he raised his bottle of designer beer in silent acknowledgement and then brought it to his lips as the lights started to dim. She couldn’t get her eyes off those lips. She knew, firsthand, how that bottle was feeling. Only when the room got dark and the titles for Urban Nature began to air was she able to drag her focus off his mouth.

  She let her breath out slowly in the darkness of the now quiet room. The opening titles finished and the show began. Brant’s handsome face, even better-looking on television, beamed out at them. His voice was warm and rich as he introduced the audience to the Urban Nature concept and his new co-host and designer, Ava Lange.

  Ava saw her own face fill the screen. She looked far more together than she remembered feeling; the editing team had done a fantastic job of placing overlay footage at those places where her composure had faltered. She and Brant worked well together, and it was clear immediately that there was a whole team working on the install.

  A load lifted from her as she realised the network hadn’t pulled any swifties regarding the true number of people working on the installs. No one would be in any doubt about how many people it really took to create the finished garden. She’d heard on the grapevine that Dan had negotiated ruthlessly to affect those changes with the network this season. Her season. Would he have made the same call had she not put such a priority on maintaining integrity?

  Her credibility was thus far intact. She settled in to watch, her drink untouched.

  Six minutes later the show broke for the first of many commercials. Ava glanced nervously around the room as the lights rose and saw nothing but smiles. Gradually the silence morphed into a murmur of excitement. Then a throng.

  ‘I’d say we’re onto a winner, hon,’ Brant said, beside her. ‘You’re quite amazing up there. Completely…’ He struggled for the right word.

  ‘Vibrant.’ Dan spoke from immediately behind their booth, and Ava leapt at his unexpected closeness. ‘You’ve both come up trumps. Congratulations.’

  ‘We should say the same to you.’ Brant tipped his head in courteous acknowledgement.

  Dan slid onto the seat by Ava’s side, leaned over and clacked his beer against the one offered by Brant. The move pressed his body against hers.

  Her blood thrummed. The booth was small, and the addition of Dan only made it smaller. His heat soaked into her and she struggled not to think about the many places where he was touching her. His thigh, his hip, his long muscled arm. Fire rose in her cheeks and she squirmed. Not thinking about touching only made her flash back to the other night. Something she was trying hard not to do. How those powerful arms had felt crushing her to him. How his hands had dwarfed her face as he cupped it. How he’d spread his thighs to bring his mouth closer to hers. Oh, that mouth….

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Dan’s breath tickled her ear as he leaned in close to speak.

  She nearly yelped. The question encompassed more than just the show; she could see it in the smoky depths of his eyes. Was this an olive branch? Lord, she wanted it to be. She missed him, pure and simple. The kisses had been to die for, but she wasn’t sure they were worth the arguments or the days of frosty silent treatment afterwards. The hurtful, lingering silences.

  For the first time she began to understand why he had left back when she was sixteen. The cleanest cut.

  ‘Pleased so far. It’s good, Dan.’

  Warmth flashed across his expression and she struggled to read it. Was it pleasure at her compliment or that she’d accepted his peace offering? Whatever, she found it hard not to bask in the hint of warmth in eyes that had been arctic for days.

  ‘I haven’t seen you around at the house.’ She leaned in close, keeping her voice low in the hubbub. Only a trusted few knew she and Dan were sharing a roof. The move only increased the number of places their bodies touched. Her nerve-endings sang. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘I’ve worked late quite a bit this week. End of financial year reports, market analyses.’

  Avoiding you, he might as well have said.

  But she was no different. How had she known Dan wasn’t home? Because she’d worked late every night, tucked up in her Winnebago in the car bay next to his empty one. There was something sad and lonely about that—the two of them burning the midnight oil, working towards the same goal, yet in complete isolation from each other.

  ‘Dan, I—’

  The lights dimmed again and a hush fell in the room. He threw her a long look as he slid out of the booth. In the sinking darkness his fingers brushed against hers and then he was gone. She stared at the giant monitor but saw nothing. The tingle in her fingers from where he’d accidentally touched her spread like spilled champagne.

  If it had been accidental?

  They’d done it. Everyone in the room held their breath until the final name rolled on the credits, and then a rousing cheer went through the bar. The show was good—better than good—and everyone knew it.

  Drinks flowed and the conversation grew deafening as excited people tried to talk over other excited people. The energy in the room quadrupled, and Ava got caught up in the maelstrom of sheer goodwill. After the first couple of shouted compliments—which she struggled to accept without flushing—it became easier to smile, to receive the good wishes with grace.

  The editing team were the heroes of the night, their work being the major contributor to the pace and atmosphere of the programme. They’d lifted it from the realm of commercial lifestyle television to somewhere higher, and they’d taken everyone involved in its creation right along with them. It was nothing like their competition.

  Ava didn’t realise she was searching the room until her eyes found their target. Across the bar, Dan flipped his cell open and answered. He turned half away and plugged his other ear with a finger, as if that would lessen the cacophony. Ava watched him closely, trying to guess what he was saying. His eyes widened, and then closed briefly before he lowered the phone. But he didn’t snap it shut.

  He called again for quiet, and had to employ the help of several others when he was roundly ignored by the masses. Eventually the noise level reluctantly dropped. He spoke quickly to his assistant producer and turned away.

  ‘Preliminary figures have us at eight!’ the assistant whooped.

  Another cheer, more whistling and clinking of glasses, a second round of backslapping. Brant had warned her anything above six on the rating scale was good news. An eight was fantastic news. She looked around to congratulate Dan, just in time to see him slipping out of the bar, the phone still glued to his ear. She pushed towards him, but not fast enough.

  In the end her whispered congratulations smacked against the door he disappeared through.

  ‘Say that again, Bill?’

  Dan slumped against the wall of the lift, his pleasure at rating an eight short-lived.

  ‘They were every bit as popular with the real audience as they were with the test one. We want you to ramp up the Ava/Brant thing. Put some spin on it.’

  ‘Spin.’ The word was like a curse.

  ‘Maddox has made some bad choices in his career. Not in terms of his work, God knows, but his personal life. The number of times the network has had to bail him out of one seedy bar or another, or pay off some skank who’s trying to make the headlines…Someone like Ava could be the best thing for his reputation. Put a bit of distance on those bad choices.’

  Who cares about Maddox? Dan closed his eyes. ‘She won’t do it.’

  ‘Persuade her. Convince her. Lie to her for all I care. Just make it happen. I want apple-pie Ava Lange and bad-boy Brant Maddox firmly connected in people’s minds this time next week. I don’t care if they’re out buying milk—you make it look like they’re scouting for a home.’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  The silence was ugly. But Dan could play that game; he’d been ra
ised on it. He waited Kurtz out.

  ‘I’m giving you first refusal here, Dan. Out of respect. But if you won’t do it I’ll task it to the spin department. I don’t care who gives it to me just as long as I get it. Lange and Maddox are the next it-couple on the East Coast.’

  Dan thought furiously. He’d seen what the sharks from PR had done before. No way was he throwing them Ava. But that meant he had to work her over himself. Kurtz was counting on that. This stank of a set-up.

  Kurtz had just declared war.

  Was this how evil did its thing? No shadowy horned creature standing at a crossroads at midnight. Just a whole series of moments like this one, with choices that could be justified if you talked long enough. When someone asked him to compromise just a little piece more of his soul.

  On those occasions, Dan just looked to the thing inside him that surged in his gut and drove him like a wild-eyed racehorse. A vivid memory of a sneering voice and a brutal hand and the damage that both could inflict to a young boy.

  But under no circumstances was he throwing Ava to the PR sharks. He took a breath and ripped off another chunk of his soul. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Kurtz didn’t even bother to disguise the gloat. ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

  Dan slammed his phone shut on the mirrored wall of the lift, his mind racing. Publicity was essential to a programme’s success, and it would naturally focus on the two hosts to some degree. His job now was to make sure that he could spin the spin.

  Control the beast.

  But that meant controlling Ava. Good luck with that! If she found out about this, there was every chance she’d end up hating him. If she didn’t already hate him for running out on her the other night.

  She’d never believe for a second that both were for her protection.

  He shook his head. Was there really that much difference between him and Maddox? His father had always said he was as faithless as his cheating mother, and in this at least good ol’ Pop might have been on the money. He visualised Ava’s beautiful face in the bar downstairs, the trust that had flowered so easily after a few days of hostilities between them. Then he imagined betraying that trust.

  If this was going to work he’d have to depersonalise things. Sever those golden rare threads of attraction that had started to string between him and Ava. It was an all too seductive luxury that he just couldn’t afford.

  He swore under his breath and sent the lift to the foyer.

  ‘Want to share a ride home?’

  Home. The word sounded so comfortable coming out of Dan’s mouth. Almost possible. Ava let herself be guided out of the bar by the hand at her back, squeezing past the still celebrating crew and network personnel. The warm night air kissed her skin as they emerged onto the street. Dan glanced around for a taxi.

  ‘How do you feel about the ferry?’ Ava asked, waving onwards the taxi that had spotted them. ‘I could use the walk.’ And some uninterrupted time with you. Ten minutes to Circular Quay, fifteen crossing the harbour, and another ten strolling home from the Neutral Bay pier. Plenty of time for what she was hoping to say.

  It was time she laid a few demons to rest. And established a few boundaries.

  Dan set off on an incomprehensible route towards the quay, through bustling night streets lit mostly by the fluorescent shop-fronts and fast-food signs which lined them. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, and the city still bustled with diners, shoppers, sightseers and late workers heading home. He cut confidently through all the passers-by just a step ahead of her, making her path effortless. He was so comfortable in this city, such a natural part of it.

  ‘Okay, Ava?’

  The man could sure read her. ‘I was just thinking that I could drive a tank through the main street in Flynn’s Beach this time of night and not see a soul.’

  His lips quirked at the memory. ‘Different world. Each has its merits.’

  They emerged onto George Street and turned towards the Sydney Harbour Bridge in all its glory against the night sky. They moved with the crowd surging towards Circular Quay, where a fleet of large green ferries came and went like a rapidly changing tide, taking people across the harbour and up-river.

  Dan slowed and stepped in beside her. ‘It took me a while to get used to Sydney time. It works differently to the rest of the country.’

  Ava looked at the throng of people around her and shook her head. ‘I’m struggling with the idea of six months, and you’ve been here six years.’

  ‘You get used to it. It gets in your blood.’

  ‘I thought you’d have picked a beach property? To be close to the surf?’

  His glance flicked to the bridge. ‘I needed a clean break from surfing. It wasn’t something I could just do casually. But I couldn’t face the idea of watching other people do it out of my window.’

  A clean break. He seemed to have so little difficulty making that kind of cut. She visualised his favourite surfboard and wondered if Old Faithful felt as strongly about his amputate-the-limb approach.

  Surfing. His father. Her.

  The throng paused momentarily at an intersection, and then surged ahead as the crossing lights changed. Dan directed her carefully, with a hand at her lower back. As warm as she already was on the typical Australian summer evening, his palm seared its print on her skin through her light dress.

  At the quay, ferries came and went, servicing the many luxury properties along Sydney’s extensive waterfront. Dan and Ava broke away from the general crowd and crossed to where the Neutral Bay ferry sat waiting for passengers travelling across-harbour to the ritzy suburb. The lights of the Opera House cast an eerie glow.

  Dan led the way to the enclosed upper deck, close to an open window. Fresh salty air streamed in as the massive engines roared to life and they rumbled out into the harbour.

  Ava settled in for the fifteen-minute trip and did her best to ignore the heat surging from the man next to her. It wasn’t easy. He’d shrugged off his jacket so only the thin cotton of a designer shirt stood between her and the hard expanse of his chest.

  That chest. Two deep breaths were barely enough to get her composure on an even keel.

  ‘Feeling okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m just…puffed out from the walk.’

  ‘Yep. No one strolls in Sydney.’

  She shifted uncomfortably on the green plastic seating. ‘Why did you come here?’ she asked.

  ‘This was where the work was.’

  ‘There was work at home.’

  His eyes darted to the lights of the city, receding behind them. ‘I couldn’t be who I needed to be in Flynn’s Beach.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  Waves crashed relentlessly on the ferry’s bow. ‘Someone new. I needed to reinvent myself.’

  ‘What was wrong with your old self?’

  ‘Nothing. He’s still in here somewhere. But to do what I wanted—want—to do, I needed a blank canvas. I needed to be anonymous.’

  She looked at the city where he must have known practically no one six years ago. ‘You certainly got that. Did you not feel that old Dan could make it here?’

  His fists clenched and unclenched on his lap. ‘I was barely more than a kid, Ava. Dan-the-Man—king of the small town waves. How seriously was that guy going to be taken in Sydney?’

  ‘So you just killed him off? Cut him off, just like surfing?’

  Just like me?

  His jaw clenched. ‘Having nothing, knowing no one, helped me focus only on my goal. My career.’ His eyes found the blinking lights of the far shore and home. ‘I wouldn’t have any of this if I hadn’t taken the risk.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean you’d have nothing. You’d just have had different things. Why do you want this particularly?’

  He spun round to pin her with his eyes. ‘Same reason you do. To be the best. To be the first. You create gardens; I create television shows.’

  ‘I design landscapes because I want to help change people’s a
ttitudes to nature. Why do you want to create television shows, specifically?’

  She couldn’t fault his drive or question his success. Even if some of his methods didn’t seem ideal, if the gossips were to be believed, Daniel Arnot was on the fast track to running his own network one day in the not too distant future. That sort of success didn’t come without a cost.

  But did that have to include his soul?

  ‘Because I want to be…’ He dropped his eyes and his voice. ‘Because it’s important to me to succeed.’

  ‘I get that. But why the mammoth drive? Why do you burn with it?’

  He nailed her with his gaze. ‘Because I want to be better than him.’

  A tiny light came on in her mind. His father. Mitchell Arnot owned a small chain of garages along the southern coast. He was one of Flynn’s Beach’s leading businessmen.

  She frowned. ‘I think it’s safe to say you’ve eclipsed his success ten times over, Dan.’

  ‘Eclipsing is not enough. I’m aiming for total annihilation.’

  Well! That was a conversation-stopper. If not for the agony in his eyes she’d almost be afraid of the hate also burning there. Ava had wondered what had driven Dan away from his father, but her parents had never shared. She’d gleaned a few things from the town gossips—a hippy mother who left him when he was barely walking, and a difficult relationship with his father ever since—but nothing that warranted that level of response.

  Lord, a public ferry was so not the place for this discussion. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘What did he do to you?’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  He might as well have slapped her in the face.

  He swore and barely met her eyes, speaking softly. Pained. ‘I can’t talk about this with you, Ava.’

  She willed herself to be patient. Not to react to the hurt. ‘Have you talked about this with anyone?’

  The silence stretched. The ferry chugged. ‘Your father. He helped me to…moderate…my feelings.’