by Piper Rayne
I lean back from my computer, pulling my cold brew to my chest. “I’m a little worried.”
“Worried about?”
Needing to stand, I get to my feet. I shouldn’t admit this to him, but we’re in this together. He needs to know my weaknesses as I do his. “I’m not like you.”
“You might not have an ass like mine, but your rack is better.”
I spin around. He winks, and I shake my head at his need to use humor to deflect whenever someone is vulnerable with him.
“I’m not outgoing and personable. I can’t come up with one-liners on the fly. Why do I have to film too?”
He leans back, his arms resting on the arms of the chair. He’s so relaxed. How can he not have a care in the world? “You hate me. Let that shine through. The audience will love it.”
I shake my head. “But—”
“Oh crap, don’t tell me I’m growing on you.”
Oh no, not at all. I just masturbated to thoughts of you last night.
“As if.” Even I’m not convinced of my answer.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do enough to piss you off, but maybe we should figure out our roles before we go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Research. Selma said the camera crew will be up here next week, so I have to send them all the details of where we’re going. We have time to figure out who we want to be on camera. I say we watch the most famous reality couples and pinpoint why they’re successful.”
The fact that he’s not smirking says he’s serious. “But it’s reality. Why can’t we just be ourselves?”
“You think reality stars don’t act? Remember Selma said some of them amp up their personalities to stay on the shows?”
I chew on my nail. He has a point. Could I really act like someone else and not come off as fake?
“And we’re in agreement, what we get paid goes into the company?” I ask.
He nods. “One hundred percent.”
So I’m doing this for my dad’s company, which is the whole point anyway, even if I have no idea what’s going to happen after we turn this place around. “Okay, that’s a good plan. Let’s start tonight. You can come to my hotel room.”
“Um, no, you can come to my house. I’ll even order in dinner.” The phone on his desk rings and Denver presses the speakerphone button. “Hey, Nancy.”
“Mr. Thorne is here to see you.”
“We’ll be right there.” He presses the button and keeps his eyes on me. “Tonight at six?”
I nod, still nauseated about the idea of being on camera.
“Then let’s see the man who’s going to make it rain for us.” I circle toward the door, but Denver puts his hand on the door, stopping me from opening it. When I look up, he’s looking at me with earnest eyes. “I won’t let us fail.”
My breath hitches and I nod, unable to say anything. Is he purposely coming close and saying nice things to me? Oh shit, he could be playing me. Masking himself as someone he’s not, just to steal the company from me.
He opens the door before I have the nerve to ask him and smacks on a huge smile that seems genuine. “Griffin, it’s been too long.”
They shake hands and shift into a manly hug where none of their body parts actually touch.
Griffin’s eyes zero on me over Denver’s shoulder. “And who’s this?”
Denver steps back from their embrace and puts his hand out toward me. “Cleo Dawson, my business partner.”
“Business only?” Griffin asks.
“Yes.” I step forward and shake his hand. It’s soft. A complete contrast to his messy shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair and more-than-scruffy beard. He’s a total heartthrob.
“Nice to meet you, Cleo.” His eyes lock with mine, and I might imagine our wedding for a moment.
“Dad!”
That imaginary walk down the aisle comes to a screeching halt.
“Maverick, come here.” He waves a kid over from the old quarter-for-a-handful candy machines.
I’m sure the candy is ancient. Note to self, get rid of them.
“They got candy,” Maverick says, not moving.
“Yeah, yeah, in a second.” Griffin looks back at us. “I’m divorced,” he says a little lower, presumably so his son doesn’t hear. “He’s six, so we switch midweek right now.”
“I want it now!” Maverick says.
“And I told you in a second.” Griffin walks over and physically picks him up, which spurs Maverick to kick him in the shins.
“I have some candy in here.” Nancy rounds the front desk, holding out a wrapped butterscotch candy.
Bless her heart.
“Here you go, Maverick.” She holds it out for him.
He stares at it as though it’s a ticking time bomb. I peek at Denver, and we make eye contact. He understands exactly what is about to transpire and my heart is already breaking for Nancy.
Maverick knocks the candy out of Nancy’s hand with a slap. Griffin sets Maverick down and lowers his voice. Nancy looks at the boy as if he’s the spawn of Satan, a tear in her eye, and disappears to the restroom. Denver and I awkwardly stand around and try to act as though we can’t overhear Griffin scolding his unremorseful son.
“Sorry, we’re still treading the waters of divorce and Maverick is adjusting. He’s really not a bad kid,” Griffin says.
We nod as if we’re in agreement.
“Yeah, I tested my limits too,” Denver says.
“Still does,” I say.
Denver nods like 'good one.’ All I can think of is how these are going to be our new roles. Do I need to mentally come back with one-liners for us to be successful?
“You’re funny,” Griffin says.
I straighten my back. “Not really.”
“She’s funny at my expense,” Denver says.
I pinch his cheeks. “It’s too easy.”
“You sure you’re not a couple?” Griffin asks.
“No!” we screech in unison.
He holds up his hands and steps back. “If that’s a fact, maybe try not to be so defensive about it.”
I’m not about to explore what he said. “He’s like a little brother,” I lie.
“Bigger brother.”
“Older?” I offer.
“I prefer the word bigger.”
I roll my eyes. “I think little is a better word.”
Griffin laughs and Denver puts me in a headlock, giving me a noogie. When did we turn into a brother-and-sister duo? I’m not sure, but maybe it will help push away my disturbing urge to mount him.
Thirteen
Denver
Wok For U has delivered the food, and I went through Phoenix’s DVR recordings earlier to pick the reality shows we should watch. I purposely didn’t buy any alcohol because my attraction to Cleo is growing, and just like prescription drugs and alcohol don’t mix, Cleo and alcohol won’t either. That combination would most likely result with us in a bed or her knee to my nuts when I tried something. And I kinda like my nuts where they are.
Phoenix walks down the stairs and rounds the corner, eyeing me putting the food on the counter. “Date night?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
She steals a piece of orange chicken and flops down on the couch in the family room, grabbing the remote. “Nope. That’s the great thing about being the most unsuccessful person in your high school class—you never have anyone to hang out with.”
“You have siblings. Eight of them actually.”
She puts her hand toward me. “And I’m hanging out with one right now.”
“Where are the rest?”
She licks her fingers, cleaning them one by one as if she’s eating barbeque. “I can’t hang with Juno and Colton anymore. They’re getting annoying, constantly acting like they’re just friends.”
“I think they are just friends.”
She rolls her eyes. “We both know they aren’t. Though I did hear Colton talk about going out on a date.”
; “What did Juno say?” I put out some plates.
“She said she thought it was a great idea.” She rolls her eyes again.
I’m used to Phoenix’s marble eyes. The girl used to be so sweet and kind, but after adolescence, a different Phoenix emerged.
“Well, it’s her business. Stay out of it,” I say.
“So I heard a rumor that Griffin Thorne was in town today. Thanks for nothing, big bro.”
She refuses to look at me this time, and I blow out a long breath. This is going to be a problem with us.
“Where did you hear that?”
“I’m stalking Griffin.” Her sarcasm is not welcome. “Where do you think?”
I pull out my phone and open the Buzz Wheel website. There I am, front and center again. Well, Cleo and me.
“It’s a cute picture though,” Phoenix says.
The picture is of me holding Cleo up outside my truck when she almost fell on those ridiculous boots with spiked heels. I skim the article about how a reality TV show is coming to town and Griffin Thorne is going to save Lifetime Adventures. The picture they use of him is from the Grammys two years ago. Of course it also mentions how Cleo and I have been seen joking and smiling as of late. I might have to have a conversation with Nancy about gossiping about us. Then again, what do I care? I’ve been in Buzz Wheel ever since it started. I’m sure it’ll even report my death someday. Who gives a shit? I’m not that interesting of a person.
Phoenix stands and heads back to the counter. “So you like her?”
“She’s okay.” I shrug as I grab the silverware.
“I don’t remember ever sliding my hand along a person’s thigh if I thought they were just okay.” She plucks another piece of orange chicken from the container, and I take a fork and pretend to stab her hand.
“She’s hot, but I’m not going to do anything about it.”
She nods. Her expression screams ‘yeah right.’
“I’m not. I want to get this company up and successful for both of us.”
“And then what? Like, what’s the game plan here?”
I lean back. What is our end game? Sell? Buy one another out? Work it together? “One step at a time. We’re just trying to get it profitable right now.”
The words from Chip’s letter resonate with me again.
The doorbell rings. Although I wish Phoenix had anywhere to go but here, there’s no reason she can’t hang out with Cleo and me. So I allow her to answer the door since she’s like a dog wagging its tail to play.
“Hey, Cleo,” she says.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, I look down the hall and see them hug, which surprises me. Phoenix doesn’t get attached easily, but I could tell at the Sunday dinner she liked Cleo. Probably why she caught me touching Cleo’s thigh at the dinner table.
“Hi, Phoenix.” She holds up a bag from Liquory Split. “Are you twenty-one?”
“Just celebrated with my twin in New York three months ago.” She takes the bag and eyes me.
I pray there’re only wine coolers in there, so I have no temptation.
“Hi, Denver,” Cleo says, walking by me in another pair of skinny jeans and a short sweater.
I’ve never been so turned on when there’s this much clothing on a woman. Following her, I inwardly groan from staring at her ass.
Definitely no alcohol.
“I got Chinese food. Hope that works?” I ask.
“Perfect. I love it.”
Phoenix dishes herself a plate and holds one out to Cleo. “So you scoured through my DVR and didn’t pick any of the reality music shows?” Phoenix sits on the comfy chair and picks up the remote.
“We need drama. We want to find out what people love about them,” I say, handing Cleo a fork.
She thanks me, and my eyes zero in on her lip gloss. It’s like runway lights and those lips are waving at my lips to land.
“I’m pretty sure I’m boring as far as reality TV goes. I once tried to watch one about a group of people who were stranded on an island. They either came off as arrogant, stupid, or crazy.” Cleo sits on one side of the couch and tucks her bare feet underneath her, placing her food on the side table.
I dig through the bag she brought, finding a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine. Shit.
“Okay, girls, what do you want?” I hold them up.
They point at the wine before continuing to talk to one another. Phoenix is pleading her case as to why I should introduce her to Griffin, and Cleo’s nodding in understanding as if I’m the Grinch stealing Christmas.
Once we’re all settled and I’m on the opposite side of the couch—as far as I can get from Cleo—Phoenix presses Play on the first reality show. One revolving around a small southern town and a group of friends. I try to concentrate on the arguments and the bickering, but my eyes stray to Cleo’s bare feet with pink toenail polish snuggled under her perfect ass.
Damn, I’m screwed.
Three hours later, I’ve heard more bitching and moaning than I did living with my five sisters in their teens. I’d say I’m done with reality TV for right now.
Cleo and Phoenix are heavy into the one about the housewives, Cleo remarking on how similar some of them are to her mother and her friends.
It goes to commercial. Phoenix is refilling her glass of wine, and neither Cleo nor I get up to retrieve the remote to fast forward.
“Do you miss Dallas?” I ask.
She shrugs and sips her wine, the residue of her lip gloss on the edge of the glass. “Not really.”
“Your mom?”
“I should, but sadly, not really.”
“You aren’t close with your mom?” Phoenix sits down in the chair and faces Cleo. Either she’s doing all this to butter her up to talk to Griffin about her music or she genuinely enjoys Cleo’s company.
“We’re really different.”
“Well, you’re not like those women.” Phoenix points at the television. “You don’t seem as plastic as your stepsister either.”
Cleo laughs and nods. “Mean Girls?”
I’m clearly not in the loop, but I’m not going to interrupt them to find out the piece I’m missing.
“She’s not a mean girl,” Cleo says. “She’s just grown up with privilege and money—an enormous amount—and never worries about not having it.”
“You did too though?” Phoenix poses it more as a question.
I slide a little closer because I assumed the same.
“I lived in the same house. My stepdad bought me a car at sixteen. My college was paid for. I reaped a lot of benefits, but it’s not like I have her trust fund money. When she turned twenty-five… well, let’s just say she doesn’t have to work for the rest of her life if she doesn’t want to.”
“And she doesn’t?” Phoenix asks.
Now I’m glad she joined us. I never wanted to pry into Cleo’s life—God knows I hate when people pry into mine—but I’m happy for my sister to.
“She wants to be a weather girl, so we’ll see. She really is awesome. Her good side gets hidden by the effects of her upbringing sometimes, but her heart is good.”
I smile at that. At least she has Bridget if she doesn’t have either of her parents.
“What’s it like to live a life like that?” Phoenix has leaned in, her eyes wide.
Cleo laughs. “Like what?”
“With kids who have access to everything?”
Cleo’s smile wilts and my heart tugs. “It’s hard when you’re not one of them. They accepted me because of Bridget and my stepdad, but I heard the murmurs about my gold-digging mother. Girls are mean, and as soon as any guy showed me a little attention, their claws could be sharp.”
“But you got to go on vacations and spend four hundred dollars on a pair of jeans.”
Phoenix is enamored with the high society life. I worry that’s one reason she’s chasing singing. Her star has always been brighter than the rest of ours. Her voice is unparalleled, but maybe because she was so young when our
parents died, she missed the one lesson they always taught us. It’s not the quantity, it’s the quality of friends.
“I just never fully fit in there.” Cleo twirls her wine glass.
Phoenix remains quiet. I wonder if she feels as if she doesn’t fit in here and understands how Cleo feels. I’ve always loved Lake Starlight and never dreamed of living anywhere else, even with how tempting running sounded. Especially after Rome ran away to Europe.
Phoenix turns in her chair. “Well, you’re fitting in here.”
“Except when people look at her feet,” I joke.
Cleo laughs and punches my arm. “I like my shoes.”
I like them too. Especially her heels. But she’s not going to be able to hike up the mountain next week in those.
She and Phoenix continue to watch the reality show and joke about who Cleo could act like and whether we should pretend to be a couple, which sounds appealing only because spending the night in a tent with her sounds like winning the lottery right about now. To have those smooth feet with pink toes running up and down my legs… maybe Phoenix has a point.
“Maybe we should?” I say out loud before thinking the whole thing through.
“Should what?” Cleo asks.
“Act like we’re a couple. Our fights will make it all the more appealing to people.”
“Or you could toe the line of are we, or aren’t we?” Phoenix suggests. “You can be annoying like Juno and Colton and act like you don’t love one another.”
Sleeping in the same tent with Cleo sounds much more appealing than what my sister is suggesting. “Nah, I say we go couple.”
Cleo pales and she bites on her lip as though I’m not selling her on the idea. “Um.”
“It’s perfect,” I urge.
Cleo looks at Phoenix, who’s crazy enough to believe it’s the right choice. She nods.
“Are you doing this to get me to sleep with you?” Cleo asks.
Man, she knows me well.
“Well, I can’t lie that there’s a bonus to the arrangement.”