“Oh, please,” Meagan pleaded. “You’ll be great and everyone will love you.”
“We hope,” Darla replied. “We both know there is no certainty in this business.”
“You two are not good for each other,” Blake said, moving a finger between Meagan and Darla and then lifting his chin at Sam. “I just spent hours on a plane with Darla from New York and she freaks herself out enough. Together, it’s clear that they are dangerous to each other’s sanity.”
“And everyone around them,” Sam readily agreed.
“We need to have Darla and Lana change seats,” Blake suggested, “so there’s some distance between Darla and Meagan.”
Was he really trying to jockey for her to sit next to him? And did he really think that wasn’t obvious? Darla gave Blake an incredulous look and kicked him under the table.
“Ouch!” Lana screamed. “Someone just kicked me.” She rubbed her leg. “Who did that?”
Darla’s eyes went wide. Blake burst out laughing. Meagan looked between Darla and Blake, then to Lana, and immediately turned to her husband. “Sam,” Meagan scolded. “I told you to be careful with those big, long legs of yours.”
Oh, thank you, Meagan! But Blake barked more laughter, and the rest of the group was looking their way. Darla considered kicking him again, only she hadn’t kicked him in the first place, so for safety’s sake, she settled for a glower and a silent promise that she was going to kill him. He laughed louder. “Stop laughing!” Lana ordered Blake. “It hurts.”
“I’m so sorry, Lana,” Meagan said, squeezing Darla’s leg under the table, telling her she knew darn well who had kicked Lana. Meagan eyed her husband. “Sam. Apologize.”
“I didn’t—” Sam grunted, and Darla had a feeling Sam had just gotten pinched or kicked himself “—mean to,” Sam finished. “I didn’t mean to kick you, Lana. I’ll be more careful. Sorry about that.”
Lana scowled at poor Sam. “Remind me not to sit next to you. I’m going to have a giant bruise.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sorry again.” His gaze slid curiously between Blake and Darla. “I think I want to hear about this deal—ouch.” He grimaced at Meagan. “Would you stop that?”
Darla’s heart leaped. She couldn’t speak and couldn’t breathe for that matter.
The deal was about to be exposed.
7
“DEAL?” BLAKE ASKED IN REPLY to Sam, but his attention stayed on Darla a moment before flickering to the other man. “Did I say deal? I meant truce. Darla has agreed to forgive me for our past ‘incident’ for the good of the show. Rick is on his own, though. Where is he, by the way?”
“I don’t remember saying that I forgave you,” Darla said and eyed Meagan. “And yes. Where is Rick? I’m looking forward to giving him a nice warm greeting.”
“He’s doing a charity baseball game and won’t arrive until late tonight,” Meagan said and pursed her lips. “And you better behave when he arrives. You promised me you two would play nice.”
“Of course,” Darla assured her. “I just want to have a little one-on-one chat with him to make sure I don’t become the brunt of any more of his attention-grabbing schemes.”
“I already tackled that,” Meagan promised, lowering her voice. “Rick knows I’m trying to keep this a top-quality talent show, not an extension of a tabloid.”
“Which, as Meagan mentioned,” Sam added, “is a tough task once you get six young men and women in a contestant house for eight weeks. The cameras are rolling, the hormones are high, and the weekly live competitions and eliminations are always hanging in the air. But Meagan and I learned from last season. We’re determined to run things better this year.”
“Even if the studio doesn’t believe they’re better,” Meagan commented. “They love scandal because they think it equals ratings when, in reality, it’s our ability to appeal to families that gets us powerful advertisers we’d lose in the long run if we tainted our image. It amazes me that the suits are so blinded by short spikes in numbers, rather than the big picture. Yet, they’ll cut us in a heartbeat if I let their strategy dominate the show and it fails.”
“Back to the topic of Darla and Rick,” Blake said. “The press is absolutely going to try and stir up their past conflict. It’s what they do—stir the pot. So even if you talked to Rick, they’re going to bait him and Darla, and they’ll likely make stuff up if that doesn’t work.”
Meagan sighed. “I assumed as much.”
“Yeah, I know, which is why I say I interview Darla and Rick together tomorrow and address the past then, where I can control the outcome. We’ll be able to shut down all speculation and rumor because all three of us will be together.” Blake gave Darla a quick nod. “I’ll cut extra footage that you can use exclusively on your show and some on mine. Then we both win. Everyone wins.”
“It’s a good plan,” Sam agreed quickly. “We then head off at least one story the press will be chasing and maybe stop one headache.”
It was a good plan, Darla thought, and she actually found herself wondering if she’d wanted an excuse to see him again all along, that tonight had never been about just one night. Good grief, she was so clearly not good at handling men. “How do you feel about the idea?” Meagan asked, studying Darla.
“How do you feel about it?” Darla asked.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Meagan said. “If you’re okay with it.”
Darla nodded and glanced at Blake. “But I want us to talk to Rick in advance. I want to know what’s going to come out of his big mouth before he says it.”
“Expected and understood,” Blake agreed, gaze raking her face. “Now I just have to convince you to do a full interview on my show before I have to head back to New York.”
It felt as if her stomach had done a somersault, which set off all kinds of warning bells. She couldn’t risk a bad judgment call—a misstep tonight that might hurt her contract over something that was going nowhere. He clearly had an agenda and she was part of that agenda. His deal had conveniently been made when she’d been distracted. By his hands. His mouth. His body.
She shook off those thoughts, focused on her own agenda—saving her parents’ ranch. “You come on my show.”
“I’ll come on your show, if you come on mine.”
“So now we’re back to deals, are we?” she challenged without thinking—a behavior he seemed to incite in her—and cringed for what she might have given away.
His lips twitched and he leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice soft. “Why don’t we call it a ‘truce with benefits’?”
“Oh, how funny,” Lana said. “That’s a play on that movie Friends with Benefits where Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis try to keep friendship and sex separate. Never works, by the way. I’ve tried.” She wiggled an eyebrow. “But sounds like fun anyway. How do I sign up?”
This was so turning into a disaster, Darla chided herself. “Fine,” she said to Blake, leaving Lana out of the equation. “We’ll show-swap, but let’s figure out the details later. I’m having trouble thinking past tomorrow right now.”
“Maybe talking out the details will get your mind off tomorrow,” he suggested smoothly, and she knew he wasn’t talking about “talking” at all.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “The night is short and morning is coming early.”
“You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.” Not. But she should be.
The waiter appeared. “Ready to order?”
Meagan wrapped her arm around Darla’s shoulders. “You know what I’m thinking? Let’s get room service in your room where Sam won’t be so we can do the girl-talk thing before the season starts. I’ve spent time with everyone else. I want to spend some time with you.”
Regret filled Darla as “absolutely not” became an instant “absolutely yes.” She was now absolutely certain that there would be no her and Blake tonight. She wanted to finish what they had started—wanted it maybe a little too much.
* * *
“I can’t believe we have this many to choose from,” Darla said, scooping a bite of a brownie covered with hot fudge. She moaned with pleasure. “This might be a ten camera-pound splurge.”
“Hmm,” Meagan said, digging her fork into a piece of cheesecake. “While I’m never gonna be the diva some people associated with the show have become, I do enjoy a splurge here and there.” She took a bite and then added, “So…what was up with you and Blake tonight?”
Darla’s heart raced and she busied herself with the carrot cake. “What do you mean?”
Meagan gaped. “You tried to kick the man.” She snorted. “I died when you kicked Lana. That was hilarious. Lana plays that villainous role well and she eats it up. We all, audience included, love to hate her. If only we could have gotten that on camera.”
Darla started laughing. She and Meagan had talked about Lana way back during the casting of season one. “That kick did work out pretty well, but poor Sam. You made him take the rap for me.”
Meagan shrugged. “I’ll make it up to him later. But seriously. What’s up with you and Blake? I might be married but I’m not blind. The man is easy on the eyes.”
Darla stabbed the brownie. “And infuriating, and arrogant, and just so— The man made me want to kick him under the table. That should say it all. He makes me crazy.”
“Uh-oh,” Meagan said, and grinned. “That’s what Sam did to me.”
“Oh, no,” Darla said quickly. “No. Blake and I are nothing like you and Sam.”
Meagan just smiled.
“You don’t understand,” Darla objected. “I attract all the wrong men. That makes Blake another one of the wrong men.”
“Or you choose all the wrong men, like I did,” Meagan said, “until the right man steps into your path, like Sam did mine. Then, like Sam also did to me, that right man infuriates you right into love.”
Darla shook her head. “I’m not you. Blake is not Sam. And besides, Blake leaves tomorrow.” So he wouldn’t be infuriating her into bed or into love. Love. That was a silly word for her or Meagan to use, one of fairy tales women created over too many drinks or, in this case, too much sugar. She and Blake were oil and water, and people who were oil and water had sex. They did not fall in love.
Meagan just sat there, smiling coyly.
Darla tried again. “Blake and I are not happening. We’re competitors. He upsets me. He leaves tomorrow.”
Meagan grinned. “Okay.”
Frustrated, Darla stabbed the brownie again and took a bite, but she didn’t want the brownie. She wanted Blake—which infuriated her all the more. She ate the entire brownie, half the cheesecake and a few bites of several other desserts. And then she blamed Blake for the ten camera-pounds she was going to imagine she had in the morning.
* * *
BLAKE DIDN’T THINK MEAGAN would ever leave, but the instant he heard Darla’s door open and shut and he knew she’d gone, he dialed Darla’s room. Sitting at that lounge table with Darla tonight, he’d done nothing but fall deeper for her. And no, he wasn’t going to her room tonight, he knew that. Not because he doubted she would let him, but because he wanted to so damn bad. Because that meant something, and he’d decided she interested him far more than would last one night.
“Hello?” she said in that soft, ever-feminine voice, her tone making it more of a question than a greeting.
“How was dessert?” he asked, lying back on his pillow.
“Better without dodging your bullets at the table,” she said. “What’s with the ‘deal’ talk and the ‘truce with benefits’?”
“If I’d have known it would have gotten me kicked,” he said, chuckling, “I would have controlled myself.”
“So not true,” she accused. “The ‘truce with benefits’ comment came after I tried to kick you.”
“So you admit you tried to kick me then?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re big on the ‘absolutely’ statements tonight.”
“You bet I am. You do remember Meagan saying she didn’t like scandal, right?”
“It’s only a scandal if someone else knows about it, and they won’t.”
“We could have been seen,” she said. “I shouldn’t have taken a risk that we might be seen together.”
“Translation. I’m absolutely not coming over tonight, am I?”
“Not a chance.”
“Ouch,” he said. “I wasn’t coming over anyway.”
“Good.”
“Good, huh?”
“Yeah. Good.”
“You aren’t going to ask why I wasn’t planning to come over?”
“No.”
“First of all, you have a big show tomorrow and you need sleep. If I come over, you won’t sleep, and then if things go wrong tomorrow you’ll blame me. They won’t go badly, by the way. You’re going to rock the house. But the bottom line is that you doing well matters to me, which brings me to the second reason why I wasn’t planning to come over. I want to come over. And by that I mean I want to come over more than I should. Too much, Darla.”
Silence, until she said, “I don’t know what that means.”
His voice lowered to meet hers. “Yes. You do.” More silence. Okay. That wasn’t good. Or maybe it was.
“I have no interest in being in tabloid headlines,” she said. “That’s not how you build a lasting career. At least, not the kind of career I’m building. Not the kind of career I want.”
“It’s not the kind of career I want, either, and my actions both past and present support that as accurate.”
“Tonight, you—”
“Got carried away. You’re adorable when you’re feisty and I couldn’t resist teasing you. But I would never have gone too far. What happens between us, Darla, is between us. I told you that earlier and I meant it.”
“Blake—”
“Go to sleep. You have an early morning. I’ll see you then.” He hung up and then sat there, half expecting the phone to ring again, wanting it to ring again. But it didn’t. She didn’t call back and he had a bad feeling she was far more happy he was leaving tomorrow than he was. Which was exactly why he should go home and not look back. He wouldn’t, though. This was new territory for him, that his younger, very happily married brother would find amusing. Blake wasn’t laughing but he wasn’t running, either. And he had to figure out why, even if that meant taking a few darts from Darla in the process. Hopefully, he could convince her to lick the wounds.
8
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. MORNING came with Blake’s words repeating in Darla’s head. And no. No, she did not know what he meant, but she’d darn sure spent the entire night trying to figure it out. No wonder she didn’t have one-night stands. Apparently, she was really really bad at them—hauntingly so. She managed to spend the night in bed with the man and he wasn’t even there. Darla just hoped she didn’t fail the awkward morning greeting as bad, because she was about to see him again.
With that thought in mind, dressed again in sweats, with no makeup on, and her hair freshly washed for a stylist to work magic on, she dragged herself to her door. She’d see him on the 6:00 a.m. shuttle to the audition site and she looked like crap—and why, why did she care about seeing him, or that she was seeing him premakeup artist? She supposed her distraction meant that Blake had actually achieved success with his “deal” because she wasn’t thinking about camera nerves anymore. She’d been thinking of him then, as she was now.
Darla shoved open the door and tugged her roller bag filled with clothing and a variety of other items behind her. The door slammed on the bag and she turned to free it. That was when the door to her left—Blake’s door—opened and she stopped.
“Trouble already?” he asked, rushing forward to shove her door open and free her suitcase.
“Yes,” she whispered furiously. “And you’re it. If you w
ere going to keep me up all night you could have at least done it in person.” She wasn’t sure who was more stunned by those words—her or him. She froze. He froze. Silence expanded until she finally said, “I can’t believe I just said that. More proof that you are making me crazy.”
He pulled her suitcase into the hallway and let her door fall shut. He was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt with Stepping Up written on it in a deep blue that matched his eyes. He looked good. So very good.
“I’m making you crazy?” he asked, turning the full force of those eyes—those wickedly beautiful eyes—on her.
Darla silently declared it official. Every time he was near, without any effort he got her hot. “Yes. My God. Yes. You are making me crazy. You already know I’m a worrier, a fretter and an overthinker.” She’d come this far, she might as well go all the way. “Did you really think you could make a statement like ‘you know what I mean’ when I didn’t know what you meant, and I’d actually sleep?”
“You knew—you know—what I meant.”
“I do not know what you meant and I don’t—”
He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. “Now do you know what I meant?”
Heat spiraled through the center of her body and spread like a wildfire. “Are you insane? Someone could have seen you.” But she didn’t pull away from him. She should have. She told herself to, but he smelled so darn good—all freshly showered and masculine.
“If that’s your only concern about me kissing you then you definitely know what I meant last night. And if you spent the night thinking about it—you definitely knew what I meant. My question is—how do you feel about it?”
Out of control. “We can’t do this.”
“But you want to?”
“We can’t do this,” she repeated.
“Why not?”
Why not? There were reasons. Lots of reasons. None of them seemed to come to mind. “You like questions, don’t you?”
“I’m a television host. Of course, I do. Talk to me, Darla.”
A million replies flew through her mind at once, things she’d said already, things she hadn’t. Because you’re my competitor. Because you scare the heck out of me for reasons I don’t want to think about right now. Because you’ll make me care about you and then you’ll hurt me. Finally she said, “You leave today.”
Follow My Lead Page 6
