by Cat Johnson
Maria lifted a shoulder. “That’s a slight distinction. You’re employed by the show. And you’ve been on camera as much as any one of the cast.”
After the shock subsided, Nick shook his head. "No."
Actually, the answer was oh hell, to the no but he was trying to be nice.
“But thank you for the offer,” he added in an attempt to not be rude.
"Why not?" she asked.
Because he didn't want to. Because this show was a farce. Because the only woman he wanted to be with was Dani.
Because faking an engagement on television to win money and fame wasn't something he wanted to do. Ever.
He searched for a polite excuse to get out of this.
Actually, fuck polite. All he needed was an excuse good enough she'd accept his no and move on to choosing someone else to play a fake groom for Katia.
"I have to go back to my real job soon," he said.
There. She couldn’t argue with the truth of that. They all knew he was out of work temporarily while recuperating.
"How long do you have until then?" she asked.
"Less than two weeks." He considered lying, but the truth about the actual time he had off seemed short enough he wouldn't have to lie.
He definitely didn't tell her that the doctor could determine he hadn't healed enough to go back to active duty. That he could be off for weeks or even months more, if not indefinitely. That last part was something he wasn't even willing to admit to himself.
Maria looked unperturbed and determined. "All right. We'll make that work. However long you have, we'll finish production by then."
Usually Nick liked a person who showed determination in the face of adversity. Not today.
Now what? He scrambled for another reason. "I’m really not a camera person."
"I have to disagree. The camera loves you. I've watched the footage."
Of course, she had.
He'd only been here about a week but since the day he started, he'd been on camera more than he'd been off, so of course that excuse wasn't going to work.
Damn. What was wrong with him? He could and had faced down the devil's own fighters, bloodlust burning in their eyes, all armed with automatic weapons and the desire to kill him and his teammates, but he couldn't stand up against one LA reality show director.
Why was he making excuses when he should just tell her no? No, in no uncertain terms. He didn't want to do this, and she couldn't make him.
With that juvenile thought, he said simply, "No."
There. He'd told her. She’d just have to accept it. Time for them to move on.
"Just think about it,” Maria said.
Or maybe not . . .
"Take overnight," she continued. "Watch the sizzle reel at home and just consider it. Give me an answer in the morning after you sleep on it."
Sizzle reel . . . just the name told him what he was in for. He knew damn well his answer wasn't going to change, no matter how many nights he slept on it, or how many DVDs he watched, but it was easier to agree with her.
"Okay."
"Great. Dave, grab him a copy of the DVD." Her smile was wide and triumphant as she asked, “You own a DVD player?”
No. But there was one in the rec room in the barracks. “Uh, I can borrow one. No problem.”
“Great. You really are perfect for this."
Oh, how wrong she was. He'd rather eat the sand on Coronado Beach than play the fake love interest to Katia on this not-so-real reality show.
Meanwhile, the one and only woman he wanted to be with was home sick and he couldn’t be with her.
He thanked Dave for the DVD, even though he didn’t want it, and stood waiting for orders.
“We’ll postpone the groom naming until tomorrow when Nick’s on board,” Maria told her assistant.
Nick raised a brow at her confidence.
“Do you want us to move tomorrow’s game of Truth or Dare Jenga to today?” Dave asked.
“Great idea.”
Feeling like he’d been dismissed as Maria went back to directing instead of selling him on this groom thing, Nick backed away. He wanted to disappear before he somehow got stuck playing Truth or Dare Jenga—whatever the fuck that was.
He almost made a clean getaway, until he heard, “Nick!”
Turning, he saw Maria looking in his direction. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You can take the rest of the day off to watch the sizzle reel and make your decision. Pack a bag with clothes for the next couple of weeks too. You’ll be living in the beach house full time as the groom.”
He delivered what he hoped was a noncommittal nod to the pushy and overconfident—not to mention delusional—director and then made a break for his Jeep.
Over his dead body was he moving into the beach house. Christ, what a mess.
THIRTY-TWO
Dani stared at the last text Nick had sent.
It was probably going to be one of the last he ever sent her.
If he didn’t cut off all communications between them once he became Katia’s groom, then Dani would have to. There was no way she could stand by and watch him with another woman.
But he could say no when they asked him. She wanted to cling to that hope, but it was hard.
Why would he say no to the offer?
The cast got a butt load of money to do nothing but sit around in swimwear and drink. And if he and Katia went through with the ceremony, he’d get even more money.
The thought of Nick standing at the altar with Katia had the herbal tea Dani had been sipping coming back up her throat.
She didn’t know what to do. Sitting there thinking was making her batty. Nothing could distract her from the sick feeling of losing Nick. Not the Netflix show. Not the ice cream she’d tried to eat and immediately thought better of. Not the refolding of everything in her drawers.
The urge to text him was strong. But if he didn’t immediately reply saying he’d just turned down the role of groom then she’d really lose her mind.
As she held the cell, debating, it buzzed in her hand.
Her gaze flew to the display but it wasn’t from Nick. It was from Dave.
DAVE: You feeling better?
Ugh. What to say? The truth was no. And she wouldn’t feel better until this show was over and Nick was far away from Katia.
DANI: A little. Thanks.
DAVE: Good. 7AM call tomorrow. Gotta shoot new groom footage.
It was hard to breathe. Like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She stared at the phone. It had become her enemy with that one text. She tossed it to the table and pulled her knees in to her chest, hugging them as she stared at the hateful device.
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t continue to work there. Couldn’t watch Nick with Katia.
Real or fake, it would be too much. She’d already seen what could happen. She’d be puking all over the set.
She had to quit.
She’d get around to that . . . as soon as she stopped crying.
The dreaded device vibrated again and Dani jumped on it, hoping it was Nick. Vainly hoping he was calling to tell her he’d said no, in spite of Dave’s text and the evidence that Nick had said yes.
It wasn’t Nick. It was her sister. She nearly didn’t answer, but something inside her made her hit that green icon.
“Hey.” Dani’s voice cracked on the word.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Oh, Jess.” Tears followed by the whole sordid tale came spilling out.
To Jessica’s credit, she listened and let Dani talk until she was sobbing so hard there were no more words. Then Jess said, “You are not going to quit. You are going to go to the house and fight for your man.”
She let out a teary bitter laugh. “He’s not my man.”
“You just told me you spent the last two nights with him.”
Darn. She had told Jessica that, hadn’t she? That’s what she got for spilling her guts. Sometimes more came out than was meant to.
Dani frowned. This speech about fighting for your man might mean more if it wasn’t coming from a woman who, ten years ago, had had to be plied with alcohol just so she wouldn’t run away from her own wedding.
Although since then, Jessica and Michael had been fine. Great even. The perfect storybook couple, with a little bickering occasionally thrown in for excitement.
Dani fought the tightness in her chest and drew in a stuttering breath. “All right. I won’t quit.”
Yet.
She was making no promises when it came to anything past tomorrow.
One day at a time. Tomorrow morning at seven a.m. she would go to work. What happened after that was yet to be determined.
THIRTY-THREE
Nick wasn’t about to contradict Maria when she said he could take the rest of the day off. He needed it.
He also needed some time alone, which meant going to Michael and Jessica’s house wasn’t an option. He wasn’t sure what Jess’s schedule was, but with the crazy hours she worked as an ER nurse, there was a good chance she’d be there in the middle of the day.
Believe it or not, he’d probably find the most privacy on base. The team should be busy mid-day, mid-week. If they were even in the country. Nick didn’t know.
He’d deliberately not been keeping in touch with them. Half because it would make him feel worse about being out. Half because he didn’t want to answer any questions about how he’d been spending his time.
Working on a reality show was not an answer his teammates would accept without eternal discussions and razzing.
He felt like a thief as he smuggled the DVD into the barracks in an old fast food paper bag from the floor of the Jeep. He slipped directly into the recreation room on the first floor and thankfully found it empty.
It was equipped with a large screen television, comfortable chairs and laundry machines in the next room. He’d spent many an hour in there, watching movies with the guys while waiting for the dryer to finish with his clothes.
Today, he was more than happy to be alone.
He took out the DVD from its hiding place and glanced at it. How long was this thing? He could only hope it was short. He didn’t know how much time he had alone.
Blowing out a breath, he took the disk out of the case and shoved it into the slot. Time to see what terrible things they had done to the cast during editing. The same thing they’d do to him if he said yes, which he wasn’t going to do.
He paused before pushing the play button. What would happen when he said no? He could only hope the show wouldn’t implode. He didn’t want this reflecting badly on Dani. God, he hoped that didn’t happen.
Would a failed show—her first show too—ruin her reputation in the industry?
That was a huge consideration, but not enough motivation for him to say yes to this thing. He’d have to figure out another way to save both Dani and the show without sacrificing himself.
But first, he had to see exactly what he was up against.
Nick pushed the play button on the front of the machine and grabbed the remote control. He backed toward the nearest chair and perched on the edge of the seat.
Leaning forward, he watched the opening graphic spell out COLD FEET in glittering pink and gold letters, before shots of the cast in various seductive poses flashed across the screen.
Watching this was going to be painful. He could tell already.
“One bride. One groom. Eight bodacious bridesmaids. Eight hot and handsome hunks. All living together in one beach house for four weeks. Will she be tempted? Will he? Find out on Cold Feet.” The narrator laid out the general concept of the show in the most dramatic way possible.
Nick covered his face with his hand and started to watch the horror from between his fingers.
Katia’s picture came on the screen with the words Katia—The Bride, before The Influencer flashed below it.
Carl was next with Carl—The Groom across his shot, followed by Server/Aspiring Actor.
The groom portion of the sizzle reel was going to have to be changed.
Nick wondered what they would have put for him if he had signed on for this—which he wasn’t going to. Security guard? Sailor? Navy SEAL? God help him.
He let out a sigh as the action on screen continued with the words The Wedding Party.
The people he’d come to know over the past week flashed across the television, each with their name, their occupation and then a less than flattering description.
Thalia, PHD—The Brain
Brittany B, Pharmaceutical Sales—The Flirt
Brittany S, Swimsuit Model—The Virgin
Albany, Lifeguard—The Backstabber
Korina, Advertising Executive—The Bitch
Tiffany, Marketing Student—The Bimbo
Brittany L, Kindergarten Teacher—The Optimist
Diamond, Not-For-Profit Executive—Daddy’s Little Girl
Nick learned two things watching the words on screen. Brittany S was a virgin—and the whole world was about to find that out on television—and the producers weren’t pulling any punches, judging by those descriptions.
Dani had told him once the producers manipulated the show, selecting and setting up the cast for maximum conflict. He had no doubt everyone had been handpicked because they would cause the most friction with fellow cast members.
After the girls had been introduced it was the guys’ turn. They faired a bit better in the description department, though not by that much.
Steele, Drummer—The Bad Boy
Pete, App Designer—The Computer Geek
John, Former Pro Football Player—The Jock
Dawson, Luxury Real Estate Agent—The Wheeler Dealer
Matt, Starbucks Barista —The Freeloader
Corey, Champion Surfer—The Stoner
Hunter, Rodeo Cowboy—The Gentleman
Adam, Photographer—The Player
Nick had spent time with these guys, had gotten vibes from them about who they really were, but the people he saw on screen were nothing like those he’d come to know from the beach house. Creative editing could make them into anything the producers wanted—or needed—for those oh so important ratings.
Nope. Joanne and her minions weren’t going to do that to him. That decision was made. He stood and headed for the DVD player.
No fucking way was he going to accidentally leave the disk in the player for anyone to find or question, just in case they could somehow connect it to him.
He popped the disk into the case and shoved it into the big pocket on the thigh of his cargo shorts.
Now the only thing he had to do was tell Maria—and hope his decision didn’t blowback on Dani. Maria wasn’t going to be happy with him. That he knew for sure. But probably better to tell her sooner rather than later.
But before that, he needed a drink.
A problem like this called for none other than Coronado’s own McP's Pub. The place where SEALs from the base had been solving their problems for nearly forty years.
Slipping on his sunglasses and creeping out of the building, Nick put his head down and headed straight for his Jeep before anyone saw him and wanted to talk.
He made it to McP’s unaccosted and slid onto the bar stool with a sigh of relief.
Ray, the bartender, let out a smoke-roughened laugh. "You look like you need to drink."
"I need way more than just a drink.” Nick sighed. “How’d you know?”
Ray lifted a shoulder. “It’s a gift. What can I get for you?”
A bottle of Jack Daniels and a straw might be a good start.
“I guess a pint couldn't hurt." Nick looked at Ray, considering t
he man who'd possibly tended the bar at McP's for longer than Nick had been alive.
From the tattoos there was no doubt he was a Navy man. Who better to talk to about his woes?
"Hey, Ray. You're kind of like a doctor or a lawyer, right?” Nick asked.
"You talking about the unwritten bartender’s oath of confidentiality?" The man choked out a laugh that spoke to the decades of cigarettes he'd consumed over a lifetime since his service in Vietnam.
Ray poured Nick a pint and set the foam-topped glass on the bar in front of him.
"Yeah. I've got more secrets in this old brain of mine than you young guys have locked up over there on base,” he continued. “Why? What's up? I can see something’s wrong."
Meatless hamburgers were wrong. Wearing black socks with white sneakers was wrong. Nick's situation was more than wrong. He had a full out cluster fuck on his hands.
He took a long swallow of the cold brew and spilled the whole long and sordid tale of his reality show hell.
Luckily, the man was having a slow afternoon, so aside from a waitress who stepped up to grab two bottles of beer for a couple of guys out on the patio, Nick had Ray’s undivided attention.
Talking actually helped. Laying it all out. The situation. The problem. The risks.
It didn’t give him any answers about how to make Maria happy while still keeping himself and Dani safe, but at least the beer and the sympathetic ear had him feeling a little better.
“So, can you help me, doc?” Nick joked.
“Nope. Can’t say that I can help you with that one.” Ray shook his head but then tipped his chin toward the door leading to the outdoor seating. “But those two guys out there might be able to.”
Nick frowned, about to ask how two strangers could help him, when Ray planted a fresh pint in front of him and said, “Wait here.”
As Ray skirted from behind the bar and walked out back to the patio, Nick did what he was told—sort of. He waited inside, but he did pick up his beer and wander to the door so he could see what was happening outside.
Ray leaned low as he talked, palms on the table where two men sat.
The two had the look of SEALs about them. After a decade in the teams, Nick could spot a fellow frogman. And given he was in Coronado, them being team guys was a better than good possibility.
