Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  ‘...is that you let your heart rule your head—even after everything I taught you. You let some woman manipulate you and change all the rules to suit her. And what happened in the end, Jack? She lied to you. She didn’t want you. She wanted that other tosser. All that happened was that you caused an on-air fight that got us chucked off the air.’

  Jack tried to breathe. Once again his father had got it wrong. No matter how many times Jack told him what had happened his father always preferred his own version of events. Jack hadn’t been in love with Kayla. But she’d been young, and had seemed innocent and frightened and unsure what to do. So he’d helped her.

  She’d said she was frightened of one of the other contestants—said he intimidated her when the cameras weren’t there. Jack hadn’t been able to have him thrown off the show so he’d adjusted the editing to ‘out’ the man, ensuring he would be voted off because of his bullying. What he hadn’t known was that Kayla was in love with the bully and he’d rejected her advances. He’d made her feel small and unworthy. And then he’d started something with her on-screen best friend.

  Jack should have known what a woman scorned in love was like. But he’d believed her. He’d wanted to protect her.

  When the new edits had been shown the truth had come out: Kayla wanted her best friend’s man. She’d lied and manipulated until she’d managed to get the man in bed and had waited till the cameras had caught them. She’d wanted her best friend’s man and she’d got him—with Jack’s help.

  The other contestants had got involved—people had started taking sides—and when the punches and the hair-pulling had started things had got ugly. And it had all been caught on camera. Jack had thrown Kayla off the show but it had been too late—the TV authorities had shut the programme down, the company had lost millions, and Jack’s father had nearly come through the phone line.

  That had been five years ago. Jack had learnt his lesson. He’d learnt to keep everyone at a distance—that way he couldn’t get sucked into any of their lies. Except now he’d let Brooke in. Was his thinking screwed up because of her? Were his father and Rob Gunn right? Should he let the men choose? He didn’t know—and that made him angry.

  But what made him angrier was his father on the line—telling him what to do. Overriding his decisions and making everything so much harder.

  ‘This is my show, Max. I came up with the concept, I wrote the format, I got all the funding together and I handpicked the team. You’re not going to take over.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what you’ve done, Jack. You’re wrong. I’m right. Gunn stays.’

  ‘No. You’re wrong. Gunn is banned from the set. If I see him again I’ll have him escorted from the building and there’s nothing you can do about it—unless you come here yourself, and we both know you won’t do that.’

  His father had been living in Italy for over four years now. He’d been home maybe five times. He’d told Jack’s mother he was setting up a new company. Jack knew he was living with his mistress.

  ‘I still own this company, Jack, and the last time I checked you were on my payroll. The format stays as is. The men choose the competitions. The men choose the women. The men control the show. The women are there for decoration and drama and if you don’t like it you know where the door is. Be prepared to pay me back every cent. And don’t think I won’t come after your mother for it if you can’t deliver.’

  Jack’s blood steamed. Not only was his father at his intimidating, bullying best, he was pointing out the very reason Jack couldn’t leave. His father would target his mother if he did. But, he reminded himself, his mother could take care of herself. Or could she? And what would happen to Brooke and the others if he walked off the show?

  No, he had to stay. He had to stay and try and protect Brooke and the others as well as he could. At least from within he could do something—if he left he would be powerless, and right now he was angry and he wanted to fight. For his mother, for Brooke, and against the man whose voice made him feel as if his hands were squeezing tight around his throat.

  ‘You win, Max. You have me where you want me. I’ll stay.’

  * * *

  When the girls received the envelope explaining the next challenge Brooke’s heart sank. A cheer-off. Of all the demeaning, humiliating things...

  The men had demanded they dress in skimpy cheerleader outfits and dance and sing and run around like chooks with their heads cut off. All for their amusement. How this determined who was their perfect match she had no idea. But she wasn’t calling the shots—Jack was. The man who confused her more than anyone ever had.

  After their mind-blowing kiss on the bridge they’d said goodbye with smiles full of meaning. He’d called the apartment the next day. Said he was thinking of her. She’d clung to the receiver so it wouldn’t fall. Her heart had beat so fast she was sure the other girls would be able to see it.

  Their conversation had been short—she hadn’t been able to talk anyway, with the other girls listening in—and then she’d got mad, because she’d realised he was able to shift her emotions so severely. As if she had no control over them. She didn’t want him to be able to control her like that but he did—and that made her angry. Except it was hard to be angry when she thought of his mouth and his kisses and the way he’d told her she meant something to him.

  And now she gripped the envelope in her hand and her stomach rose to her throat as she thought about Jack making them do this. He surely knew how much she’d hate it? Did he not consider her feelings? Or were her feelings second to the ratings?

  But one thing she’d learnt over the past few weeks was not to assume anything, and the moment she saw Jack she was going to sort this out. There was no way she and the other girls were going to endure a series of embarrassing challenges only to be chosen or rejected by four meat-heads who hadn’t even taken the time to get to know them.

  The night they’d been introduced the men had zeroed in on the women they’d clearly thought were the hottest, then got bored and spent the night talking to each other and drinking before disappearing. Probably to visit some seedy strip club and talk about what a sweet deal they had.

  Heat rose from Brooke’s legs up to her head. How dared they do this? How dared they assume that the twelve of them would just sit back and accept this new twist? If her sisters had taught her anything it was to respect herself and make her own choices. She wasn’t about to let four strangers make her feel rejected or less than she was. And as she looked at the other women, still talking about the cheerleading challenge, she knew she wasn’t going to let those strangers do it to these girls either.

  Some of these women were vulnerable and shy and didn’t have a lot of confidence to begin with. She wasn’t going to let their confidence be shattered by a few bad men with perverted control fantasies. Jack had once said that anger could be a good thing, that you should speak up for what you believed in. She’d never thought about that before. She’d thought that anger always got you into trouble. That was why she’d spent years trying to keep her anger tucked away. Now she realised that anger could be good.

  But instead of lashing out, and providing Jack with ‘great TV’, she needed to channel that anger into something much more productive. Like forming a plan to let these men—and Jack—know exactly what she and the other girls thought of their challenge. A plan to let them know who was really calling the shots on this show.

  Brooke’s body buzzed with the anger that flowed through her veins. She needed to release it—that was the only way she was going to survive this.

  * * *

  ‘Jack, it’s humiliating!’

  ‘Brooke. Listen to me—’

  ‘No! You listen to me. We’re not here to be humiliated and made to feel like pieces of meat. We won’t do this.’

  This time the girls were behind her. She’d spoken to them. They hated the ide
a of there being only four men. How were they supposed to meet their perfect match when there were only four men to choose from? They were united. They weren’t going to take it. The girls were ready to rebel—they were just waiting for their fearless leader to give the word.

  ‘You have to do this. Trust me—it could be a lot worse.’

  ‘Worse? How? How could it be worse? We’ll be on national television with our butts hanging out, dancing and chanting with no idea what we’re doing! What are you hoping for—that we’ll all fall and break our necks? That would be great TV, wouldn’t it!’

  Brooke stood up. She needed to be above him. She couldn’t look into his calm eyes any longer. He wasn’t getting roused at all. He wasn’t even getting defensive. He was just sitting and watching her. She knew what he was doing—trying to calm her down. Well, she didn’t want to be calm. He’d told her getting angry was good, so she was getting angry. She was going to test his theory. She had a plan.

  She wasn’t going to tell him about it, though. She had a plan to turn the tables on the men and let them know what the women all thought of their ‘challenge’ and the new rules. But that wasn’t what was making her angry right now. It was Jack.

  Was this who he really was? Where was the sensitive man on the bridge? Or the comforting man in the sand? This emotionless, unfeeling Jack infuriated her. She didn’t want him.

  ‘Brooke, I know you’re angry, but you have to trust me.’

  ‘Trust you? How can I trust you? What are you doing, Jack? This is ridiculous—and awful. How can you think this is OK?’

  How can you think this is OK to do to me? She didn’t say it, but she was thinking it—oh, was she thinking it!

  ‘I don’t think this is OK.’

  ‘Then why are you letting it happen?’

  ‘I have to. I have no choice. You have to trust me, Brooke—the first suggestion was a lot worse than this...’

  ‘What do you mean, you have no choice? You’re the producer!’

  He didn’t move. She watched him still, and then he retreated. His eyes blanked. He turned away.

  ‘Jack. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Just trust me, Brooke.’

  He didn’t reach for her. His hands stayed where they were. She knew what that meant. He wasn’t touching her because he was feeling out of control. Keeping her at a distance was his way of regaining it. But this couldn’t be about control. If they had a chance of working Jack had to realise that they were a team. He didn’t have to do this on his own.

  So she sat back down—this time next to him—and reached for his stiff hand. She curled her small fingers through his and didn’t let go, even when he didn’t squeeze back. She just moved closer.

  ‘What’s going on, Jack? Tell me.’

  * * *

  When Jack looked into Brooke’s eyes he saw something he’d never seen before. Someone who wanted to know what was wrong with him. Someone who was concerned with what he was going through. Someone who was shattering his walls and wanting to see the man behind.

  It made his chest ache. He felt exposed and uncomfortable, but he wanted her to keep looking at him like that. He wanted to feel her warm hand in his and he wanted her to smile again and then kiss him. So he told her. Everything. About his father and his mother and the deal he’d made when he was nineteen.

  Brooke didn’t speak. She just held his hand and listened as no one had ever listened before. When he’d finished he felt sick and completely exhausted. As if everything that he’d been keeping to himself was physically weighing down on him. He looked into her eyes, worried he’d said too much. Worried that she wouldn’t understand.

  But he shouldn’t have worried. The fierce little nymph sitting next to him moved closer, her perfect breasts brushing his arm, her dimple getting deeper as she smiled, moving in closer to his ear. And when he felt the warmth of her breath on his ear as she whispered his whole body stood to attention.

  ‘Sounds like it’s time you got angry, Jack.’

  * * *

  The girls were buzzing. They’d been up half the night working out their routine, chanting the words and practising the lifts. For most it was hard work. Many of these women hadn’t ever done anything more strenuous than running on a treadmill.

  Despite being the least athletic in her family, Brooke excelled at the cheerleading routine. She was strong, so she could throw the other girls in the air and catch them with ease. She was also agile enough to flip when she was thrown up herself. She supposed that all those years of training had achieved something. Perhaps comparing herself to her sisters was not the best idea—they were freakishly good, after all—but compared with the rest of the population Brooke realised that her persistence and dedication had actually paid off. She was good.

  They were all dressed in ridiculously brief outfits—although Brooke had managed to convince the wardrobe consultant to purchase everything from Wright Sports. Maddy was going to flip when she saw it all on screen.

  For a moment Brooke wondered if her plan would perhaps show the brand in a bad light. But how could it? Standing up for themselves and turning the tables on men could never be bad. And if some people didn’t like it then Brooke didn’t care. She didn’t want them as customers anyway.

  One of the goals of Wright Sports was to promote women in sport. As professionals who demanded as much respect and money as their male counterparts. Her little cheer today would only help their cause. No—this was the right thing to do. Channelling her anger into a well-thought-out plan was a good idea. And Brooke couldn’t wait for this thing to start.

  * * *

  The crowd at the football game was pumped. It was a big game—a fierce battle. Screams and whoops echoed around them as the girls stood waiting in the tunnel and the ground’s announcer started to talk.

  ‘Make some noise, everyone—we have over eighty-five thousand fans in the stadium tonight and we want to hear each and every one of you!’

  The crowd howled in delight. Excitement turned to flutterings in Brooke’s stomach. She turned to the other girls and knew they were feeling the same.

  Katy was looking a little green. She reached for her hand. ‘We’re going to nail this, Katy,’

  ‘Do you think we’re doing the right thing?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. One hundred per cent.’

  Katy’s eyes flickered with doubt. ‘But what if one of those men actually is my perfect match?’

  ‘Katy—look at me.’

  Katy’s big brown eyes stared into hers. Brooke saw her fear. She saw her doubt. She saw twenty-seven years of wondering if she was good enough. Wondering if she’d ever meet ‘the one’. Wondering what she’d done every time it went wrong. Wondering if one of the men she’d let go because he’d treated her badly should have received a second chance.

  ‘Your perfect match doesn’t exist. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about meeting someone who helps you on your journey. Who heals your heart and sees through your pain—who sees who you are and loves you anyway. Who holds you when you’re sad and celebrates with you when you’re happy. You’ll meet that person when the time is right. And it may not last with that person, but then you’ll meet someone else. And if you don’t—it’s OK. You’ll have family and friends and people who love you and you’ll be happy. Love isn’t perfect, Katy—it gets messy and complicated because people are messy and complicated and we’re all just muddling through together. There’s no destination to get to. And there’s no guarantee that finding the perfect man will make you happy. But I’ll tell you something...’

  Brooke reached up high to put her hands on Katy’s shoulders before pulling her into a hug and whispering in her ear.

  ‘The next five minutes will make you happy.’ Brooke smiled. ‘I promise.’

  The loud voice of the announcer boomed across the
field and into the tunnel. It was time. They were supposed to go out there, dance and cheer, and let four men they didn’t even know assess their abilities and choose which one of them he wanted to go on a date with.

  Brooke couldn’t wait to see their faces. And she couldn’t wait to see Jack’s.

  * * *

  The girls rushed onto the podium in a hurry. Brooke called out to them to get ready. She looked each of them in the eye. They looked back. It was time. They were ready.

  With a whoop and a cheer they began their chant while simultaneously flipping each other up and around.

  You might be good at cricket

  You might be good at that

  But when it comes to football

  You might as well step back

  Might as well step back

  Say what?

  The crowd roared in appreciation and started to clap along. Brooke smiled as she flew into the air. They shouted louder this time.

  You might as well step back

  Cause we ain’t gonna play no more

  No, we ain’t gonna play your way

  Cause we’re the girls of Perfect Match

  And we’re about to say

  Say what?

  We’re about to say...

  The girls stopped flipping. They formed a line. Their voices boomed through the microphones attached to their tiny crop tops.

  You can take your silly cheering comp

  Cause we think it’s corrupt

  Say what?

  We hate to disappoint you

  We hate to interrupt

  But this is what we think of you

  It’s time you all got...

  They turned, flipped up their skirts and bent over. An audible gasp filled the stadium and the clapping stopped. No one moved. Then suddenly there was a flurry of activity as photographers rushed from the sidelines to take photos of the girls butts. They stayed where they were.