by Meg Collett
“No. It was just a little yelling match. No big deal.”
Cade frowned but released her. His gaze seemed to peel back every layer of her defenses, even as she tried to cling to them.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered so only she would hear. When he pulled her into a hug, she went. She leaned on him for a moment to catch her breath in the nook below his chin, the rise and fall of his chest calming her. She took in his scent of lemons and morning coffee.
Around his shoulder, Hale’s eyes met hers. Everyone thought she’d hooked up with Troy, and Kyra had heard his comment about Stevie getting high.
She eased back, pushing against Cade’s arms. He let her go, though reluctantly.
“Really, I’m fine,” she said.
Cade glanced back at Kyra, who was shooting a warning glare at Hale. Stevie sighed; they were all too scared to ask, so she skipped straight to the answer. “I didn’t drink. It wasn’t like that. But he brought over some pot. I screwed up, I know. But we didn’t do anything else. Anything,” she emphasized, meeting Hale’s eyes, needing him to know she hadn’t screwed up that badly.
“Do you need to go see Dr. Clemens?” Kyra asked carefully, though Stevie spotted the relief in her eyes. They were all grateful she hadn’t had anything to drink.
“I can drive you,” Cade offered.
“I’ve got it,” Stevie said quickly, darting a quick glance over her shoulder at her broken front door. “You don’t have to stay.”
“We want to.” Kyra started picking up pieces of the shattered lamp and stacking them in her hand. Cade went to join her.
“No, really. I just want to be alone.”
Her words landed like darts against their skin, Kyra looking stung most of all. Cade seemed ready to object about her being alone, but Hale spoke first. “No problem, Stevie. Cade and I will head to the store and pick up some supplies for your door.”
Cade’s expression instantly turned sheepish. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about that. We’ll fix it.”
“Thanks, guys.”
They left out the back door, with Cade checking on her one last time. His eyes lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than Stevie was comfortable with. She turned her attention to Kyra, who would be harder to shake.
She stepped forward and took Kyra’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Thanks for having my back.”
Kyra huffed out a small chuckle. “I had a rage blackout. I don’t even remember what happened.”
“You were ready to beat the ever-loving hell out of him.”
Her smile faded. “What happened, Stevie? I never thought Troy, of all people, would act like that.”
“I guess I bring out the worst in people.” Kyra frowned, instantly ready to jump to Stevie’s defense, so she hurried on. “I have a meeting with the show’s head guy in a few minutes, and I need to get cleaned up. Can I talk to you later?”
“Oh!” Kyra was already nodding. She sat her broken lamp pieces on the table and headed toward the door. “Okay. Just call me later.”
“Sure thing.”
Stevie waited until Kyra was out the back door before turning around, knowing she would find him.
Shepherd stood at her front door, examining the shattered wood and bent hinges. He looked up, eyebrows raised.
“Now this,” he said, grinning wolfishly, “would make for some damn good television.”
7
“No, it would not.”
Fear ricocheted through Stevie’s stomach. She hated the way Shepherd shrugged and smirked, silently saying, “We’ll see about that.”
He came inside and tried to shut the door, but it only closed so far before scraping the floor.
He wore dark slacks and a black Polo shirt steamed within an inch of its life. While Cade had a business air about him in his khakis and button-ups, Shepherd’s air was purely predatory. He wore his Armani and Ralph Lauren like armor, his cunning smile the sword at his preys’ throats.
“I didn’t see you at the meeting yesterday.”
Stevie stepped back as he moved deeper into her house. His eyes took in every detail with a showrunner’s eye. The angles. The lighting. How the camera could pan from the shattered family photos to the darts in the wall to the broken lamp and then land on Stevie, with her pajama top and bloodshot eyes. He saw it all, and when his eyes darkened with happiness, Stevie knew she was playing this game all wrong. She could feel his teeth on her throat.
“I was there,” she said.
“Hmm . . .” Shepherd sat on her couch, stretching his arms out along the back, and hooked an ankle over his knee like a king in his castle. “I introduced myself to your Cade Cooper. He seems . . . quaint.”
She didn’t miss the carefully placed “your” but knew better than to correct him. The correction would confirm his guess, and she refused to give him anything. She moved into the living area and sat on the edge of the leather ottoman across from the couch, the farthest point from him.
“The viewers will like him,” Stevie hedged.
“I have no doubt.”
She kept her hands still in her lap to keep from looking nervous. She wanted nothing more than to fix her hair or straighten the hem of her shirt or tug down the end of her shorts, which suddenly felt too short, leaving her bare. He’d planned to catch her off guard by showing up at her house. He’d gotten more than he’d bargained for, and he loved it. Everything was an episode to Shepherd. Drama seemed to play out at his feet, even when he hadn’t orchestrated it down to the final detail.
It used to exhaust Stevie. Now, it terrified her.
“As for you,” he continued, “they’ll either love you or love to hate you. It takes a special talent to make that work on television.” He leaned forward on the couch, pressing toward her as if he wanted to drink the air in front of her and pull her closer. “Even when you were little you had that special spark. You captivate people, make them hate you and love you in a single shot. Where you got that from, I’ll never know. Your parents certainly never had it, and never will. Not many people do. Reality television can be an ugly business, I admit. It can feed on those who lack that flare for life.”
Unable to ever sit still for long, Shepherd stood and stretched out his tall frame, dwarfing the room. He walked a slow circuit, stopping by the back windows. Outside, Stevie spotted Kyra heading out into the ocean, surfboard tucked under her arm and hair in loose waves down her back. As Shepherd watched her every step, Stevie wanted to rip his eyes out. She forced herself to keep calm so she wouldn’t reveal who mattered to her, who he could play against her. She forced herself to keep breathing.
“But I’m not here to talk about your desperate parents. This is about you and how you’re going to make this pathetic little show into something great.”
“Why are you even working on this show?” she asked. It hadn’t made sense when he first called her about it, and after the production meeting, it still didn’t. Shepherd was the highest paid showrunner in L.A., and now he was here, on some low-budget home reno comp?
“Just a way to kill time. I also wanted to visit you.” He delivered the words with his usual contempt, but as he spoke, his nose wrinkled slightly, or as much as the Botox allowed. The gesture was enough for Stevie to realize he didn’t want to be here. This show hadn’t been his choice and he didn’t want to be running it. Something must have happened to send him down the ranks. This show was a punishment. If she could find out what he was being punished for, she might finally get an edge she could use to protect herself and Cade.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked, watching him carefully.
“House reno comps are a dime a dozen,” he said, turning away from the window and Kyra. “The network wants this one to stand out by playing up the drama between the contestants. Viewers won’t come back for pretty rooms, but for meaty shit. Think The Bachelor meets Fixer Upper, but with competition and tears and fighting and blood. Hopefully, there will be blood.”
“And ho
w are you going to get a bunch of contractors to go at each other’s throats?”
“Give me some credit,” he laughed out. “I’ve got that covered. Plus, I plan on unleashing my dog on them.”
“Let me guess.” Her hand went to the hem of her shirt, her fingers pulling at the loose threads there. “I’m your dog.”
Shepherd’s face split into a dazzling smile, the very one that used to draw her in.
Used to send her straight into his bed.
“The very best around,” he said, voice low and burning with something that made her heart race. “You’ll be right in the middle of it, stirring up dust and rattling bones. You’ll make them scream for me, Stephanie.”
“Stevie,” she corrected, though it was useless.
“The show has shit producers. I don’t trust them to pull out the best in the contestants.”
“You mean the worst.”
He shot her a grin. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it? You remember that best of all. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you like to film. I’ve already sent the assistants to stock up on your favorite vodka.”
Stevie’s stomach cramped. “I’m sober now.”
“Whatever you say.” He brushed her weak declaration off and steamrolled on. “But I need you in there pulling out the drama the producers miss. You and I are going to work together on this, just like old times.”
“It won’t be like old times.”
Shepherd picked a piece of lint off his pants and smoothed down his shirt. When he looked over at her, her spine tingled with fear. “You’re a smart woman, Stephanie. Loyal too. You agreed to do this show because the Cooper brothers need it. See, you’re reasonable. But you know how these sorts of shows go. You know how the winners are actually picked. The judges are just parrots saying what we tell them to say. The network and I decide who wins. You want Cade to win, right?”
Stevie stayed silent, sensing the trap.
“They need the exposure for their business. I gleaned that much from their taxes last year. You want us to portray Cade in the best light, because no one wants a villain to build their home. But if you back me into a corner . . . if you don’t help me out . . .” Shepherd shrugged. “It’ll be hard to juggle Cade’s reputation too. That’s a ball I might have to drop. You see?”
She wasn’t surprised. It was always going to come to this. She knew the thinly veiled blackmail wouldn’t stop after she’d agreed to be on the show. “I see.”
“I hope so, because Cade seems too soft to handle much public criticism.”
“He’s stronger than you know.”
Shepherd’s eyebrows rose at the steel in her tone. “How’s that? Because he dealt with bullies back in middle school?” He rolled his eyes. “Bullies make you strong. We live in a society that wants to punish the strong and coddle the weak. Everyone gets a trophy type bullshit. Cade is a product of that. He’s not a real man.”
Stevie bit her tongue on what she wanted to say: He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be. She thought of Cade’s steady gaze and his careful hands and the way he’d guided Hale and Arie last night through the numbers and logistics of the plans. Only he could do that so naturally. After this morning, Stevie knew a real man could fight without raising his voice and win an argument without yelling. A real man would rather smile and laugh, just like Cade.
Her heart squeezed painfully. She had to get this little crush under control and fast, before Shepherd sniffed it out.
He’d returned to the windows, his back to her. She prayed he hadn’t spotted Kyra again.
“You had it made in L.A.,” he said, surprising her with the swift change in subject and the tenderness in his voice. “But you left it all behind and came out here, for this?” He pivoted and gestured around her house, his Botox-filled forehead struggling to wrinkle in confusion.
“I like my life.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, refusing to hear her. “You ran away from your real life. From your parents. From the shows.” He closed the distance between them, each step echoing in time with her pounding heart. “You ran from me.”
He sat next to her, forcing her to move over or risk him sitting half on top of her. He slunk a hand around her waist and pressed his nose into her hair, sucking in a deep breath to fill his lungs with her. His nose trailed along the side of her neck to her collarbone. “You ran from us,” he whispered, his breath against her chin, making her shudder.
He squeezed her tighter, savoring her body’s reaction, knowing she was afraid. He craved her fear most. Back in L.A., when they were together, she hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
“Was it because of that night?” he asked, leaning back so he could see her face. He caught her expression just in time. “I apologized. I asked for forgiveness, didn’t I? What more could I have done?”
Unable to bear it any longer, Stevie went to stand, but Shepherd kept his grip tight on her. Her palms started to sweat. She tried to stop herself from struggling; it would only make it worse. Finally, he let her go, allowing her to stand.
“It was my parents,” Stevie said shakily as she retreated, tugging down the hem of her shorts. She hated how her voice wavered. “I told you that. They were driving me crazy.”
Shepherd stood, seemingly unaffected by her rejection, but she saw the truth in his practiced casualness. He’d hoard her words away for another time and use them to punish her. “They’re shits, I’ll give them that.”
“They just can’t get out, is all. They have good hearts.” Her eyes skittered to the broken picture frames around the room.
He waved his hand as if her parents were a bad smell. “Tell yourself whatever you need to hear, Stephanie. I’ve got a meeting back in Savannah, but I’m glad we could catch up.”
“Me too,” she said, trying not to sound too relieved as he headed for the front door. She trailed after him.
He unfolded his sunglasses from their perch in his shirt and slipped them on. “It was good seeing you.” His eyes raked down her body, scathing her bare skin and judging her for her ragged appearance. “What? No hug?”
He opened his arms wide, waiting. Stevie stepped forward, arms stiff, and went into his embrace.
“Cade’s fate is in your hands,” he said against her ear, squeezing her ribs tight. Too tight. “Remember that. I’m holding you responsible, but if that isn’t enough, I have other means. Means I prefer, for your sake, not to even mention.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. He let his lips linger there, knowing he was too close. “I really, really don’t want to force you on this issue.”
Her heart flailed against her lungs, beating out her breath. She felt his face crease into the slow-spreading smile she knew by heart. She’d seen it happen on too many shows, right when Shepherd got the drama he wanted by pitting people against each other and coming out on top. He had something on her. Something big. Something he thought would bring her to her knees. She didn’t know what it was—it could be anything—and if Shepherd thought it was bad, it had to be.
He sensed her building panic and leaned back, smile in place.
“See you Monday,” he said cheerily and walked out the door, leaving it open.
Yes, he definitely had something on her. She pushed a hand to her chest, trying to even out her breathing as she watched him walk out her front garden without bothering to close the gate behind him.
What a morning this had turned into. A complete debacle if Stevie had ever seen one, and she had; she was an expert on debacles. Between Troy and Shepherd, she felt like a door to her life had been opened and monsters had stormed through, invading the quiet tranquility she’d created for herself in this town. It would be so easy to sink to the floor and give in to the feeling that everything was finally slipping through her fingers.
But people like Troy were just assholes, and Stevie doubted she’d ever see him again, not after Hale and Cade had put the fear of God in him.
Then there was Shepherd. She wasn’t his victim anymore,
and she had a few contacts back in L.A. who might help her. He wouldn’t let his grip on her life go as easily as Troy had, but she’d left Shepherd behind once before. She would do it again—for good this time.
Once she’d recovered her breath, she shoved her broken door as closed as it could go and went upstairs. Her bedroom stank of pot. She ripped the sheets off her bed and stripped out of last night’s clothes before taking a long, scalding shower. Back downstairs, her wet hair dripping down her back, she stuffed the rank clothes in her garbage can. Methodically, she went through her house room by room and purged it of the night before. She worked with single-minded fury, and when she was finished, she went to her phone and sent emails to her L.A. friends.
No matter what, this was a game Shepherd Caldwell wouldn’t win. Not again.
* * *
Stevie had just finished cleaning when a knock rapped against the doorframe of her front door.
“Stevie?” Cade called.
“Come in!”
She dumped the last of the broken glass into the garbage and looked up in time to see Cade setting a brand new door against the wall. “You didn’t have to buy me a completely new door, you know.”
“It’s no problem,” he said.
Stevie noticed the tool belt hanging low on his hips, directly contradicting his pressed pants and spotless white shirt. He set about rolling up his shirtsleeves. “You’re putting it up?”
Though she’d tried not to sound skeptical, Cade still shot her a dirty look. “I have my contractor’s license. Plus, I’ve built stuff before. Hale just always happens to forget about it.”
“He said you could barely hammer a nail.”
“Lucky for you then”—he drew the battery-powered drill dangling from his belt and held it up for her—“I’m screwing it.”
Despite the morning she’d had and the night before, where she screwed up so badly by smoking pot, Stevie snorted out a laugh right as Cade realized what he’d said. The tips of his ears started turning red, and in that moment, her mistakes didn’t feel so bad, because she could still laugh with Cade.
