by K. K. Allen
He threaded his fingers through mine and moved his mouth to my ear. “Remember the night we met?”
I instantly laughed at the memory of the terror that had come over me when his loud music and splashing in the pool had woken me up. “I could never forget. I was terrified.”
He chuckled. “Not for long.”
I met his eyes over my shoulder. “I don’t know if I’ve ever stopped being terrified of you. Only now it’s for other reasons.”
He nodded, and our silence spoke enough for us. He felt the same. Then his mouth moved to my lips, and he spoke against them. “How about one more swim before I have to leave tomorrow?”
My insides squeezed at the question. We were down to counting the hours before his departure, and the aches I was starting to feel were a preview of what I was sure would come. “Okay,” I whispered back.
We gathered our things, made our way back home, then separated to change into our swimsuits. I chose a white two-piece he’d yet to see me in, fully intending to leave him with an image he would never forget.
Liam was already swimming laps when I sat down at the edge of the pool and sank my feet in the water. I watched his perfect strokes, the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin, and the way the water moved for him like he was the conductor to its flow.
After taking his last lap, he popped up between my legs and grinned. “You’re going to be a hard one to leave tomorrow, Chelsea Banks.”
Leaning down, I met his mouth with mine and kissed him while running my hands through his hair. He lifted me off the edge then pulled me into the water. When my legs wrapped around his waist, he sighed into my neck, making my whole body erupt with goose bumps.
“I’m going to miss this,” he whispered.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat while my eyes burned with oncoming tears. Tightening my hold, I placed my lips at his ear. “Well, then you better hurry back to me, Liam Colborn.”
He pulled back slightly, his lips twisting into a smile. “As fast as I can.”
31
Liam
After an entire night of lying awake with Chelsea, I spent the long flight to London sleeping. I was still in a daze when I exited the plane and found Bart waiting for me outside of customs. With a stern look, he nodded in greeting and clapped me on the back.
“Well, it’s about bloody time, mate. You’ve got the press up in arms awaiting your arrival. I hope you’re not too knackered.”
Speaking of the press. I looked around, confused as to why the car we were heading toward wasn’t flooded with those annoying bastards and their cameras. “Awaiting my arrival, eh?”
Bart looked around and grinned. “I told ’em you were already at an undisclosed hotel in Kensington. The nutters are camped out around town, thanks to your cock-up.” Then he jabbed his finger toward the open car door. “Now get in. We’ll talk about the plan.”
The dreaded plan. Bart had been working on his so-called plan for the past week since I’d finally called him and told him I was making arrangements to come home.
“Good. We can talk about the plan on the way to my flat.”
Bart shook his head while he tapped a message out on his phone. “No time.” Then he nodded to a hanging garment bag that I hadn’t noticed was next to me until he’d pointed it out. “Change into that. You have a meeting in an hour.”
“Don’t be a wanker. I just landed. I need a shower, then I need my bed.”
Bart’s eyes snapped to mine. “You’ve been gone for a month, and suddenly you want to stop for a kip? Afraid not, mate. We’ve got to get you out of this mess straightaway.”
Bart had always been a wanker with his own agenda, but he was also the only person I remotely trusted. “Care to share your plan with me? I know nothing, yet you have me booked for a meeting in an hour. Who am I meeting with?”
“Vince wants to have a word to control the narrative of what happens next. It’s only fair since you up and left without a word. You still have a chance to salvage your contract.”
I huffed and leaned my head back into the seat. Just the mention of Vince made my body crawl with annoyance. Vince was the creator and executive director of British Bachelor. The show had been his baby for fourteen years, and he never let anyone forget that.
“I wouldn’t have left if the media hadn’t made a mockery of me thanks to all the bad edits I was given.”
Bart was silent for a moment, which was completely unlike him, but I knew he agreed with what I was saying. “I agree you got the shit end of the stick, but what did you expect? You broke three hearts in one night, leaving us without any footage for a finale. You left us with no choice.”
“I didn’t break three hearts. You know that as well as I do.”
“Right, but you should have let it all play out on camera instead of walking away.”
“And break up with them later when they were expecting a proposal? I couldn’t do that to any of them.”
“Even Francesca?” Bart asked the question with as much bitterness as I felt.
Bart had been there with me, and he’d been just as surprised as I was to find out that Francesca was nothing but a media-hungry wannabe actress.
“As soon as the cameras pointed in the opposite direction, her true colors became crystal clear. She was a completely different person, but I can’t call her out for any of that, now can I?”
Bart shook his head. “You most certainly cannot.”
“Great. So it’s me who looks like the arse. I sure felt like one too.”
Bart twisted his face. “Don’t tell me you were daft enough to believe the lead spot on a high-profile show like this didn’t come with puppet strings.”
I was silent, reveling in my own stupidity for signing on to do the show in the first place. The weight of it all was finally coming fully into picture. The last thing I wanted was to go back to a world where I was controlled by someone else’s narrative. Where was the reality in that? But I couldn’t even form my first syllable before Bart was speaking again.
“This is how the game works. Now you need to finish what you signed on to do.”
“Or I walk away completely and end my contract. I’m no one’s puppet, and it’s not like I need the money.”
I made the mistake of letting my gaze settle back on his. Bart’s level glare blazed back at me with anger. “Oh, you don’t, do ya? Well, I don’t give a shit about your financial situation. When they assigned me as your producer, my arse got put on the line too. Your actions affect others. And do I also need to remind you of a contract you signed with the network? The moment you walked away from that show, you opened yourself up to one hell of a lawsuit. Vince will be more than happy than to pursue legal action if his precious ratings are at stake. You might not need the money, but you sure as hell can’t afford to lose any.”
Well, fuck. He had a good point. I chose not to test the waters any further and, instead, got dressed in the gray tailored suit, tossed some water on my hair, and tried to make it appear somewhat presentable. In minutes, I looked like the British Bachelor again—the man the show had created—the man I thought, at the time, I wanted to be.
Just wearing the suit made me feel as slimy as I had back then, like a fraud dressed to fool the world, and I instantly craved what I had back in Providence. Not just Chelsea, though she was my number-one reason for wanting to go back, but because, for the first time in a long time, I’d felt like myself.
This wasn’t me. This was the lie I’d agreed to live, but I was willing to come back to make for the quickest and cleanest exit possible. Only then would I be able to move forward.
“Well,” I said when Bart still hadn’t looked up from his phone. “What’s the plan?”
He sent his message and slid his phone back in his pocket. “Right. The plan.” He leaned back against the seat, setting his arms on either side of him. “Our plan is to agree with everything they ask of you to avoid a breach of contract.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s i
t? That’s your brilliant plan?”
Bart raised his brows in a challenge. “You’ll go to whatever interviews they book for you throughout the week, ending with a live reunion taping on Monday night.”
“Wait a bloody minute,” I said with a shake of my head. I must not have heard him right. “Reunion taping? They already aired that.”
“Precisely. And you missed it. Lucky for you, they rebooked it, and all of your lovely ladies will be there to greet you. Directly following the taping, you have bookings on two late-night shows, then you can have your kip after everything you’re scheduled for throughout the week.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Bart scrolled through his phone then read off dozens of radio and television and entertainment news names. I was already overwhelmed.
“You’ll be under fire this week,” Bart said in close. “I hope you’re ready.”
I shook my head, letting out a frustrated laugh. “Why do these people act like I owe them something? This is my life, and they’re making a mockery of it.”
“Considering you signed up for a show where you were expected to fall in love and failed, I believe you do, in fact, owe them something. You were a coward by leaving everyone hanging. Now it’s time to make the viewers happy.”
As much as I wanted to lunge for Bart for calling me a coward, his words rang true deep in my chest. I had been a coward. Disappearing had been much easier than facing the aftermath that had surfaced once viewers saw that I couldn’t commit. In the end, everyone was just doing their jobs. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t get a say in what gave the network good ratings. I was just the bait.
We arrived at the network’s building in Marylebone’s Portland Place where we were escorted from the parking garage into the back entrance of the office then to a small conference room. When we entered, a group of executives, producers, directors—familiar faces from when we’d taped the show—were sitting in wait.
As soon as everyone spotted me, they were on their feet, wearing smiles that told me they were glad to see me again. I wasn’t fooled by the warm hugs and firm handshakes or the encouraging voices telling me that they were so glad I was back. I was their puppet, nothing more, in a world they had created, and I had malfunctioned miserably.
Bart led me to a spot on the other side of the table, then we all settled into our seats as the conference door closed with a heavy boom.
“How was your holiday, Liam? Well worth it, we hope.” Vince Petri, Executive Producer of British Bachelor, was directly across the table from me when he spoke, sending a quick chill up my spine. He was in his early fifties with smooth tan skin and white-white hair. He was a legend to the entertainment community and a man to be feared behind closed doors. Out of everyone in the room, he was the one I trusted the least.
“It was a much-needed getaway. Thank you for asking.”
Bart shot me a hard look and shook his head, telling me not to respond again. “Liam is eager to make things right.”
Vince leaned forward slightly while his broad shoulders pushed back. “Let me remind everyone here that Liam walked off a production set while still filming, was a no-show on the reunion episode, then skipped out on every single scheduled appearance since. I should hope he wants to make things right.”
I shifted in my seat and glared at Bart beside me. “I do, Vince. You have my word on that.”
Already, the conversation was going horribly wrong. I wasn’t there to defend myself or to play into the media’s hands. I was there to move on and to figure out how to do so.
“Well, good.” Vince gave a smug smile. “I have to say, up until that final episode aired, our ratings were the highest they’ve ever been. We lost a lot of credibility as a show when you did what you did.”
I nodded. “In retrospect, I do believe I could have handled things better. I reacted poorly to the situation, and I’m ready to discuss that. However, I can’t take all the credit for the fan and media’s reaction. It would have been nice if the show had given me an edit that didn’t make me look like the bad guy, but—” I raised my hands in the air in a gesture to show I was ready for the consequences.
Vince’s chuckle echoed off the walls. Then he threw his hands up. “Someone had to be the bad guy.”
I clenched my jaw before releasing it to speak. “I didn’t sign on to be your bad guy.”
“You certainly weren’t our hero in the end, now were you? Heroes don’t disappear when everyone needs them.”
Buried anger crawled out from my chest with Vince’s words. I’d kept so much of my frustration toward the show tucked away to the point that even I’d started to believe the man they’d painted me to be. Sure, I could take accountability for my actions. Disappearing had been wrong. But sitting there and listening to Vince speak only reminded me of the toxic environment I’d walked away from.
“I disappeared because, at the time, I felt like it was the only option. I wasn’t in love with those women, and they weren’t in love with me. Explaining that to the media after the way I was portrayed in that final episode was impossible.”
Bart rested a hand on my arm, signaling for me to refrain from speaking. He turned to Vince. “I think we’re all here for the right reasons. Let’s talk about the week ahead. It’s my strong feeling that we need to expose Liam’s vulnerability here. He thought he was ready for love, but clearly, he wasn’t. I think that’s a very human thing to realize.”
Vince pursed his lips, and he looked to be pondering Bart’s suggestion. “Yes, but is it enough to make Liam relatable to the fans of the show again? That’s what they’re looking for.”
Bart settled back into his chair. “Liam, you can correct me, but I believe it’s deeper than anything ever discussed on the show. There was a lot of talk about your brother’s death. Viewers are well aware of your tragic loss, since it was such a significant topic of conversation. You’ve already mentioned how it’s affected many aspects of your life, especially when it comes to women. Do you believe that may have played a part in your commitment issues?”
My mouth snapped shut again, as I realized that what he was saying was true. “It absolutely played a role, but Blake isn’t the reason I walked away from the women. I walked away because, if Blake’s life has taught me anything, it’s that life is short, and you can’t live it with regrets. I could have moved forward with any of those women, but I would have been choosing them for all the wrong reasons.”
Bart twisted his lips. “Right. But maybe we can word it differently. Like—” He turned to Vince, who was completely tuned into the young producer’s words. “With the anniversary of Blake’s death approaching, Liam was triggered, then he froze when it came to the thought of settling down.”
Vince pounded a fist on the table and beamed back at Bart. “Yes. That’s bloody brilliant. And true, right, Liam?”
I couldn’t argue with a single thing they had said. I nodded.
Bart clapped me on the back. “The cast of women will have sympathy for Liam’s situation. So will the viewers. And it continues the storyline of how Liam has never been able to settle down, but there’s hope for you still because you believe that the one is out there.”
At the same moment as he finished his sentence, Chelsea’s face popped into my head. The thought of settling down didn’t seem like such a bad thing when I thought of her. I let out a heavy breath, finally feeling closer to the finish line than I had in a long time. Soon, the nightmare would be over.
Vince sat back and smiled. “There’s only one thing we need to discuss.”
The room grew quiet as Vince snapped his fingers, and his assistant jumped out of his seat and handed his boss a manila folder. Without even looking at it, he slid the folder to Bart at me.
My heart sank as I watched Vince’s expectant expression focus on Bart as he opened the folder. “Oh, bloody hell.”
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to even entertain the idea that something could make this situation any worse than
it already was. But when Bart slid the opened folder in front of me, I didn’t have a choice but to look down. Bloody hell is right.
The top photo was of Chelsea and me sitting on a blanket in the park. She was between my legs, and I was kissing her on her cheek. My heart caught in my chest as one by one I went through the photos to see that whoever had followed Chelsea and me to the park had caught every single private moment between us—our kisses, our shaved ice, the way I’d looked longingly into her silver-blue eyes before she’d kissed me back. God, I missed her.
Anger boiled in my chest before my eyes snapped to Vince. “You had me followed?”
“Who is this, Liam?” Bart cut in.
“Her name is Chelsea Banks,” Vince said. “She’s the nanny for Simon and Bridget Hogue.”
“What?” Bart asked, directing his question at me. “The doctor you were staying with in Providence? Why haven’t you mentioned a bloody thing about her?”
“It was no one’s business. I don’t want Chelsea dragged into all of this.” My eyes snapped to Vince. “Have these been made public?”
Vince shook his head. “No. These are the only photos I know about, and I don’t plan to let them out of my hands.” Everyone in the room gave a collective sigh of relief.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Are you sure?” Vince asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he worked through his thoughts aloud. “Talk about a shocking twist. Viewers would eat this up. Liam walks away from the show because he doesn’t believe he’ll ever find love. He runs away to Providence then falls in love with a nanny?” He let out a boisterous laugh, his eyes wide. “The drama couldn’t have been better if we’d planned it.” Then he turned to address my producer. “What do you think, Bart?”
I shook my head hard, not giving Bart a chance to respond. There was no point. “No, absolutely not. Chelsea is off-limits. End of discussion.”
“But—” Bart started.
I stood, cutting him off, slamming my palms on the conference table. “The answer is no. I won’t consider her involvement for a moment. Do not ask me again.” With a curt nod, I made my way to the exit, ending the conversation.
