He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her wet cheek. Concern etched across his face. “Go. I’ll get Danny’s lunch. Take a break until you need to pick up the boys. We’ll talk later,” he said in a low, gentle voice.
Embarrassed by her weakness, Katie gave a wobbly nod and fled from the kitchen…away from the cruel memories and away from Vance’s understanding pity.
* * *
Inside her bedroom, she kicked her flats aside and pulled off her tunic top that suddenly felt heavy and unattractive. Without warning, the room felt oppressive, as if the walls were folding in on her. She pushed open the French doors to let the outside in and inhaled huge gulps of clean, country air. Breathe. In and out.
What in all Hollywood Squares had gotten into her? Only moments ago she’d been having a pleasant, somewhat bizarre new day, when…poof! All her emotions had welled up and practically choked her to death. Emotions she’d learned at an early age to tamp down and not let them get the best of her. One look from Vance, and she’d made a blubbering mess of his crisp cotton shirt—which, by the way, smelled like spicy decadence—in lieu of Kleenex.
Eyebrow twitching, she stared at her pale face in the mirror and got to work on tidying up her internal emotions, because when Vance said, “We’ll talk…” he meant he wanted an explanation for all those stupid things she’d said. How could she explain her twisted relationship with her parents? Her parents found fault with everything she did. And through the years, she’d become this huge wimp, always taking the path of least resistance. She’d learned it was futile to argue with their views, and if she’d nod and acquiesce, they’d finish up sooner rather than later. But being that cowardly wimp ate at Katie, tying her stomach in knots. She hated that she never stood up for herself, and allowed their words to continue to hurt her. When would she start living her own life? In another twenty-eight years?
Disgusted, Katie yanked a thin yellow T-shirt off a hanger in the closet. Slipping it over her head, she dug for her phone in her back pocket and called Inslee.
“Do I dress like a sixty-year-old woman?”
“Uh, yeah, in a boring, church-lady way.”
“Great. Just great. I’m twenty-eight and I look sixty. What do I do now?” she wailed.
“Change your wardrobe?” Inslee said, confused.
Along with her attitude. One major change at a time. “How? I’m stuck in the middle of small town USA, and the closest store with clothing is The Kitchen Sink. It sells everything from toenail clippers to bib overalls, but it doesn’t sell kitchen sinks…I asked. No way I’m shopping there.”
“First of all, calm down, Kim Kardashian. Why this sudden urge to buy new clothes? Not that I’m discouraging you. I’ve been waiting years for you to improve your wardrobe.”
“I don’t know. I guess…well, Vance said I dressed like a sixty-year-old woman.”
“I love that man. Have I told you that lately?” Katie growled in Inslee’s ear. “Relax. You’ve got credit cards and money in your account, don’t you?”
Katie nodded. She made decent money with McKnight Studios, and prior to that, she’d saved a good portion of her teaching salary. She’d never been a big spender. She still lived at home…God help her. This called for an intervention!
Her mother had handed down her Mercedes; Katie didn’t take extravagant trips or buy expensive jewelry. Which left her only weakness: photography. Recently she’d splurged on her new Nikon digital camera, but other than that…she didn’t spend her money.
Katie flopped back on the king-size bed and groaned. When had she become so boring? Not only did she dress like a sixty-year-old woman, but she lived like one too. “Yes, I have money, and I want to spend it. I need a change, and I need one yesterday. Tell me what to do.” Her determination renewed. Inslee had been right. Katie deserved some fun and should enjoy being away from home and the criticizing eyes of her parents…and Tad.
“You got Internet in that one-stoplight town?”
“Sure.”
“That’s all you need. Online shopping is the bomb, doll face! Free shipping, free return shipping. It’s addicting. It’s time for a real mean Hollywood-style shopping spree,” Inslee said, glee coloring her voice.
Two hours later and several thousand dollars poorer, Katie had a new wardrobe that would be shipping from Bloomies, Nordstrom, and Saks. Inslee forced Katie into uncharted territory with her choices and had given her opinion whether Katie wanted it or not. Inslee even convinced her to splurge on new bras and panties.
“My bras are perfectly fine,” Katie had argued.
“Yeah, but do they push up the goods? You need at least one or ten sexy bras in your repertoire. Sam loves it when I wear—”
“Oh no!” Katie interrupted. “I don’t want to hear about you and my brother. Baby sister may never recover.”
Inslee snorted. “You are so repressed. All I’m suggesting is when you get around to mattress surfing with Mr. Fifty Shades of Gorgeous, you might want to rethink what’s under your new clothes. White cotton undies with green turtles parading across your butt are not sexy.”
Clearly Inslee didn’t appreciate the comfort of Fruit of the Loom. “If I get around to mattress surfing. He’s not a sure thing.”
“Oh ho, he’s a sure thing, doll. I’m betting from his pictures he doesn’t go without for long.” No doubt. And didn’t that make Katie a crabby crabster.
Katie checked the time on her computer. Close to two. “Back to babysitting. Need to pick up the boys. Thanks for all your help.”
“Take selfies when your new clothes arrive so I can critique.”
“Don’t you think you’ve critiqued your best friend enough? My fragile self-esteem can’t take much more.”
“Let me rephrase. Take selfies so I can compliment you,” Inslee said.
Katie smiled. “You got it. Thanks again. Love you—”
“Katie!”
Katie jumped at the thunder in Vance’s voice. “Er, better go. Pirate Man is yelling, and it doesn’t sound good.”
Chapter 11
Vance stood on the front porch with hands splayed on his hips, glaring at his front lawn. Various cars and trucks had parked in his driveway with people from town spilling out. By the looks of their “costumes,” he had a sneaking suspicion why they were here.
Auditions.
Exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. Exactly why he should’ve placed Katie’s perfect ass in her Mercedes and on the road back to the land of grapefruit and avocados. Top two foods he detested the most. The peace and quiet he craved had disappeared faster than beer at a frat party as the misinformed citizens of Harmony crowded his front lawn. In truth, he was surprised it had taken them this long.
The Harmony Huggers piled out of a light blue minivan, wearing ridiculous straw hats tied under their necks, matching Hawaiian shirts, and goofy lipstick-smiles plastered across their wrinkled faces. They played the banjo and guitar, and their leader, Irene Appleton, played the accordion. Yep. Accordion. Overall consensus: more painful to watch than hear. But they were considered a staple at any and every Harmony event, from the Miss Pickle and Peanut Parade to the Square Dancing Jamboree. Next came the Happy Hookers, a group of old ladies who sat around crocheting toilet seat covers and stuffed monkeys for the children’s wing at the hospital.
“Hey there, Vance. Brought the girls with me today. Don’t want to miss the show.” Mrs. Cornwaddle, a founding member of the Happy Hookers, waved as she rocked across his lawn with her walker, smashing his green-and-white hostas along the way.
“Shit,” Vance said under his breath. Clancy and Clinton Perry jumped out of their rusted-out truck with Lawn Wrestlers painted in green on the side. More cars and trucks parked willy-nilly over his front yard. Vance released a tortured groan. He had more important things to do than watch the town of Harmony roll all over his property and break ou
t into song. Dammit. He had important things to do, like finish his next scene or his bottle of bourbon…or wrap his fingers around a certain California fruitcake’s neck.
He spun around and yelled again, “Katie—” Danny came running out the front door, chasing Lollipop, and beautiful, tempting Katie, with wide eyes and creased brow, followed on her heels.
She froze at the festival of people destroying his ground cover with their folding chairs and coolers. Before the day was over, they’d be roasting a pig and grilling burgers.
“What’s going on?” Her gaze darted around the yard. “Are you having a party?” she asked, blinking serious brown eyes at him.
“Me?” Fiery anger pierced his chest like a hot poker. “Oh no. I’m not the attraction here, sweet cheeks. That would be you and your Hollywood movie crew, which is nowhere in sight, but that won’t stop the fine citizens of Harmony from camping out,” he ground out between clenched teeth. Wise Katie backed up a few steps from the rage she must’ve witnessed building on his face.
“But…they’re…we…” She gestured loosely.
“Uh-huh. There are no words.” Vance took a threatening step toward Katie, who had managed to create more havoc in his life in the last three days than Scooby-Doo, Shaggy, and Velma had in three weeks. “I knew this would happen. I don’t need this shit right now. Got any great Hollyweird ideas on how to get rid of the town rubberneckers and performers?” Katie’s pretty mouth worked, but no sounds came out. And as angry as he was, he still couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her silly. “Something wrong with your eyebrow?” he asked, examining her more closely.
She slapped a hand over half her face, covering her twitching brow. “No. Everything’s fine—”
“Vance Kerner, what is going on around here?” Vance turned at the sound of his name. Sweet major fucktard. If he’d had his gun, he would’ve put a bullet in his head. Swishing up the walkway, wearing a skintight, zebra-striped dress, hot-pink hooker shoes, and a come-do-me smile was Jo Ellen Huggins, Harmony’s most famous bachelorette—not by choice. Jo Ellen wanted marriage in a bad, bad way. However, since Brogan had married Lucy, Cal had married Liza, and Keith had scattered broken hearts like bread crumbs by snatching up Bertie, that left Vance and a few other single guys prime for the picking.
Vance snagged a surprised Katie and pulled her into his side, where he covered her shoulders with his arm. “Play along, or you won’t be able to sit for a week,” he growled low for her ears only. “Hey, Jo Ellen. Have you met Katie McKnight, my girlfriend?” The sounds of Irene Appleton warming up her accordion masked Katie’s gasp.
Jo Ellen’s big, pink-lipped smile dimmed. “Why no, sugah. Haven’t had the pleasure,” she said, extending her hand to Katie. “Hey. Jo Ellen Huggins, Mary Kay consultant and special friend of Vance’s.” Bullshit. By special she meant they’d peed in the same kiddie pool as toddlers.
As handshakes went, Jo Ellen’s wasn’t very friendly. She didn’t bother disguising the once-over she gave Katie, from the top of her dark hair to the bottom of her shoes, landing back on Katie’s face, where Jo Ellen feigned horror.
“Sakes alive. Let me give you my card.” Jo Ellen rummaged through her matching pink handbag and whipped out a business card. “I’m no miracle worker, but I might be able to eliminate those dark bags under your eyes and your blotchy skin tone.” Vance bit back a laugh. He had to hand it to Jo Ellen…she knew how to come out swinging.
Katie plucked the card from her hand. “Nothing a full night’s sleep won’t cure.” She leaned forward, confiding in a conspiratorial stage whisper loud enough for half the front lawn to hear. “If only Vance would leave me alone.” She waggled her eyebrows. “He’s a tiger in the sack.”
Two jaws hit the front porch with a thud: his and Jo Ellen’s. And then Katie growled like a jungle cat, clawing the air with her hand in front of Jo Ellen’s shocked face. Backing up, Jo Ellen caught herself before tumbling down the front steps.
“My, my. Aren’t you a live one?” Flashing Vance a syrupy sweet smile, she purred, “Call me, sugah, when you’ve dumped—when Katie returns to Hollywood,” Jo Ellen amended with a smug look. “Katie, honey, flag me down any time. Just look for the pink pickup truck. Might want to take care of those crow’s-feet while we’re at it.” She waggled her fingers and sauntered down the walkway. “Bye, y’all.”
“Ahhh! Shit!” Vance jumped back in pain. Katie had ground the heel of her shoe into his instep.
“You…you arrogant, self-centered…slug nugget.” Tossing her head, ponytail swishing, Katie stomped down the front steps.
“Wait…what did you call me? A slug nugget?” he said around a chuckle he couldn’t contain, wiggling his injured foot.
“Watch Dana Sue. I’m going to pick up the boys.” But she didn’t get very far. The yahoo Perry brothers blocked her path.
“Hey, we heard you was shooting porn, and we want in on it,” Clancy the nutsack said.
“Yeah. We watch porn all the time. We’re experts,” Clinton, dumber than a furball, added.
“Well, here’s the deal, guys…McKnight Studios does not shoot porn. However, I understand Vance is quite the star with Slimeballs R Us. Why don’t you get in on his next movie?”
“Huh? We ain’t seen him in no movies.”
“Hey, Kerner, which pornos you been in?”
Hellfire. The piercing pain in his chest was turning into a full-blown heart attack. His career was spiraling downward right before his very eyes. The smirk playing around Katie’s ripe mouth was like a shot in the arm. She had just messed with the wrong guy.
Game on, sweet cheeks.
Vance shot Katie his most evil smile when she ducked her head and hurried through the throngs of people. “That’s right, run away. But remember, you can’t stay gone forever,” he yelled at her retreating back.
“Kerner, you in Amy Does Aberdeen?”
“Shut up, Clancy, and get the hell off my property.”
* * *
Smart Katie stayed as far away from Vance as humanly possible for the remainder of the afternoon. Vance escaped to his loft and watched through his window as Katie got stuck dealing with all of Harmony’s movie-star-wannabes and their lack of talent. The afternoon had turned into a colossal nightmare. Vance laughed out loud when the Harmony Huggers made Katie sit in one of the folding chairs and listen to their medley of songs, asking for suggestions and critiques. The Ardbuckle twins performed with their twirling batons. And jumpy Katie kept throwing glances over her shoulder. Vance reveled in knowing he made her nervous. Very nervous. Good. She deserved it for pulling that porno shit.
By six o’clock, Katie interrupted his writing and texted him: U coming down 4 dinner?
Vance picked up his phone and responded. Nope. But I’ll put kids to bed. And then deal w/u. U can’t hide 4ever.
Look who’s hiding! The only deal is u signing contract. 2nite! No more excuses…Or else.
Vance chuckled, reading her text. U threatening me, California Cupcake?
Call it what u want. I have ways to make u sign.
God, did she ever. But Vance didn’t want to make it too easy for her. He glanced at his Twitter page on his computer screen, and his jaw locked. His followers were going nuts, speculating on whether he’d filmed porn. Porn. He watched porn. Not as much as the dipshit Perry brothers, who probably had it on constant feed. And yeah, once in a while, he’d reenact a scene or two with one of his hookups. But not in a million years did he or would he ever star in a porn film.
These off-the-chart rumors smacked of Miss California Cupcake running her sweet mouth. Shannon Nichols, his assistant, worked overtime on damage control, dispelling the stories and repairing his tattered reputation through his social media platforms. Vance had also called Mike, and after unleashing his frustration and anger, Mike gave Vance the pat industry line about any publicity—even bad publicity—
being good and selling books. It didn’t make swallowing the bitter pill any easier. Vance prided himself on his reputation. He wrote war thrillers to honor soldiers…real soldiers like Adam Reynolds and his brother. He wrote to honor his dad. Now his name was being linked to Hugh Hefner’s and the Bambi Twins.
* * *
Around nine o’clock, Vance saved his manuscript and prepared to head over to the house. He had promised to Skype Gloria so she could chat with the kids before bedtime. His cell rang, and an unfamiliar number showed up on the screen.
“Yeah.” Vance barked into the phone.
“Vance Kerner? This is Walter McKnight with McKnight Studios.”
He’d be damned. Katie’s dad.
“What can I do for you, Mr. McKnight?” Vance dropped back down into his desk chair.
“Call me Walter.” Walter had a fast, gruff businessman’s voice, as if he gave a lot of orders and expected them to be obeyed. “I’m sure you’re aware that we’re in negotiations about acquiring the rights to your Honor series.”
“Y-yeah. I’m aware,” Vance said slowly.
“This looks to be an interesting proposition for the both of us. But before we let our agents and brokers get too bogged down with paperwork, I thought you and I could come to an agreement first.” The little hairs on the back of Vance’s neck stood up. Already the vibe from this phone call was off.
“What kind of agreement?”
“The kind where you agree to my terms…which will allow me to make movies based on your books. The kind where we both make money.”
Jim Beam started screaming his name. Vance lifted the half-empty bottle of bourbon, poured a hefty shot in his glass, and knocked it back. The burn to his throat went a long way in calming his nerves. Slamming the glass down on his desktop, he said, “You have my attention.”
“Good. I thought so. Now, regarding my daughter, Katie…”
Sweet Southern Bad Boy Page 13
