Game Changer (22 page)

Brandon reached into his pocket for his phone.

“Cameras are still rolling,” she said.

Great. Just great. Brandon walked to the limo again. One after another, he escorted his dates to the door, angled them away from sight of the limo, and kissed their cheeks, keeping everything fair, giving nothing away of whom he favored in the competition out of certainty that all the ladies would go back to the rental house they were sharing and compare notes.

Finally, after all five ladies had been delivered inside, the director called “Cut.”

Brandon allowed his shoulders to sag. His hand shot to his pocket as he walked away in search of privacy away from the cameras and film crew.

“Don't go far,” Mac called. “We've got to get your confessionals done.”

Brandon was halfway to the backside of the auxiliary trailer when Jim Dresdic, the executive producer, stepped out from nowhere, catching Brandon off-guard.

“I'd like a word before you get to that confessional,” Dresdic said.

That didn't sound promising. Being getting pulled aside by the executive producer was a lot like being called to the principal's office. “Let me take ten and grab some water first,” Brandon said.

“Fair enough.”

Brandon changed directions and headed back to the craft services table. He grabbed a bottle of water from the ice-filled bucket, but didn't bother with the pretense of cracking the seal on the bottle before he fished out his phone.

Sorry
, Harper had written.
You said you weren't coming back to Destiny Falls after filming ended. I thought that was still your plan.

“Oh, bullshit,” he growled under his breath.

That's what he'd told her before he'd left that first time, when they'd been little more than failed lovers. But he'd already been back. For five nights surrounding her surgery, he'd spent every waking hour, and most of his sleeping hours, by her side. And after that, they'd connected over the phone or by texting at least once a day, if not more. She had to know his priorities had changed. He'd thought hers had, too. People worked their birthday parties around their best friends' schedules, didn't they, damn it?

He waited until that first hot burst of irritation had flared out before he texted her back.
I would've come to NY for your party. You should have asked.

This time, she responded right away.
That's a long way to travel and big $$$ just for a birthday party.

Another pat answer, but what could he do? The party invitations had been sent, so there was no changing the date of the party now. Nor was there any use staying mad at her. That wouldn't do either of them any good.

You're worth that kind of $$$. I miss you.
Shaking his head, he deleted the last sentence because it sounded like something a lover would say. Instead he typed,
And you're having too much fun without me.

Like you're not having a ton of fun down there
, she texted back.

Not anymore. Not by a mile. He closed his eyes. How could he explain to her the pervasive loneliness he felt in Miami?

He typed,
We can celebrate your birthday down here by skydiving.

This is a really busy month, but I'll see what I can work out
, she wrote.

Yes. Good. Seeing Harper would be the anchor to reality that he needed amid all the
Meet the Groom
insanity.
Make the res soon, okay? I need to see you again.
Cringing, he deleted that last line and wrote,
Anxious to get a jump-start on your birthday celebration.

In reply, she sent an emoji of a dead smiley face with
X
s as eyes.
Terrible pun.

He let out a snorting laugh through his nose as a firm hand slapped his shoulder. He turned to see Dresdic looking mildly impatient. He tipped his head toward one of the limousines on the premises. “Let's sit in comfort while we talk, shall we? Don't know about you, but I could use a cocktail.”

With his confessionals still to film that night, Brandon had at least an hour left of his workday, but declining an executive producer's offer wasn't a habit Brandon wanted to start.

In the limo, Dresdic poured each of them a finger of a brown liquid from a decanter as the driver pulled away from the curb.

Dresdic handed him a glass, then settled into the seat across from Brandon. “The driver will take us around the neighborhood for a bit, give us a view while we chat.”

Why did Brandon feel like a poor sucker in a mob movie, about to get whacked?

“I'm going to cut right to it, this season isn't living up to our investors' expectations.”

That was news to Brandon. “How, exactly?”

Dresdic slid his elbows forward on his knees, cradling his drink. “Tonight's a perfect example. Our viewers want romance. They want moments that make them swoon or make them gasp. They would've wanted to see you kiss the contestants tonight.”

“I did kiss them.”

“On the lips, son. Like a man.” The ice in his glass rattled. “But you don't seem to be giving this show your all.”

No, he wasn't, but he'd thought he'd done a better acting job than that. “I'm sorry it's coming across that way, sir.”

“We scoured the country for the best women for you.”

“They're all quite beautiful and accomplished.”

Dresdic leaned forward. “Then what's the problem?”

They weren't what he wanted
. “No problem.”

“I'm obligated to remind you that you don't have to propose to either of your finalists. But you should know that if you don't, there will be millions of disappointed viewers. The other producers and I would vastly prefer you to pick a winner, and there are monetary rewards if you do, as it mentioned in your contract.”

Brandon remembered that clause. He remembered thinking that part sounded a lot like a sports contract paying its players a bonus if the team won the Super Bowl.

“It's far more satisfying to our investors and viewers if you end the show engaged, even if it doesn't stick after the finale airs. Just remember, if you got engaged, then you wouldn't be doing anything that you couldn't undo off the air later on. We feel like this would be the best way to salvage the season.”

Wow. He was going to have to let that nugget of cynicism sink in later. Meanwhile, Brandon gelled his face into a mask. “Understood.”

He clapped Brandon on the knee. “Excellent. Tomorrow, Lucinda is going to take you to pick out engagement rings.”

“What?”

He chuckled and sipped his drink. “How did you think it happens? We hand you just any random ring as you walk onto the soundstage for the final candle ceremony?”

“I figured that some high-end jeweler is paying the show to feature one of their rings.”

His bark of laughter filled the limo. “Now you're getting the hang of it. The jeweler we feature on the show paid to have their time in the sun, too. They'll give you a choice of rings so you can match the rings with the finalists' personalities. You'll pick one out for each of the five remaining contestants, then our editing team will slice and dice it into a great segue way piece between your romantic getaways with the finalists and the final ring ceremony.”

How romantic.
Actually, now that he was considering it, he should be glad that the romance had been taken out of the equation for him. Saved him the effort of pretending off-camera. This really was the perfect gig for a commitment-averse man like him. He got to experience what it was like to propose, to be engaged, with none of the pesky ball-and-chain expectations.

“We all hope that you take the ring selection seriously. We hope one of those rings makes an appearance on a finalist's finger. It's part of the jeweler's contract, you see. We double our profit from the embedded product placement if you propose.” He held up his drink, winked again, then took a long sip. Smacking his lips, he added, “Among other, more gallant reasons for you to pop the question, of course.”

Of course.

Hollywood is a big business and he was the latest get-rich scheme. That sinking feeling hit his gut again, the one he got slammed by whenever he ruminated on how far over the line to selling out he'd let the show push him.

His phone chimed with Harper's ringtone.

“Go ahead and get that, son.” He pulled his phone from his jacket. “I've got my own messages to return.”

Beneath a text message—
I forgot to show you this from today's adventure
—he scrolled to see a photo, a selfie of her standing at the top of what looked like a lighthouse, her one arm extended to take the picture and the other flexing like she was showing off her bicep. Behind her, a lake stretched out in glassy stillness below a brilliant blue sky. But nothing matched the beauty of the light in her eyes, the strength and peace radiating from her smile.

He shut off his phone. He was sick and tired of staring at photographs of all the fun she was having, instead of being there with her. She was making the most of her life, while he was stuck in Miami helping to line the pockets of a bunch of rich Hollywood assholes. When exactly had his and Harper's roles reverse? Hell, he was the one who'd convinced her to stop hiding in her brick fortress and grab life by the balls. Now, it was his turn to take a lesson from her.

His first order of business was to honor the contract he'd signed and the commitment he'd made to the show. After all, his true reason for signing on was to inspire veterans and that goal still held true. It was time for him to focus all his energy on that.

He held up his drink and smiled at Dresdic. “I'm a team player, always have been, so whatever you and the other producers think is best, that's what I plan to do. Sounds like I'll be getting engaged in two weeks.”

During an afternoon lull in customers, Harper stole away to her desk to go over some forms from payroll she'd gotten earlier that week. She'd only been at it for a few minutes when a text message came in from Brandon.

Help! I'm supposed to pick out engagement rings and I'm totally clueless. Need you.

“Such a guy,” she said with a laugh, even as a rock settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want to help him with this. It felt wrong, like a violation of their friend zone rules.

She shoved her misgivings aside, then closed her office door and dialed his phone number.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he said by way of greeting. “I need your help bad.”

It was nice to hear him upbeat and happy to hear from her. She'd detected a note of dissatisfaction in his tone the day before, ever since they'd snipped at each other over her birthday invitation, though he insisted he was fine. “That's what I'm here for. What's up?”

“Just be aware that they're filming me, which means they're filming this conversation, so keep your words clean and family friendly.”

“Right. As if
Meet the Groom
is a family show.”

“Harper,” he warned in mock-sternness.

“Geez, okay. I'll behave.”

“I think this'd be better on video chat, so I can show you the rings. Are you decent?”

She gave herself a once-over. She was still in her workout clothes from that morning's ice-skating session. “I'm not going to be on TV, am I?”

“I don't know, maybe. We can have them pixelate your image if you'd rather.”

Yikes. But she'd vowed to give up her ego, so this was a good test. “Fine. Let's do this.”

“Okay, I'm hanging up so I can call you again on the video chat app.”

This time, she answered on her tablet so his image would be larger and she could prop it up on her desk. Brandon was dressed in a dark suit with the shirt open at the collar. That, along with the professionally styled hair and stage makeup he was wearing, transformed him into an almost cartoonishly idealized man—debonair and flawless in a way that still shocked her every time they'd video chatted on filming days.

“Hi again,” he said. His eyebrows pushed together. “Were you working out?”

Self-consciousness fought for a foothold in her mind, but she battled it back. “Earlier. I was practicing on the ice for my refereeing debut this week.”

“That's right. I still hate that I'm going to miss that.” God, it was comforting to have her friend back, the clouds and darkness gone from his disposition.

“I hate that you're going to miss it, too.”

“I asked Gabe to record you for me.”

“Nice.”

He strummed his fingers on the glass display case he was leaning again. “Uh, okay. Cool. Let me show you the rings I have to choose from. I really need a woman's advice on this.”

Her heart pounding, she braced herself for the sight of the kind of rings she'd given up hoping for, the kinds of rings every woman wished for. This was part of giving up her expectations about life and living in the moment.

She would find the joy in helping Brandon pick out an engagement ring for another woman. She would, and she'd do it with sincere pleasure. Life was too short to be jealous; it was too short to dwell on what would never be. On the contrary, she welcomed the chance to be there for the friend who'd been there for her in her darkest hours—and she was going to keep telling herself that until she believed it.

“All right,” she said. “Let's do this thing.”

***

Brandon held his phone out and panned slowly over the line of rings laid out on the glass counter.

“I'm supposed to pick five, one for each of the remaining finalists,” he told her as he happened.

“Five? Oh, that's right. We haven't talked about the finalists since the last candle ceremony. So who was the unlucky lady this time? Skinny Winnie?” She gasped. “I'm probably not allowed to talk to you about that, am I?”

“No, it's fine. Mac'll edit it out, right, Mac?” Mac gave a thumbs-up. “To answer your question, Winnie redeemed herself at the yacht party they held for us.”

“That's good. I like her. She sounded perfect for you.”

He turned the camera back on him. “None of them are perfect for me.”

“Ah.”

Irritation tickled the back of his throat. “What does that mean?”

“It means, of course none of them are,” Harper said. “Because if you found the perfect woman for you, then you'd have no choice but to drop her like a hot potato before she threatened everything you stand for.”

With that, she started singing the chorus of a classic rock song about flying free and solo, without chains to hold you down.

Her words filled him with disquiet all over again. They joked all the time about him being a confirmed bachelor, but this one hit too close to home, especially after his conversation with Dresdic.

Harper was right, as usual. If he ever found his perfect match, he'd fight it tooth and nail. He'd reject the woman entirely and probably throw himself into his whole YOLO project with even more vigor, just to prove his dedication to his nine brothers-in-arms who'd died by living a life of freedom and adventure.
He might even move thousands of miles away to avoid her.

He shook the thought away. Nope. Not going to go there. “Let's move on. I'm on a tight filming schedule today.” He shifted the camera back to the line of rings. “Tell me which one you like best.”

“The third from the right. The princess cut with the sapphires.”

It was a great ring, but not one he would've picked for Harper because she was such a traditionalist. He would've gone with something simple and classic, a gold band and a huge solitary diamond with an oval or marquise cut. She'd picked a platinum band with a princess cut that was flanked with brilliant blue sapphires. “Really? Even though it's more than a simple gold band and a solitary?”

“Yeah. The blue stones remind me of my special cocktail napkins, so I'm biased. Blue's my new favorite color. I know that doesn't help you pick a ring for your brides, though.”

She punctuated the word
brides
with air quotes, as usual. Whatever. After his chat with Dresdic, he agreed with her sarcasm, even though Danielle and Jennifer and Winnie were good people whom he really liked.

He plucked Harper's ring from the lineup and handed it back to the jeweler and made a cutting gesture across his throat. He could never give that ring to a woman now. Every time he'd look at it, he'd think of Harper. Maybe this was the wrong move, asking her for help. Because how could he propose with any ring that she liked, even a little? They'd all be associated with her. There was only one way to salvage the disastrous plan. “Okay, new question. Which is your least favorite?”

“The one on the left, with the oval diamond and the gold band.”

Huh.
Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought he did. “Are you sure? Because if you were a prospective bride on the show, that's exactly the ring I would've gotten for you.” He'd chosen his words carefully, letting the show be a hypothetical buffer of impartiality because he was fairly certain that platonic friends didn't have opinions on the ring they'd choose if they proposed marriage to the other.

“And old Harper would've loved it. But I'm done with romance, for real. However, if I were going to drop money on a ring for myself, I'd get something flashy and personalized. Something fun.”

What kind of defeatist attitude was that? He held the phone up and looked her in the eye. “You're not done with romance for real.”

“Yes, I am, at least for the foreseeable future. That's what I've been trying to tell Presley. She's been pressuring me to start dating and she's serious about it. She's even got a guy picked out that she wants to set me up on a blind date with. But I think she's projecting because she's the one who's scared to start dating again.”

What a concept—Harper the flippant one about relationships and him the overly-sensitive romantic. “She only broke off the engagement, what, two months ago? Of course she's not ready yet. But she has a point about you. I think she's right. I think you should go on this date.”

Harper wrinkled her nose. “I couldn't be less interested. Like I've been trying to get through to Presley, I'm just going to focus on being a person for a while. Not a woman, not a sexual being. Just a human being. I'm barely a woman anyway now that all my lady parts are gone, and I've got too much living to do to get dragged down by a relationship. Kind of like you. One might say you inspired me.”

That was the most ridiculous logic he'd ever heard. “Okay, one—not all your lady parts are gone, so stop with the toxic bullshit. And two—if you're really serious about this whole selfish, carpe diem lifestyle like I have, then you should be going on lots of dates and embracing the idea of casual sex. Like I do.”
Or, used to, anyway, before the show killed his sex drive.

She threw her head back and let out a belly laugh for the ages. Mac shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the camera on his shoulder. Lucinda tapped the glass in an attempt to refocus his attention on the rings. Listening to her laugh like that, like he hadn't heard since they'd stood in the hallway by the men's locker room at the Iceplex after she'd faked an orgasm with him, a fire lit inside him to push the conversation with Harper as far as it would go.

It pissed him off that she was dismissing sex as superfluous instead of vital. It pissed him off that she'd dismissed sex with him so easily that night. And it pissed him off that she was dismissing herself as a woman.

Then again, it wasn't as though he had healthy sexual habits, seeing as how he'd signed a contract with a television studio relegating him to six months of either celibacy or sex with his prospective brides.

He tried to picture Danielle naked, which wasn't difficult because very little had been left to the imagination with the skin-tight, barely there dresses she wore during episode tapings. Sex with her would probably rock, but it didn't get his blood pumping like it should have—like it would have a year ago. What the hell had gotten into him? There he was advising Harper to indulge in casual sex, but the idea had never sounded less appealing to him.

He looked over his shoulder at Mac. “I need a minute of privacy to finish this call. Please.”

The red recording button turned off. “Sure. I could use a smoke, anyway.”

He and Lucinda filed out. The jeweler retired to his office behind a glass wall at the far end of the room, one eye on the line of rings on the table in front of Brandon.

Brandon tucked into a corner of the room, facing the wall, and lowered his voice. “Why is that funny, what I said about sex?”

She opened her mouth, her eyebrows pinched together as though she was at a loss for words. Shaking her head, she shrugged. “Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. It makes me happy when you get your player swagger on because it's so
you
. Maybe when I come to Miami to go skydiving you can give me a swagger lesson and teach me the best way to pick up strangers for sex.”

His mouth went dry. This conversation had gone off the rails in a bad way. Note to self: bringing up sex was definitely not part of the friend zone rules. There was no way in hell he'd help her pick up a strange man to have sex with. She might fancy herself his wingman but he was definitely not hers.

“In fact, I think I'm going to write that on one of my cocktail napkins,” she said. “Casual sex with a stranger.”

She looked down, a pen in her hand, moving it as though she was actually writing it down right then and there.

Brandon could feel the ire building inside him, tightening his ribs and threatening to erupt.

Harper tapped the pen against her lip. “It'd have to be one of those ultra quickies so my flat chest and scars wouldn't have the chance to send the guy away screaming.”

“Toxic bullshit. Stop it,” he bit out from behind clenched teeth.

She pressed on as though he hadn't spoken. “It'd have to be a screw in a public place, clothes on.”

Pain and fury punched through him—a fist twisting inside his guts. “You mean, like we did?”

He regretted the words immediately. Why had he brought that up? Stupid idiot. He wanted this call over with. He refused to look at his phone to see her reaction, so he walked back to the line of rings, his eyes straight ahead.

“That wasn't casual,” she said. “That was angry, desperate sex. We were trying to punish each other. We were pushing.” Her tone was wooden. Totally devoid of emotion of any kind. He'd never thought about it like that, but she was right. That's exactly what they'd been doing. Pushing. Punishing.

This was probably a conversation that was a long time coming, but he didn't have to like it. He convinced his legs to start moving again. At the counter, he grabbed the first five rings he saw, all gold bands dripping with diamonds. He waved to the jeweler and mouthed, “Done.”

Harper sighed. “I'm going to get off the phone. I don't know what's gotten into you this week, but I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.”

Not about this.

“Let's forget this conversation and start fresh the next time we talk, okay?” she said.

He shook his head, so irritated at himself for pushing her and picking at her until the conversation had gone over a cliff that they might not be able to recover from. What had gotten into him? Grimacing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting to get a grip on the lightning storm of emotions raging out of control inside him.

The show was getting to him. That had to be it. The show was turning him cynical and he was taking it out on the most important person in his life. It was time to knock that shit off immediately.