Totally Wrecked #3
As she rushes out, I look at Brooke. She now seems almost on the verge of a panic attack.
“These shoots never run smooth,” I say, not really concentrating on what I’m saying, because what I’m really concentrating on is her. This girl, who seems like a completely different creature from the one I met ten months ago.
DAISY
Well, this is just awesome.
I thought things were bad when Killian almost busted me (he and Brooke had worked together?? and had apparently been friends?) But now I have to have dinner with my ‘lover’ Harvey, then tomorrow, travel all day with him.
Argh! What the flip am I going to do? Seriously.
I don’t have time to think of a plan, as I see the man himself walking towards me now.
He’s flashing his signature blinding white smile.
All the ladies love Harvey Bannister. He’s probably a couple of inches under six feet, with chocolate brown hair, cut short on the sides and longer on top.
The length up top is gelled and sprayed into perfect, rigid waves.
The scruff on his chin is also groomed to an immaculate eighth inch of dark stubble.
With his hazel eyes framed by lashes—the envy of any girl—chiselled cheekbones and smooth skin?
GQ model-worthy. In fact, he had a GQ spread a couple of weeks ago.
Harvey is impeccably dressed in white jeans and a powder blue polo—the kind of simple clothes that cost me a month's paycheck. He walks confidently, smiling graciously to people who call out his name, even managing a modest ‘who me’ expression every now and then.
Game-face time.
Harvey Bannister, TV host, GQ model, and lover of my sister, stops, then scans me up and down with his sleepy-lidded eyes. “Surprise! Hello, Jackson. Did you miss me?” Taking two steps towards me, he skims my cheek with his lips.
“Haha, like a dog misses his bone,” I reply, “like a squirrel misses his nuts!” Good grief, I’ve really got to work on more Brooke-like responses. Three years of working with little kids has made my verbal quip bank unsophisticated.
Harvey narrows his eyes as he smiles at me. Killian clears his throat and puts out his hand. “Hi, I’m Killian. I did the sound on the Alaska challenges.”
“Killian, of course! Good to see you again,” Harvey says, flashing the white-toothed smile, before turning back to me.
He leans in closer. “I’ve missed you. It took a little work to get us traveling together, but it’s been forever,” he murmurs.
His cologne is musky and a little too strong in my nose as he slides a warm hand behind me and traces circles over my bottom.
Uh-oh. I squirm a little, which I think reads as a positive reaction to his hand, because he gives my butt a couple of light slaps.
Think, Daisy.
Killian is watching us, eyes narrowed. Good grief, this is all terrible.
I school my features to give Harvey my sternest look and murmur in his ear. “Let’s keep it professional in front of the crew.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Of course, of course, so rude of me.” Turning to Killian, he smiles. “So what have you been working on recently?”
That seemed to have worked. If Brooke and Harvey are normally never together on shoots, then I can definitely play the ‘professional’ card.
Killian is explaining about some sound work he did at a museum in New York. Harvey is nodding, “The Metropolitan? I don’t want to name drop,” he says, “but I just got a Met Gala invite. It has a plus-one, Brooke. I can’t wait to find out what the costume theme is.” He gives me a wink.
“Oh, gosh, that’s great, that’ll be an amazing experience,” I gush at him.
The Met Ball? Yeah, I can see my sister being into that.
He looks from me to Killian. “And keep this on the DL, but I got some other big news this week—I’m going to be hosting the Oscars next year!”
The ‘wow’ that comes out of my mouth is genuine. I only know about Harvey Bannister from watching the TV show my sister is on, I had no idea he’s actually that big of a deal.
While Harvey explains how his Oscars gig came about, I flag down the waiter and ask for refills.
“Drink, Harvey?” I ask him.
“Thanks, Brooke. I’ll have my usual,” he replies casually, then turns back to Killian. “Do let me know if you have any interest in working sound for the event, I’m sure I could pull some strings.”
Shoot, what would be the usual for someone like Harvey Bannister? Martini? Brandy? I have no idea what famous TV hosts drink.
I tug on his sleeve, “Err, vodka tonic?”
He gives me a baffled look, then tells the waiting server he’d like mineral water with a twist of lime. Looking back at me, he raises an eyebrow. “Vodka tonic?”
Darn, gotta think on my feet. “Haha, just joking. Have you heard about the unbelievable farmer who cleaned his pigs with vodka?” I say. “He said it was absolut hogwash…”
Killian’s lip quirks, but Harvey looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Right, my sister is not the joke-telling type.
Can someone else please pick up the conversational ball while I go and hide in a corner?
Luckily, Killian asks Harvey some more about the Oscars gig, so Harvey is in the middle of discussing Jimmy Kimmel-style hosting versus Chris Rock when the server comes back with the drinks. He offers Killian and me our whiskeys first before giving Harvey his water.
“You’ve started drinking whiskey, Jackson? That’s very rock and roll of you.”
“I have,” I say. “Shall we go and eat?” The sooner this night is over, the better.
“Yes, let’s do that,” says Harvey.
This time his hand doesn’t just brush against my butt; he actually cups my cheek and squeezes it while propelling me forward.
“Professional!” I hiss.
Moving through the bar and towards a small dining area, progress is slow because Harvey stops to take selfies with every single person who asks.
I get pulled into most of them, and my jaw gets so sore from grinning that I wonder if I actually cut myself on a rusty nail somewhere.
This has to be tetanus. Harvey is endlessly patient with it all and charms everyone he interacts with.
Finally making it to the dining room, I quickly take a seat as the server fills our water glasses.
“Could we also have a bottle of house white?” I ask.
“And have you decided on food?” a server asks. “Do you need me to repeat the specials?”
I must have spaced out for a moment; jet lag, tension, the fact that I’m thousands of miles from home pretending to be basically an iron-woman lover of Harvey Bannister—it’s a lot.
“Oh, sorry, no. I’ll take the burger and fries. Well-done, with extra cheese please.” Harvey blinks, and I give him a bland smile.
Killian orders the same as me, but medium rare and no cheese. Harvey opts for a poached white fish and garden salad. I mindlessly pick up a breadstick to chew on.
“Carb-loading, dear Jackson? Whatever has gotten into you?” he asks.
“My trainer recommended it,” I say, then emphasize the point with a second breadstick. “She says paleo doesn’t suit my body type.”
I’ve just decided to play this game my way. Brooke now eats carbs and drinks whiskey. ‘Actual’ Brooke will just have to deal with it.
Killian, bless him, asks Harvey what other projects he has in the pipeline, so Harvey spends the next twenty minutes talking about his new talk show. “The network needed a male Drew Barrymore, and my name was at the top of the list,” he says.
“You could change your name to Harvey Barry-ster,” I suggest. Both Harvey and Killian ignore my comment, for which I’m grateful.
“My first guest is going to be Bieber,” Harvey continues. “He asked for me especially.”
Whoa—name-dropper much?
“What other guests do you have lined up?” Killian asks.
“I’ll definitely be having the winner of Champion on the show, and then there is Charlie Sheen, Meghan Trainor, Khloe Kardashian…” he trails off at the last name.
“Some real heavyweights,” Killian mutters under his breath.
Harvey catches me grinning. I feel bad for enjoying Killian’s cheekiness at Harvey’s expense, but it was pretty funny.
Harvey has some jabs of his own, though. “Talking of heavyweights, it looks like your recent gains are in your ass, not abs,” he says to me.
Ouch, Harvey, ouch.
“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately contrite. “That was mean. I’m just a little concerned that you are not in peak form.”
I tune him out and eat my delicious burger.
If it weren’t for basically everything, I’d be having a lovely time right now.
Warm air blows the long sheer curtains at the windows, and vases of luscious tropical flowers are giving off a heady scent.
I’ve never been abroad further than Canada.
I haven’t even eaten at a nice restaurant in forever.
With my budget, I’m much more likely to be eating toast and watching Grey's Anatomy reruns in an evening.
“So, how was your journey, Brooke?” Killian asks me.
He really is doing the lion's share of the small talk. I’ll be forever grateful.
But I should be doing a better job of playing Brooke’s character, after all, Harvey knows her…
intimately. If he finds out about our switch, there will be hell to pay.
“Oh, long and tiring,” I give an exaggerated sigh. “I really feel I should have been in first, not business class.” I was going to add something about being seated with the riff-raff, but that’s probably taking it too far.
“How annoying,” Harvey says. “I’ll upgrade you for the journey home, what do you think?”
I’m obviously forgiven for smirking at Killian’s comment, so I give him yet another non-committal smile. “So, the Oscars hosting, are you nervous?”
“Who me?” Harvey laughs. “I love challenges. Anyway, Billy—that’s Billy Crystal—says he’ll give me some pointers. I can rest easy.”
“Great,” I say, then once again I’m at a loss. Is it too early to head up to my room? I’m making a mess of everything.