Chapter 23
Every time Yolanda takes the stage, I pay for it emotionally. From our shocking reunion during the first FTW show, to the stark fear for her when she fell during the balance competition, to tonight and a dance so hot I lost track of where I was and nearly kissed her.
I hold my head high as Miguel congratulates Yolanda for her win. A win I have no problem admitting. But that doesn’t mean I like to lose. Nope. Not even to her.
The show closes out with the other contestants being invited to come on stage to hug and congratulate Yolanda. I nod at Fonzie, who claps me on the back, but I avoid the other contestants by stepping behind them.
From here, I’m able to make my evaluation.
It helps that Yolanda’s adjusted her stance and is leaning on one foot and has her other heel up. The dagger-thin line of her right heel hangs off. Fuck. That’s what I felt happen.
After hugging Yolanda, Sil departs, and Eli barrels into Yolanda with a tackling hug. She wobbles and has to brace herself on his shoulders to keep from falling.
And though I know what happened because I can see her shoe, if I didn’t know she needed him to hold her up, I’d simply assume the two of them are the best of friends.
The cynic in me wonders if Eli knew about the heel. If he expected that kind of reaction. The protector in me wants to find a quiet place to question Eli.
“Join us next week,” Miguel says, “when our contestants will compete in the FTW core principle of strength. It’ll be our toughest challenge yet and will be anchored by those eagle-eyed judges from Model Physique. It’s going to be an amazing show. Guaranteed.”
The audience shouts and cheers, and the contestants all look around in excitement. Yolanda claps loudest. My heart does something in my chest that feels like joy for her.
“We’re clear!” the grip yells.
There’s a cheer from the audience and a sudden surge as family and celebrities mob the stage.
I weave my way through the crowd, smiling and making excuses, because I have to get clear before I do or say something I’ll regret. Like, which one of you slimy asses is trying to knock Yolanda off the show?
Since the crew has already begun to disassemble the set, I haul ass back to my dressing room.
Stone is there, the livestream recap muted on the television. He’s talking on the phone. He looks up and mouths, Preston Graham.
I nod stiffly in understanding. Preston is one of Stone’s many concierge clients. They pay monthly to be on his client list, but, for the most part, like the old me before Cecily, don’t require his help too often. Still, when they do, they need him to be all-in.
Giving him quiet to work, I walk over to the minibar and pour myself a stiff drink. Then another. I’m a torrent of emotion right now.
Not only because I lost myself in the dance and will have to deal with the fallout, but because of that issue with Yolanda’s heel. Like all the other things that have happened to her on the show—car trouble, slashed tires, and food poisoning—it could be a coincidence. But, if so, why is my instinct screaming that she’s in danger?
“Preston wants to appear on the show in the stands,” Stone says, sliding his cell onto the coffee table.
I take another swig. “Why?”
“I get the impression he wants to meet your lady.”
It takes me a moment to process that your lady. Preston is all pretty-boy looks and bad-boy reputation. He’s the last thing Yolanda needs. “Tell him to go fuck himself.”
Stone snorts. “I told him the roster was cemented long ago, but that I’d keep him apprised of any future openings.”
I pour and down another scotch.
“I really need to get back to New York,” Stone says with a sigh. “My life has taken a turn for the worse when I’m paying attention to how much alcohol you’re consuming. Are you that concerned about what I’m going to do to you for the HTL?”
“No. I already know you’re going to torture the shit out of me.”
He grins widely. “Still in the planning stages, my friend. You might need another drink before it’s all said and done.”
I eye my glass before putting it down. I don’t usually stress drink. This thing with Yolanda has me all kinds of turned around. “We need to hire better security for the show, and we need to implement more measures to protect the contestants. Cameras in the greenroom, around the set. Maybe bodyguards.”
“Why do I think you’re referring to one contestant, a woman I just watched sweep the floor with you?”
Damn it. I run a hand through my hair. “Yolanda’s heel broke tonight.”
He frowns. “Really? She played it off well. I didn’t notice.”
“I instinctively held her up, but the fact that I had to do that is fucked. We need to take a serious look at her competition.”
Stone shakes his head. “Why only her competitors?”
That stops me. “What do you know?”
“Nothing yet. But I’ve been thinking about it. There are people in Yolanda’s life who could pose a threat, too. Like her cousin. She was in charge of Yolanda’s costume, right?”
“Yeah, but why would Haydée want her off the show?”
“No idea. My point is, we should broaden this search, explore options related directly to Yolanda. Think about it, East?—”
My cell ringing cuts him off. Stone glances down at the side table where I left it to charge. He says, “Good news, you don’t have to spend the night worrying about what Paul thinks of your performance.”
Fuck. “Answer it.”
He accepts call and puts it on speaker.
“What the hell was that?” Paul shouts. “You’re supposed to be restoring your reputation, not reminding the world that you’re a sucker for a pretty face.”
I grind my teeth together before I shout back.
“Paul, it’s Stone. I’d like to jump in here to say these kinds of shows are popular because they allow for a myriad of emotions and personal situations between participants. People are tuning in for the reality.”
“And the reality is the head of our company can’t keep himself in check?”
Fuck him. “It was meant to be sexy,” I growl. “Deal. And, since you obviously watched, you also noticed that she won a dance competition that was fair to us both.”
Paul snorts. “Dancing? Is that what you call that exhibition? You need to rein in your… tendencies, and this producer?—
“Paul,” Stone interrupts with a biting tone he rarely uses. “Look, the show is in the hands of the best person in the business, but if you want to question Parker about her choices, I would love to be a fly on the wall during that conversation because she isn’t going to put up with your judgmental and pejorative assumptions.
“As for that dance, Easton has nothing to answer for. He played his part. He did it well. If you’d have checked the social media comments before calling, you’d have seen that, even at this early stage, the audience response to the show has done wonders for FTW, Easton’s reputation, and the after-hours stock price. Now, if you have an actual concern, please feel free to bring that up. If not, we have other matters to attend to.”
I stare at Stone. Right now, he’s in steely lawyer mode and that makes me nervous because it means he thinks I need defending.
Paul exhales and pauses long enough that I’m uncertain he’s still there. Finally, he says, “That first episode, Yolanda mentioned wanting to revive her hotel. Surely, there’s nothing wrong with Easton investing in her hotel.”
For a moment, I can’t respond. I know Paul is worried about our investors, worried about the stock price, and our reputation, but to hint that I buy Yolanda off so she leaves the show?
“Paul, when you asked me to keep Cecily’s illegal activities secret, I let it slide. I figured you were under an enormous amount of stress. But to suggest buying Yolanda off is fucked up. Give me one more reason to doubt your integrity, and I will go to the board about you.”
Storming over, I hang up the call.
Grimacing, Stone runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. “Have you never heard of good cop/bad cop? We can’t both be assholes.”
“Yeah, well, for future reference, when it comes to Paul demeaning me and my efforts, you can park yourself solidly in the good cop role. I’m not putting up with his shitty insinuations that a) my attraction to Yolanda shows some kind of moral failing; and b) I’m a cheater.”
“East…” Stone rubs a hand along his neck. “There’s so much at stake here. For you and for the people on this show. Tensions are going to continue to rise with each week, each competition, and each loss. You need to hold it together. If you can’t play good cop, play silent defendant, because Paul’s suggestion, as shitty as it was, should serve as a warning.”
“Warning?”
Standing, he rolls his shoulders. “Think on it, East. Paul wouldn’t make one hell of an immoral and potential illegal suggestion unless there is immense pressure on him. Pressure from investors, advertisers, and other members of the board. That pressure is going to blow all over us if we’re not strategic.”
Despite my fury, I force myself to examine what happened on the call. I imagine Paul watching the head of his company take his one opportunity to reassure the world that he’s not led around by his dick… being led around by his dick.
With my temper ebbing, I scrub hands down my face. I’m not going to do anything to make the competition unfair, but maybe I can lessen the time Yolanda and I are on screen alone. “Do you think you can get Parker to change the whole dinner with Yolanda thing to something less… intimate?”
Stone nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Maybe a dinner with her family, since it was her cousin who spilled the beans?”
“That might work.” I shake off this fatalistic feeling. “What happened tonight can’t be fixed, but I’m a grown-ass man, and I’m capable of controlling my own damn desires for an hour coaching session.”
Stone slips his jeweled hands inside the pockets of lavender dress pants. “Let me talk to Parker. The dinner switch will help out what is bound to be your spectacular efforts to shut your feelings for Yolanda down.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“A little. But only with love, man.”
“Asshole.” Still, I appreciate the assist. “Thanks.”