Chapter 27
Walking through the marble foyer of the hotel lobby, I feel amazing. It’s been two days since my beach walk with Yolanda, and I find myself looking forward to the future in a way that I haven’t in a long, long time.
“That’s not what I meant.” Parker’s raised voice cuts through the cavernous space.
I look over and spot her in an argumentative conversation with Doc. Brow furrowed, she sees me and waves me over. “There’s an issue with his son.”
“Issue?” Doc grumbles. A half foot shorter than me, he has a lean build, more yogi than fighter, but there’s no mistaken the do-not-try-me of his shoulders. “My son fell while skateboarding and has a comminuted fracture of his patella.”
Ouch. The kid shattered his kneecap. Poor Doc. It must suck to be so far away. I put a hand on his ropey shoulder. “I’m so sorry, man. When are you leaving?”
Doc’s lips thin. “Parker and I were discussing the particulars of that with no success.”
There’s sweat on the usually implacable forehead of Parker Lamb. “As I explained to Henry, we’re happy to arrange a private flight, get him there ASAP, and send the camera operator of his choice so that we can make the journey part of the show.”
“My son’s pain is not going to be part of your entertainment. I don’t care how many votes it costs me.” He crosses his arms. “I’ve seen what happens when someone gets a spotlight on this show. I’m not bringing that home to my family.”
He’s talking about Yolanda and the online bullshit. Though we’ve both been working to cool those flames, it’s not easy to put the genie back in the bottle.
Parker’s gaze narrows. “As part of your contract?—”
“Sue me,” Doc hisses.
“Whoa. Whoa.” I put up a hand to stop them before things get more heated. “Parker, can’t you let Doc out of his contract this one time?”
In theory, I could take this call from her. It’s a show being funded by my—for now—company, but theory isn’t reality. It’d be a wrestling match with a lot of bloodshed, and I’m still not sure I could win. That’s the last thing I need. More drama.
“As I’ve explained to Henry, without a crew to accompany him home, the audience won’t see his extenuating circumstances and why he had limited practice time this week. That’ll likely cost him a win on the show.”
Ah, I see. “Seems like it’s your call, Doc,” I say. “If you want to take that chance…”
“No crew,” Doc says. “People are taking this all much too seriously. This is my real life, my real family. I don’t want to expose them to… anything.”
Parker sighs. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements for your flight back to Virginia. And I’ll have Miguel mention your son’s fall on the show so that, at the very least, the audience knows your situation.”
Even though he’s essentially gotten everything he wanted, his mouth presses into a thin line as Doc stalks off.
I turn to Parker. “Think that will work, telling the audience?”
“Nope. A picture is worth a thousand words. What the audience will see is a man stumbling against some of the best fitness professionals in the country. But I respect his choice. Yours, on the other hand…”
“Mine?”
“Chemistry is really tough to hide from the camera, even for professional actors.”
“Meaning?”
“The last training session with you and Yolanda is like watching two mating birds flapping around each other. Honestly, is it really all that bad for your reputation that you’re attracted to her?”
Yes. “It’s not only my reputation. There’s a lot of comments online, and I think it has put Yolanda in the crosshairs of someone. Maybe someone from the show.”
She rubs a long nail against the pressure point at her temple. “Stone told me about your security concerns.” She puts an emphasis on security that I don’t like. “But I’m not seeing it. I’ve done a lot of reality shows. Trust me when I say online comments are par for the course. And a bunch of little things go wrong all the time—shoes, illness, and lateness. And this project… with barely any time to get things together, it’s the nature of the beast.”
That might be true, but my gut says otherwise. “I’m still moving forward with bringing in extra security.”
She pulls out a two-way that’s squawking to life on her hip. She clicks a button on the side. “One sec.” She clicks off and waves the two-way at me dismissively. “It’s your dime. I’ll have Néstor reach out to coordinate with the security we already have.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I walk off wondering how long it will take to get the new security in place and if Parker might be right. Not about the security. I prefer to error on the side of caution when it comes to keeping Yolanda safe. But is she right about the camera picking up more than I want them to see with Yolanda?
God, I hope not.
* * *
A few daysafter my conversation with Parker, I’m seated in my VIP front-row place among the clapping audience for our second competition, I lean over to hear Blanca, a potential partner for our European expansion.
She asks, “Do you think Fonzie’s routine is best this week?”
Technically, I’m supposed to be neutral in my evaluations, and should be able to answer easily. But having helped each of them hone and sharpen their routines means I can’t help but feel invested in all of them. “Honestly, they’re all good for different reasons. Fonzie tends to have the bigger moves.”
The judges from Model Physique—a reality show competition focused on fitness models—seem to agree with my assessment as they praise his routine.
These judges know a lot about which exercises work which muscles, but they’re a little too focused on body lines for my liking. Fonzie waves goodbye to them and the audience as he leaves the stage.
“Is he really that nice?” Blanca asks.
“He is.” I try not to have favorites, but Fonzie and I clicked on that first show. “He’s also super driven. Like all the athletes here, he’s not satisfied with any routine that isn’t perfect.”
“Perfectionist,” she says, as if my statement was a negative comment. Eli’s training session with me comes on the big screen.
“He never takes your advice,” she says.
“Hasn’t hurt him yet.”
Miguel, who has thus far done a spectacular job on these live shows, stands center stage as Eli comes out with a bounce in his step, a wave of his hand, and a bright smile on his lips. There are hoots of approval and wolf whistles from the crowd.
“I love you!” a young woman shouts from the crowd. There’s laughter around us.
“He’s my favorite,” Blanca says, speaking into my ear, since the announcers, the boisterous crowd, and contestant soundtracks make it hard to hear.
“He’s both confident and dynamic,” I respond, keeping any other opinion of the brash young man to myself. I’ve been courting Blanca as an investor for our expansion for a year, but it wasn’t until she became a fan of the show that she reached out to me. She wanted to see a live competition and I’m more than happy to oblige.
Eli gives Miguel, who is a good six inches taller than the former gymnast, a one-armed hug. The two men banter like old friends. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t believe they avoid each other like the plague off-stage—but they do.
So how do they get away with it, but I can’t hide my chemistry with Yolanda? Fickle camera.
“Best of rotten luck,” Miguel says jokingly, a line that has become popular online since it’d aired during our first show.
“Gracias,” Eli says with a tip of his head.
Picking up his dumbbells, Eli begins his strength routine in perfect time with the music.
I clap along with the audience, keeping a smile plastered to my face, because I’m frequently on camera.
“He’s so good,” Blanca says, clapping enthusiastically.
She’s right. I can’t help but admire Eli’s instincts. He gets this medium in a way that eludes many, including me. Add to his effluent personality, the skills and creativity that make everything he does seem flawless, no wonder he’s gained such a following.
Blanca shoots to her feet, cups her hands around her mouth, and shouts as Eli’s performance ends. Others in the audience do the same.
I keep my seat as Eli leaves the stage. Clapping is fine, but my actions hold greater consequence and scrutiny. I give each contestant the same careful response, even if I do, occasionally, want to cup hands around my mouth and howl.
Speaking of Yolanda…
Our training sessions appear on the big screen behind Miguel, and, shit, I’m honestly not aware that I touch her so much during our sessions. Or she me. It almost looks like we’re looking for reasons to touch each other.
From my other side, Stone leans over to me. “Master of your ice domain.”
Asshole. I don’t dare alter my face in any way. The camera operator always zooms in on me when Yolanda is on screen or stage. Right on cue, I see a camera operator kneeling in my periphery.
I turn when I feel Blanca shift beside me and stare right into her curious face and raised eyebrows. I open my mouth to deny what she’s seeing, put it in context, when someone behind us loudly asks, “Do you think they’re sleeping together? Do you think that’s how she got on the show?”
I bite my tongue and go back to focusing my eyes straight ahead just as Yolanda comes on stage wearing a sparkly red sports bra and matching itty-bitty shorts. The sway of her hips—what I’m actually saying with my hips—is like a lightning bolt thrown through my veins by Zeus. Sizzling heat shocks my body.
Anger helps me fight my undeniable attraction. I thought most people knew I’d been hands off until the show started; that someone can still make a statement like that infuriates me.
Determined to keep my face neutral, I tense my jaw, my shoulders, and my ass muscles. Is she purposefully swaying those hips up there? Because I need her to stop. It’s like trying to remain stone-faced while being zapped by a cattle prod of lust. It is excruciating. By the end, I’m sweating.
Of course, the judges love her. What’s not to love?
The rest of the competition passes as a relief. It’s not until Miguel has gone through his whole drama about the vote, spoken again to the judges, and received the sealed envelope that I’m recovered enough to look up at her on the stage again.
Nope. Look away.
Miguel opens the envelope. His face falls. “It almost seems unfair considering your week, Doc, but you’ve received the least number of votes.”
The audience boos loudly, and I wish there was more I could’ve done to help Doc. Truth, I had very little to do with his strength routine. He arrived back early this morning.
Of course, Parker insisted we get some emergency footage, but Doc had already thought out what he wanted to do for his routine on the plane, so my input was minimal.
Miguel puts his arm around Doc. “Although no one likes to be in this position, Doc, there’s still one more chance for you to stay on the show.” Miguel smiles winningly. “Are you ready to find out about your Last Stand against Easton Blake?”
Doc shakes his head. The audience laughs, but I’m paying close attention. Doc clears his throat. “I’ve decided not to go forward with The Last Stand, Miguel.”
Holy shit.
To his credit, Miguel only falters for a moment before saying, “It’s every contestant’s prerogative to not go ahead with The Last Stand. I assume your decision has something to do with your son’s recent injury?”
Doc nods, looking determined and unapologetic. “This has been the most rewarding experience of my life, but nothing is worth risking my family.”
A confused frown flashes across Miguel’s face before he clasps Doc’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, a great doctor, and a fantastic father. We’re sorry to see you go, but your love for your family is inspiring.”
The audience claps and cheers as Miguel announces that Sunday’s show will be dedicated to a review of Doc’s time on the show instead of a Last Stand. He ends with, “And, next week, join us right here as the other contestants compete in a contest unlike any so far.
“Each contestant will be required to make a nutritionally dense and yet tasty meal under the judgment of our celebrity judge Sherwood Jones from Food for Thought.”
The audience erupts in applause at the announcement. Parker knows what she’s doing by bringing on celebrity judges from other reality shows. Even I, who watch next to no reality television, am looking forward to meeting the boisterous host of that show.
I only hope it’s enough to keep people from asking the truly disturbing questions about Doc’s departure. Like, what was he insinuating about the risk to his family?