Chapter 6
If someone had told Poppy three hours ago that she’d be outplayed by her own playbook she’d have laughed in their face.
Because if there was one thing she excelled at it was winning friends and influencing people.
It was her superpower. And she was determined to make up for her misstep with Wasim and get on sure footing with the rest of the crew.
After all, they were going to be her family for the next six weeks.
But there she stood, in the family room of the pool house, which was doubling as the production room and Kiki’s living quarters, holding a box of simple cake doughnuts while the crew was already feasting on fancy, decorative doughnuts from one of those high-end shops that specialized in gourmet pastries.
Everyone was talking and laughing and bonding as if they already had inside jokes—inside jokes she’d missed out on. And in the middle of the circle, acting as if he were the big man on campus, the glue holding this makeshift family together, was Decker.
Poppy wasn’t the jealous kind, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let a guy like him change that.
So she’d pull on her big-girl panties and do what she did best—bring the heart and fun to the project.
No one said there could only be a single chummy one in the group.
If he wanted to be the glue, fine by her. She’d be the superglue.
“Hey, everyone,” she said with a bright smile, approaching the group of five. And while this was the first time meeting most of them, she’d already imagined them being a makeshift family.
There was Clive, the plumber, who was a dead ringer for George Burns in his Oh, God days.
Next to him was Diana, the director of photography, who had arms the size of concrete pilings and looked like she drove a Harley.
There was Jessika, the young PA who was staring up at Decker with hero worship in her eyes.
And clearly one couldn’t forget Wasim of the wall cameras and microphones.
Finally, standing with his arm around Wasim, a frosted flake–topped doughnut in hand and his head thrown back like he’d just told the funniest story in the history of stories, stood the bane of her existence.
Everyone’s favorite sex tape star, Jamison Decker.
He was dressed in a soft-looking gray tee that was on the losing end of a battle with his pecs and a pair of cargo shorts that proved he was a strong contender for best ass in the NHL; she had to forcibly remove her gaze from his rump before she was caught staring.
“I see someone beat me to the punch, but I have doughnuts,” she said, walking up to the group.
Every eye met hers and the group fell deathly silent. The energy in the room shifted, going from chummy to closed off.
Refusing to let her smile falter she joined the pack. The oddest thing happened. Everyone except Decker took a large step backward, as if she were patient zero for COVID.
“Hey, Wasim,” she said brightly.
The group looked at Wasim and then at her, then back at Wasim as if they were at Wimbledon waiting for the final serve.
Wasim gave her a tentative smile, then his eyes quickly darted away as if they were wary of her. “Hey, boss.”
Boss? No one had ever called her boss. Had their conversation been that bad? Based on the expression on his face, it had.
Even worse, Jessika threw her arm around Wasim as if offering emotional support. It seemed that the tale of her little tantrum over the cameras had gotten back to the crew. Talk about a bad first impression, even before she had the chance to make a first impression.
This had never happened to her before. People loved her. Her crew loved her. Heck, America loved her—she had a YouTube award to prove it.
She met the eyes of the rest of the group. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting everyone. I’m Poppy Hart.” She gave a dramatic wave of the hand.
She got exactly one wave back—from Decker, who was wiggling his fingers like she was amusing. From the others she just received a few tentative smiles back, but nothing concrete that said she was a part of the group.
Then Decker did something that took her by surprise. He walked over to her and slung his arm over her shoulder. “Poppy, this is the crew. Crew, this is Poppy.”
“Hi, Poppy,” they said in unison as if this were an AA meeting.
“Oh, look,” Wasim said. “It’s time to sit down for the table read. I’d better find a seat.”
“Me, too,” Jessika said, following hot on Wasim’s heels.
Clive said not a word, while Diana shot Poppy an I’m watching you look and walked toward the four tables that were positioned to make a square.
They all knew damn well the table read was a good ten minutes away and there were place cards for the seating assignment, but she let it go.
“What was that about?” she demanded to know.
“Don’t look at me.” Decker chuckled. “I heard you lost your shit and made Wasim cry.”
“That’s not funny. I’d never make anyone cry.” He must be joking, because she’d be horrified to know she’d made someone cry. “On the other hand, he was inches from the molding. Original molding.”
He lifted a brow. “Yeah. I know. Being on a construction site is like being on a playground with a bunch of little kids swinging tetherballs.”
“What exactly did Wasim tell you?” Because she couldn’t fix it if she didn’t know the damage.
“Oh, he didn’t tell me. He told Harry, the drywall guy, who told Jessika, who told Clive. And Clive couldn’t wait to spill the tea and told me the second I walked up.”
“What is this, DIY telephone?”
“Just wait until the set is on lockdown and we’re a week in.”
Her throat went dry. “So the whole crew knows?”
“And the production team.”
“How did this happen? Things like this never happen to me. I’m likeable.”
He laughed. “I thought that for the first fifteen minutes of our date, then you went all WWE on me.”
“Because for the first fifteen minutes you pretended to know my name. Speaking of that, I’m still not talking to you.”
He chuckled. “Are you sure? You’ve been talking to me plenty. In fact, this sounds like the beginnings of a second date.”
“How do you figure?”
“For one, you keep staring at my lips. And another, you were checking out my ass a few moments ago. Next thing you know you’ll be kissing me in front of the porch light.”
“Never going to happen.” She walked off.
“Until it does,” he called behind her.
Ignoring the tingling zinging around her belly at his comment, she found her name at the head of the table and took her seat.
A minute later Kiki sat to her right. Today, she was dressed in steel-toed shoes, black denim jeans with holes in the knees, and a Call me a designer one more time and I will wreck your balls tank.
Her silky, jet-black hair was in two space-girl buns on top of her head and her lipstick was stain-your-lips blood-red.
“Thank God you’re here. I need an ally,” Poppy said.
“Is everyone still talking about how you made Wasim cry?”
“You were there. Did you see a single tear?”
“He cried after you left. It was a sob fest. Now you can run this show by intimidation.”
“I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover.”
“Good to know,” a tossed-gravel voice said as the dreamy scent of leather and sawdust surrounded her. “I’m more of a lover myself.”
Poppy crossed her arms. “Isn’t there some sports-ball you urgently need to hit with a stick?”
He gave an amused smirk. “Puck.”
“Whatever. I was talking to my friend so can you kindly leave?”
“Don’t leave on my account. A good throuple never scared me,” Kiki said, pushing her chair back to kick her feet up on the table as if waiting to watch the fireworks.
“So a lover, huh? Does that extend to the bedroom?” Decker asked, taking the seat next to hers.
She glanced over and met his gaze and, holy cannoli, was he good-looking. Wide, masculine jaw, dark wavy hair, those mesmerizing blue eyes. Then there was that mouth, lush and plump like he’d be a phenomenal kisser.
He leaned in and whispered, “You’re staring again. Trying to figure out what kind of kisser I’d be? I can assure you I’m a ten out of ten.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Actually, I was just wondering how so much shit can come tumbling out of that trap.”
“I’d give anything for some popcorn right now,” Kiki said, not even bothering to hide the fact that she was eavesdropping.
“Most women call it charm.”
“I’m not most women.”
“I remember.” He said it as if it were a compliment and she couldn’t stop her face from going flush.
Could someone get hot flashes at twenty-seven? Because surely that’s what this was. It couldn’t be a reaction to his nearness.
“Have you read the agenda yet? I think you’ll find it interesting. Especially item three.”
A bead of nerves burned in her belly. She snatched up her agenda and skipped to item three.
“This says we are both sleeping on the property?” she squawked. “When did this become a thing?”
He lifted a brow and waggled it. “Why? Are you afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?”
“I can control myself fine.”
“You sure about that?” Kiki asked. “You’re already looking a little flushed.”
“Whose side are you on?” she asked her former best friend.
“Yours. It’s just he has such a compelling argument.” Kiki, who with her exposed arms exhibited enough ink to write the entire encyclopedia, leaned in and whispered-hissed, “It has been a while. Vibrators only take you so far.”
“Can you not talk about my sex life in public?” Poppy snapped.
Decker sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and his legs man-splayed all the way out. “Don’t stop on my account.”
“This is going to happen over my dead body.”
Decker shrugged a big shoulder. “Everyone’s into their own form of kink.”
“It’s not my kink. I’d just never sleep with you.”
“You’re so caught up with the idea of me in your bed that you missed that part? I nearly missed it, too. Good thing we’re on the same page.”
Before she could respond Jack called the meeting to order. “Today is just a rundown of the rules in case anyone forgot. Before we start, are there any questions?”
Poppy raised her hand like she was in middle school.
“Poppy?” Jack encouraged.
“Where exactly is he sleeping?”
“In the office. We’ve set up a rollaway for him.”
He might as well be sleeping in her bed. The office was not only next door, but it was separated by a single-paned-glass French door.
“I’ve heard it’s a queen. Plenty of room if you change your mind,” Decker said for her ears only.
“Shh. I’m missing what Jack is saying.”
“Kiki will sleep in the pool house. None of the three of you can leave the property for the next six weeks.”
“The rest of the crew gets to go home, but I have to stay here with the odd couple? That’s bullshit,” Kiki said and pulled out a pocketknife.
Poppy confiscated it while Kiki glared at her. “No knives wasn’t in the rules.”
Poppy put the knife away. “It is now.” She looked at Jack. “Why just us three?”
“This is a closed set, so the stars need to stay here so that the press doesn’t reveal things before we do.”
“We’ll be sleeping,” Poppy argued, wondering why she agreed to the around-the-clock access into her life. Right, for her aunt’s retirement—which Opal absolutely deserved. The press it would bring her YouTube channel was only a bonus.
“No one knows what can happen in the wee hours of the morning,” Decker said, and she rolled her eyes.
“Exactly.” Jack grinned. “And just like Love Island, we can’t have you influenced by social media or the press, which brings me to the no phones or computers policy. Hand them over.”
“First you are cockblocking me from my sex life and now you’re going to keep me from sexting with guys on Tinder? Screw off,” Kiki said.
“Contractually those two are bound to stay or we sue. You can leave anytime you want. But once you step off this set you can’t get back on. Your call,” Jack said calmly.
Kiki looked at Poppy who was looking at her with desperation in her eyes. “Fine.” Kiki slid her phone across the table. And crossed her arms with a Done talking attitude.
“As for the Diary Room, which is set up in the trailer in the driveway, every twenty-four hours you both need to make a confession,” Jack said, looking at Poppy and Decker. “Something personal or something about what’s going on between the two of you.”
Again, the bead of uncertainty in her belly burned to get answers. Only she didn’t know what questions to ask, other than why her internal warning bells were ringing.
“Nope. Not happening,” Decker said in a tone that only an idiot would argue with. “I came here as a contractor, not to be some device used for the media. My private life is off-limits.”
Everyone looked at her for Poppy’s reaction and instead of giving them one, she pasted a smile on her face and said, “Absolutely, of course.”
“You’re okay with this?” he said, shocked.
“Of course. It’s in the contract. Right before the stipulation that there is a gag order until the end of the season airs and after the promo we both have to do for the show.”
He snorted. “Suck up.”
“Just doing what I agreed to.”
He stared at her as if a lightbulb went off. “You hate not being everyone’s best friend.”
“I do not,” she lied. She was a total people-pleaser. Well, except when it came to her co-host, Thor. “Whatever you need from me, Jack.”
“How about cameras in your bedroom—”
Wasim actually flinched as if reliving trauma and Jessika patted his back in a sign of solidarity.
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice from her long ago past said and Poppy’s heart literally stopped dead in her chest. Her palms began to sweat and she felt sick.
It couldn’t be.
But it was. Standing at the opposite end of the table was a man she never wanted to see again.
Television producer and the man who ruined her ability to trust.
Poppy opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a rush of painful air that burned her lungs and throat. Turned out she didn’t need to speak at all, her right-hand woman did all the talking.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Kiki demanded to know, and Poppy almost handed back her switchblade.
Jack seemed genuinely taken aback by the hostile edge in Kiki’s voice. His eyes flickered to Poppy and to what she assumed was a look of abject horror that she was wearing.
“Am I missing something?” Jack asked.
“Only that Shitface Steve is smelling up the room with his crowdedness and abandoning ways.”
“Are you okay?” Decker whispered for her ears only.
She met his gaze and while she wanted to say yes she shook her head.
His hand slowly came to rest on her thigh. “Who is he?”
“My dad,” she whispered and left the room.