Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Okay. She would tap-dance in front of the camera, if necessary.
Mel, he mouthed. Then, out loud, “Mel?”
“I’m sorry. Do you see this dress?” She pursed her lips. “I only respond to my name if it’s pronounced with a French accent now.”
His blue eyes dropped to her toes and slowly raked upward. That ribbon of something potent, something she couldn’t name, took a staycation before he managed to hide it. Wow. Was it possible he found her attractive? Today, she could sort of believe it, thanks to the makeover, but that didn’t explain the other times she’d caught him staring.
In the interest of making good television, she threw her arms out wide and dove straight into some unpracticed jazz hands—as if to say ta-da!—but Beat must have misinterpreted the action as her asking for a hug, because he took two lunging steps in her direction and locked her in a tight embrace. “Oh,” she breathed, her arms turning to thousand-pound weights and hanging there, her heart firing up into her mouth. “Hi.”
“Hey, Peach.” He dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of Melody’s neck and oh God, she could actually feel her pupils dilating. A tidal wave of blood traveled south, heating along the way and her pulse skip, skip, skipped before settling into a sprint. “You still smell like gingerbread. At least they didn’t fuck with that.”
“I love a seasonal scent,” she responded dully, her eyelids drooping involuntarily.
Beat’s laugh sounded almost pained as he stepped back, his attention lingering and sharpening on her breasts, before he dragged a hand down his face and turned away.
“Um.” Melody tucked some of her freshly glossed hair behind her ear. “How did your mother react to the whole live stream thing?”
He sighed. “She’d already heard about Wreck the Halls, thanks to her manager—and she was definitely surprised I’d signed on. We tend to be very private, so live streaming isn’t exactly my style. But if my mother loves one thing, it’s the spotlight. She agreed to sign the release form and appear on camera tonight.” He performed an absent adjustment of his bow tie. “The calls for a reunion have been increasing for months and she’s going to use the opportunity to shut the idea down once and for all.”
Danielle slumped. “Excellent.”
“You can’t say we didn’t warn you,” Beat said. “I’ve asked the venue manager to have guests sign a release form when they arrive, so we’re clear to film inside the party, but we’ll have to find an opportune moment for a quiet meeting between Octavia, Melody, and myself.”
“During which we attempt to convince her of the impossible,” Melody tacked on.
“Correct.” A furrow appeared on Beat’s brow. “Is there no way the meeting between Octavia and Melody can be private? No camera? My mother is a very patient and generous person, but she tends to quietly cut people off at the knees when she’s backed into a corner. I don’t want her to feel like she’s being ambushed, and I don’t want to subject Mel to a verbal sucker punch.”
Danielle made a weak sound. “Those are the moments we really want to see.”
Beat closed his eyes and nodded once, holding his hand out for Melody to take. “Time to face the music, I guess.”
Mel threaded her fingers through Beat’s. Did she imagine the way his breathing pattern changed. “Are we done shooting the confessional?” she asked Danielle, her voice embarrassingly husky. “Or were there more questions?”
“We’re good for now. Let’s head out.”
Beat and Melody left the room hand in hand, walking side by side down the brightly lit hallway, her gait feeling slightly unnatural in the elevated shoes. Beat asked, “So what did you confess?”
Nothing.
But I’m pretty sure I made it obvious to the world that I’ve had a lifelong crush on you.
Hopefully nobody had been watching by that point.
“Oh, you know . . .” Waxing poetic about you. “Basic stuff. Name, age. Can you sing like your mother—the usual flimflam.” She glanced over at his profile, noting the furrow between his brows. “What about you? Did you tell them your deepest, darkest secrets?”
Something like alarm flared in his features. “No. I managed to hold back.” He opened his mouth and closed it. “They’re focusing on our personal lives more than I expected. I thought it would be a lot of questions about Octavia and Trina, but they asked me what a day in my life is like. How I felt about turning thirty. How my friends feel about my ‘peripheral fame.’” He rolled a shoulder. “It was unexpected.”
“I’ll try not to be offended they didn’t ask if I had any friends. They were more interested in my self-dating habits.”
“Your what?”
“Self-dates. Once a week, I wine and dine myself and I really enjoy it. Except when the hostess sits me two inches from a couple on a real date and I make them uncomfortable, because it seems like I’m listening. Which I am.”