Throb (16 page)

Using a remote, he dims the lights in the room, slings his arm around my shoulder and snuggles me close to him as the video begins to play.

On screen, I’m hesitant as I shut the door. The utter darkness was difficult to adjust to, but that wasn’t the reason for my uncertainty. I was more anxious about the man in the chair and what I would feel with his hands on me. His playful voice comforted me quickly with two simple words: “Wanna dance?” I remember thinking he couldn’t possibly know it was me, yet the words made me feel like he did.

I watch the screen, feeling a bit voyeuristic even though it’s me. I make my way to Flynn, his voice guiding me as he hums a song. The same song he sang to me the night he asked me to dance on the balcony. On screen, I smile and walk toward where he’s sitting. Our knees bump lightly as I reach him, and I remember catching my balance as I began to lean forward, thinking I was going to wind up in his lap. But it’s the next part I don’t remember. Before ever touching me, Flynn smiles and presses a button. The clock stops at eighteen seconds.

I squirm a bit in my seat when Flynn’s hands start at my ankles and slowly trace their path up my body. He’s a gentleman, well, as much as anyone can be a gentleman while he feels up a woman in the dark while a camera records the entire thing. But my palms start to sweat when he reaches my hips. On screen, his hands glide over my waist and begin to travel higher. Reaching the side of my breast, the low song he’d been lightly humming suddenly stops. Just in time for the microphone to pick up the distinct hitch of my breath.

Flynn’s eyes turn to watch me, watch us. He knows his touch affected me.

The tension in the room is palpable. I’m glad the ceremony isn’t in the kitchen, because Jessica looks like she wouldn’t mind slicing me into a Kate sandwich she could chew up and spit out. But then Flynn walks to the front of the room and the daggers in her eyes miraculously soften to reverence as she flips her flowing blond locks from her shoulder. The girl could be an actress.

“Ladies. I’m sorry to say that I did not get a perfect score on today’s competition. There are two women who I failed to properly identify. And for that, I apologize to those women.”

Ryan, the host, interrupts. “The flowers that Flynn is about to give out were chosen by Flynn specifically for each woman. Unfortunately, only four of the flowers will be given out.” With all the dramatic flare he can muster, Ryan removes two flowers from the table—a traditional solemn red rose and a cheerful Gerber daisy.

Handing out the first three flowers, Flynn explains his reason for selecting each one as he slips the flower behind each contestant’s ear. Only a white calla lily remains to be handed out, even though there are three contestants not yet decorated—me, Ava and Jessica. Jessica and I have the lowest time, so if either of us receives the flower, we will win the date.

“The calla lily symbolizes purity and innocence, which is why it’s frequently used to celebrate weddings,” Flynn begins. “While I wouldn’t necessarily call this beautiful lady innocent, I thought of her as soon as I saw the flower.” He pauses for a moment. “Kate—this flower is for you.”

There’ll be no avoiding alone time tomorrow on our one-on-one date.

Stephen Blake is a Hollywood super-agent. He’s the guy who turns down clients who command five million a film just because he doesn’t like the actor’s personality. If actually liking an actor was a requirement for Hollywood agents, I’m pretty sure most of this town would be unrepresented.

“Miriam. It’s good to see you. You still doing all the work and letting Stephen take the credit?” I lean down and kiss Miriam Blake on the cheek as I reach the table the two are already seated at. I immediately notice four place settings before I even sit.

“He still refuses to put my name on the letterhead, even though I closed more deals than he did last year.” Miriam rolls her eyes at her husband. I’ve been stirring the same pot with these two since as far back as I can remember.

“Your name
is
on the letterhead.
Blake.
That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“The Stephen Blake Agency is
not
my name. It should be Blake and Blake. Right, Cooper?”

“Of course, Miriam.” Stephen waves his hand at me, dismissing my encouragement of his wife. The two have been business partners for thirty years, married for twenty-nine. Miriam was also my mother’s cousin.

“So … I invited a friend to join us.”

Of course she did. She always does. No matter how many times I decline her matchmaking services. “A friend?”

“One of the female persuasion,” Miriam says, as if I might not be aware she was going to bring a woman tonight. She’s so focused on marrying me off, I’m honestly not sure if my father told her to see that I marry well or if she just uses that excuse so I don’t decline. Either way, it’s impossible to tell Miriam Blake no, even when you actually say no.

A few minutes later, a woman apprehensively joins our table. “Alexandra, sweetheart,” Miriam greets her as we all stand. She’s stunning. Hair a rich shade of mahogany, flawless porcelain skin, straight nose, full lips and eyes so pale I have to look twice to see if they’re real or contacts.

“Cooper, this is Alexandra Sawyer. She’s just signed with our firm. Another one of
my
brilliant finds.” Stephen ignores her jab, instead holding up his glass, clanking the lonely ice around in the direction of a passing waiter.

“Nice to meet you, Alexandra.” I pull out her chair for her.

Miriam skips the normal gratuitous small talk in favor of going in for the kill. She dives right into Alexandra’s resume with a hard sell—she moved to California from Greece, speaks four languages fluently, graduated from the prestigious Guildhall School in London …”And she’s
single.
Imagine that?” Miriam’s an agent; beating around the bush isn’t her strong point. She winks at both of us.

Alexandra definitely hasn’t been in this town long enough. She actually blushes when she catches on to what Miriam is none too subtly hinting at. I’ve grown so accustomed to the bluntness of this town, sometimes I forget how tactless it can be. But her blush makes her seem like a real person. “Ignore her, she has the subtlety of a jackhammer,” I whisper when Miriam excuses herself to take a call. “Would you like a glass of wine? You’re probably going to need it with these two.”

We talk over dinner and drinks for more than two hours. Miriam has tried to fix me up dozens of times, but never with a woman like this. Alexandra is smart, beautiful, poised … the adjectives to describe her are endless. So why is it I’m more interested in talking shop with Stephen than getting to know the stunning—and available—woman?

“You know, Alexandra just accepted a deal with Fox as a correspondent,” Miriam says in an attempt to break up the business discussion Stephen and I have going.

“That’s great. What show?” I say. I’d actually assumed she was an actress.

“Entertainment Fashion Files. I’m doing their nightly style report.”

“Congratulations.”

“It’s not exactly my dream job. But it’s a foot in the door.”

“We had three networks that wanted her. We took a short contract. We know she’s destined for bigger things,” Miriam adds proudly.

I nod and smile politely. The conversation falls awkwardly silent for a moment, so I try to feign interest, even though I really want to grab the check when the next waiter passes by. “What was your project before this one?”

“I was on a reality show,” she replies sheepishly.

“Which one?”

“
Mr. Right.
”

“Is that one of Miles’s?” I look to Miriam. I can’t keep track of all his reality programs anymore. Well, except for one I may or may not have a bit of a small obsession with.

“No. It was on cable.”

“Was the bachelor a nice guy?” Curiosity gets the best of me.

“Well. He was on the show. Or at least I thought he was.”

“But he wasn’t?” See. I knew my first instinct was right. Flynn is a dickhead.

“It’s just really hard to see a person for who they are in that environment. You see what they want you to see.”

“What did they want you to see?”

“A great guy.”

“Was it a show where the women are eliminated?”

“Aren’t they all?” She smiles resignedly.

“I suppose.” The waiter interrupts and I finally get the chance to ask for the check, but this conversation has definitely captured my attention. “How long did you last on the show?”

“Until the end.”

“You were the winner?”

“If you can call it that.”

“How long until you split up?”

“I found out he was sleeping with the wardrobe person the day after the finale.”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks. But it’s okay. It opened doors for me. I’m just a little embarrassed I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. The producers make it impossible to not get caught up in the moment. They create a fairytale. The problem is, the prince turns into a pumpkin instead of Prince Charming.”

An hour later I’m back home. I didn’t even bother to ask for Alexandra’s number. It made for an awkward departure, but leading people on was never my thing. She’s beautiful, yet it’s not her face I keep replaying in my mind from tonight.
The producers make it impossible to not get caught up in the moment.
Her words echo in my head, over and over.

I can’t stop myself from picking up the DVD. It’s been sitting on the dining room table since the doorman handed it to me on the way back from my run this morning. I woke up thinking about Kate, thought the run would help me clear my mind. No such luck.

Now the damned thing is taunting me. The labeled jewel case is like a magnet to my eyes. I stalk through my apartment to find something to busy myself with, but it’s no use. My eyes constantly flicker back and forth. Settling in on the couch after a shower, I grab the paper and force my mind into the business section. The table is in sight from the corner of my eye. Like a child unable to control himself, I actually have to raise the newspaper so the case is out of view. I read the same paragraph three times anyway.

Goddamn it.
I should tell Miles to stop sending the dailies. But I won’t. Because I’m pussy-whipped obsessed with a woman who is dating another man.

I curse myself as I angrily swipe the case from the table and head to my laptop.

Dickhead comes on screen first. He’s being interviewed by the host alone.

“So, Flynn, you’ve got a pretty big decision coming up. The final four—overnight dates. You’ve got to have some strong feelings for these ladies to pick them at this point. Tell me, are you struggling with your choices? What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

“Well, Ryan. You’re right, I am struggling, but probably not for the reasons you think. I do have some strong feelings, but some of the ladies, well, one in particular, I can’t read where her head is at.”

“You don’t think your feelings are being reciprocated?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell. She’s incredible, but I feel like she’s still holding back.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“That’s the struggle. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t penetrated her heart the same way she has mine. But then there’s these other times … when she opens up and we have these incredible moments and I think she feels it too. Those times, I wonder if the camera is what’s holding her back.”
It’s not the camera, Dickhead.

“Tough choice. So how do you decide if she should be in the final four?”

“Oh. That’s the only one I’m sure about. There’s no doubt I’m picking her to go to the final four. There are no cameras in the overnight suite. A night alone is
exactly
what the two of us need.”

I slam my laptop shut so hard, the screen cracks.

Downward dog is usually my favorite yoga pose. Hands and feet against the floor to form an upside down v, it should decrease tension by elongating the cervical spine. But it doesn’t. It reminds me of three mornings ago and Cooper bending me over in the shower while he defiled my body, mercilessly pounding into me with unrelenting focus.