Rugged(29)

“Maybe a little relationship drama would be nice?” one of the yes men says tentatively. He looks like he’s the type who’s permanently dewy. He grins weakly. “We can set something up. A little added tension—”

“We don’t need added tension,” I snap. The room goes silent. Uh oh. Clearing my throat, I add, “Our audience is out there. We just have to make sure to deliver exactly what they want, and not clutter it up. This is quality programming. It’s both entertaining and inspiring, not junk.” I stare down Tyler. He scowls at me as Davis nods.

“Very nice,” he says. “All right. I want to hear from our proposed star. Mr. McKay?”

Flint sits very quietly for a minute. He’s not looking at Tyler, or me. He’s so quiet I think I might have to stick a pin in him to get some movement, but he quickly stands up. I sit down—next to Tyler, unfortunately—and smile at him. A couple of bumps in the road, but nothing we couldn’t handle. All he has to do is talk about his hardware store, show his enthusiasm for the project, and we’re good.

“I’m going to be honest,” Flint says, putting his hands on the table.

Okay, that’s a bad start.

“I didn’t submit to your company because I wanted to be famous. My sister sent in an audition tape without my knowing about it.”

Davis furrows his brow. I’m sure, in his mind, someone not wanting to be famous is the same as someone saying they want to become a turnip: really weird and kind of impossible. My nails dig into my thigh, but I can’t stop this.

“I agreed to fly out here and pitch this show because my family business is in trouble. I’d do anything in the world to keep it going.” He frowns, and pulls his shoulders back. In this room of manicured suits, he looks like what he is: a normal American man who has no time for their crap. “But I know that reality television is fake. It’s scripted, produced, and glossed to within an inch of its life.”

Danger, danger Will Robinson. Someone get that cute Lost in Space robot out here to grab Flint and shut his sexily stubbled mouth. But no one, robot or otherwise, is going to stop Flint McKay on a roll.

“If you’re looking to make my life sexy or sensational, some kind of backwoods bachelor kind of deal, you’re looking at the wrong man. I’m willing to do a show where I teach people construction, take them through the fundamentals of building a house. I want to show people that any dream can be fulfilled; I like that idea. But under no circumstance am I going to let myself or the people in my life be exploited. No one should ever give up their dignity, not for any kind of show.”

“Even a show that pays you a lot of money, Mr. McKay?” Davis asks. His voice sounds flat as a board. He clasps his hands over his stomach. Flint nods.

“Even that. So I need you to understand how I feel about this whole thing.”

“You act like you’re so much better than us,” Tyler chimes in, looking at me smugly. I’m going to use my perfectly French-tipped nails to rip his damn face off. Flint whips around. For the first time, there’s some heat in his voice.

“After hearing you talk, buddy, I don’t think I’m better. I guarantee it.” Flint’s hardened gaze makes Tyler sink back into his chair a little. One small victory. But no one in the room moves. The air feels raw and heavy now.

“You’re pretty hostile, Mr. McKay. I don’t know anyone in your position who’d be so flippant with a group of executives who could decide the fate of his show.” Davis is sounding less and less impressed by the minute. I have to do something.

“Integrity’s essential,” I say, my fake smile so broad I’m afraid my face will split. “Flint’s vision is different than most—”

“Most shows that Reel World produces?” Davis says, his voice cold. “Is that what you were going to say?” Oh damn. The winds have shifted. The yes men and Tyler are all starting to turn on me.

“No. Just…different than a lot of other reality television companies.” If I could dig a hole in the carpet and bury myself, I would.

“I’m being honest,” Flint says, hands in his pockets. “If you want me, you take what I’m offering and nothing else. Thanks for your consideration.”

Davis nods coolly, and Flint sits back down at the table. In the words of Winston Churchill, what the flying f*ck just happened? I want to lay my head against the polished mahogany and beat it several times. It’s over. I am now going to go down in flames alongside Stubbly McHandsome over there.

“Kinley,” Davis says, clearing his throat. “What do you have?”

“Glad you asked,” Tyler says, shit-eating grin in place. “Picture this: celebrity dog gets penis enhancement.”





11


“You seem tense,” Flint says as we walk out toward my car. Well, he walks. I sort of stomp-run as fast as I can in my heels. Finally, I yank the bastards off and stomp-run across the lot in my bare feet. Yes, gape all you want, parking attendant.

“Do I? Do I seem like the kind of tense that signifies your career has blown up in front of you? Is that the kind of tense you mean?” I fumble with the keys and wrench open the door to my Camaro, almost smacking myself in the face.

“I’m sorry,” Flint says, closing my door before I can get in. He leans against the car, a muscular wall of ‘you shall not pass.’ “But I had to be clear about what I was and wasn’t willing to do. They can’t have my integrity.”