Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(16)

I wish I could go back and change things. I want people to know the truth. But then they’d just call me a liar, too. I made my bed two years ago, and now I get to see what it’s like to lie in it.

An hour later, hair and makeup done, Clarice is helping me into my dress. It’s tight, but I don’t say anything. If I had to guess, Barry told her to make it that way. I’m a guest here. No need to rock the boat.

As if privy to my very thoughts, my producer walks into my dressing room. Without knocking.

“So?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. He’s actually going to make me say it.

“Barry, you’re killing me here. What were the numbers? You ran focus groups, right? How did I test?”

Still not looking up, he says, “Huh? Oh, fine. Yeah, fine.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Clarice whispers. “I heard people talking. You killed it. Everyone loved you. You shouldn’t change a thing. Don’t mind him. He wouldn’t hand out a compliment if it came with dinner and a blow job.”

“I can hear you, Clarice,” Barry says.

“You were meant to.”

Finally, he pockets his phone. He studies me from head to toe. “Lose the necklace. You can’t wear the same jewelry two days in a row.”

I cover my pendant with a hand, as if protecting it from him. “I never remove it. Not unless I’m showering or swimming.”

“Pretend you’re in the deep end then. Because it’s definitely sink or swim around here.”

“Respectfully, I’d like to keep it on.”

“No.”

I swallow. Am I really about to fight with the man who basically holds my career in the palm of his hands?

“Listen,” I say, because apparently I am. “I dropped everything and flew out here with little notice, couldn’t bring my cameraman or producer, and have been thrown to the wolves with zero preparation. You hired me because you saw something you liked—or Xuan Le did. This necklace is a part of that person. Think of it as a prop, something to identify me, like Jim Cantore and his baseball cap.”

“You’re really going to fight me over a silly piece of jewelry? Did your dead grandmother give it to you or something?”

I’m not about to tell him the significance. I continue our staredown.

“And if I tell you it’s a deal-breaker?” he asks.

“Barry, there are few things I have control over in my career, but this is one of them. And this is the hill I’m going to die on. So, if you’re dead set on winning this one, good luck replacing me in the next twenty minutes. I’m up to speed. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours studying Makenna’s clips.

Apparently, I tested well yesterday. Firing me over this is not something you want to do.”

Both Clarice and Henri stand behind me in a show of solidarity.

Barry has an internal conversation with himself, his lips forming a few four-letter words in the quiet murmuring. “Jesus Christ, fine. But if people start to complain—”

“They won’t,” I say.

He spins and goes for the door. “Banter with Roman. You had a rapport yesterday. People love that shit.”

My jaw goes slack. “You want me to flirt with the news anchor?”

“In a word—yes.” He comes back over. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t give two fucks about the weather. What I do care about are ratings.”

He leaves, but I seem to be the only person in the room who’s stunned.

“He can take some getting used to,” Henri says.

There’s a knock on the door. “Ms. Forbes to the studio!” someone shouts from the other side.

Clarice secures a wire underneath the back of my dress. “Good luck today.”

Henri winks and blows me a kiss as they leave.

I’m alone. I take a few calming breaths and head out.

I put in my earpiece, get my clicker and test it on a few graphics, and stand on my spot. Will Jaxon be watching? Will all of Calloway Creek? Suddenly, nerves I’ve never felt take hold.

There’s a voice in my ear. “Stop fiddling with the necklace,” Barry says. “If you keep it up, either it goes or you do.”

“Now to Nicole Forbes for the weather,” Roman says.

I drop my hand to my side, paste on a confident smile, and do the job I’m getting paid an ungodly amount to do.





Chapter Seven



Jaxon




Everyone is staring as I stroll the halls on the way to my classroom. Funny looks, whispers, empathetic faces. Did every goddamn person in town watch XTN over the weekend?

As if I hadn’t already been tabloid fodder for months after Nicky left. Poor Jaxon, the guy who was cheated on and left by his career-hungry wife. It didn’t matter that I tried to defend her; it just riled them up even more, wondering how I could possibly stand up for her after what she’d done. And now it’s happening all over again.

I don’t stop in the teachers’ lounge. I know Calista will be there, and I need to be grilled by her like I need a hole in the back of my head. It was a dick move, leaving them at the restaurant on Saturday, but damn, no way could I have sat there and pretended like everything was hunky-dory.

I avoided Calista yesterday, sitting at home in my backyard with a six-pack and Heisman. I’d throw the tennis ball; he’d get a treat (and I’d take a sip) after retrieving it. If his treats were drinks, he’d have been as drunk as I was. And drunk watching XTN is not what I should have done all night.