Miss Congeniality (8 page)

“W
hat time do you want to meet tonight?” Lance Holder, the bane of Brea’s existence, asked her with that telltale grin on his face. She had done her best to avoid him the last couple of days, dodging questions about her date the following morning and only staying on set with him when they were working. Shooting was stressful; you could feel the tension in the air, and Jonah was snapping at them because they kept forgetting their lines or their blocking. Everyone was on edge, and it felt like if anything else happened it would blow. Jonah finally brought them in his office yesterday for a serious conversation, something both veteran actors knew would happen eventually.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Jonah asked once everyone was seated around his desk. Brea folded her hands in her lap and played with her fingers so she wouldn’t have to look at him and answer the question. “Brea, look at me,” Jonah said sternly, letting her know she couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Jonah, I don’t know what is wrong with us…” she started. He held up his hand to cut her off.

“You’ve clearly misunderstood what I am asking. I don’t give a shit what is going on with you two personally; none of my damn business, if you ask me. What I care about is the fact I have to do ten takes instead of five, or that everyone is tiptoeing around you two because you look like you’re going to blow! Work it the hell out! Quickly! Because you don’t want to know what the hell will happen to you two if you continue to affect my set!” Lance and Brea looked at each other, silent communication as to whether they wanted to say something. Lance simply shrugged, acquiescing Jonah had a point.

“And that shit right there is what I am talking about!” Jonah jabbed his finger at the two of them. “I need to see more of that, but instead I have two kindergarteners fighting over the last cupcake. Stop trying to one-up each other and work your shit out!” Jonah stood during his tirade, so he was leaning over the desk trying to look intimidating, but it was hard to do when you looked like Winnie the Pooh. “That clear?”

“Crystal,” Lance replied. Jonah stormed out, slamming the door when he left, making Brea jump. “Damn.” She saw Lance rubbing his hands down his face.

“What do you want to do?” She wanted to get his opinion, since it was both their necks on the line. She had no doubt Jonah would keep complaining until he got what he wanted. Ever heard the saying ‘the squeaky wheel gets the grease’? Well, Jonah wasn’t just a regular squeak; he was the high-pitched annoying kind, which forced you to deal with him or go mad in the process.

“Dinner.” Brea cocked her head to the side; surely she hadn’t heard him right.

“Are you out of your mind? I can barely get along with you as it is, and now you want me to spend a couple of hours in your presence.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile, which she loathed, because he was constantly making remarks or gestures which told her he was getting to her and they would be together in a matter of time. He was probably right, but Brea saw herself as the last survivor trying to hold onto the fort after a long siege. She wasn’t going to wave the white flag and give up, regardless of how pleasurable it may be.

“Hear me out. We both know what we’re doing isn’t working. Now, I have my own ideas on that, but since you don’t want to discuss that aspect of our relationship—”

“I don’t,” she interrupted.

He stared at her. “I know. But we need to be able to be in each other’s presence without killing each other or jumping each other, so I figure a good way to start is dinner. That way, we can talk,
as friends
,” he emphasized, “and work together without Jonah throwing another hissy fit.”

“Is that your only idea?” It wasn’t a bad one, and it probably would help clear the air, but she didn’t know if being alone with him was the best thing right now.

“It’s either that or sex. Which do you prefer?” Brea knew which one she wanted the pick, knew that they were inevitably headed toward sex despite her protestations, but wanted to take him down a notch.

“Dinner it is.”

That had been yesterday and after some wrangling, they had decided to have dinner the next night at Brea’s house. Both figured it was best not to be seen by the media, and she wanted to be on home turf when they talked.

“Seven o’clock okay with you?” She asked.

He nodded in the affirmative. “Just text me your address. Do you need me to bring anything? Whipped cream? Chains? Handcuffs?” She glared at him.

“Kidding.” He held his hands and backed up slowly because she definitely looked like she wanted to punch him.

“Just be there at seven.”

Brea checked her reflection one more time in the mirror, her printed, sleeveless tank top and ripped jeans giving just the right amount of ‘I may have changed, but it wasn’t to impress you’ she was striving to achieve. She refused to think about the fact she had showered, waxed, re-curled her hair, and put on more makeup for a man she swore she wasn’t trying to impress. The steaks were marinated; all they had to do was throw them on the grill. The potatoes were in the oven and the salad was prepped. All she needed was her guest, who was currently running about fifteen minutes late. She hated when people weren’t punctual; it was just bad taste.

Speak of the devil
, she mused when her doorbell rang. She waited a minute—didn’t want him to think she was that eager for him to arrive—and finally answered after the second ring. He stood on the other side of the door, face red and sweaty, breathing heavily and clutching a drooping bouquet of wildflowers.

“What the hell happened to you?” Her irritation at his late arrival was forgotten; the man had clearly been through some things.

“You have no fucking idea. I was in the florist buying you some flowers. Here you go.” He thrust the bouquet at Brea, who opened her arms quickly to receive it. She couldn’t resist the smell of the sensual blooms and thanked him.

“You’re welcome,” he said as though it was an afterthought. “So, I had just stepped out of the florist and this girl recognizes me.” Brea didn’t know what the problem was; he had to be recognized all the time. Just looking at his signature leather jacket and aviators tucked into a light-green button-down shirt, she thought he would have been a fool to think no one would notice him. He must have read the questions in her eyes because he went on to explain. “This was a high school cheerleader who just happened to be on a class trip to Hollywood with the rest of her squad. I got mauled!”

She patted his cheek. “Aww…did the big, bad actor get in trouble with some cheerleaders?”

“These were not normal cheerleaders,” he began as he followed her into the house. She turned around and walked backward while talking to him.

“What the hell is a normal cheerleader?”

“The kind that bring cheer! These…girls…were ruthless. They started screaming and jumping up all around me.” He looked so befuddled, like he didn’t know what to do around a bunch of fangirls. That explained why he was late, but not why he looked like he had run a marathon.

“But why are you so hot and sweaty?”

He ran his hand through his hair, whether in frustration or to tame it she couldn’t be sure, but the result was a spiky mess which looked like he just had sex. That made her think of bed, and she didn’t need to think about that with him.

“One of them jumped on me.” Her eyes widened, knowing what was probably coming next. “And then another one jumped on me, and all of a sudden I’m at the bottom of the cheer pyramid trying to fight my way to the top.” She chuckled, picturing this sexy man at the bottom of a pile of hormone-driven, teenage girls. He was clearly not amused by her enjoyment.

“It’s not funny.” He pouted. “Once I finally untangled myself, which felt like forever with all those girls all over me, I had to run five blocks to get away from them.”

“Five blocks?”

“Yes! It was horrible! I had to hide behind a dumpster, and after waiting for about ten minutes I hailed a cab and came here.”

“You hailed a cab here?” She moved to the window and pulled back the curtain, searching for his car.

“Yeah, how else was I supposed to get here? The cheer machine was camped out by my car, and there was no way in Hell I was going through that again.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “So, now you need a ride back to your car?”

He prowled toward her, crowding her against the window. “If you don’t mind. If not, I can always call someone else to come get me.”

“Depends on what I get out of the deal.” He stepped back, certain he had misunderstood her.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She ran her finger down his shirt. “You’ve been messing with me for about two weeks now. You think I’m going to just let you get something for nothing?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, which drew Lance’s eyes to the breasts she had unwittingly pushed upward.

He ran his finger lightly across her chest, leaving goose bumps in his wake. “Oh, I got something for you.”

She batted his hand away. “Not that something. I want payment.”

He narrowed his eyes, not sure if he trusted her.
Smart guy
, Brea thought, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one. And what kind of payment we talking?”

She perked up at the thought of Lance being at her mercy. They both knew he could call a cab or any number of friends to come get him, but he was enjoying their game of cat and mouse as much as she was. She was sure she was going to let him catch her, it was just a matter of time, but he didn’t need to know that. It would just give him a big head, and his ego was healthy enough already.

“I’ll let you know.”

“That was delicious.” Lance leaned back in his chair, rubbing his flat abs in satisfaction. Brea was pleased; she loved to cook, and his enjoyment of the meal helped make her night. Amazing food, gorgeous weather with the sun hanging low while they ate outside, wonderful company, and the evening was shaping up to be far better than she had originally imagined.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Damn, girl, if I knew us getting into it would have led to steak I would have pushed your buttons earlier.”

“Ha, ha.” Brea reached for her wine, unsure how to respond. They hadn’t really talked about their issues during dinner, sticking to small talk about mutual friends and mundane topics such as the weather. Knowing she couldn’t put it off much longer, she figured she needed more wine to fortify herself. “So, what are we going to do?” Brea asked.

“How about we start off with clearing the air?”

“What do you mean?” He studied her for a minute, unsure if she was deliberately trying to play dumb.

Lance pushed his sunglasses to the top of his face. “You know what I mean. I know I may have gotten on your nerves a little bit.”

“A little bit?” she choked out. Was he kidding? He had been like a thorn in her side for weeks.

“Okay, maybe, although I am not confessing to anything, I have been more than a little annoying.”

“Thank you,” she answered primly.

“But—” he held up one finger “—the only reason why you think I am annoying is because you want me.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed.

“Stop saying that word to me, you’re not twelve.” She gasped in outrage, but he continued as though he hadn’t heard. “But as I was saying, you want me and you don’t want to want me, so you pretend like you hate me because it makes you feel better.”

She replayed his words over in her head, processing everything he said. “Okay, let’s just say you’re right.” She held up her hand to ward off the smirk he loved to give. “If…and that is a very big if…you are right, then why don’t you just leave me alone.”

“Would a lion give up his prey?”

“What am I, dinner?”

He mulled it over, smiling at the mental image she created. “Not tonight. Soon. When I am between your legs enjoying all you have to offer, you are going to be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She crossed her right leg over her left, trying to relieve the tension she felt building.

“I never said I was going to sleep with you.”

“You never said you weren’t either. And trust me, when we are together, the last thing we’re going to do is sleep.”