“I’m sure he has the equipment to.” Jordan eyed me up and down. “The question is . . . does he have the ability?”
“Want me to prove how much ability I really have?” I whispered. “Because I have nothing against public displays of affection.”
Her cheeks reddened.
“Let’s, ah . . .” Mikey coughed. “Take a few calls. You’re on the air with Mikey M and Reid Emory.”
“So . . .” The voice was familiar. Oh, shit. “Our mother favored me over him when he was a child, and I think it left him feeling . . . small. If you get my meaning.”
“Small? Who is this?”
“Max Emory . . .” Max coughed. “And let’s further discuss Reid’s smallness. It’s a tiny, well-known fact that when one feels . . . insignificant and . . . petite, they shy away from dominance in the bedroom.”
“Dude,” I yelled into the microphone. “He’s kidding.”
“Small fry,” Max wailed. “They called him small fry during gym class.”
Holy mother of chickens. I was going to throw Max into a furnace and light it on fire.
“Small fry?” Mikey looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Well, then, thank you for that . . . er . . . very interesting piece of information.”
“Every LITTLE BIT helps,” Max said cheerfully.
Jordan coughed out a laugh.
“You’re on with Mikey M and Reid Emory.”
“Hey.” The voice sounded like it came from an eighteen-year-old girl. “I don’t buy it. They have no chemistry. Boo. Publicity stunt.” The caller hung up.
Mikey shifted in his chair. “One more call. You’re on with Mikey M and Reid Emory.”
“She’s his publicist . . . I highly doubt he’s sleeping with her. I agree with the other caller. The video was funny as hell, but I’m not convinced. Give me something real.”
Hang up.
Shit, shit, shit, shit. Jordan grew paler by the minute.
I did the only thing I could think of doing, hoping that Mikey M would at least vouch for us. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her right in front of Mikey M, then spoke softly into the microphone. “I guess we’ll just have to prove to everyone once and for all that this is it for us.”
Jordan nodded.
“Baby,” I crooned. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”
Her eyes widened.
“Would you—”
She shook her head violently.
“—do me the honor of marrying me?”
The gum dropped out of Mikey M’s mouth.
“You’re it for me.” I got down on both knees. “We both knew it was heading this way. I loved you the first minute you spoke my name.” Never mind that she called me a gay handsome stranger. “And when we held hands the first time.” Or when she elbowed me in the ribs. “I felt whole for the first time in probably my entire existence.”
Jordan’s hands shook in mine.
“The movie is . . . well, it’s my job. But baby, you and Otis, you’re my life!”
“Who’s Otis?” Mikey asked.
I waved him off. “Say yes.”
Dead silence.
“Yes,” Jordan said, voice hoarse. “Yes!”
I jumped to my feet and twirled her around while Mikey scratched his head and then said into the microphone, “Well, folks, I guess our doubts have all been settled. Reid Emory has taken The Taming of the Shrew from the silver screen and actually lived it! Thanks for being on the show, guys, and congrats.”
Jordan was silent as we made our way down the elevator. And when we got into the waiting sedan, she was still quiet.
It wasn’t until we pulled out onto the street that she smacked me in the head with her purse. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that people weren’t buying it!” I yelled. “And I fixed it!”
“By proposing marriage?” she wailed. “Marriage is forever! You can’t just propose marriage on a national platform, then two days later say it won’t work out! It will RUIN you. It ruins any credibility you have.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. “It’s good publicity. You’re just mad you didn’t think of it.”
“Right.” She smacked me twice more. What the hell did she have in there? Bricks? A Taser? Probably both. “Because that’s what I want after a crappy day where my very first client all but verbally assaults me, then accuses me of wanting to sleep with him. A husband!”
“Wait, what?” I held up my hands as she kept smacking me. “He hit on you?”
“No. Yes.” She stopped swinging the purse. “Does it matter?”
“Hell, yes, it does! I’m your husband!”
“Um, no, no you’re not. As of right now you’re barely my friend, and I’m even rethinking that little lapse in judgment. You’ve managed to make a mess of our entire PR plan all within three days! I can’t fix this type of crazy!”
“Well, you can’t quit!”
“I know that!”
“Stop yelling.” I crossed my arms. “You’re being unreasonable and I hate your hair.”
“What?” She tugged at her tight low ponytail. “It’s tamed!”
“I prefer it wild.” Like you. But I didn’t say that. I felt stupid, stupid that I’d panicked and proposed, and stupid that I was offended she wasn’t elated at the idea. But then again, what the hell type of woman would be?