“The ghost of Christmas future was always the scariest one, Reid. Always.”
“But you said you were Christmas present.”
“Now I’m future. I changed like two seconds ago when I picked up Otis and my voice even got gruffer.”
“Hmm, didn’t catch that.”
He deepened his voice. “I am the ghost of Christmas future, and you’re screwed. Better?”
I groaned into my hands. “Max, stop, just tell me where she is so I can fix it.”
“Nope.” Max set Otis back down on the ground. “But I’ll tell you tomorrow once you give me your plan.”
“My plan?”
“To seduce the shrew.” Max winked. “After all, that’s how this all started, right? Seduce the shrew, make her believe that true love conquers all? I mean, the press is convinced. I’m convinced. Hell, I think even you’re convinced, but Jordan? Well, she just might need more convincing. After all, girls like that rarely believe in happily ever after.”
“Girls like that?” I fumed, clenching my fists.
“The invisibles. The ones who spend their life cast as streetwalker number one or dancer number two. After so many failed auditions, they just come to expect the fact that they’re going to be a chorus girl.”
“She’s not a chorus girl; she’s the main attraction!”
“Oh”—Max held up his hands—“you don’t have to convince me of that . . . but Jordan?” He slapped my shoulder. “Good luck with that. I’ll be waiting for your text. And Reid? I suggest you stay up all night and plan. A girl like that doesn’t happen twice.”
“I know.” My chest constricted painfully at the sound of Max’s footsteps as he made his way to the door and slammed it behind him.
Otis pranced around my feet doing his potty dance. I glared at him. My apartment felt empty, too big.
“C’mon, Otis. It looks like we got some planning to do.”
As much as I wanted to seriously murder my brother—he was right. My stomach clenched with nausea the more I thought about what Jordan might have overheard back in Vegas. I thought I was helping by not telling Max all the details of what I was thinking—I mean, it’s Max. I might as well have taken out an ad on every billboard in America. The man didn’t do secrets well.
The man didn’t do secrets well.
Damn it, why didn’t I just torture the information out of him? I was just about ready to run over to his apartment and give him hell when Otis barked.
“You’re right,” I sighed, irritated that I was talking to a dog, and a bit alarmed that his bark made sense. Maybe I was the one who ate the funny cookie? “She deserves more than that.”
Another bark.
“Something that sweeps her off her feet and proves once and for all that she’s not invisible.”
Two more barks.
“Any clever ideas, Otis?”
One bark.
“I’m not giving her a bone.”
Seven barks later and I had a plan that would, in fact, most likely end with . . .
A cape.
And roses.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
JORDAN
I opened my eyes and yawned, then nearly had a heart attack as a green gecko stared at me from the nightstand.
“Hey, there,” I said in a groggy voice.
The gecko didn’t move.
Were geckos a bad omen? Because my pounding head and hurting heart both kicked into overdrive as I gained my bearings and glanced around the room.
It was as if Max had moved me into his apartment in the middle of the night. A few duffel bags sat in the corner and two garment bags hung on the door.
So why the gecko?
“Jordan.” Becca’s voice sounded on the other side of the door; she knocked and then walked in. “I see Little G gave you a nice wake-up call?”
I frowned at the gecko. “Does he often do that? Just roam around wherever he pleases?”
Becca snorted. “He’s like Max in gecko form. What do you think?”
“That thought alone makes me want to sleep with the lights on at night.”
“Me too.” Becca grinned. “And I sleep with the man.”
“Knife under the pillow?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Nah, but I do keep fruit snacks next to the condoms just in case he has a nightmare.”
“Because fruit snacks stop nightmares?”
With a shrug Becca made her way around the bed and sat. “According to Max.”
The gecko did a little hop. Becca held out her hand; he walked onto it, slowly, and then lay down. I’d never in my life seen such a thing, a domesticated gecko. Then again, if you could domesticate lizards, why not the tiny ones?
“So.” She cleared her throat. “Max said something about an emergency on set.”
I grunted.
“An emergency involving Reid.”
I licked my lips and looked down at the comforter, silently counting to keep myself from bursting into tears.
“And”—Becca nudged me with her elbow—“I know that this is a rough time for you, but you still need your job, right? And as his publicist, it’s in your best interest to spin things.”
“So why do I need to spin the emergency on set?” I asked, curious. “What? Did he lock himself in his trailer or something and then put aluminum foil in his microwave? Press would eat that up. Reid Emory—idiot.”