Page 64 of Not You Again

“Mr. Levine,” Kit says in an even tone even I can’t decipher.

“And you,” he rounds on Kit. “My crew said this was likely your idea.”

“We both left.” I release my hands to massage my temples. Kit and I were so close to … something last night, and this blustering man in my living room is giving me a migraine.

“You told my showrunners that you knew each other before.” He’s in my face again, and it pisses me off. I curl my hands into fists in my lap. “Why should I believe that you’re not playing this up for your fifteen minutes of fame?”

“You will not call my wife a liar.” Kit’s demand booms in the small apartment living space. I bite my lip to hold in my gasp.

A shiver slides down my spine at the dark undercurrent in his calm request. I like it. Maybe too much. It’s all raw power and popping sparks of electricity that say mine. I shouldn’t like it, but my toes curl in my shoes anyway.

Kit wraps my fist in his warm grip. I relax my hand and mesh my fingers with his. He takes a deep breath and asks Jeremy, “How are we supposed to connect when the only time we have is in front of a camera crew?”

“We don’t pay you to connect off camera where no one can see what happened between you.”

“You don’t pay us at all,” I bite back. I still have to make money whether or not we’re filming, and right now, my designs for Fashion Week are my only hope.

Jeremy turns a shade of red that’s almost purple and opens his mouth, presumably to yell in my face again. Kit gives my hand a squeeze. “Mr. Levine, please do not yell in our home.”

Jeremy glares at him, then a disgusting grin slides across his face. “You mean the home that the show pays for.”

Kit huffs, looking away from the conversation, locking his eyes on the fridge in the kitchen, a tic in his jaw. His hand is an anchor. It’s the first time we’ve touched since holding hands in the Arts building yesterday, and it’s sending every piece of armor I put on afterward clattering to the floor.

“We will film you here as much as we need until a story appears,” Jeremy says with finality. “The story we tell on the show is about falling in love. In your case, it’s about falling in love despite whatever happened before. The longer that takes, the more footage we need. Understand?”

Oh, I understand explicitly. Connect on camera or we’ll never be off camera. Kit nods, but refuses to look at him, still.

“You both signed contracts.” He straightens his lapels. “If you run off again, I will consider you in breach of those contracts, which means you forfeit rights to any payment for damages the show may give you.”

I swallow the knot of anger in my throat, glancing at Kit. He knows I need the money from choosing divorce. We can’t afford to be in breach of the show’s contract.

“I have a wedding this weekend,” I offer. “At the Botanical Gardens.” It’s my last one for the season, unfortunately. Jeremy looks at me like I’m a child speaking out of turn. Wringing my hands, I make my point. “I can talk to my bride about letting the show film while I work. Kit mentioned he wants to see one of my dresses in action, right?”

“I do,” he offers me a smile.

Jeremy’s lips curl into that smile again as he nods. “That’s an excellent idea, Andie. Thank you.”

Kit’s jaw tics.

“While we’re at it: Kit.” Jeremy’s voice gets marginally lower and exponentially more threatening. “Part of the contract is at least one day with your family on camera with your new wife.”

Kit snaps his focus back to Jeremy, and I swallow a gasp. His eyes are brimming with something dark. It’s a look that says go there and you’ll live to regret it.

Slowly, in a low voice, Kit tells him, “I’ve told you before: my mother is sick and needs time to recover.”

I look at my hands in my lap. Am I never going to meet his mom? She’s at the center of everything Kit does, and he wants to withhold us from each other? I bite my lip until it hurts, just to stop the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. It doesn’t matter if I meet his mom; that’s not why I’m here. My heart rebels by pounding faster, shaking its fists at me in frustration.

Jeremy matches his tone. “I’d believe it more if it came from her directly.”

Kit glares at him, curling one hand into a fist in his lap and gripping the arm of the couch with the other. A vein bulges in his temple as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. The two men are locked in a battle of wills, and if I strike a match, this whole room will ignite and take us all down with it.

“Kit,” I say softly. Neither of them moves or acknowledges I said a single word. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they remember I’m even here. But Kit is jeopardizing my best shot at my dream. He damn well knows that after last night.

My fingers shake as I rest my hand over his fist. It takes a moment, but he lets out a frustrated sigh and opens his hand to lace his fingers in mine. He rubs his other hand over his mouth as he breaks eye contact with Jeremy.

As he meets my gaze, I say, “We can visit her for dinner, so she doesn’t have to worry about going anywhere.”

Kit’s throat works to swallow. He opens his mouth to speak, then slams it shut again.

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