Page 7 of Heart to Heart
“Can’t wait,” I answered with a nod, straightening my tie in the full-length mirror in front of me.
Lips perking upward in a shy smile, cheeks reddening, she retreated back into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“Just think, soon you’ll have a whole mansion full of women fawning all over you just like that one,” my agent Wanda Van Thorn observed, her head buried in a tabloid she’d found on the coffee table in my dressing room.
“Yes, because that’s so much better for my career than landing that new Dom Demetrio project,” I sighed.
Wanda tossed the tabloid aside and reached over to pat me on the back. Shaking her head at my lack of progress, she took myHeart to Heartsignature cherry red tie in her steady hands to accomplish what my unsteady ones couldn’t. “Patience. A career can’t be resuscitated in a day.” She took a step back to admire her handiwork, seemingly pleased with the result.
“I’m aware of that. I just don’t see what being on a reality dating show has to do with a movie career.”
“Are you kidding me?” she asked, her meticulously arched eyebrow arching even further. “Women are going to let you into their households every week. Your name is going to be everywhere. All you have to do is work your Tristan Tate magic and prove to the audience that you’ve grown since your little tussle with the paparazzi and your breakup with what’s her name.”
“Jessica Davis—only the biggest celebrity on the planet. You know her name, Wanda. Everyone knows her name.”
“Second biggest after you come back to town.” Wanda nudged me with her elbow, winking at my reflection in the mirror. “After this gig, people will warm up to you again and the offers will come flooding back in. Everyone likes a comeback story, a phoenix rising from the ashes.” She held her hand out dramatically in front of her, moving it in an arch.
“Okay, but there’s one small hiccup to your scheme, Wanda. I’m supposed to be choosing a wife after this is all said and done, am I not?”
“Pfftt.” She batted the air with her hand. “Please. None of the couples on these shows ever last. And nowhere does it say you have to get engaged. Believe me, I’ve inspected every nook and cranny of your contract.”
I moved to take a seat on a stool next to the minibar that was, per my request, stocked with nothing but water. Before I could sit down, Wanda voiced her disapproval in a string ofuh uh uhs, motioning bright red fingernails down her legs.
“Wrinkle your pants all you want later, but not before you walk out there. First impressions, remember?”
“Yes, mom.” I rolled my eyes, careful to be discreet so as not to upset her. Truth be told, I was grateful for Wanda and owed her an entire lifetime’s worth of favors. When doors werebeing slammed shut in my face, she welcomed me in, giving me the shot at redemption that no one else felt I deserved. I’d been blacklisted, shunned, considered uninsurable. Wanda had been my last chance, the only person willing to take a chance on me. She had always been known for her ability to turn chicken shit into chicken salad. And my life had thoroughly turned to shit.
“Okay, so no to marriage proposals.” I leaned against the bar. “What if I just don’t choose anyone and go home single at the end?”
“Are you trying to send me to an early grave?” She glared at me incredulously. “You need to be a team player throughout the process. The second you aren’t, you’ll lose everything we’re trying to work to regain.”
Of all the times to be sober.
I’d quit drinking six months ago, but dealing with Wanda was enough to make me wish that I hadn’t. “And how is stringing some woman along going to make audiences love me?”
“Please, you won’t be stringing any of those girls along. I mean, sure, some are going to be in it to win the heart of Tristan Tate, but most of them will be in it for the fame and the chance to use it as their big break. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship for the both of you, and when it ends, none of you will be the worse for wear.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what the creators ofHeart to Heartintended.”
“Mr. Tate,” the redhead knocked on the door, stopping short of poking her head into the room this time, “they’re ready for you.”
I closed my eyes, letting out a breath. It was showtime, whether I wanted to perform or not. “I’ll be right out,” I called. With one last look in the mirror, I adjusted my suit jacket, which, perfectly tailored, didn’t need any adjusting at all, and headedto the door as though I were a prisoner being marched to my execution.
“Tristan,” Wanda’s voice stopped me in my tracks as if she’d made the last-minute decision to grant me clemency, “just remember to play by the rules. Date. Get back in the saddle again. Bone any and all of those women to your heart’s content if that’s what you need to do to get Jessica out of your system. Just don’t fall in love and screw up everything.”
I nodded as I stepped out into the hallway and walked toward the commotion coming from the audience in the studio, even more uncertain of Wanda’s scheme than I had been before.
CHAPTER 4
AVERY
The sweet smellof baked goods struck my senses the moment I stepped foot onto the cobblestone block housing my parents’ bakery. Claire’s Country Confections had been a lifelong dream of my mother’s, and every time I visited her shop, I was flooded with memories from my childhood. Memories where I was covered in flour, rolling dough into thin sheets, mixing batter for her famous lemon lavender cupcakes that brought customers into her tiny space during the peak tourist season. After years of scrimping and saving, my parents quit their nine-to-fives. My dad had been an accountant, my mother a kindergarten teacher. They’d left all they’d known, opening for business in a cute shop with a pink and blue-striped awning hanging over the door.
In the middle of that awning, a cutesy, pink-frosted cupcake with rainbow sprinkles and a cartoon smile welcomed me as I approached the door. Wafting from the shop was the same scent that used to gently rouse me from slumber on the weekends. Just inhaling the sweet, spicy aroma made my stomach growl.
Cinnamon.
More specifically, of the roll variety. Of course, they would be making cinnamon rolls. It was only nine o’clock in the morning.
