Victoria's Got a Secret (18 page)

Maybe this was wrong. Maybe it was right. Either way, she could help to get it off the ground. There was no reason for an idea to die out of fear. In the end, she jumped and ignored the lack of a safety net.

She leaned back against the kitchen sink and watched Preston pour a glass of wine. “I called Allan. I told him I’d do the pilot. He’ll have something for Walt to see and use to hook other investors and media outlets.”

Something sparked to life behind Preston’s blue eyes. “You’ll get naked?”

“Yes.”

“What about all those irrational fears of yours?”

She clenched her teeth together and counted to ten. When she opened her mouth again, heat had flooded through her. “They weren’t irrational. They were realistic. I don’t know any woman who wouldn’t change some part of her body.”

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “What would you change?”

No way was she opening that door. He had rearranged parts of her life already. She refused to let him change anything else. “That’s not important. We’re talking about the pilot. I’ll do it.”

He winked at her as his smile grew wide. “I knew you would come around.”

The air inside her flattened. He acted like this was a game instead of the biggest decision of her life. “What made you so sure?”

“I know you better than you know yourself.”

But he didn’t. One man knew her, and he was long gone.

Nineteen

Sometimes having the dream is enough. Most times not.

—Grandma Gladys, The Duchess

P
AUL DIDN’T HEAR HER COME IN
. H
E WAS BANGING ON
the drums, playing to the song in his head. Sweat dripped off his shoulders and forehead as the beat of the music ran through him.

It wasn’t until Wendy stood right in front of him that he even noticed her. He jumped in his seat at the unwanted interruption.

“Hey.” He lowered the sticks nice and slow as the flat line of her lips registered in his brain. She was pissed. Any idiot could see that. “I didn’t see you come in.”

Her fists never left her hips. “You said you’d be home two hours ago.”

“I got caught up in this.” He was in a friend’s studio instead of at his own. He was only four doors down, but it felt like a lifetime away from the place he shared with Brian and Wendy. He paid bills there. Tonight he needed an outlet that didn’t house his normal life, so he created here.

“We had dinner plans.”

Like he cared about food right now. “Sorry.”

“You say that a lot lately.”

She had every right to be pissed. He’d come down here to escape from her, from what had become a nightly occurrence—fighting.

Still, despite the attitude and the fact he brought this one on his shoulders, he wasn’t in the mood for a scene. The fighting sucked the life out of him. He’d defend and apologize and eventually give in to some degree just to keep peace.

“What do you want from me, Wendy?”

Her eyebrow raised. “A sign you care.”

“We live together.” To him that meant something. To her it was a first step to something else. He didn’t like this need of hers to define the future and cling to that hope instead of living in the moment.

He used to despise Jennifer’s ability to separate and remain cold. Now he understood she didn’t do it for personal protection. You built the space to keep something for yourself before the headache pounded you to the ground.

She started tapping her foot. “Brian lives there, too.”

“So?”

“Clearly being in the house doesn’t mean anything more than sharing a place. There’s no foundation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s been years, Paul. I’ve invested in this relationship. In you.”

She brushed her hand over the edge of his drums, and he worried she planned an act of vandalism. She’d never shown the least sign of violence, but her hands shook with what he assumed was pure rage.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” he suggested.

She looked from him to the drums and back again. “I’m talking about our relationship and you’re worried about your damn drums?”

Until she said it, he hadn’t even realized he’d made that list of priorities and put her at the bottom. “Sorry.” He got up and walked around until he stood in front of her.

“I’d think so.”

“Things are going well.” He ran a hand up her arm, hoping to comfort her or at least undo some of the damage he’d unknowingly inflicted on her simply by not being ready for dinner on time.

She shrugged out of his hold. “For you.”

“I know that’s some sort of woman-speak, but I don’t get it.” His frustration with her, with the situation, with all the pieces of his life he couldn’t control, boiled over. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

“Commitment.” She jabbed him in the middle of the chest.

“You have it.”

“Are you really this dense?”

“I gave you that when I agreed you could move in.” He winced the second after the words left his mouth. He heard them, saw the shock in her wide eyes, and knew he’d handled the situation all wrong.

“Agreed? Like I forced you to be with me?”

He took a long breath and tried again for calm. “Don’t twist my words.”

“It’s time for you to be an adult, Paul.”

The words echoed every complaint Jennifer had ever lodged against him. Looked like no matter how many steps he took forward, he kept leaping backward. The women in his life refused to recognize any progress, and he worried they were right. Hard to imagine half of the world’s population being wrong on this one issue.

Wendy threw up her hands. “You are useless.”

Like that, the building guilt evaporated. All those struggles with self-worth and bad decisions from being a teen came rushing back at him. “I have a job and a few hobbies. I make some money off my music and pay all my bills.”

“I know all that.”

“Then tell me where I’m failing you.”

She held up her hand with the back to him. “Here.”

The anger whooshed back out of him. He got the message. She wanted a damn ring.

He wasn’t ready to give her one. “Wendy, we’ve talked about this.”

“No, I’ve talked about it and you’ve ignored me or talked around it. You never take a stand or give me an answer.”

Guilty.
He couldn’t deny any of it. “I like things how they are now.”

“The problem is clear.” She didn’t wait for him to ask. “I’m not Jennifer.”

Everything inside him crumbled. Hearing Jennifer’s name on Wendy’s lips was too much. “Don’t do that.”

“You are pining for a woman who dumped you years ago. Do you think she even still remembers you?”

He blocked the verbal blows and concentrated on staying on his feet and in the conversation. “This has nothing to do with Jennifer. It’s about us.”

She flipped her hand around and showed him the palm. “Save it.”

He would never understand women. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“I’m going to dinner.” Wendy picked up the jacket Paul hadn’t even seen her drape over the back of the chair.

He exhaled. While he appreciated the relatively quick end to the fight, he was sick of all the arguing. “Give me a second to wash up.”

“Forget it.”

“What?”

“Brian is taking me.”

Her comments didn’t make any sense. “I’m not invited to dinner with you?”

“Not tonight. Not until you figure out who and what you want.”

She turned and stormed toward the door. Not walking and not even running. This was a stomping, with a head-down plow to get away from him.

“Wendy—”

She didn’t bother to turn around. “I mean it, Paul.”

The door slammed behind her and then . . . nothing. The lonely seconds ticked by. He sat in silence for a full five minutes before he grabbed the phone.

Neil picked up on the first ring, but Paul didn’t give him time to say anything. “It’s time.”

“What?”

Paul heard the confusion in his friend’s voice. “To say how you told me so.”

“Wendy?”

“Yeah.”

Neil swore. “The marriage thing? Man, I’m sorry.” And he sounded it. Being the good friend he was, there was no gloating or the promised
I told you so
. “Is it over?”

“No, but I think she’s given me an ultimatum.”

“Did she say that? Give you a deadline?”

“Not in so many words.”

Neil blew out a breath. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Jennifer liked Walt from the first minute she met him. Naked News was his idea. He could have been a jerk and a pervert or a mixture of the two. Instead, he was a forty-something businessman with thinning brown hair, a wedding ring, and a smile that made her comfortable.

He sat across from her at a metal conference table in a single-room office on the bottom floor of an older building in downtown Toronto. Nothing fancy or showy. This was a place where real work happened without the benefit of office staff or expensive furnishings.

At one end of the room was a wall draped with fabric and a small screen suspended nearby. A camera stood in front of the filming area while a man fiddled with the lens. They agreed to do a test run here and then try the pilot in a rented studio only if she was comfortable going forward with the plan.

With Preston at her side, as he insisted he be when he declared himself her agent, Walt spelled out what he expected of the pilot. Most impressive, his gaze never dipped below her chin. He kept it professional, which in turn eased some of the anxiety jumping around inside her.

Despite everything, she was at heart pretty shy. She didn’t grow up in a house that welcomed nudity. Her parents weren’t conventional and neither was her upbringing, but sexuality wasn’t discussed in the open either. She’d learned what she’d learned from Heather and the Duchess, who believed all young women should be armed with the fundamentals.

Stripping her clothes off in front of men she didn’t know would be a huge step from the past she clung to. Letting someone tape it and then show it to other women and possible investors was well out of Jennifer’s normal range.

Preston loved it. He showed her off as if he’d invented her. In a way, maybe he had. She walked into the studio with her best Victoria swagger. She wore a sexy wrap navy dress and her hair long and straight. She answered only to Victoria Sinclair and carried the self-confidence that came with the name and not with her own.

“I know this is a bit uncomfortable,” Walt said as he twirled the pen around in his fingers.

Preston touched his hand against hers. Didn’t hold it. More like patted it. “She’s fine.”

This one time she didn’t want Preston speaking for her. “It’s okay, Walt. Really.”

“I don’t expect the test to be perfect on the first shot. You’ll have some nerves. We’ll work through them and get you comfortable and keep editing until we get a run we all like.”

She appreciated Walt’s words. Loved the fact he talked to her and not through Preston. “Thank you.”

Walt’s smile was warm and respectful. “I want this to work, and the only way that happens is if you can sell it.”

“She can.” Preston leaned against her, moving his body into Walt’s line of vision while speaking.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming at Preston and telling him to shut up. “I can.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that.” Walt poured a cup of coffee and slid it in her direction. “We’ll relax for a few minutes and then take some shots for lighting.”

Preston stood up. “Delaying is only going to make it worse. We should start.”

“We go when she’s ready.” Walt snapped the comment at Preston before turning back to her. “It’s just news, weather, and sports.

You read it every day. This time you’ll do it out loud.”

She glanced down at the paper in front of her but only saw a black blur of lines. Her insides were shaking too hard for her to concentrate. “I practiced the lines.”

“Good.” Walt glanced at the cameraman behind them and shook his head. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She spoke before Preston could answer for her. “I’m ready.”

She doubted she could even stand up. The bones in her knees had melted into liquid. But time was money, and she was not about to let her worries cost these men more than was necessary.

Before she could run or come to her senses, she stood up and walked to the screen set up on the other side of the small room. Standing there in front of three men, one who had seen her naked every day for years and two others who didn’t know much more about her than her name, was a surreal experience. She expected a priest to jump out at any second and scold her just for being there.

In front of the screen, with the lights blazing and the soft murmur of male voices shadowed in front of her, she struggled with an attack of jumping nerves. The first two times she tried to speak, she stumbled.

She’d known her name when she stepped up here, but it was beyond her right now. And she still had all of her clothes on.

While Walt said a steady stream of encouraging words, Preston stood with his arms folded across his chest. One look at his face and she knew she was blowing it.

The answer for overcoming the anxiety was easy. She needed to pretend he wasn’t there. That she was talking directly to a guy on his couch, a guy who liked pretty women and wanted to know the football scores.