Getting Tricky E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Standing at the altar with Nairn Strickland, Lyla Malloy knows that her quiet life is a thing of the past. For the next three months anyway.
 
Taking part in a reality TV show was so unlike her, but that was sort of the point.
 
Lyla laughs, she cries, and she feels more than she ever has in her life. Trick’s more than the cocky, handsy, late-night TV personality he plays so well. So much more. It doesn’t take long for him to begin schooling her in life’s pleasures… including the most intimate ones.
 
Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.


**HEA STANDALONE**

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2017 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2017

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2017

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Original cover by Najla Qamber Designs

www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

www.scarlettfinn.com

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

for the good times

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

ONE

“Lyla Malloy.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lyla said, sinking into the isolated steel-framed chair that stood in front of a panel of four people.

Only one of those people worked in her department, though all of them were executive-level employees with the entertainment channel she worked for. Channel Prem, one of the most successful commercial channels in the country.

“Do you know who Nairn Strickland is?” Alan Bunyan, the network director asked her. 

Bunyan, who was sitting in a larger chair than the other three on the panel, was the only one who’d spoken thus far, but he was known for his need to be at the center of attention any time he was in a room. 

His question was silly enough that Lyla stopped tugging on the cuffs of her oversized sweater and actually smiled; something she didn’t think she’d be doing in this intimidating meeting. “Of course,” she said, glancing at each face before continuing as it seemed they wanted her to do. “He’s the station’s biggest star. He hosts Boys Night three nights a week with Noah Tate and Nathaniel Green.” Known as the ‘Threens’, the three of them were often seen around town together, drinking, partying with different women, and just generally being boys behaving badly. “He has a show on our radio station late Sunday night and he hosts Truth or Dare, one of our flagship quiz shows.”

Truth was, Nairn was everywhere, and while his reputation appealed to adult audiences, he was huge on social media too with fans in most age ranges from teenagers to middle-aged men and women from many backgrounds. Men wanted to drink with him, women wanted to screw him, and the younger fans idolized him.

This was a first for Lyla, being addressed by the network director. When she’d been called into this meeting, she was sure that she was being fired because the only man she knew would be here was Ritchie, her direct superior. Though she had thought it was weird that he was pulling her into a meeting in one of the fancy boardrooms as opposed to into his office where she’d seen people lose their jobs before.

Ritchie was sitting at the end of the long table, saying nothing; he was more like a decorative paperweight than a bookend. He didn’t seem to have any useful task other than to bulk out the numbers or fill space. Her boss was in his forties and always seemed stressed; she’d never once seen him crack a smile.

Bunyan was older than him, using the features of his appearance alone, the lines on his forehead and the thinning of his hair, she’d put him in his sixties, but she knew he was actually only in his mid-fifties. Maybe the trials of his job added years—she could understand that. But it would probably help if he kept himself in better shape. Although he was tall, he carried more weight than he needed to and seemed to sweat a lot too. Lyla wasn’t sorry she hadn’t spent more time around him, his bluster made her uneasy.

“Good,” Bunyan said, looking to his colleagues before taking a breath and looking her square in the eye. Uh-oh. “We’re going to need you to marry him.”

The universe went onto pause. Lyla wasn’t even sure what he’d said and she knew three languages; comprehension wasn’t usually a problem for her. “I’m… I’m sorry, what?”

Bunyan clasped his hands together and took on a learned air that was probably supposed to patronize her. “It started with this petition, about a month ago, remember, with the suicide kid?”

A teenager who’d been featured on one of Prem’s reality shows had overdosed after taking part in the show. It didn’t matter that the coroner found a verdict of accidental death; the public had launched a campaign against the channel. Someone had written a powerful letter blaming the media for his death, tearing into executives for using the desperate public as puppets who were taken advantage of by the money-hungry media simply because they were naive and believed fame and recognition would solve all life’s problems.

“Yes, Sir, but I—”

“We were accused of liability in his death.”

Everybody knew that, there were articles in all the papers and spread across online media about the case and the responsibility of entertainment providers. “Yes, Sir.”

Bunyan’s attitude wasn’t one of remorse or even reflection; this whole thing seemed to be little more than an inconvenience. “It’s ridiculous of course, but we decided we could not ignore the accusations in the letter attached to the petition.” With the civil case being brought by the kid’s parents, the channel needed to do some damage control. “So for our next project, we have to use our own people, to prove that we don’t only take needless risks with the schmucks out there in the world, but that our shows are so safe and fair, that we would use our own people, even those we value most.”

That explained why Nairn would be involved in this project, he was the face of the channel… after ten PM anyway. “I understand, Sir,” Lyla said. “But why would you choose me to—”

“Interviews were conducted, covertly. We studied personnel records, spoke to staff, and the aim was to find a bride who was the most opposite to him. We still want to make great television. It’ll be called Opposites Marry. You know, as opposed to Opposites Attract.”

Yeah, she got it. Lyla’s mouth opened in an ‘oh’ as the woman at the end of the table spoke up. “We couldn’t allow the premise of the show to seem too obvious or easy. The point is to put a real challenge to our people, make it as difficult and as fraught as possible. So,” she said and smiled. “We chose you… There isn’t a person on the premises who’s more different to Trick than you.”

Okay, so Lyla had to marry a man, not just any man, but a famous one, and it had just been confirmed that they had zero in common. “Forgive me, but… I’m not a celebrity… I’ve never been on TV, and I have no interest—”

“But you’re still one of us,” Bunyan spoke again. “You’ve worked for the company for five years.”

Yes, she had, in her quiet, little anonymous corner where she was quite happy. “Yes, but I’m a researcher, I’m not—”

“Your role is perfect,” Bunyan said. “We won’t have to worry about conflicts with Trick’s schedule, you can work around him. If you were another personality from the channel, it would seem gimmicky, no one would believe it. We want everyone to believe it.”

“Believe it,” Lyla said, still struggling to incorporate the reality of this conversation into her psyche. “Believe that Mr. Strickland and I are… getting married?”

“The public will know it’s a setup, but over time, we’ll decide how the relationship should progress. We will sell it as a real marriage; you guys have to appear to be in this to make it work. The premise of the show is simple,” Bunyan said. “We’ll keep both of you apart until the actual wedding. You’ll be given discretion over your dress and that stuff, but the details of the day will be at Prem’s discretion, you won’t have to organize anything. We’ll send a designer around to fit you for the dress you want. Hair, makeup, everything will be taken care of. You will meet Trick at the ceremony.”

Lyla would meet the man she was supposed to marry on her wedding day. If she was inclined to swear, she’d probably try it now. “I… I can’t marry a man I’ve never met.”

Everyone on the panel laughed, she didn’t get the joke. Bunyan threw up his hands. “That’s the whole idea! Marrying a stranger, it’s always a hit concept.” Not a new one, but still, he was right, it was popular. “You’re living a dream, marrying a popular celebrity who millions of women would love to be tied to.”

Yes, millions, though she wasn’t one of them and wasn’t interested in fighting with the competition. “Wasn’t he dating Kira Levine for a long time?”

Bunyan nodded. “Yes, but they broke up months ago. He’s single.”

Well that was always a point in the favor of any betrothed. But an underwear model, really? Why would he go from one of the world’s sexiest women to… her? Lyla wasn’t known for being sexy, she wasn’t known for being anything. Her clothes were drab and oversized. She just didn’t care about what she wore and would always choose comfort over style, not that she had any sense of style that she was trying to keep secret.

“Why would he agree to do this?” Lyla asked, thinking that maybe if he backed out, she wouldn’t have to.

Again, everyone laughed. “Oh, Trick is up for anything,” the woman at the end of the line said.

The blonde was familiar, she wasn’t a board member and it only took a second for Lyla to identify her as remembering things was sort of her job. “You’re Sadie Lawrence,” Lyla said. “You’re Mr. Strickland’s producer.”

“One of them,” Sadie said. “And he prefers Trick… no one uses his full last name, and not even his mother calls him Nairn.”

That prompted another thought. Lyla’s attention went back to Bunyan. “Our families, what about our families?”

“They’ll be invited to the wedding. Like I said, this will be a real marriage, the public want to see you fall in love… it doesn’t matter that it’s all a con,” Bunyan said, becoming sedate as he explained. “The wedding will be your first meeting with Trick, you’ll be given some time after the ceremony to talk with him. There will be pictures, a reception, the works. The wedding will take place on Wednesday, you’ll go on honeymoon on the Thursday to return on the Sunday.”

Thoughts of how her family would handle this and how comfortable she was conning the public fled when she heard the word honeymoon. “Four days,” she said.

Away… alone… with Nairn Strickland… what the hell would they talk about? She knew nothing about sport or liquor or the latest entertainment hotspots.

“Yes,” Bunyan said. “His radio show is live, everything else is, or can be, pre-recorded. The radio show is the only thing we can’t alter, so he will have to be back in time for that.”

His radio show. But no talk of her job. When Lyla turned to Ritchie, the head of her department and a man she’d only ever exchanged a few words with since her initial interview five years ago, she noted that he didn’t seem to care much about that.

“Your workload will be adjusted as is required,” Ritchie said. He was at the opposite end of the table from Sadie, and it seemed a bit unfair. If Sadie was here as a representative of Trick, and was his good friend, shouldn’t Lyla have someone equally invested in her standing in her corner? Apparently not.

“Trick’s apartment is right in the center of the city, just a ten-minute cab ride from the studios—”

“His apartment!” she exclaimed. God, that was a point, if she was supposed to marry him then she was supposed to live with him. “I couldn’t move.”

“You would have to,” Bunyan said. “You have to live with your husband. These transitions will be what makes the show worth watching.”

“Worth watching,” she muttered. It didn’t usually take her so long to catch on, but the shock of this had put her on her back foot. “You’d be recording everything.”

“There would be cameras placed throughout the apartment, your office—”

“I don’t have an office, I work in a bullpen,” Lyla said.

“Wherever they’re deemed necessary,” Bunyan said like she was just being awkward and maybe she was. “And there will be a camera crew with you at all times too. There will be two shows a week. One with footage of what has happened, the reality aspect, the second will be interviews conducted with each of you and those around you, intercut with footage of incidents that have happened, and probably some unseen stuff. That will be worked out in editing.”

Followed by a camera crew, her life bugged, taking part in weekly interviews where she’d be quizzed about the intimate details of her life with a man known for being highly sexed. Yeah, this was probably her worst nightmare.

In another testament to her shock, Lyla’s next question burst out of her. “What about sex?” she asked. Intimacy was not a subject she frequently spoke about, but it was important for her to know what her husband would expect in that arena.

Sadie smirked and picked up her pen as if she needed a distraction. “You’re not required to have sex with him.”

But you will.

The final three words weren’t said out loud, but they were in the eyes of everyone on the panel.

Why were they so sure of that? Because this Trick guy was so charming and irresistible that she’d never be able to put up any defense against his seduction? Shame that they didn’t understand how non-sexed she was.

Lyla wouldn’t want to make any assertions, because she hadn’t met the guy and maybe he did have magical powers after all. To get into her panties, he’d need them. That or a miracle from above.

“No, I didn’t think I would be,” Lyla said, confident that she could keep her legs together. If the studio tried to write any kind of sexual obligation into the contract, they’d be opening themselves up to all kinds of law suits later; this show was meant to be solving problems, not creating them. “I meant him, will he be discreet with the women he’s sleeping with? He’s known for being on late night, how much coverage will there be—”

“We won’t discount airing anything,” Bunyan said. “One of the USPs of this show is that it will air after-dark, so it won’t be censored. If you, or Trick, engage in any kind of intimate activity with each other or other people, we reserve the right to show everything.”

Good, then she definitely wouldn’t be sleeping with him. “Because it makes good TV.” Would she be expected to perform? If she caught him in bed with another woman, was she supposed to flip out? She wouldn’t, she couldn’t care less who this stranger slept with.

“It does,” Bunyan said. “This will be compelling television. Trick’s name alone guarantees that the tabloids will be interested.”

Inhaling, she pushed back her shoulders and returned Bunyan’s stare. “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said and rose. “But I have to decline, thank you.”

Bunyan’s confidence faltered for the first time, and he turned to the man at his side like maybe he needed a translation. “Decline? You can’t decline,” Bunyan said.

Lyla was confident that she could. It was an intriguing idea and if she wasn’t so risk-averse she might think about giving this a go. But there wasn’t any person less camera-ready than she was.

“You can’t force me to marry a stranger and have my life scrutinized under a media microscope I never coveted.”

Obviously, her refusal hadn’t been factored into the schedule. “No, but… this is an incredible opportunity… and you will be compensated.”

So she’d get a salary bump for entertaining the station’s biggest star? “Thank you for considering me, really, I am flattered, but I’d move on to the next woman on your list.”

At least she wasn’t being wishy-washy, they had to give her that. Lyla was confident in her refusal. “No list,” Bunyan said, thrusting to his feet. “There is no list. We all agreed. As soon as we saw you, we knew, there is no one better suited for this.”

No one less like Trick. “Sir, I—”

“Take a day,” Sadie said. “Twenty-four hours to think about it… I understand why your instinct is to say no, but it’s fun, that’s all. Don’t think of it as a life commitment, it’s only three months, and I can guarantee you one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Sadie smiled and her eyes flicked to the side for a second before returning, like she knew some big secret she wasn’t sharing… yet. “You’ll have fun with Trick. It’s his life’s mission to push people’s boundaries and take them on an adventure. It’ll be a wild ride.”

Right. Except her name and the word “wild” were antonymous. “I’m sure he’s a barrel of laughs,” Lyla said. “But I don’t want to be married to him.”

“Sometimes it’s the risks we take that define us,” Sadie said. “That’s one of Trick’s mottos.”

Maybe Sadie thought she was building on the mystique of the man who was a stranger to Lyla, the meek researcher. Instead, she was giving Lyla reasons to say no.

“You have until the end of business today,” Bunyan said. “We’ll expect your answer. We can’t delay any longer.”

No, because if the wedding was next Wednesday, that didn’t give much time for planning as it was already Thursday. Lyla was pretty sure she wouldn’t be the one walking down the aisle to marry Nairn Strickland and she sent out a silent prayer of luck for the poor woman who did.

TWO

Lyla walked out of that meeting feeling like she’d just taken a beating. She was at lunch alone in the canteen, nibbling on her rye crackers when three women from the research department closed in around her and sat down. This trio were always together. When they were supposed to be working, they were always gossiping about something. Lyla called them the Cronies, only in her head of course, but to her it seemed an apt description.

“Hey, what was that meeting with Ritchie?” Faith asked.

Faith was the head of the research clique and the most popular in the department. The beauty knew everything that was going on, and that might be why she and her two cronies had decided to descend on Lyla this lunchtime when usually she ate alone.

Lyla did everything alone, and that was just the way she liked it. Interacting took too much energy, and she never understood why people insisted it was healthy to be social all the time. Lyla was healthy; she ate well, ran every day, did yoga, and was always in bed by ten-thirty. She was a good girl. Happy. Content. Alone.

“You better not be getting promoted,” Dinah, Faith’s number two, said. “No way could you run the department.”

Being in management didn’t interest Lyla. For one thing if she was in a position of power, she’d have to talk to people, and she did that as little as possible. “No, I’m not getting promoted,” Lyla said, picking up a carrot stick.

The meeting had sapped all of her reserves and dealing with these cackling women was exhausting. She didn’t even care that they mocked her behind her back, although she knew they did, everyone in the department did.

Lyla was the odd-one-out in every room she walked in to and she always had been. Having plenty of practice at being the outcast, she didn’t need to be taught how to shrug off the ridicule that came with it. It was habit now, second-nature, being impervious was a part of who she was.

“So, what then? Some top-secret project?” Chelsea, the third and probably most cutting of the group, said. Chelsea had the most to prove and was often battling with Faith for dominance in the passive aggressive way these women did.

Lyla had been told not to discuss the meeting and she wouldn’t. If she was going to say no, it wasn’t right that she go mouthing off about something the channel was trying to keep under wraps until the contracts were signed. And she wasn’t supposed to have any contact with Trick, of course. They’d said that like there might be a chance of it happening.

The women snickered. “Who would ask her to do something that important?” Faith asked. “She sits in her little corner with the picture of her cat, she doesn’t have the connections, or the finesse to pull off something big.”

No, Lyla probably didn’t, which was why after five years, she was still in the bullpen. “It’s not—”

“Maybe they’re taking a risk,” Chelsea said.

“Or maybe she pitched her own project,” Dinah said and all three women laughed before leaning closer. “Come on, Lyla, tell us what’s going on.”

They only wanted to know so they could spread the gossip around the whole building. “I can’t,” Lyla said, picking up her homemade smoothie to take a sip.

“Sure you can, we’re your buddies,” Faith said, taking her hand. “What is it Ritchie wants? He ask you to suck his dick? That’s usually what he wants from us.”

The girls giggled, but it was Chelsea who threw her head back and laughed loudest. “Who the hell would ask her to blow them? No guy is that desperate! Have you ever sucked a cock, Lyla? Ever even touched a man?”

Sighing, Lyla would compare this to high school, but there was something so sad about it, pathetic. It was clear that this trio had hit the peak of their popularity in their cheerleading days and held onto the highs they got every day back then by trying to recapture their youth through mocking others.

Lyla had always thought that mean girls grew out of their bullying ways and matured. These three were examples of how that wasn’t the reality.

“Probably never kissed one,” Faith said and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll happen. You’ll find some creepy fifty-year-old virgin guy who lives in his mom’s basement… maybe he’ll let you play with him.”

Chelsea scoffed. “Oh, come on, that would require her actually going out there into the world and doing something,” she said. “She does nothing. Ever. Doesn’t date. Doesn’t take risks or have adventures. She’s just gonna sit in her little crappy apartment, buying more cats, disappearing into that deep, dark hole of spinsterhood.”

Sheesh, these women were something else. But they were the kind of women Lyla had been dealing with her whole life, women who thought they were better just because they were glamorous and got the attention of guys.

When she was treated like this, it didn’t make her shrink anymore. High school had been a nightmare because she’d never fit in. College, for the most part, wasn’t much better. But Lyla had gained a new perspective as she got older and more contented with who she was. So when bullies approached her, poked at her, now it just made her mad.

How dare these women act like they were superior to her when they weren’t all that different. Yeah, Lyla didn’t spend hours on her hair and makeup every morning. She didn’t go through life flirting and teasing the opposite sex. But they all worked in the same department; all did a job and paid their bills. Did it matter if Lyla was happier at home with a book in the evening rather than out in a wine bar picking up guys? Why should that make her less than them?

“None of you are married,” Lyla said, feeling an odd sort of fire building in her belly.

She was sick of it. Sick of people making assumptions. Sick of being the focus of other people’s insecurities. It wasn’t her fault that she was comfortable in her own skin and these women weren’t, so they felt the need to lash out at her.

“Through choice,” Faith said, accentuating her chest as she looked down her nose.

“And we’ll have rings on our fingers when we’re ready, and way before you,” Chelsea said. “We have choices… you’ll just have to take whatever you’re forced to.”

Biting into her carrot stick, Lyla chewed loudly. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

Maybe she should. One thing she couldn’t argue with was Chelsea’s comments about her never taking risks. Lyla didn’t like change and enjoyed her routine. Looking back on her life, she couldn’t remember a single risk she’d ever taken.

Adventure. Sadie had said that marrying Trick would be an adventure and Lyla had never had one of those either.

Leaping into marriage with both feet was a huge risk. If it went wrong, she could be left heartbroken; except she knew how to protect her heart, knew how to shut down her emotions. So what could really go wrong? This Trick guy wasn’t going to fall for her, so she didn’t have to worry about breaking his heart.

The cameras would be intrusive, but they’d ensure her safety. Trick couldn’t physically hurt her or force himself on her when there was a lens in his face. Anyway, he was a celebrity, if he was an asshole to her, he’d lose fans and Bunyan wouldn’t want that.

As the trio from her department continued to ridicule and tease her, she reflected further. Wouldn’t it be a shock for them to hear she was marrying the most popular guy on the network? It would be like the nerd marrying the star jock. It wasn’t real, she knew that, but it might shut these women up to know that she wasn’t quite the wallflower they considered her to be.

Lyla didn’t take risks or have adventures, but she’d been presented with an opportunity to shock those around her into questioning their assumptions. Like Sadie had said, it was only three months. If Lyla said no, she’d stick to her routine, go about her life, and nothing would change.

But maybe if she took her first real risk in life, she’d have an adventure she could be proud of. At the very least, she’d shut the Cronies up for a while.

Lyla hadn’t been due to come home this weekend. Her parents didn’t ask any questions when she called to say she was coming, and her aunt, Ann, received her with a hug, while her thirteen-year-old twin cousins were as reticent as ever. 

The family had eaten lunch and her father was sitting in the living room with the teenagers, Avril and Toby, while Lyla helped clean up with her mother and aunt. 

All her family lived in this one two-story suburban home. Her aunt escaped her abusive relationship when the twins were just eight and since then the three had lived here in the home Lyla had grown up in. 

Her mother, Cece, and her aunt were discussing something about the neighborhood and Lyla took a deep breath, she had to do this now. Ducking around the broad archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, she waved at her dad who was sitting in the armchair frowning at the twins who were on the couch having a debate about some video on the internet.

When he noticed her, she gestured him over and he drew his scowl from the youngsters to get up and come to her. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked.

Lyla took his hand and guided him to the breakfast table. “Can you guys sit down,” she said to her aunt and mother as her father sat. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Cece asked, grabbing for Ann’s hand. “Did something happen? Are you sick?”

Her mother had hated it when she moved to the big city, she’d been so sure that some awful fate would befall her daughter. Cece often called Lyla up at the oddest times just to check she hadn’t been attacked or robbed or something.

“No,” Lyla said, giving them all a chance to settle. It was harder than she thought to explain what she’d signed up for and she was so worried that they’d be disappointed in her.

When she’d walked into Bunyan’s office and said she would do it, he’d whipped out the contracts before she could take a breath. But she didn’t care that he was so exuberant, Lyla was focused on her own triumph. This was a risk. A game. Fun. Something that proved she wasn’t as closeted as everyone seemed to think she was. Bunyan was over the moon, and when she put pen to paper to sign, she felt invigorated.

Yesterday, Friday, was spent in and out of meetings with legal and with the executives and producers in charge of the show. She’d met Paul, who was the director and Cliff who would be his assistant and in charge of filming her.

They’d set a schedule for doing interviews at her apartment the following week, which was going to be a weird experience, but one she’d have to get used to. The men also explained how there would be a two-week lag between actual events and the show airing. Meaning after Lyla got married on Wednesday, and went on her honeymoon, she’d have been living in Nairn Strickland’s apartment for ten nights before the first show aired.

The show would air on a Wednesday with the interviews and catch-up shows airing on Friday. So it worked out that Trick was on the schedule every night of the week. Boys Night was on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The Truth or Dare Quiz was on a Monday and Opposites Marry would air on Wednesdays and Fridays. His radio show, Trick Talk, went out on Sunday nights.

Boys Night was a topical show. The guys would comment on sports events, and do reviews of movies and TV shows in their typical style. They had celebrity guests, did interviews, and there were games. Yes, the games. So many games. There were a whole variety of different games, which were basically just an excuse for the guys to push and tease each other.

Lyla had been given an extensive education on Nairn Strickland’s history, on his current schedule, on what was coming up for him, even which celebrities would be guest starring on Truth and on Boys Night.

But she’d yet to meet Trick himself or anyone in his life, except Sadie.

Lyla couldn’t quite figure out the beautiful blonde. Sadie obviously had great affection for Trick, they were close friends… maybe more. Lyla had seen Sadie talk on the phone with Trick and the woman was always laughing and tossing her hair, were they a thing? Maybe.

She should probably care more about her fiancé’s fidelity. But this was fun. For a show. It wasn’t real. Yes, they would be really married, but nothing was permanent in this day and age and it wasn’t like she had a fortune to protect.

For the most part, this was still a secret around the studios, they were bound by confidentiality, but it would get out eventually and that was why she had to tell her family… today.

“I’m getting married,” Lyla said. For a minute, there was nothing but stunned silence. “It’s not real, I mean, it is real, it will be a real marriage, but… it’s for Prem… I’m doing a reality show.”

That sounded so ridiculous that she cringed. A show. Her? A reality show? This declaration was the equivalent of a Kardashian saying they were going to join a convent.

“You’re… getting married?” Ann said and Lyla tensed when she saw tears in her aunt’s eyes.

Her panic flew to her mother and, oh no, she was tearing up too. “Yes,” Lyla said, opening her hands to try to calm the women. “But it’s not… like I’m not in love or anything.”

“Oh, but he’ll fall in love with you!” Ann said and leaped up to rush over and hug her. “How could he not love you? Where is he?”

Her aunt looked around like the groom might pop out of the wall. “He’s not here,” Lyla said.

“Well, what’s he like?” Ann asked.

“Uh…” Lyla didn’t know how much late-night TV her family watched, but for the first time, she was really scared to say his name out loud. “I’ve never met him… I won’t meet him until, you know, the day.”

“That’s part of the show?” Ann asked pulling her into her side. “We have to tell the kids!”

“I was thinking that maybe they shouldn’t come to the wedding, you know,” Lyla said. “You’re all invited, of course, but it’s this Wednesday so, if you can’t make it—”

“We’ll make it,” Ann said, her grin making Lyla nervous to look at her parents who had been silent so far. Ann turned her around, but kept her close with an arm around her. “Isn’t this good news?”

Was it good news? Lyla couldn’t tell, Cece hadn’t blinked, but the tears were still thick on her lashes. “You’re getting married,” Cece said.

Okay, at least her mother was snapping out of the waking coma. Lyla took her time to turn to her father who just looked… shocked. “Daddy?”

Something flickered on his expression, like he’d just been taken off pause and he shook his head. “Is he a good man?”

Oh God, that was such a father-like thing to ask and she had no idea what to say, she didn’t have a clue about her groom’s values. “I won’t be in any danger,” Lyla said. “There will be cameras following us around, so everything will be on film.”

“Everything?” Ann asked.

Lyla didn’t talk about sex with her family, didn’t talk about men and relationships, and that had always been fine with her. If she could get away with saying nothing now, she would stay mute. Except she had to prepare them, it wouldn’t be fair not to. A bit of discomfort now would be better than them tuning in to the show with the twins and maybe seeing something salacious.

Her husband had a reputation of being a ladies’ man and if he cheated on her, there would be questions, her father would be devastated, and if there were sexual scenes, it would be better if the twins didn’t watch.

“Yes,” Lyla said. “I’d prefer if you didn’t watch. I don’t know what they’ll show or how it will be edited.”

Her father was shaking his head as he pushed his hands onto the table and stood up. “I can’t let you marry a man who’ll make a fool of you.”

Attempting a smile, she tried to be loose. “Daddy, it’s fun,” Lyla said, leaving Ann to go over and hold his hands. “I won’t be made a fool of, the studio want viewers to have a positive experience.”

“I don’t understand why you would do this,” he said. “You’ve never been interested in fame.”

This wasn’t her attempt to get famous. “I don’t want fame,” she said. “They picked me because Nairn Strickland is the star, I’m just supporting cast.”

“Trick,” Ann said. “You’re marrying… Nairn Strickland?”

Lyla didn’t expect any of her relatives to know who he was, but all three of them shared a look. “Yes,” she said. “He’s the station’s biggest star.”

“We know who he is,” Cece said. “We watch that game show he does.”

Of all the things he did, the game show was probably the tamest. Though Lyla had never really watched it before, she knew there was a lot of innuendo and some of the “dares” were risqué or immature, though as far as she knew there was no direct nudity.

“Your dad listens to his radio show sometimes,” Ann said.

That surprised her because his show was renowned for having a lack of boundaries. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Cece asked. “It doesn’t seem like you. You’re not being coerced, are you?”

“Yes, you don’t usually take risks like this,” her father said. “We don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

It could be her imagination, but Lyla felt that her father’s objections weren’t as strong as they had been before he’d learned who her groom was to be.

“I’m not being coerced and I want to do this,” Lyla said. “Yeah, it’s a scary idea that is taking me way out of my comfort zone, but that’s kind of the point. I want to push myself, to find my limit. I like my life, but I never have adventures.”

She read about them in her books, and this was probably the closest she’d ever come to living that kind of exciting life.

“Strickland is… he’s a gregarious guy,” her father said. “He might force you out of your shell.”

Is that what her father wanted? She’d never been made to feel like she wasn’t enough for anyone in her family. Everyone here loved and encouraged each other and she’d do anything for her family, just as she assumed they would do for her.

“I want your support,” she said to them all. “And, Daddy, I want you to walk me down the aisle.”

Now it was his turn to tear up as he smiled. “Honey, if this is what you want we will support you and it would be my honor to walk you down the aisle, it’s every father’s dream.”

Lyla was still nervous, but as her father hugged her, she felt a bit better. Telling her family was difficult, and it had given her a focus since she’d signed up to do this. With their support, the next thing to turn her attention to was the wedding itself and that brought its own set of anxieties for her to face. But she’d signed the contract so she was in it now.

THREE

So that was how she ended up here, standing in what was little more than a glorified hotel coatroom, wearing a full-skirt wedding dress.

Lyla was so pleased she’d been allowed to pick her own dress because the suggestions of the designer were outrageous. Figure hugging, low-cut, all the things that Lyla wasn’t.

Choosing the full skirt, without a train, she had long-sleeves and a high neck. None of that fussy sequins and lace stuff, just plain muslin. After a lot of persuading she’d agreed to let the designer put a plain white sash around her waist that fastened behind in a neat, straight bow. But that was it. She didn’t want fuss.

The hair stylist went berserk with excitement when she took her hair down and her dark auburn waves cascaded to her waist. But when he started going on about flowers and lace and braids, Lyla had to interject. A chignon was just fine with her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cece asked.

The hotel was lovely, a grand five-star affair. The wedding was taking place in a marble-floored room with tall columns and ribbon-wrapped chairs. The pictures would be taken in the external courtyard, then the meal would be served in a room upstairs.

Only her parents and her aunt were here representing her family. The teenagers had been sent to school. But from the noise outside her room, which was on the main thoroughfare to the ceremony room, Lyla would guess there were quite a few people here, probably extras brought in to fill out the seats because her guest list was so meager.

Lyla didn’t know much about Trick’s family. More time had been spent drumming his professional accomplishments into her than his personal ones. Lyla had done some research on her own and she knew that his parents weren’t together anymore, though they were still civil from what she’d read. He’d grown up with a sister, Josie, but Lyla hadn’t looked into aunts and cousins because she felt it wasn’t her place to pry too deep into his personal life.

“Yes, Mom,” Lyla said, pulling her skirt around as she turned toward the door. Instantly faced with the camera that had been on her tail all day, she blinked. “Hi.”

Cliff, the assistant director who was assigned to her had a look of concern on his face. “How are you feeling, Lyla?” he asked.

“That depends,” she said, allowing some of her rare sass to slip out. “Did the groom show up?”

She was comfortable enough with her parents that she didn’t have to be aware of them in the room. The cameraman never said anything and the sound guy was always doing his best to stay out of the way, so the crew had begun to fade away into the background. It probably wasn’t a good thing that they were becoming invisible because these people were capturing everything about her life and were prepared to share it with the world, so she should probably be more aware of what she was doing and saying.

When she imagined it was just her and Cliff, it was much easier to be relaxed and answer his questions. He’d always been nice to her and she explained to him that dealing with more than one person at a time often overwhelmed her. He’d done his best to accommodate her quirks, of which she had many.

Cliff laughed. “Yeah, Trick’s out there. He’s making jokes, seems pretty relaxed.”

It was the oddest thing ever that this random guy had met her groom and she hadn’t. “Okay, let’s rock and roll,” she said, feeling oddly calm about all of this, which wasn’t like her at all.

Maybe it was adrenaline, but Lyla felt she had to do this now, while she was still feeling pumped from getting ready. If she got the chance to relax too much she might second-guess her decision.

“You don’t want to make him wait a bit?” Cliff asked. “It’s traditional for you to be late.”

Lifting her eyes to the clock above the door, Lyla read one minute to three. “Three o’clock,” she said. “I’m never late.”

Cliff exchanged a look with the sound guy and shrugged. “Okay, Mom, you need to take your seat,” he said. Turning her cheek toward her mother, Lyla accepted Cece’s kiss and adjusted her veil to cover her face as her mother scurried out. “Remember, Lyla, just go straight ahead into the room. There’s a white screen that will block you from view until you take a right down the aisle with your dad. Ignore the cameras. All of them.”

She’d been told this before, but appreciated that he had a job to do and part of that job was to repeat the same instructions to her over and over. “Cliff, I’m going to be late,” Lyla said, aware that she never missed a deadline.

“Right,” he said.

The sound guy pulled open the door at his back to let the three men reverse out. Her father took her arm and she walked forward, trying to ignore the three men recording her.

They got to the hall and although they were still filming the crew picked up pace to give her some room to walk. This wasn’t how her wedding day was supposed to be. But as she walked forward, she knew it didn’t matter that this was no fairytale. Lyla had never really pictured her wedding day because she never really expected it to happen. Love wasn’t something she’d spent any time looking for, she didn’t need it, she was happy being just her.

“Everybody stand,” someone declared as she and her father began to walk alongside the screen. There was no music, but she knew enough about productions to know that would be overlaid on the edit, now they wanted silence.

Rounding the end of the screen, she saw about ten rows of chairs with maybe six in the row, wow, no way did she know that many people. But before she could try to identify faces, she saw the monstrosity of red roses on the perimeter of the room, how much did they cost? And what were—

“Sorry, can you just stop, Lyla? Can we do that again?” Cliff’s boss, Paul was at the corner of the room, walking forward, waving his hand. She did as told and stopped, waiting for him to come over. But he stopped in front of her mother. “Lyla, honey, can you look at him?”

“Oh,” she said, and her exhale became a nervous laugh. “Right, sorry.” Letting her eyes dart to the altar, she saw what almost seemed to be the illusion of a man standing next to the registrar. Yep, that was Nairn Strickland all right, and man, was he tall, and damn, yes, he was smiling, probably laughing at her for being an idiot. “I was looking at the flowers.”

She hadn’t really meant to say it to anyone in particular, but Trick seemed to think she was talking to him. “They’re lovely.”

“Yes, they are,” she said, though he was still smiling and it was a bit unnerving to see how his eyes glittered with amusement. Yep, definitely laughing at her. “Bit over the top, but what do I know? I’m no set designer.”

“Me either,” he said. “Better than condom trees.”

“Indeed,” she said with an overly formal nod. Was this weird, them conducting a sort of conversation while twenty feet apart in a room of over a hundred onlookers? She wasn’t pulling this back, so she rolled her eyes and bent to hike up her skirt with her flowers still in one hand and her arm still through her father’s. “Come on, Daddy.”

“Reset and go again.”

Yep, they went again and this time she got all the way to the altar before Paul called out for another take, this time he wanted a wide shot. “And you thought we were getting married today,” Trick murmured, she was only five feet from him now, but this time he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. “Hope the honeymoon’s refundable!”

The joke aimed at the director got a laugh. Glad someone thought it was funny, he wasn’t the one in agony.

“Can I take my shoes off?” she asked Paul who looked horrified at the suggestion. “Six inches isn’t an advantage in this context.”

The room laughed and she turned around to look at them, why were they laughing? Why was that funny? God, had she made a fool of herself? Great, like it wasn’t bad enough that she was screwing up this aisle thing. What kind of woman couldn’t walk down an aisle?

“Lyla!” her mother chastised.

“Sorry, Mom,” Lyla said, and switched her flowers into her other hand so she could hook her wrist over her father’s shoulder to support herself as she could picked up her foot to try to adjust the sling-back of her shoe. Except when she tried to reach down, the damn skirt was in the way.

“Here.” Lyla’s head snapped to the side when she heard Trick’s voice nearby. He was crouching at her side, picking up her skirt to reach underneath. He didn’t go snooping, as she might have expected him to, he just pulled her shoe from her foot and squeezed her heel with his whole large hand. “Where does it hurt?”

Like a rabbit at the end of a hunter’s gun, she said nothing, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. Why the hell was Nairn Strickland kneeling beside her in a tux, holding her foot?

“No, you can’t take them off,” Paul said. “Continuity. Your height has to stay the same.”

“Sorry, babe,” Trick said, slipping her shoe back on and backing away.

‘Babe’? She was a ‘babe’? When did that happen? Next time it was the registrar that messed up, he coughed and knocked over a flower arrangement, which took ten minutes to be reset. Then there was a bee in the room that sent half the guests fleeing. A series of mishaps saw them resetting another six times.

As she and her father stood at the head of the aisle, waiting for another reset, her mom jumped to her feet and held her phone up. “Lyla, honey, your phone is ringing.”

Course it was. At least it happened while they were waiting and not while she was walking down the aisle. She took one step and her feet screamed, so she gestured to her mom. “Can you bring it over? Who is it?”

Her mother read the screen then looked at her. “Curtis.”

Panic widened her eyes and Lyla shook her hand at her mother, who stopped dead. “No, no, I can’t answer that. Don’t give it to me.”

“Why not?”

Glancing around, Lyla bowed closer, though there was twenty feet between mother and daughter, and there was no way the dozens of guests around them wouldn’t hear her. “I can’t lie to him.”

“You didn’t tell him?” her mother asked.

“I really don’t need your judgment, Mother,” she said, scowling at her, but her mother was the queen of the sneer.

“You should’ve told him.”

The phone stopped ringing, letting Lyla relax a fraction. “I wasn’t allowed to, Mom. This is all a secret.”

Probably because the producers were worried she or Trick would back out. So it wasn’t until the ink was dry on the marriage certificate that the announcement would be made at work and the first commercials for the show were airing the next night.

Everyone on the production had signed confidentiality agreements that had to be adhered to until this was public knowledge. Though at this rate, it wouldn’t be happening because of production issues not personnel ones.

“Okay,” Paul announced to the room. “This is the live one. Mother of the bride, back to her seat.” That was a bit rude, but Lyla was too exhausted to argue with him. “Lyla, smile.” Smile, right. She made herself do her best. “And look at Trick.” Smile. Look at Trick. Smile. Look at Trick. “And Trick—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ecstatic. Can we just do this, please?”

Her mother was in the room and wouldn’t appreciate language like that; Lyla guessed his mother wasn’t as particular. But Trick’s mom was probably used to his mouth by now.

Smile. Look at Trick.

Did it matter if she smiled? She’d been wearing a veil all day, how could they tell? She got that they could tell if her head was facing in the wrong direction to be looking at Trick, but could they really tell if she was looking at him?

The answer to that was no, because she actually focused on a spot behind the man rather than on the man himself, and no one called for a reset. Her father said something to Trick as he put her hand over her groom’s. She didn’t hear what it was because her father leaned right in to whisper in her groom’s ear, but he was talking for a minute before the men shared a long moment of eye contact and her father took his seat.

After that, the ceremony was a bit of an anti-climax. They got all the way through it like they were reciting lines. She was no actress, but maybe she should consider the profession… or maybe she could if she could deal with people.

As it stood, she was too exhausted to really think about what she was saying, so she just said the words as they were said to her without thinking about what they meant or the long-term picture. The good thing about this being like a production was that it had lost its authentic quality. It no longer felt like a real wedding or a real marriage, because they were just doing as they’d been directed to all day. Say this. Do this. Walk there. Hit your mark.

Even when it got to the, “You may kiss the bride” part of the ceremony, there was no big pulse-racing moment. Trick lifted her veil and she tipped her head to accept his lips just at the corner of her mouth.

The kiss was chaste and probably not what he was expecting if the way he’d lunged down at her was anything to go by. But she wasn’t about to put on a show for the grumpy guests when she felt just as grumpy herself.

If Paul was unhappy with it, he’d have asked them to do it again. But as it was, the guy was getting more and more stressed because they’d lost so much time.

“Okay, we’re doing this part in one take, just a wide shot,” Paul said to them as they stood signing where they were directed. “Then it’s outside for the pictures. We’re losing the light, so we’ll do a couple today and probably revisit another time.”

“Another time?” she asked.

“Sure, pictures can be done any time,” Paul said. “We dress you up, everyone takes their places…”

“Right,” she said.

Of course. Nothing was real. It wasn’t about capturing the day or the mood, it was about the show and they would only need a couple of pics to sell the story to the papers.

Trick finished signing and Paul grabbed his arm to pull him to her other side. There wasn’t even any finesse in the way the director grabbed her hand and shoved it into Trick’s elbow. The director could’ve just asked her to take his arm, or asked Trick to offer it, but no, he pulled and tugged on them like they were dolls being positioned.

“Feel better?” Trick asked.

When she glanced at him, she saw he was looking at the director. Her groom’s face was as tight as she felt. It had been a long day for him too and probably a boring one for a guy who was used to being on the go all the time.

“Smiles,” Paul said and backed away grinning, indicating that they should smile.

The director rushed over to his crew, whispered a few things, then asked the congregation to stand as he ran to the end of the aisle and indicated to her and Trick that they should start walking. They did, and she was so relieved that the ceremony was over that she didn’t even think about what they’d just done.

“So you’re Lyla,” Trick said, from the corner of his mouth, behind his infamous smile.