TAKE ME HOME (3 page)

Kyle.

10

Sloan Parker

For weeks now, things had been getting strange between them. He’d been trying to figure out how to describe Kyle’s behavior. Flirtatious. Tense. Uneasy?

He should just ask Kyle what was up.

Evan bit his lip and tried not to fret, as his mom always called it. He leaned back until his head collided with the wall of metal lockers behind him. He needed to relax. Or he might do something stupid. Like the night before.

He’d almost gotten on his knees and blown Kyle right there on the couch while they were watching American Treasures. Evan still couldn’t believe he’d almost done it. Kyle had just looked so damn good, laughing at the retired history professor on the show who thought he’d found a key to a long-lost Al Capone safety deposit box but wound up with a key that opened the local Dairy Queen instead. That laugh, the way Kyle had sunk back on the couch, his long, lean legs stretched out, his dark hair sticking up all over in that sexy-ass way that looked like he’d just run his hands through it.

“Shit.” Evan stood and slammed his locker shut. He had to stop this. Had to give up on the teenage crush. Kyle didn’t do boyfriends. He didn’t even date. Evan was not going to be just another fuck on the long list.

The quiet left in the wake of his locker door rattling shut didn’t sound right. No chatter from the employees or clank of dishes from the kitchen, no hum of conversation from the dining room. Something was wrong.

He headed into the hall and made his way to the kitchen. It was empty. The dining room at the end of the hall was dark.

“Miguel? Where is everyone? And what’s wrong with the lights? Is the power out?” He crossed the dining room for the back wall where the main light switches were located. The dark figure of a man stood in his way. Evan jerked back. “What the—” All the lights came on, and a crowd of people sprang out from behind tables and chairs and the dividing walls of the dining room. They clapped and shouted, “Congratulations!” The mariachi band made up of Miguel’s four older cousins started playing in the far corner.

Everyone Evan worked with was there, including the entire Castillo family. Miguel’s brothers, his wife and daughters, his nieces and nephews.

And Kyle. Standing across the room, hands tucked in his low-slung jeans. He was the only one not clapping, but the smile on his face was the widest in the room. Evan couldn’t help but smile back. Kyle knew. He knew what this job meant to Evan. He knew how much Evan needed this to work out.

Miguel’s youngest daughter rushed forward and squeezed Evan’s legs at his thighs. The force of her small body smacking into him almost had him toppling over. He patted her head as the chefs rolled out a table with a decorated cake on top. It read Today Staff Writer, Tomorrow Executive Producer.

He might kill Miguel.

Maybe.

It was kinda cool to have the recognition, to know they wanted to celebrate his success.

Especially after the loss he’d lived through six months earlier.

His heart was still pounding from the shock of the surprise. And the sight of the man in jeans still smiling at him from across the room.

Take Me Home

11

Miguel made his way to Evan and gave a wink. “Sorry, but there was no changing their minds.”

“That’s okay.”

He wouldn’t miss the rude customers, the long hours on his feet, or the scent of chilies and fresh-baked tortillas that clung to him after his shift, but he was going to miss the people. He was going to miss being with Miguel’s family and how they treated him like he belonged. He’d never been a part of a big family before.

Never would again, at this rate. All he had was his mom. And his best friend.

After the crowd of fellow employees took turns shaking his hands and clapping him on the back, Kyle approached. “You did it.”

“I guess I did.”

“They want you.”

“I guess they do.”

“Congratulations, Ev.”

“Thanks.” Evan bit his lower lip and stared at Kyle’s. He forced himself to look away.

Kyle took a step closer. The scent of his cologne reminded Evan of the night before on the couch. So close to his first taste of Kyle’s dick.

“Remember the first time we drove out here?” Kyle asked. “That summer after high school?”

“Yeah.” They’d both wanted to go to school in LA, and when it came time to leave, they’d driven Kyle’s beat-up pickup truck from Ohio to California. How could he forget? That was the trip when they’d almost—

“That’s when you first told me the idea for that spec script you were going to write about the terrorism survivors. I knew then you’d make it.”

“Let’s cut into this cake,” Miguel called out.

Kyle moved backward as Miguel rounded the cake table and gave Evan a knife.

“Here, kid,” Miguel said. “You do the honors.”

Evan had forgotten about the cake, about the room full of people. He took a deep breath and hoped Kyle didn’t notice the shake of his hand as he slid the knife through the layer of icing.

It was ridiculous how nervous he’d been around Kyle lately. Because no matter how Kyle had been acting, it wasn’t like he would ever say what Evan had been dying to hear ten years earlier.

He cut the cake and handed out slices. Miguel had said they were opening the restaurant an hour late, which he’d never done before.

“Mr. Walker,” said a man from behind him.

Evan handed off a piece of cake to Miguel’s wife, who chatted with Kyle and was a little too fascinated with his biceps, if her hands were anything to go by. Not even married women could resist him.

“Yeah,” Evan said. He cut another slice and didn’t face the man speaking to him.

The guy cleared his throat.

Evan turned toward him and almost dropped the knife. He caught it before it slipped free.

“Mr. Hastings. What are you doing here?” Great. Nice way to talk to one of your new bosses.

12

Sloan Parker

“I was told your meeting went well today, but that you were heading out of town for the holidays. I wanted to speak with you before you left. Someone mentioned you would be”—he glanced around the room—“here tonight.”

“I was supposed to be working. My last night, but they threw me a party first.” He stepped in front of the cake. He didn’t want the vice president of the network’s entertainment division to see Executive Producer forecasted across the cake in giant letters.

Hastings looked out of place in his tailored-to-perfection gray business suit, solid dark tie, and rigid stance. Castillo’s was full of lively music and vibrant colors, the waitstaff in bright red shirts. Hastings didn’t fit. He said, “The legal department has informed me there’s a problem with your contract.”

Evan set the knife on the table as he found his voice. “What kind of problem?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be a deal breaker. I should be able to talk you through what we need from you, and then we’ll move ahead as planned, but…” He looked around again. The waitstaff and other employees were spread out around the dining room. No one sat at the prepped tables, but all were chatting and laughing over their pieces of cake. The mariachi band still played. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Sure.” Evan caught Miguel watching them. He gestured with a head tilt toward the hall leading to the offices.

Miguel nodded.

Evan led Hastings through the dining room and stopped at the door labeled Miguel Castillo, Owner. He held the door open and squeezed his eyes shut as Hastings passed by. Please don’t let me have fucked this up already. “Have a seat.” Hastings stood for a moment more, glancing around the small, cluttered office with its stack of restaurant supply catalogs on every flat surface, an oversize decade-old computer monitor, and the various hats and sombreros Miguel forced the staff to wear for birthday parties hanging on nails all over the bright yellow walls. Funny how he hadn’t made them wear those tonight. Or not so funny. Miguel took Evan’s news more seriously than a customer’s birthday.

Evan tried to relax as he sat in Miguel’s chair, hoping the position of authority behind the desk would help him speak with a confidence he didn’t feel right then.

Hastings sat opposite him and slowly folded his arms in front of his chest. He leaned back.

“Mr. Walker, I need a guarantee you’re the kind of writer we want working with our network before you sign the contract.”

“Guarantee?”

“We have a little show in need of your help. Maybe you’ve heard of it. American Treasures.”

Little? Only the top-rated show on network television for the past five years. A reality show that featured real-life treasures hidden in the United States and provided clues to contestants while viewers watched to see if anyone uncovered the treasure. If the contestants located it, they won a cash prize and fifty percent of any unclaimed money. “I’m familiar with the show, but if what I’ve read is true, none of it’s scripted.”

“Right,” Hastings said. “We don’t need you to write anything. We need you to help with our research. Every clue we give our contestants is a real lead. The treasure’s existence is real.

Take Me Home

13

The fact that it is still missing today is real. We validate all this information. The one thing we don’t guarantee is if the clues lead to the actual treasure. That’s the show.”

“And why it’s so popular.”

“Exactly. Which is why we don’t take chances. We know going into each episode what the outcome could be. We know if the treasure is there for anyone to find. Right now, we’re at ten percent of our contestants who locate what they’re after. Which is good. If they don’t occasionally win, we won’t have viewers.”

Evan nodded, feeling more uneasy with each word from Hastings.

“At any given time, we have about twenty treasures we are investigating as potentials for the show. One thing we look for is a story with strong human interest appeal. The more money involved, well, that’s even better. There’s a production team in charge of tracking down the clues.” He paused, tapping his hands together at the fingertips, staring at Evan as if trying to figure something out. “They’ve received word a piece of information we need has fallen into the hands of someone you know. We want it. And we want you to get it for us.”

“What is it?”

“A journal.”

“What does it say?”

“That, I can’t tell you. If you can secure this journal for us, then your position as staff writer with our network is a done deal.”

So there was nothing wrong with his contract. They were blackmailing him. Holding his dream hostage. He wanted to ask what the fuck was going on but held it in check. Staff writers didn’t have much leverage. Not-yet-officially-hired staff writers had less. Evan needed them a hell of a lot more than they needed him. Or maybe not. One of the network’s top brass was sitting across the desk. There were not many people above Hastings in the chain of command.

“Who has this journal?” Evan asked.

“Kyle Bennett.”

“Kyle?” His Kyle? How long had the network been sitting on this information? He held back the question. Instead he asked, “How do you know this?” He didn’t even know Kyle kept a journal. Or was it someone else’s?

“We make it a point to know everything about the treasures we’re hunting.”

“If the journal’s worth money what makes you think I’ll tell my friend to give it to you?” He hadn’t meant for his tone to sound so harsh, but he wasn’t about to sell out Kyle. Not even for his dream job.

“First off,” Hastings said, “we don’t want to keep it. We want to get a look at it. If it contains what I think it does, then Mr. Bennett can keep the journal, and we’ll offer him a payment for allowing it to be a part of the show. Contestants will track him down to find out what he has that could help them. The journal itself is not worth anything. It’s what the journal leads to.”

“And that is?”

“Again, not something I’m willing to share.”

“And again, I’m not going to screw over my friend.” Evan clamped his mouth shut and stifled the anger. He didn’t want to ruin his first shot at a writing job when he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

14

Sloan Parker

Hastings leaned forward, a smirk on his lips. He pointed at Evan. “And here is where you prove yourself to us.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment more. Evan stood, rounded the desk, and opened the office door. “I’ll let Kyle know you’d like to discuss it with him. I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”

Hastings laughed, the surge of it overwhelming as the sound bounced off the walls and the sombreros outlining the small room. He stood. “Mr. Walker, I’d like to see you do well. You are a talented writer, but American Treasures makes us more money than all our other shows combined. We will do what we have to in order to keep the ratings going.” Evan dropped his hand from the door and waited as long as he dared before speaking. “I get it.”

“Good. You have until the New Year to convince Mr. Bennett. We look forward to working with you.” He handed over a business card. “My direct line. Call me when you have an answer.” He smiled like they’d been discussing Evan’s salary and vacation benefits, then turned and left.

Evan held the card in his hand. Hasting’s direct line. It was a rather big coincidence the person the network needed to talk to was the same person Evan currently lived with. The deal for him to join The Agency midseason had moved quickly. Too quickly? He’d been flying high on the excitement and had thought his writing had been so well received the network couldn’t wait to get him on staff. Apparently there had been more to it than that.

A wave of exhaustion overcame him. He felt numb. And tired. Like he could sleep for three days. He wasn’t sure he could take this disappointment on top of everything else. Could the worst year of his life get over with already?

He shoved the business card into his back pocket. He’d take this one step at a time. After work, he’d ask Kyle about it. Maybe he didn’t have the journal.

“Hey.” Kyle stood in the hall outside Miguel’s office. “Things are winding down out here.

Miguel says they’re going to get ready to open soon.”