Taste for Trouble (46 page)

Will’s
imagination was nothing if not accurate.

Oh,
cry me a river. Are you listening to yourself, you self-pitying pussy?

His
imagination also excelled at channeling the voice of the late Bob Beck, the man
responsible for Will’s recent and wholly undeserved fresh start.

Because
I am. I’m listening, and it’s turning my stomach. And I’m
dead
, Will. It’s hard to turn a dead guy’s stomach.

Will
would take that one on faith.

James
is a lucky bastard, no question, but that’s not why he’s got a pretty girl in
his bed and you don’t.

I
know why I don’t have a girl in my bed, Bob.

Will
wondered vaguely when he’d starting talking back to the voices in his head. Wondered
if it was a sign of an imminent mental breakdown or if he was just indulging in
talk therapy for the terminally introverted.

Your
bed’s cold and empty because you’re an asshole, Will.

I
know, Bob. Thanks for the news flash. Now shut it, will you?

Bob
shut it. Will sent up a brief prayer for his sanity. He wasn’t the praying sort
but figured it couldn’t hurt. Then he shoved the Bob situation aside to deal
with the Bel-and-James situation in his lap. One mess at a time, right?

“So,
Mr. Mysterious.” James draped a friendly arm around Will’s shoulders and gave
him a hearty squeeze. “To what, exactly, have we been summoned?” Then he
stopped, eyebrows shooting up over that beaky nose of his. He leaned in, peered
suspiciously at Will’s jaw. “Hold that question. I have a better one: Are you
wearing
makeup
?”

“Makeup?”
Bel’s eyes went wide and she leaned in, too. Will felt himself flush. “Good
lord, he is! Will, you’re camera ready.”

“I
know,” he muttered, mortified.

“Is
Kate putting you on air?”

“Yes.”

Her
eyes went wider. “During the
Christmas special
?”

Will
gave her a weak smile. James grinned broadly. “I’m totally calling Drew.” He
dug into his pocket for his cell, presumably to call their other brother and
make Will’s humiliation complete. “Makeup! Good God.”

“Will?”
Bel’s eyes were dark and uncomfortably shrewd. “What’s going on? Are you—”

“I
don’t have time to explain.” He glanced at his watch and winced. “Come on.”

Bel
frowned at James, who shrugged a
hell, I don’t know
and put away his
phone with an air of deep regret. Will shoved the coats into a handy closet
then headed down the hall at a near-trot. They followed him as he punched
through the heavy door into the kitchen. Or what would look like a kitchen
on-camera, anyway.

He
put Bel and James beside one of the cameras, right where Kate had requested. They
stood there in the dimness, lucky slobs, facing a massive counter that stood
like an island in a broiling puddle of light. Will stepped up to the counter
and faced the camera.

The
heat was instant and engulfing. Terror seized him by the throat, shrinking his
airway to pin-prick proportions. Millions of people were watching him, he knew.
Or would when the tape went live. He could feel them already, those millions
upon millions of cold and avid eyes. He felt them mercilessly observing the
sharp elbows, the skinny chest, the knees and ankles that could never and had
never agreed on a single direction when Will decide to ambulate. They would see
his Adam’s apple ratcheting uselessly up and down his pencil-neck in a doomed
effort to dredge up even an ounce of the sunny charm or easy coordination that
came so naturally to James. They would see him fail. And they would enjoy it.

The
impulse rose up inside him, savage and fierce, to go to war. To shed blood and
make those eyes look elsewhere. If he couldn’t be admired, at least he wouldn’t
be pitied.

Will
swallowed with a small click and forced his lips into a genial smile. He nodded
to the camera person he couldn’t see and waited until the little red light
blinked on, indicating that they were rolling tape.

“Hello,
everyone,” he said to the camera’s red eye. “My name is William Blake. Some of
you may know of the recent death of Kate Davis’ dear friend and long-time agent
Bob Beck. Responsibility for Bob’s client list has passed to me.” Jesus. It was
still a shock, that one. “As Kate’s acting agent, it’s my duty to inform you
all of Kate’s retirement, effective immediately.”

Will
couldn’t see shit beyond the cameras but he heard Bel’s sharp, shocked
oh
.
Kate had very recently and in no uncertain terms refused to retire, thereby
blowing to hell her promise to hand
Kate Every Day
over to Bel, her
acknowledged successor. So the news of Kate’s retirement was surely a surprise,
but Will was counting on Bel’s deep attachment to personal dignity to get them
all through this without a scene. Or—God forbid—a second take. He kept his gaze
steady on the camera and hurried on.

“It
also falls to me to share with you the letter Kate left in my possession to be
read aloud at the conclusion of her annual Christmas special.” He withdrew a
folded sheet of stationery from the inner pocket of his jacket, a creamy,
snowflake-embossed card identical to the one he’d put in Bel’s hand yesterday
inviting her to today’s taping.

“To
my at-home family,” he read. “It grieves me to leave you, to take this final
step away from this wonderful community of friends to discover what else life
might hold for me. It’s a journey I’ve been afraid to take for many years, and
one that I hope will sustain me and feed me for many more now that I’ve found
the courage to begin it. But I want to assure you that I’ve left you in
extremely capable hands.”

There
was an agitated rustle beyond the pool of light and Will thought
shit, I
should have warned her
. Because Bel was probably out there thinking he was
about to give her dream job to somebody else. Kate could be cruel like that.

“In
Belinda West’s hands, to be specific.”

The
rustling went still and Will hoped that meant she was listening, not
unconscious. “Belinda has earned the right to take my place,” he read on. “She’s
earned it dozens of times over through her endless ability to endure and to
love, to give and to forgive. Through her ability to place family above all
else, the family she’s chosen, the family of her heart. Because she won’t allow
her dreams to be taken from her, not by fate, not by the family she was born
into, and certainly not by bitter old women who are too afraid to love and be
loved. But I’ll be working on that in the south of France. With love, Kate
Davis.”

Finally
the lights went dim and the cameras went blind. Will wondered if he was
sweating through his suit coat or—Christ—through his makeup. Then he wondered
how Bel was taking the news that she’d just been granted the job she’d worked
and waited for, the job she’d earned that she thought Kate Davis had refused
her.
Kate Every Day
was hers.

He
squinted into the shadows and found Bel. She stood right where he’d left her,
her hand limp in James’, her eyes unfocused and vague. Will came and stood in
front of her.

“She
okay?” he asked James.

“Not
sure.” James jiggled Bel’s hand. “Bel? Hon? You in there?”

“I’m
fine,” she said slowly. “Shocked, though.” She lifted her eyes to Will’s. “The
south of France?”

“I
know,” Will said. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“But...why?
She was so set on keeping the show. I can’t imagine she had a change of heart
this dramatic.”

“I
don’t think she did,” Will said. “Not entirely.”

“What
does that mean?” James asked.

He
shrugged. “I can only speculate, but I did a little research last night. As it
turns out, the highest rated episodes over the past three years were by far the
ones featuring Bel. And the segments featuring Bel’s almost-wedding knocked
Kate’s solo shows out of the park. There may have been some sentiment behind
it, but Kate’s a pretty shrewd business woman.” He lifted a shoulder and
shifted his eyes to Bel. “Younger viewers wanted you, Bel, and Kate gives the
viewers what they want.” He smiled then. “Especially when Kate’s retaining a
producer credit and the pay check that goes with it.”

That
was it, Will thought. He could almost hear the internal
click
of the
last puzzle piece falling into place in Bel’s head.
That
was what she’d
been waiting for before she could believe—evidence that Kate was still Kate. Because
the Kate they all knew didn’t give anything away. Not unless there was a
healthy profit margin in it for her down the line.

“Oh,
and one more thing,” Will said, flipping Kate’s note over in his hands. “It
says ‘P. S. Enjoy the Dower House.’”

The
Dower House was the third spoke of what had once been a massive estate
surrounding the pond in the back yard. The first spoke was Hunt House, the
gracious pink-bricked mansion in which they were now standing, the home of
Kate
Every Day
. The second spoke was the Annex, the sprawling white-slatted plantation
house the Blake brothers called home. The Dower House was a little cottage
separated from Hunt House by a lavish rose garden, originally intended as a
honeymoon suite of sorts. During the three years that she’d worked as Kate’s
on-air baking maven, Bel had lived there.

Will
handed the note to her. “Any idea what that’s all about?”

Bel
stared at the note in her hands, dumbfounded. “She gave me the Dower House?” She
lifted baffled eyes to James. “Kate gave me the Dower House.”

“Well,
no,” James said. “I did. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry—”
She broke off, stunned. Then, “You bought me a
house
?”

“Well,
yeah.  The Dower House. You love that place.” He stuffed his fists into his
pockets and looked amazingly awkward for a guy whose athletic ability had made
him a millionaire several times over. Will watched, fascinated, as color
mounted his brother’s cheeks. “And since Kate was leaving—”

Bel’s
eyes went narrow. “You knew Kate was leaving?”

James
shifted his feet. “Will might’ve mentioned something.”

She
turned on Will. “
You
knew Kate was leaving?”

“Of
course I knew,” Will said. “I’m her erstwhile agent, aren’t I? But I didn’t let
it slip.” He shot James a poisonous glance. “Your beloved is a sneaky little
eavesdropper.”

“That’s
true.” James tried an innocent smile. “I am.”

Bel
pressed a thumb to her forehead. “I don’t understand. James, why would you buy
me a house? We already have the Annex, and it’s huge—” She broke off suddenly
and two spots of color flared on those sharp cheekbones. “Oh,” she said softly
and looked down. “Oh, of course. I see.”

Will
glanced at James who frowned at the perfectly straight part on Bel’s bent head.

“You
do?”

“James,
of course.” She lifted her head and smiled bravely. Will didn’t like that
smile, and James looked downright alarmed. “We’ve barely known each other three
months. Take out the three weeks I spent playing assistant to Bob, and I
completely understand. It’s too soon to live together. But you didn’t need to
buy me a house, for heaven’s sake.”

“Oh,
for the love of—” James sighed, snagged her wrist and yanked her in for a—yikes.
Will blinked. For a kiss that didn’t exactly leave anything to the imagination.

“Excuse
me?” Will cleared his throat. “Still here. Still listening. Still—good lord—watching.”

James
lifted his head just far enough to speak. He threaded his fingers into her
hair, rumpling the shiny spill of it down her back. “You love that house, and I
love you, so—” He let a shrug fill in the gap. Bel stared at him, a wary joy
easing that horrible, stricken smile.

“So
this isn’t your way of asking for space?”

“Space?”
James rolled his eyes. “Did that kiss feel like a request for space to you?”

Bel
shook her head mutely.

“It
didn’t look like it, either,” Will offered. “In case you were wondering.”

They
ignored him handily.

“For
God’s sake, Bel.” James rubbed a gentle thumb over her cheekbone and Will had
to look away from the tenderness in that little gesture. He started to ignore
the jagged surge of bitterness that came with it, too, but forced himself to
look right at it. To name it properly: jealousy. Pathetic as it was, he was
jealous of his brother, of this easy, open sweetness. Of its being received
without surprise or suspicion.

Good
boy
, Bob said.

Shut
it, Bob.

“Haven’t
you heard a word I’ve said to you since Thanksgiving?” James asked Bel. “
I
don’t want space
. I hate space. I want you. Every day. Always. In my house,
in my bed, in my heart.”

“I’m,
um, still here,” Will said. Was that desperation in his voice? Very likely. “Where
I can hear you.”

“In
fact,” James went on as if Will hadn’t spoken, “I was going to try to wait for
this until Christmas but hell, I already gave you a house. Why hold off on the
ring?”