Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (12 page)

Couldn’t she see what was happening? He jerked his arm away. “No, I don’t!”

The girl blinked and stared, openmouthed. Then stepped back in shock. Vlad paused. He hadn’t been that harsh. Had he? He might have been yelling, but only because the music was so damn loud. He turned, feeling trapped and only wanting to be far away from this place.

“Go dance with her!” Tammy bellowed. “You know you want to. Just like you wanna fuck her! Don’t let
me
stop you!”

Vlad froze. Alison placed her hand on his arm and spoke in a low, calm voice. “Go dance. I’ll stay with Tammy.”

“Then we leave,” he said, relieved to have someone in his corner.

He followed Lisa onto the dance floor. In cutoff jeans, a tiny T-shirt that read Bad Girls Do and cowboy boots, the girl could have given any of Miami’s strippers a run for her money. Aware of the cameras, Vlad danced along, throwing in a few The Male Room thrusts, but returned to the table as soon as the song ended.

Alison was helping Tammy from her chair, staggering under the larger woman’s deadweight. Vlad went to the opposite side and put his arm around Tammy’s waist. “Time to go, now.”

The limo was gone, but there was a taxi parked at the curb. They helped Tammy into the back and Alison gave the driver the name of their hotel. Vlad, seated in the middle, settled Tammy beside him. Sobbing loudly, she slumped against him, and he put his arm around her shoulders. At least in here, there were no cameras, like in the limo. Or...wait a minute. Was this a setup, just like the bar? Tammy clapped her hand over her mouth as the cab pulled into traffic, then then jerked to a violent stop. “Watch it! Can’t you see she’s sick?” Vlad yelled at the maniac behind the wheel.

With that, the driver floored it and they swerved into traffic, on a wild ride though San Juan while Tammy sat with her head thrown back against the seat, gulping air. At last, they turned onto Avenida Isla Verde, but the driver was going too fast and overshot the entrance. “It’s back there, you idiot!” Vlad shouted. The driver hit the brakes and swung a wide U-turn across two lanes of oncoming traffic. Alison screamed. Vlad sat still as his heart pounded in his chest as they roared into the driveway and jerked to a stop.

Tammy’s face was pasty white and her eyes were wide. Her shoulders hitched, she uttered a single guttural belch...then hurled the contents of her stomach all over the backseat.

This was good TV?

Vlad moved away as best he could, trying to avoid the smelly mess. Alison raced around to Tammy’s side and helped her out. Two production assistants and a camera crew waited on the curb. Vlad got out just as the PAs led a sobbing and splattered Tammy inside, cameras trailing behind.

He and Alison remained on the sidewalk. When everyone was gone, Alison blew out a breath and dropped her small shoulders. Vlad looked over. “Did they tell you to make Chris take you dancing?”

She nodded, staring after them. “I didn’t know they would turn us away, but that was obviously the setup to bring us to that bar.” She looked over. “And the thing about Tammy’s sister?”

“Cody told me to talk about it during the date. He said I need to make good TV, or he’d find a way to bring my uncle into this. I didn’t want to do it...but I don’t want to embarrass my family either.”

Alison nodded. “Tough choice. Fame, or your family.”

Vlad remembered that Alison used to be a star once. If her future looked this bad, he was afraid to picture his own. “Was that how it was for you?” he asked quietly.

Alison gave a sad little laugh. “Life’s all about choices, isn’t it, Vlad the Bad?”

For the rest of the night, he thought about his choices.

Chapter Eleven

Three nights later, the cast and crew gathered in the studio to watch the
Last Fling
series premiere. So much drama had gone down already; Hannah couldn’t believe that no one stateside had seen a minute of the show.

She arrived at the party on the lookout for Jack, whom she hadn’t seen since the Sunday afternoon flight back from Culebra. The tension inside the six-seater plane had been so heavy, she was surprised they hadn’t all plummeted into the ocean. Back at Resorte Siete Mares, she stayed in, ordered room service and ventured out only to tape a hot tub segment with her flings. This coming week marked the beginning of the one-on-one dates that would end with each of them sending one fling home. Everyone on the set was buzzing about who that might be, but Hannah had spent more time mulling over Crusher’s question.

Was Jack worth having? Absolutely. They shared a history, family connections, even the same religion. True, neither of them was religious, but as Mom was quick to point out, it would matter more once they had children. Of course, Hannah was in no hurry for that, nor was Jack. At least he hadn’t been, until three days ago.

That was what she kept coming back to. The change in her fiancé was too abrupt to be genuine. Once they were back in New York, living their real life, not the reality TV version, Jack would come to his senses and see he belonged with Hannah. Until then, she just had to keep her chin up, a smile on her face and gut it out.

Easy, right?

“Well, well. Don’t you look amazing?” Cody deWylde sidled up alongside her and cocked a groomed brow. “Looking for someone?”

“No. I just want a good seat.” She cringed at the ridiculous answer—their seats in the studio never changed.

“It’s not every day you make your television debut. We all know you’re going to make a huge, huge impression.” Cody smirked and his gaze lingered on Hannah’s chest.

Just what she feared. She stepped back and crossed her arms over her body. “Right. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

She walked to the opposite side of the room, eager to put distance between herself and deWylde. Eric was talking with the camera crews who would be filming the cast as they watched the premiere. Jack wasn’t here yet, nor was Robynne, but Team Red was congregating near the bar. Daphne, Chris and one of the soccer players were knocking back shots. Up by the stage, Miss October and Tammy were dancing with Vlad the Bad.

Vlad’s shoulders and hips moved in natural syncopation, underscoring his connection with the music. Just then, he looked in Hannah’s direction and raised a finger beckoning someone onto the dance floor. Her? She looked right and left to see if there might be someone else, and then turned back. He nodded and smiled. There was no mistake; this sexy guy was inviting her to dance.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. She didn’t belong at the front of the room, dancing with a gorgeous man in front of cameras, no matter how much she wanted to. She shook her head. Vlad shot back a questioning look, as if he was unused to women refusing.

All the more reason she was better off over here.

“Champagne, senorita?” A waiter appeared, with a tray of stemmed glasses.

“Yes, thank you.” She took one and drank a generous sip. It was tepid, flat. She looked for a place to leave the glass, and then noticed Alison Michaels a few feet away.

This close up, it was clear she’d aged since her heyday as Missy Goldsmith on
Somerset High
. The lines around her eyes were visible, but she looked like a normal thirty-year-old, not someone who’d gone from Hollywood stardom to working in a diner. She approached and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Alison. We’ve not been formally introduced, but I know you’re Hannah, Eric’s friend from New York.”

“You know Eric?” Her old friend was moving in interesting circles these days. Though Alison’s smile was friendly, Hannah felt a bit starstruck in her presence. “I know you probably hear this all the time, but my sister and I loved your show. Even though Emily was the main character, we always liked you the best. Even if Missy was kind of mean.”

Alison laughed. “Only ‘kind of mean?’ I must not have been doing my job.”

Hannah laughed, too, more at ease. “Okay, really mean. But in a good way. Missy never took any crap from people.” As one of the youngest kids in her class, and the smartest, Hannah had taken her share of crap back then. Funny, how things didn’t seem to have changed much. “I liked that about her.”

“I liked that about her, too,” Alison said, and lifted her glass in a toast. Then she took a sip and made a face. “Ugh. That’s awful.”

Hannah smiled at her unexpected candor. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“If it’s glamour they’re after, they really ought to be serving the good stuff.” She flashed a brilliant movie-star smile at a passing waiter. “Excuse me, Rodrigo,” she said, glancing at the nametag pinned to his black coat. “This champagne is simply awful. Could you bring us something more fitting to the occasion?”

“I’d really like to, senorita. But this is what they gave us to serve.”

Alison placed her hand on his arm. “See that man over there? The tall handsome one in the white jacket?” She nodded in Eric’s direction, and Hannah did a double take. She had never thought of Eric as handsome, but in truth, he was. “He’s the executive producer, and happens to be a close friend of ours. He won’t mind, and if he does, you can tell him Missy Goldsmith insisted.”

“Uhh, okay.” He took their glasses. “Yes, Senorita Goldsmith. I’ll bring something more to your liking.”

The waiter disappeared, and Hannah paused, recalling the lurid tabloid stories of Alison’s wild life before she left Hollywood. She would hate to think this show might threaten the actress’s hard-won sobriety. “Is it...okay for you to have champagne? I thought that once you were in recovery, you were always in recovery?”

Alison’s smile dimmed. “And you, knowing only what was in the press ten years ago, are concerned a sip or two of firewater is going to send me over the edge?”

Her tone was cool, though not malicious. Even so, Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm, especially when she remembered the tiny mikes attached to their clothes were recording their conversation. The blonde’s gaze shifted toward the nearby camera, and she raised her chin in a haughty tilt. Hannah sensed that Alison the person had just become Alison the character. “That’s sweet. The truth is people will tune in each week to see if this is the episode where I finally crash and burn. Alison Michaels on a bender. Alison Michaels so desperate for her lost fame and fortune that she’ll stoop to being a one-night stand on a reality show. Who could resist that?”

“I could,” Hannah said.

Alison’s blue eyes had a cynical glint. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Hannah!” Eric hustled over and brushed air kisses on her cheeks. “So good to see you. You look fabulous.”

She looked down at tonight’s muumuu. “If you say so.”

Rodrigo the waiter returned with the champagne they had ordered. Alison took a sip. “Much better, Rodrigo.
Gracias.
” She passed a glass to Hannah, and then smiled at Eric. “You really should try this. It’s much better than what they were serving earlier.”

Eric grimaced. “Listen, Alison. You do realize that we’re kind of on a budget?”

“Private yachts and limousines? I can definitely see that money is tight.”

He laughed ruefully. “Those are the network’s call, and if I want any chance at bigger and better, I have to play ball.”

“Ball play. An interesting analogy. But after Saturday, I deserve the best you can provide. As does Vladimir.”

Hannah wondered what she meant.

Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll do what I can, though I can’t promise anything.”

“You have power here, Eric, and I’m sure you’ll find a way to accommodate my needs. Won’t he, Chris?” She greeted the truck driver with another mega-watt smile.

“Uh, yeah.” Chris gave Eric an uneasy look, and then turned to Alison. “They said we’re supposed to take our places.” He took her arm. “Come on. I want you right next to me.”

Playing to the camera, Alison purred. “That way, I can talk dirty in your ear and touch you wherever I want.” She leaned in to nuzzle his neck and flick his earlobe with her tongue. “Where should I start?”

Chris laughed. “Anywhere you want, baby.”

As the big man and Alison walked away, Eric watched, frowning. He put his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “Well.”

“Well.” Hannah echoed, at a loss for words. A commotion across the room caused them to turn toward the floral arch that marked the studio entrance. Jack and Robynne swept in, arm in arm, waving like king and queen of the prom.

Eric grimaced. “Listen, Hannah. Try not to take any of this too seriously. It’s a show. An illusion. Once you’re back in your real life...”

Hannah gave a rueful laugh. “Believe me, Eric. It’s what I’m waiting for.”

She went to take her seat between Jeff Scott and Byron Lord. The music grew louder, and Pharrell Williams’s “Happy” echoed through the room. An ironic choice of music if there ever was one. Up on stage, Cody and a few of the Team Red women were dancing. He moved pretty well, even if he was no Vlad the Bad. When the song ended, he shouted into the microphone. “Are you ready? Put your hands together!”

Everyone rose to their feet, clapping and shouting. Jack did the overhead fist pump usually reserved for sporting events. Robynne bounced up and down beside him. On Team Red’s side, Chris and bearded Trent grunted and howled like junkyard dogs.

The lights dimmed as the giant screen flickered to life. Everyone took their seats, and an announcer’s voice filled the room.

“Tonight...two couples, on the eve of their wedding, will courageously put their love to the test in a tropical paradise where anything can happen.” A dramatic pause. “For Chris Tucker and Tammy Bradford, a hardworking couple from Daytona Beach, it’s a trip of a lifetime.”

There was a shot of Chris in front of Resorte Siete Mares wearing a Harley-Davidson Daytona Beach T-shirt stretched tight across his gut. The camera really did add ten pounds. At least. Hannah pressed in on her poufy midriff. On-screen Chris chuckled and gazed around, as if he could hardly believe his good fortune. “More ‘n anythin’ I’d love to take Tammy on a fancy vacation, but a guy who drives a truck can’t afford nothing like this. We’ll be tellin’ our grandkids about this, ain’t that right, sugar?”

The scene cut to Tammy on the beach in cutoffs and a tank top that displayed her various tattoos. “Grandkids?” Tammy gave a snort
.
“BEEP that! I’m young, hot and ready to party!”

A montage of their life in Daytona Beach, soundtracked by Lynyrd Skynyrd, followed. Though they didn’t actually live in “Sweet Home Alabama,” it kind of worked. Then the music changed to light jazz pulled straight from a Woody Allen movie. There was a black-and-white shot of the Brooklyn Bridge, and then...

“For Jack Gordon and Hannah Levinson of New York City, it’s a chance to escape their high-pressure careers, and maybe recapture a long-lost dream...”

The segment opened with Jack alone in a dark, gloomy restaurant Hannah had never seen. He wore a somber blue suit, muted tie, and looked tenser than usual. “We work like crazy people. I’m at the office most nights until at least ten. Sometimes later. Hannah’s job is insane, too. Weekends are really the only time we see each other.”

Then Hannah’s solo interview, filmed at their apartment. Her hair looked a bit lopsided, but at least she was smiling. “Jack and I grew up together. Our families are close, and when we started dating after college...” Her voice softened as she said, “It felt like something we’d been moving toward all our lives was about to come true.”

Then Jack alone. “Everyone’s excited that Hannah and I are engaged, but sometimes... I wonder if I’m ready. Once I get married, a big part of my life is over. I’m only twenty-six.” He paused, then gazed earnestly at the camera. “There might be someone else out there. Someone special I will always regret not having a chance to be with. Not even once.”

Hannah sucked in a breath, feeling as though she had just been punched. Jack made their engagement sound like a death sentence. Worse, he had lied. Robynne’s presence in Puerto Rico was not an act of charity; it was a prelude to seduction. What did it mean that Robynne had quit her job to be here? What did it mean that he’d quit his?

She clutched the edge of the table, feeling ill. In the dark, she watched for a reaction from him, though from her vantage point behind the Team Blue couch, she couldn’t see his face. His head remained still, though Robynne dropped hers to his shoulder.

Hannah was still grappling to keep control of her emotions when the scene changed again to the interview they’d shot on her balcony before the party on the first night. There was her face—large, pink and shining like the man in the moon. Hair styled by electrocution. The orange-and-brown caftan they’d dressed her in billowed around her body. Finally, her own damning words. “Oh, I’m not worried about other women. Jack and I are rock solid.”

Now the screens behind Cody pulsed with abstract colors and the soundtrack switched to a thumping bass line, overlaid with a female singer’s orgasmic moaning. The announcer’s voice returned. “For the next ten weeks, our couples will put their commitment to the test. Will they still want to say ‘I do’ after a night with one of these...sexy singles?”

Panoramic shots of the resort and beach segued into the fling introductions they had watched the other night. They ended with Robynne’s sweet little wave at the camera. Hannah could almost hear a collective “awww” rising from living rooms across America. The horror continued. There was Robynne rushing across the lobby into Jack’s arms, while Hannah stood to the side in coffee-stained pants, her mouth hanging open.

Oh my God, I look like I’m drooling! Did I really do that?

Apparently so, as the cameras seemed to miss nothing. The volleyball game with her nose spouting blood like a red geyser. In a bib, gnawing on a chicken leg, her mouth streaked with barbecue sauce. Slurping from a giant orange cup. Drinking alone while Jack and Robynne embraced on the moonlit beach in the Culebra.