Strictly Seduction: Watch Me. Lisa Renee Jones
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cast a discreet glance at Meagan that said he, too, believed, this footage was a ratings grabber.
“Jensen carried you out of the house, I understand,” Derek prodded, urging her to continue on this path of conversation.
“Oh yes!” she said. “It was horrible. We didn’t see fire, but we could smell smoke. We knew any second everything would just blow up.” She lowered her voice. “You know. We have a curse on the set.”
Meagan cringed every time the word curse came up, despite the studio’s explicit instructions to play it up. She’d planned for drama to unfold in the house with the dancers—in fact, that concept had been pitched with the show—so one would think a curse would excite Meagan as much as it did the studio, but it didn’t. A curse was something that would mess with the dancers’ heads and their performances. And ultimately, the dancing had to win the public’s hearts. But “the curse” had been given new life and new breath by the house fire, exciting the executives with the promise of ratings. Sure enough, every single dancer had brought it up in their interview. Tabitha, however, seemed determined to own the curse.
“We’re afraid of what will happen next,” she said. “None of us are going to sleep tonight. I don’t know how we’ll dance under such circumstances.”
The cameraman zoomed in on Derek’s deadpan look before he said, “Then you know what you should do?”
Meagan exchanged a “here it comes” look with Shayla White, the director, who was fast becoming a close friend. Hiring Derek, an ex-pro quarterback and sportscaster, for a dance show had been a risk, especially considering he’d lived up to his reputation for saying whatever came to mind. If Stepping Up was to succeed where other dance shows had failed, it meant they needed originality, and Derek was nothing if not that.
Derek continued, “Get a lucky charm like us athletes do. In my case, I’d get a pair of lucky briefs.”
“Briefs?” Tabitha asked, skeptically. “Eww.”
Derek grinned and held up his hands. “Hey, don’t tell me you haven’t got a pair of lucky underwear.”
It took a second but finally Tabitha, and everyone else on set burst into laughter. “Well, maybe I do,” she said, clearly giving it some serious thought.
Derek assured her, “At least five guys on my NFL team had ‘game day’ lucky boxers. They swore they’d screw up on the field without them. They believed those transformed them into men of steel, and so they did.” He tapped his forehead. “It’s all in your head. It’s what you believe.”
Tabitha smiled slyly. “And if I don’t wear underwear?”
If Derek caught her flirty remarks, and he was a smart guy so surely he had, he didn’t show it, nor did he miss a beat. “Socks. They’re the next best thing.” The entire crew erupted in laughter, and Meagan could just imagine the audience doing the same thing. “But really, Tabitha, whatever works for you. Just make sure that your lucky charm is something you can always have with you. Heck, I knew a guy who had to kiss his wife right before the game or he messed up every play he was in. When she didn’t travel with him, he was worthless.”
“So maybe I should kiss Jensen.” Tabitha beamed.
“Then what happens when one of you gets sent home?”
The air seemed to crackle, the silence thick. It was a brilliant moment that had evolved from a talk of curse, and shown human vulnerability that every viewer could relate to on some level. Tabitha seemed devastated. But it was short-lived. She recovered promptly, showing herself to be a pro at flirtation. “Then maybe you should be my lucky charm.”
Derek grinned and gave her his cheek, tapping it with his finger. She kissed him, and the crew all broke out in grins.
A few questions later, the interview ended. And just when Meagan thought she’d wrap the night’s shooting with a laugh rather than with the curse, Tabitha walked to the edge of the set and went tumbling forward, smack onto her face.
AT 6:45 P.M., THIRTY MINUTES before his dinner with Meagan, Sam completed his check-in at the hotel, sliding a healthy tip, compliments of the studio, into the doorman’s hand to ensure his bag was delivered to his room for him. With way too much eagerness in his step to suit him—considering Sam knew it had nothing to do with duty, and everything to do with seeing Meagan—Sam headed toward the bank of elevators, rather than the restaurant. He knew Meagan wouldn’t be there, and he had no intention of sitting around and waiting for her. Not when he’d bet money on her being intentionally late, and then claiming work as an excuse.
It was a control thing to her—her desire to have it and keep it from him. Fine by him. This was her show, and she was in charge and deserved that respect. But as the person in charge of safety, he’d need to ensure he never ran the risk of jeopardizing his authority and ability to do his job in the face of any threat.
So he and Meagan had some hashing out to do. Tonight. Alone. Still, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch her for all kinds of reasons. Work wasn’t the place to play. Smart people knew that bedroom games, and even simple romantic notions, could easily turn emotional and explode, no matter how covertly they began. He didn’t do complicated relationships. He did the uncomplicated, casual type. Namely because he’d seen far too many divorces, and tormented, worried spouses like his mother, when he’d been in the army.
Despite all these brilliant assessments about what he had going on, or rather not going on with Meagan, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about her. That had never happened to him with a woman before. And as he punched in the code for the private floor the studio had rented for the show, there was no mistaking the thrum of anticipation he felt during the twenty-floor ride, at seeing her again. A thrum he recognized could lead him to trouble. Big damn trouble.
The elevator dinged, and the doors began to slide open. In the same instant, a scream filled the air. Instinct sent Sam into action, darting out of the elevator to draw up short when he found a studio set almost directly off the elevator in the center of a large lounge area. One of the contestants, Tabitha, was lying flat on her face, her mouth bloody. Meagan was squatting next to her. Hovering above her were the twins, Ginger and DJ, who clearly wanted to help the situation, and didn’t know how. Kiki, the thirtysomething attractive redhead, stood in the background looking amused.
Sam grimaced at her behavior and headed for Meagan. “Does she need an ambulance?”
“Yes!” Tabitha screamed. “Yes, I need an ambulance. My front tooth is missing! My tooth is gone!”
“I called 9-1-1,” one of the crew shouted.
Relief washed over Sam. A tooth he could deal with. No one died from a lost tooth. But any relief he felt vanished when the cast of contestants emerged like a pack of wild animals onto the set, as a rumble of questions and panic erupted. The cameras continued to roll, panning the crowded lounge.
Sam’s gaze found Meagan’s, even as she helped Tabitha to her feet, a silent question in his stare. He didn’t want to screw up footage she needed for the show, but they didn’t need another injury, either. Fortunately, as usual, he read her easily—the look on her face said Please get them under control. The fact that they communicated without words was a testament to the natural connection they shared. That he agreed with her decision, that she confirmed what he knew already—that she wasn’t like the studio executives who put ratings above all else—were just more reasons why he wanted to be alone with her.
“Enough,” he called out to the group, holding up his hands. “My name is Sam Kellar, and I’m the head of—”
“It’s the curse!” Tabitha shouted. “It’s the curse.”
Screams erupted from the dancers. Sam and Meagan shared an exasperated look before, together, they went into damage control.
The studio wanted footage that fed the curse, and now, they were sure getting it, but not because he, or Meagan, were trying to deliver it. He and Meagan were just trying to survive