Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“I wish I hadn’t sent the camera away,” Danielle mused.
“Why?” asked Melody quietly, wetting her lips.
And Beat watched it happen, because he couldn’t get his attention off her mouth.
Danielle hummed, her gaze ping-ponging between Beat and Melody. “No reason.” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “Wreck the halls. Is that what you said, Melody? Forget The Parents’ Trap. I think we have our new name.”
“I’ll accept all future royalties in beignets,” Melody said, seeming a little flummoxed over her offhand idea being deemed network-worthy. “Uh. There is one little problem with Friday’s plans.”
What was it? He’d fix it for her right now.
“I don’t have anything to wear to a gala.”
Danielle picked up her office phone and hit a button, her eyes twinkling with something that made Beat’s stomach churn. Mischief. Anticipation. Plans. “Oh, I think I can help with that.”
Chapter Six
December 13
Melody arrived in Manhattan too early Wednesday morning. She stood to the side of the subway exit, debating her options. Kill time by going into Duane Reade and buying eyeshadow palettes she would never wear, sit in a coffee shop and people watch . . . or text Beat. He lived in Midtown, right? Maybe he wanted to get coffee?
Again?
Boring!
She had this fantastic vision of them dashing through the city and committing spontaneous pranks, like Paul and Holly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but Melody was less Holly Golightly and more Holly Gohomeandstaythere.
Although maybe that wasn’t entirely true anymore. After all, she had signed on for a reality show with no idea what lay ahead. She’d taken the steps to stop depending on Trina for monetary support—even if the million dollars was contingent on a pipe dream. The decision was something and something was more than nothing.
Riding high on her burst of positivity, Melody took out her phone and texted Beat.
Melody: I’m early. Tell me where to get the best coffee.
Wow. She even impressed herself with that text message. It informed Beat she was in the city and looking for something to do, without asking him to commit to an activity.
Not too shabby, Gallard.
Beat: I’m at the gym. Come here? They have coffee.
Melody: Sounds like a trap.
Beat: Would I do that to you?
Melody: Someone might have stolen your phone. I could be speaking to a guy named Lance who wants to sell me a gym membership.
Beat: HAHA. It’s me, Peach. I’m dropping a pin.
Melody: OK. I’m coming, but I’m dubious.
Her phone dinged, adding a layer of warm shivers to the ones he’d set loose by calling her Peach. It was there in her phone forever now. She could look at it whenever she chose. Melody tapped the directions button, relieved to find she was only an avenue and one block south of Beat’s gym. Seven minutes later, she pushed cautiously through the revolving door with an expression that dared any Lances to try and sell her a Pilates package.
Not today, Satan.
But as predicted, a smiling jock in a purple polo shirt was already approaching her, straight off the finish line of an Ironman competition. Those weren’t even real calf muscles. They were veiny boulders shoved into skin-tone nylons. “Welcome to Core. Are you a member?”
Run while you can.
“Sorry, I have the wrong address—”
“Mel!” Amid the distant metal clanging and high-energy notes of an “All I Want for Christmas” remix, she heard Beat calling her name and turned.
There he was.
Running toward her through the reception area. In black athletic shorts and no shirt.
Sweating. Sweating all over the place.
Oh my God, she was looking at his nipples. Stop. Don’t look down, either. She had to stop herself from looking at those high cuts of muscle above his hips. Or the rivulet of perspiration dripping off the meatiest part of his left pec. Or that little peek of happy trail. Too late. She saw everything. She’d perused him like the specials menu.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. Or was he pretending not to?
“Hey, man.” Effortlessly, Beat high-fived Boulder Calves and grabbed her wrist. “She’s with me. Can I bring her in while I finish up?”
“Sure.” The guy took a respectful step backward, out of her orbit. “No worries, Beat.”
“Thanks.”
Beat winked at Melody, guiding her through reception and into a small café that looked more like a nightclub. It was dark, except for the pulsing red Christmas lights surrounding the order window. “Hi,” Beat said to the girl behind the counter, giving her a warm grin—and the phone slipped right out of her hands, followed by a stuttered apology. Beat only smiled wider. “Did I dream this or do you guys make coffee? It’s not all smoothies and bee pollen and protein bars back there, is it?”
“We have coffee,” she said throatily. “No one ever orders it, but we make it anyway.”
“Oh. You’re amazing.” His whole body flexed with the power of his relieved exhale, the smile crinkles around his eyes deepening. “What’s your name?”