Nothing to Hide

FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN

Roxie rode to the hotel with Astrid and Tibbs. She hadn’t seen her luggage. Apparently, that was the norm. Tibbs gave her the run-down of the schedule. A week in every city. Sometimes it would take them a day or two to travel between destinations. The Triple Seven would be a constant companion, home away from home. It would literally take them around the globe.

Being on tour had to be lived to be understood. She guessed. Her brain was too exhausted to envision it. When Astrid said they were going to the hotel to eat and sleep, gratitude prevailed. Thank God for a little breathing space. Work wouldn’t begin until they met the documentary crew the following day.

By the time she closed the door on her suite, her head hurt. Maybe it was the adjustment to a new schedule. She was nauseous and forewent dinner in lieu of working. Her heart wasn’t in it. According to texts, Toria and Jane were out at a bar. It wouldn’t be fair to distract them from their fun. In truth, returning home was the only thing she wanted to discuss. Her girls wouldn’t understand.

Later on, Porter called. She let it go to voicemail, proving there was a limit to her desperation to stay occupied. He left a message asking her to call him back. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t. Her decision making wasn’t in the best form.

Figuring that a new day would bring a new attitude, she went to bed, prepared to be optimistic in the daylight.

Feeling brighter, Roxie woke early enough to locate the gym and to soak in the tub.

Astrid knocked on her door a minute or two after one p.m. Apparently, it was time for the meeting with the documentary crew.

“Who are they?” Roxie asked Astrid as they walked out of the elevator.

“I don’t know,” Astrid said. “The director’s name is Greg. That’s about as much as I know.”

“Hmm,” Roxie said. Maybe she should’ve done some research of her own. Though with only a first name, she wouldn’t have gotten far. “Is he cute?”

They reached their destination.

With a hand on the door handle, Astrid paused, shock in her countenance. “Roxie!” she exclaimed, following the surprise with a laugh.

The gal needed to relax and open herself to new experiences.

As Astrid opened the door to go inside, Roxie squeezed her shoulders. “Hello, all,” she announced.

Ballard and Tibbs stood in the middle of the windowless conference room with three men she didn’t know.

One of the guys broke away to come over. “Greg Hatfield,” he said, offering his hand.

“The director,” Roxie said, bumping Astrid with a hip.

“That’s right,” he said, casting a glance back and forth between them. Astrid was first to shake his hand. “And you are?”

“Astrid Ballard.”

Struck instantly by the name, Roxie planted her shock on the young assistant. “You’re married to…” Keeping her eyes set on the squirming Astrid, she extended a not-so-discreet finger in the direction of the male Ballard. “Oh my God.”

“He’s my cousin,” Astrid mumbled.

“Ah, nepotism,” Roxie said, putting her hand in Greg’s to shake. “Roxanna Kyst.”

“Yes.” A smile spread on Greg’s face. “Your reputation precedes you.” She didn’t get it. “I knew we had the perfect candidate when news of your arrest hit the wires.”

Oh, yeah, she got it now. “Happy to accommodate,” Roxie said, though the icy response of the Crimson crew chilled the air a few degrees.

Astrid left her side to go over and join her cousin and Tibbs.

“We can begin,” Tibbs said. “Messrs. Lomond and Ogilvie will be along as soon as they’re free.”

“Okay,” Greg said, going to the two unknown men. “These are my guys…” Greg stood behind them to slap a hand on each of their shoulders. “Carl Glover is sound. Tevin Lind is our cameraman. We might have other people dropping in and out on the journey, but we’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You won’t need anything from us, from, like, the staff,” Astrid said, “will you?”

“We’ll need all of you to sign releases and be open to whatever happens. If something goes down and you guys are in shot, you’ll be included. We will want to interview as and when. Miss Kyst…” Her name snapped her into the moment. Her mind must have been wandering, though where it went was anyone’s guess. “You’re going to be key. I’m the director and I’ll ask questions, but you will be the face we see most.”

“I will?” she asked, resting a hip on the end of a desk.

“Yes. We’ll do your interview first. And it will be important to get you streaming on the website as soon as possible. We’ll aim for at least one feed a day while we’re in each city. We’ll judge how much to stream during travel hours. We want to keep our audience engaged, but the stream has to be entertaining.”

“Right, yeah,” Roxie said. One a day sounded like a lot. “Don’t you want to keep some stuff for the documentary?”

“Sure, of course,” Greg said, wandering to the head of the room. “Contest winners have been announced. There will be three each night. One who gets the full VIP experience. Two who get a meet and greet… It’ll be informal. We’ll bring them in together, have a conversation, a few drinks. It’s easier for us to light and film if we can control the environment.”

“And you want me to stream that?” Roxie asked.

Did these people know she wasn’t a tech whizz?

“No, no,” Greg said, laughing off the question as though it was ridiculous. “Your streams won’t take place in the clubs. Strictly in the hotel or out and about in the city we’re in. You’ll serve as a teaser for the documentary. We’ll film in each city and at the daily briefs, where winner details will be discussed. We’re going for a casual fluid feel. Today will be the first of the formal interviews.”

“There will be some boundaries,” Astrid said.

“Yes, we were discussing that with Tibbs,” Greg said, becoming more serious. “The first thing we have to get everyone clear on is that this is not reality television. That’s not the essence we’re going for at all. I’m sure there will be drama and tears. We definitely want to get all of that. But no one will be set up. No conniving. No plotting. No lash inserts here.”

Roxie got that. It was funny, so she laughed, but she was the only one.

“No what?” Ballard asked, not amused.

“Like in mascara ads,” Roxie said, delighting Greg with her understanding. “They do the close up of the lashes and in the bottom corner of the screen somewhere it says something about the model wearing lash inserts. It’s basically another way of telling the audience that the fabulous mascara they’re trying to hawk doesn’t do what they’re claiming it does.”

“Yes, thank you,” Greg said, visibly pleased that someone was on his wavelength.

His eyes met hers and lingered. Someone had a sense of humor, finally! Her track record for the last few days was bleak on that score. Maybe the trip wouldn’t be a complete loss if the documentary guys were easier going than the Crimson crew.

The door behind her opened, though she didn’t turn around to see who’d joined them.

“What’s going on?” Zairn’s voice filled in that blank for her.

“Roxie and Greg are bonding over eyelashes,” Astrid said.

“What’s wrong with her eyelashes?” Zairn asked, glancing in the direction of her lashes as he strode on past to shake Greg’s hand. “Zairn Lomond.”

“It’s an honor,” Greg said, shaking hard. “We were just getting started.”

“What are we doing in here?” Zairn asked, scanning the environment with disdain.

“This is the conference room the hotel had available.”

“No,” Zairn said as a phone began to ring. His as it turned out; he retrieved the device from his inside pocket. Hitting answer, he raised it to his ear. “One second…” He used the phone to gesture up. “We’ll do it upstairs. Tibbs?”

“Sir,” Tibbs said, jumping to attention. “Everyone follow me.”

“We were going to start interviews down here,” Greg said to Zairn, who’d been about to put the phone to his ear again.

On a short, irritated exhale, Zairn’s phone hand dropped. “I don’t like it. We’ll get you a backdrop, you can do it anywhere…” The men stared each other down. “You choosing this battle?”

“No, sir.”

Greg backed down. Fast. No way he’d intended that exchange to be so hostile. Someone must’ve peed in Zairn’s cornflakes, his mood was awful.

“Okay,” Zairn said. “Tibbs.”

“I’m on it,” Tibbs said, hurrying over to open the door and gesture everyone out.

She’d never been in Zairn’s vicinity while he was doing the urgent CEO thing. It was hot and hilarious at the same time. Seeing the guy take charge: hot. Anyone being afraid of him: hilarious.

Everyone went toward the door. Everyone except Zairn. As the others passed by, she lingered, looking at the man she hadn’t seen since the plane the previous day. Funny thing was, his expression hadn’t changed all that much, he was still growling at the world.

Poor guy had a lot on his plate. Spinning around, she started for the door.

“Hatfield,” Zairn called out to the man holding the door. Curious—some might say nosey—Roxie paused to look back, Z was focused on the director. “Kesley, was that you?”

Kesley? Searching her recollection, the only reference Roxie came up with was the actress. It didn’t come as a surprise that Zairn was connected to such a renowned beauty.

“I didn’t—”

“If I need help with a hookup, I’ll call you. Got it?”

“Sure thing,” Greg said.

Departing the room, she fell into step with Greg. Everyone else was still a little ahead.

“He’s talking about Kesley Walsh, the actress?” Roxie asked.

“She’s in town. Gonna be at the club tonight. They used to date.”

And Zairn obviously hadn’t known that his ex was around.

“It’s a week for exes, I guess.”

“Yours been in touch?”

“Yep,” she said. “Haven’t called him back yet.”

“He’ll have heard about your win,” Greg said. “Have you been broken up long?”

The rest of their group waited at the elevator.

“Couple of months,” she said.

“Because…”

Casting her attention to him, she smiled. “Are you always looking for an angle?”

He laughed. “Sorry. I wasn’t interviewing you. Not yet anyway.”

They reached the others. Going upstairs, she was sure, meant going to Zairn’s suite. It was a different space and a different city, but still his private zone. He’d said they should keep their distance and then invited her into his room. With a bunch of people, but still it was his and she definitely was not.