Читать книгу Crossing the Line - Меган Харт - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Bobby, pushing his glasses up on his nose, looked up as Jamison got off the elevator. “Mr. Wolfe. You have several messages, and—”

As if on cue, Jamison’s phone trilled from his pocket. He noted the name of the caller and sent it to voice mail. He waved at Bobby dismissively and kept going. He had stuff to take care of first. Messages could wait.

“And Ms. Fox is in the conference room with the clients from Treasure House,” Bobby called after him.

Jamison stopped in his tracks, spinning on one heel. “Huh? They’re here?”

“In the conference room,” Bobby repeated, standing to point down the hall.

As if Jamison didn’t know where the conference room was.

Before Jamison could sneak into his office, the conference room door opened, and Caite poked her head out. Her face lit when she saw him; the grin that spread from ear to ear was bright and delighted. She gestured.

“Jamison! Hi. I’m glad you’re here. C’mon in and meet the Treasure House clients.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, even though meeting all their new clients was something he always did. With an inward sigh and an outwardly neutral expression, he stalked down the hall. Caite squeezed his elbow as he pushed past her.

“Deep breath,” she murmured without losing a bit of her smile. “Their management is paying us triple the highest rate we’re currently charging, and we’ve already been mentioned on three of the top five gossip sites. The phone’s been ringing off the hook all day.”

He glanced at her. “Since when was it triple?”

“Since I had a little talk with their manager,” Caite said as her smile widened and she made a sweeping gesture to encompass the three people seated at the other end of the conference room table. “Jamison Wolfe, I’d like to introduce you to our newest members of the Wolfe and Baron family.”

Here we go, Jamison thought. The shit show has begun.

* * *

Nellie Bower and Paxton France had been vociferously denying any sort of romantic relationship, but watching them canoodle on the opposite side of the conference table, Caite knew the pair were shagging like 1970s rec room carpet. Tommy Sanders didn’t seem at all fazed by the way Nellie reached to pluck bits of imaginary lint off of Paxton’s broad shoulders, which meant he also knew the two were involved. Not that it would’ve been easy to ignore, since the three of them had been teamed up for the past two years, contractually obligated to be together both in and out of the house in which a multimillion-dollar prize was hidden. This was the show’s second season, and the stakes had risen from $3 to 5 million. If the three of them could last until the end of the season and sign on for another, the prize would rise to $7 million.

But it wasn’t Caite’s job to keep them together. Or break them up, for that matter. Her job was to spin the exploits of these three into something the public would eagerly consume, no matter how stupid they acted. Or how boring. Using her social media management skills, her task would be to keep them in the public eye without oversaturating the market, as well as make sure that everything they did met the corporate sponsors’ approval.

She loved it already.

“So. Guys,” she said, pinpointing her gaze on Nellie and Pax, who were ignoring her totally for a whispered conversation full of sibilance. Tommy, however, looked at her with the same deadpan stare he’d become famous for. “Let’s talk about this week’s schedule. You’re off from the house this weekend, right?”

The team got weekends free to leave the treasure house and live in the real world while the crew reset the booby traps and clues they’d have to fight and find in the next week’s filming. Pax bore a distinct set of fading bruises on his dark cheek that Caite had already seen covered in a blast of comments on the show’s Connex fan page, though Pax himself had been smart enough not to breach his contract by mentioning what had caused them in anything he’d said. That had only fueled the fire of commentary as fans tried to figure out what had happened, how close to dying he’d come, the extent of injuries they couldn’t see. It had been ratings genius, though Caite suspected it was mostly unplanned on his part. She was having a hard time believing Pax was smart enough to have planned that strategy.

“Yeah.” The answer finally came from Tommy, who gave his teammates a small roll of his eyes. “We got the weekend off. Gotta go back in Sunday night.”

“So tonight it’s parrrrty!” Nellie bounced in her seat and clapped her hands like a toddler promised a pony ride. Her long black hair, dyed beneath with blue and green stripes, flipped over her shoulders. “I’m’a get shit hammered!”

“There’s a shocker,” Tommy muttered.

From his seat, the formerly silent Jamison said, “Contractually, the three of you have to stay together at all times, right? During filming and not.”

“Yeah.” Pax nodded and sidled a tiny bit closer to Nellie, though it was obvious he was trying to make it look accidental. “All three of us. All the time. The Three Musketeers.”