Triple Threat. Regina Kyle

       5

      “THIS IS ALL your fault.” Holly stabbed at a lettuce leaf and glared from Ethan to Noelle. Why had she agreed to meet them at the Westway, one of her favorite city restaurants? She couldn’t scream or throw things at them without risking getting thrown out. Or worse, banned. So instead, she had to be satisfied with massacring her poor innocent gorgonzola chicken salad.

      It was a poor substitute.

      “You.” She fixed her eyes on Noelle. “Dolling me up for him. And you.” Her gaze shifted to Ethan. “Sending me to his hotel room like a lamb to the slaughter.”

      “Wait a minute.” Noelle turned on Ethan. “You told me it was her idea to go to Nick’s!”

      “I never said it was Holly’s idea. I said she agreed to go.”

      “But you made it seem like she was a willing participant.” Noelle eyed her sister across the table. “She doesn’t look so willing now.”

      “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” Holly interrupted. “What matters is that I went. And it was an unmitigated disaster.”

      “It couldn’t have been that bad.” Ethan sipped his mineral water. “Unless... Oh, my God. You slept with him, didn’t you?”

      “She did not! She’s my sister. She doesn’t put out on a first date.”

      “It wasn’t a date,” Holly pointed out.

      “Even better. She’d never put out on a nondate.”

      “Date, nondate.” Ethan shrugged. “We’re talking Nick Damone. Walking sex in jeans and oxfords. It’s more like fate. A gimme.”

      “Thanks for the bad golf metaphor. And for thinking I’d throw myself at him, given the chance. I went there to talk, remember?”

      “Don’t get mad, Holls.” He grinned at her over his burger. “We just need details.”

      “Yeah. What was the penthouse like?”

      “Forget that. How did he kiss?”

      Holly repressed the urge to smile. Sure, they were nosy. And frustrating as all get-out. But they meant well. “All you need to know is there’s no way he’ll work with me now.”

      “Actually...” Ethan and Noelle shared a nervous look and he went on, “Ted called this morning. Nick’s on board. He’s signing the contract as we speak.”

      “What?” Holly’s fork clattered to the floor. The whole diner seemed to go quiet.

      Noelle took her hand across the table. “We figured something must have happened between you two when you wouldn’t return our phone calls. That’s why I texted you to meet us here. We wanted to tell you ourselves. Together. In person.”

      “In public,” Ethan added, scanning the crowded restaurant.

      “You’ve got to stop this! I can’t face him. Not after yesterday.” Holly’s cheeks burned at the memory of how she’d gyrated on Nick like a porn star. What had she been thinking? Oh, wait, that’s right. She hadn’t been thinking. Not with her brain, anyway.

      “It’s too late.” Ethan was apologetic but firm. “The contract’s a done deal. The investors are ecstatic.”

      “We’re sorry, Holly.” Noelle’s voice was calm, reasonable and totally ineffective. “We never meant to hurt you. I swear.”

      “We screwed up,” Ethan agreed. “Springing Nick on you. But we were only trying to help.”

      “This can’t be happening.” Holly pushed her still-full plate away, but it was too late. Her stomach lurched, making an awful sloshing noise that she swore could have been heard all the way to Hoboken. She was going to hurl. Right there.

      “Look at it this way.” Noelle poked at her own salad, sans chicken, cheese, nuts and dressing. Ballerinas! No wonder she was so darned skinny. “Whatever went on in that hotel room, it changed his mind about doing the show. And that was the point of your visit, right? So you done good.”

      “Noelle’s right.” Ethan stuffed a French fry into his mouth. “This is a good thing. For everyone.”

      Holly groaned and laid her head down on the table. “Not me.”

      “Yes, you.” He nudged her under the table with his knee. “Didn’t your therapist say you needed to get over your fear of intimacy? Since you and Nick got down and dirty...”

      “We did not get down and dirty!” Much.

      “...it would seem you’ve got that hurdle cleared.”

      “And there is no hurdle because I am not afraid of intimacy.”

      “Oh, sweetie.” Noelle squeezed Holly’s hand. “If you’ve got a hurdle, Nick’s a great guy to jump.”

      “I hate you.” Holly raised her head and shot them her best screw-you glower. “Both of you.”

      “Hate us all you want, Hollypop.” Ethan flipped money onto the table for the check. “You’re still stuck with Nick for the next eight weeks. At least.”

      Eight weeks. Eight long, excruciating weeks with the one man in the western hemisphere who could make her forget her name, address and Dramatists Guild number just by looking at her.

      She was never going to make it.

      Unless...

      “Fine. But you have to promise me two things.” Holly pointed a finger at Ethan’s chest. “First, don’t ever call me Hollypop in front of Nick Damone.”

      He nodded. “Done. What’s the second thing?”

      “Whatever you do, do not—under any circumstances—leave me alone with him.”

      * * *

      NICK HAD TO find a way to get her alone.

      He shifted in the painful metal folding chair. He should be focusing on the scene Malcolm and Marisa were rehearsing, or reviewing the script. Instead, he was fixated on Holly.

      She was sitting only feet away across the tiny rehearsal room at Pearl Studios where they’d spent the majority of the past week, behind a table with Ethan and their stage manager, Jimmie Lee, looking more like the Holly he remembered from Stockton. She’d swapped the fancy clothes for cropped jeans and a flowery little top that did nothing to hide her cute little figure. The pink polish on her toes taunted him from the tips of her flip-flops. Her hair was brushed to one side like before but was softer now, her bangs falling gently across her forehead. And as far as he could tell, the only makeup she had on was that raspberry lip gloss he’d had so much fun kissing off.

      But she might as well have been across the Grand Canyon for all the good it did him.

      He continued to stare at her, trying to Jedi-mind-trick her into looking up from her script and acknowledging him. But just like every other damn day, she seemed intent on finding new ways to avoid him. Showing up at the last possible minute. Skipping out before lunch break. Running for the door the second they were done for the day.

      How was he supposed to break down her defenses if she wouldn’t even look at him? Maybe he could—

      “Does that work for you, Nick?”

      He