“I was promised beignets,” Melody said.
He laughed. It shot out of him like cannon fire, unexpected and . . . real. When was the last time he’d laughed for real? And not because it was expected?
Melody grinned over at him. “Well, I was.”
“So you were,” Danielle said, visibly amused. She picked up her phone and punched a button, speaking briefly to the assistant on the other end, before hanging up. “Forgive me.”
“I’ll think about it,” Melody teased while crossing her ankles, Beat doing his honest best to ignore the way her calves flexed. How palm-sized they were. Quit looking, man. “So . . . you are asking Beat to meet with our mothers on camera to try and convince them to reunite? You want to film the process on the off chance it works out? That’s all?”
Danielle tilted her head. “If it were that simple, it wouldn’t make for good television.”
“Gulp,” Melody said.
Beat got trapped between the urge to laugh again and the need to end the meeting, because the more information Danielle revealed, the more intrusive the whole idea sounded.
Could he simply walk away from this chance to pocket a million dollars, though? If he didn’t come up with the blackmail money, his parents would become internet fodder. Laughingstocks. If he had a way to prevent that outcome, he should do everything in his power. Shouldn’t he? They’d given him a life of privilege, everything handed to him. This was the fucking least he could do. “Mel.” He turned in his chair to face her, once again tamping down the urge to hold her hand. “Did you read the email from Danielle?”
She shook her head, looking between them. “I’m pretty sure I deleted it.”
Beat hummed. “Applause offered each of us seven figures to do this.”
“Seven?” she choked out. “As in, a million?”
“Yes. A million exactly.”
“Not to interrupt,” Danielle chimed in with a cough. “But the million is contingent on the reunion actually taking place.”
Beat had seen that coming. In fact, he’d instructed his accountant to start formulating a secondary option, in the very likely event that he couldn’t make the reunion happen. A loan appeared to be his only choice besides winning the million dollars—but God, borrowing that much money from the bank was not his preference. It made him nauseous. Looking at Melody helped settle that roiling sensation, though, so he kept his attention locked on her. “I would never bring you into this on purpose. I’d ask them to do everything possible to maintain your privacy, but if the show is successful, there’s a good chance you’d get the blowback attention.”
“The plan is to reunite them on Christmas Eve.” Danielle jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Right here in Rockefeller Center during the annual holiday show.”
Melody wasn’t moving.
“Mel?” Panicked by her sudden, frozen silence, Beat cupped a hand around her shoulder and squeezed. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just . . . so soon? This Christmas Eve? As in, two weeks from today? And if the reunion happens, Beat makes a million dollars.”
“That’s right,” Danielle confirmed quietly, her eyes narrowed on Mel in a way that made Beat want to pull Mel into his lap. “For clarity’s sake, if the band reunites, Applause will own the rights to the reunion footage and easily recoup the cost of Beat’s prize. Otherwise, they won’t. Mere participation in the project will earn him a decent payday, but without their appearance at the Christmas Eve show, it’s nowhere in the neighborhood of seven digits. More like five.”
“No pressure,” Mel muttered.
Beat’s mouth arranged itself in a lopsided smile.
After a long stretch of silence, Danielle leaned forward. “Like I said, we have to act while they’re hot. We could wait until next year when they don’t have a viral hit and public fascination has waned.” Now she zeroed in on Beat—and he got the sudden sense that Danielle had buried the lede. “Or we can pull the trigger on a new form of entertainment I’ve been dying to play with. A reality show in real time. Unedited, unfiltered. Streaming live from the network’s social media accounts, twelve to fifteen hours a day. We would also dedicate several hour-long slots throughout our conventional television programming to The Parents’ Trap. That’s what I’m tentatively calling it.” She paused to smile. “My goal would be to broadcast this journey into every household worldwide. Live.”
Beat’s stomach was in the vicinity of his loafers. He should have known better. How many times had he agreed to participate in some behind-the-music special about his mother only to have the producers dive straight into his off-limits topics, like his parents’ marriage or details about the 1993 Concert Incident? The goal would always be entertainment value, no matter the cost. Did he really think this was going to be easy? And now he’d brought Melody into it, too? “This is the first time you’ve mentioned the show being a live stream,” Beat said, keeping his voice even. “I assumed any footage would be in editing for months afterward, the final product to be approved by approximately sixteen lawyers.”
Danielle didn’t bat an eyelash. “I wanted to wait until you were in my office to give you the full scope of the project.”
“Why?” Beat stood without waiting for an answer, hastily buttoning his suit jacket. “I’m sorry about this, Mel. Let’s go. I wouldn’t put you through something like this.”
“I know,” Mel said automatically, before shaking herself. “I mean . . . it’s a lot to take in.”
“Too much,” Beat agreed.
Danielle remained serene. “If I could just—”
“Beat,” Melody said, standing, looking at him as if through fresh eyes. “Could we speak somewhere privately?”
Being alone with you isn’t a good idea. Why was that his first thought?
Something about this woman magnetized and fascinated him, but surely he could refrain from asking her out long enough to have one conversation. “Yes. Of course.”
“There is a cafeteria on the fourth floor. They have coffee. I’ll have my assistant prepare the table.” Danielle smiled. “I’ll wait here until you’re ready to talk again.”
Beat gestured for Melody to precede him. “If we decide to talk again.”
The cheerful-looking receptionist chose that moment to enter the office with a tray of beignets, which Melody intercepted before the girl could set it down on the desk. She held it out to a bemused Danielle so the producer could snag a few, then carried the rest of the baked goods out of the office while Beat followed in her wake. And it didn’t make any sense, but as they rode downward in the elevator chewing on beignets and staring at each other, he wondered if he’d been missing Melody his entire life.
Chapter Four
Melody sat down across from Beat at a small, square table that was positioned up against a window overlooking Tenth Avenue. When they arrived at the employees-only lounge, an assistant had been waiting to hand Beat two paper cups of coffee and guide them to their seats. Beat placed Melody’s drink in front of her, turning the cup until the little drinking spout on the plastic lid was closest to her. It was an unconscious move that made Melody’s pulse sprint like a child chasing down an ice cream truck.