27. Daphne

27

DAPHNE

"Are you okay, doll?" Davina asked, her concern appearing in the form of a deep line between her brows as she blended contour on my jawline. "You seem…distracted."

I gave her a thumbs-up and smiled widely. "Yep. All good!"

My enthusiasm was meant to mask my anxiety, but as soon as I put my opposing digits up, I knew that I had overshot my goal by a mile. She tilted her head to the side, which meant she was clearly not convinced that I was, in fact, all good.

"This is it. You're last date."

"Yep."

"Are you nervous ?" She emphasized the word nervous, most likely because it was something I'd never been before. At least not when it came to dates or being on camera.

Even when the lens was focused on me, I was too busy trying to produce the episode in my head to worry about the fact that I was on-air talent. I was always thinking about coverage—where I would make cuts if there was an airplane overhead, a garbage truck beeping while it was backing up, or an air conditioner running. Anything that would affect the sound and make us have to dub portions of the date so that the dialogue was clear. If we had to do audio pickups, that meant renting a studio, booking talent for another day, and having an engineer, which meant more money. A lot of my job as a producer involved making sure that we came in on time and on budget. All of those practical factors were what I was concerned about, not what was actually happening on the date.

Today was different. Today I was worried. Today I was freaking out.

"No. I'm not nervous." I had to look down to make sure my pants weren't on fire because I was definitely a liar, liar. My jeans were not in flames.

She took a step back and stared at me. "Wow."

"What?" I asked, and immediately regretted opening the door for her opinion.

"You are shit-your-pants nervous."

Was I? I definitely had butterflies, but I wouldn't go so far as to say I was at the defecate-my-jeans level of anxiety.

"Girl, if you want to bail, I got your back. You know I am your ride-or-die. I will cosign to witnessing any unexplained ailment you might be feeling."

"I'm fine," I assured her. "It's just weird going on a ‘blind date' when I…" I stopped myself from saying, when I've had sex with the person I'm dating . "When I know the person. Sort of."

This was my final ‘date' for the show, and it just happened to be with…drumroll…Harlan Mitchell.

From what I'd heard, he had given production, which on this shoot consisted of Lydia and Ernie, a run for their money. He'd insisted on planning the evening himself. I wasn't sure exactly what we were doing; all I knew was that we were doing it in the Historic District. Today, my makeshift ‘green room' was in the conference room at the Firefly Island Library. Thankfully, there was a huge window facing west, so we had incredible natural light spilling in even though it was late in the afternoon, which helped Davina work her magic and make me beautiful.

I hadn't spoken to Harlan since he dropped me off after our illicit rendezvous under the pier two weeks ago. I'd seen him across the field that separated my aunt's and his farmhouse and around town, but no words had been exchanged.

He'd messaged me the morning after our public hookup, asking how I was. I'd messaged back that I was fine but thought it would be best if we kept our distance for the rest of filming. I blamed it on the show, citing it would be immoral and unethical for me to be seeing someone while I was dating other people.

He messaged back: I thought it was just a show…that it's not real.

It wasn't the best feeling to have my own words thrown in my face. I quickly replied that it wasn't real, but that didn't change how I felt about us seeing one another.

A few minutes after I sent my response, he replied, Okay .

That was it. No more communication. It had been radio silence.

If I were being honest with myself, I would have to admit that every day, I woke up hoping, wishing, praying, and crossing my fingers, toes, and eyes that he'd ignore our tentative agreement and come over to my aunt's house. That he'd tell me he couldn't stay away from me and that he needed to see me. That he'd say being so close to me and not being able to speak to me, touch me, or kiss me was torture.

Was I projecting my feelings onto him? Oh yeah. Big time.

Was my response to him respecting my boundaries exhibit A, B, C, and D as to why I should not be in a relationship? Sure.

Was any of that making me miss him less or want to be with him less? Absolutely not. If anything, the time apart had proven that absence had not only made my heart grow fonder; it had also made my head grow more delusional, and my hormones grow hornier.

Over the past two weeks, I'd caught myself daydreaming about what it would be like to stay in Firefly Island and marry, yes, marry , Harlan Mitchell. I spent hours every day and night fantasizing about vowing my life to a man I hadn't even spent a full twenty-four hours with. Besides being a people-pleaser, it turned out I was also a hopeless romantic. That was a very dangerous combination.

I'd had two more dates since our night under the pier. I'd gone horseback riding on the beach, then gone out on a chartered boat for a sunset cruise with Jack Dawson and had a private concert at the Opera House followed by a candlelit dinner on a rooftop with Jerry Clemons.

All four men I'd dated the past few weeks had been attractive, successful, and kind, and two out of the four had even been funny. Jack and Mark were hilarious. If I'd gone out with either one of them in L.A., I would have been interested in a second date. Actually, no. I would have only wanted a second date if I'd gone out with either one of them in L.A. and hadn't already met Harlan. As it stood now, I felt like I'd been cheating on him, even though that was absolutely not the case.

My phone rang, and I saw that it was Alexandra Facetiming me.

"It's her."

That was all I needed to say for Davina to know exactly who was calling. We all referred to Alexandra as her.

"I'm out." Davina walked to the door and opened it. "I'll be back in a few for finishing touches."

"What happened to ride or die?" I asked.

"There is one caveat." Davina pointed at the phone. " Her ."

The door shut with a slam, and I grinned as I answered the call. "Hi."

"Is there something you need to tell me?" my boss asked expectantly.

My eyes scanned her face for some hint as to what she might be referring to. Her expression was neutral and totally unreadable. Alexandra had an odd sense of humor. She liked to describe it as nuanced. But to my way of thinking, if your attempt at humor is so subtle that no one gets it, is it really funny?

"Ummm…" I wasn't sure how to respond to that question.

"I can turn my head." She did just that so her profile was on the screen. "We can pretend we're in a confessional if that will help."

"I'm not Catholic."

"Neither am I." Alexandra shook her head then looked directly at me as if my comment had nothing to do with the conversation we were having.

"We're shooting in a few minutes, and I honestly have no idea what you're talking?—"

"So you haven't seen the photos."

"What photos?"

She turned her phone so it was facing her computer screen, where I saw photos of Kale and me at a bistro restaurant in Malibu from a dinner we had the last time he'd been in town. Above the photos, the headline read:

Kale Butler Caught Dining with Mystery Blonde After Jessica Knight Seen with Massive Rock on Her Left-Hand Ring Finger

"What is this?" she asked as she turned the screen on her phone so it was facing her.

"Nothing. That was almost a year ago." Technically, it was nine months ago, but I was rounding up.

"My top producer is dating an A-list star, and we get scooped by TMZ?"

Top producer? Now I'm her top producer?

"We're not dating. We're friends."

"We need to respond to this. I can't have them getting the jump on us."

"There's nothing to respond to." I was trying to stay calm and not freak out, but the fact that this was now a story was not good. It meant people would start digging and trying to make it more than it was.

"When TMZ reached out to Kale's people, they went ‘no comment."

Shit . A ‘no comment' response was as good as admitting that there is a relationship.

The door opened, and Lydia poked her head inside. "We're ready for you."

"I have to go film," I told Alexandra.

"Call me back as soon as you're done shooting. We're running a story tonight."

The screen went back to my generic golden retriever puppy, and a text message popped up. It was from Kale.

Kale: Sorry about the leak. PR thinks I need a boost because I'm trying to land a big role.

I sighed as I stared at the message. Kale and pop star Jessica Knight had been in a fake relationship for the past three years, which was equally beneficial to both their careers. But she'd recently met an Australian surfer and gotten engaged. I'd seen those headlines, but I had no idea I would be used as a pawn in Kale's Hollywood chess game.

"Daphne," Lydia called out again.

I lifted my head. "Yeah, sorry, coming."

I'd have to deal with this later. First, I needed to go on a fake date with a man I think I might be in real love with but don't even know his middle name.

If I had a Facebook account, I would definitely be changing my status to ‘It's Complicated.'