Page 45 of All Signs Point to Malibu

She reaches up and pulls her hair free of the messy ponytail. A few swishes and pats and it looks camera ready. She definitely did not work out before I arrived.

I sit back and continue to eat as Hailey gets ready to record, but then she gestures for me to join her on the other side of the desk.

I shake my head. “No way. This is your thing.”

“If you insist on being on the planning committee, this is part of the job.”

Hailey leans around the desk, reaches for my chair and with a surprising show of strength pulls it closer into the camera’s view.

This is not my scene. After-game interviews used to freak me out. My nickname from the team was “Flash Fumble Mitchell” for how I used to freeze once the cameras were pointed at me and there were mics shoved in my face. This is different, arguably less pressure, but I’m still sweating at the idea of going on camera with her. Definitely should have showered.

Hailey glances at me. “Just follow my lead...and maybe wipe your face.”

I do quickly with the arm of my shirt as Hailey starts the recording.

Bright white-toothed smile on her face, she starts, “Hi, Banks family and friends! This is Hailey Harris and...”

She turns to me, but I’m just staring at her.

“Your cue,” she whispers.

“What’s that voice?”

Hailey sighs as she stops the recording. “What voice?”

“The one you were just using.”

“Mine.”

“Nope. It was more like this...” I take a breath then mimic the higher-pitched, perky voice she just used. “Hey, Hustlers, it’s three twenty-six a.m., time to hit the gym before spending twenty hours at the office.”

Hailey’s eyes narrow. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You do.”

She huffs. “Okay, well should I sound more like this... Hey, bros, it’s after noon, time to hit the iron before hitting the club to troll for bitches,” she says in a deep frat-boy voice.

I grin and shake my head. “That sounded just like me. Nailed it.”

Hailey’s face cracks into a smile and for a moment, we share a rare beat of connection almost like friendship.

Guards down. Rivalry forgotten.

She reaches for a French fry and pops it into her mouth and I watch it disappear with irrational jealousy.

“Can we just record this? We need to get it out tonight,” she says.

Obviously, I’m not getting out of this video without backing out of the whole engagement party planning thing and I refuse to let her out of my sight. We may have had a brief moment of knives down, but I still don’t trust her motives.

“Okay. Fine.” I can do this. It’s just a party invite.

Painfully...somehow...we record the video. Hailey miraculously refrains from using “the voice” and I only turn a light shade of crimson as I say my name and my one line—“Bring your dancing shoes.”

She stops the recording and turns to me. “All done. See? Wasn’t that hard.”

“Maybe not for you. You do this every day.”

She eyes me.

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