Page 20 of The Holiday Games

Thankfully, my cell blares like a foghorn in my pocket at that exact moment. It’s Ainsley’s ringtone, reminding me that dozens of people are counting on me to make this evening a success.

And to keep my dick in my pants, where it ethically belongs.

I reach for my phone, putting a few steps between Caroline and myself as I answer, “What’s up?”

“It’s a disaster!” The words emerge in strangled, hysterical sob that’s very unlike my composed and always-prepared director. “The shoot is doomed!”

“No doom, not yet,” I say in a soothing voice, even as my stomach pitches. Ainsley isn’t the kind to lose her cool without reason. Whatever’s happened, it likely won’t be an easy problem to solve. “Tell me what’s happened, and we’ll break it down, piece by piece, to see what we can fix and what we need to change.”

“It can’t be fixed, Leo. Nothing about this can be fixed,” she says, though her tone is slightly less strained than it was before. “The ice is all slushy. Apparently, the facility blew a fuse last night and the power went out to the rink. Since it’s been so warm lately, the ice started to melt, but the groundskeeper didn’t notice the problem until a few hours ago. He managed to get the power flowing again, but the ice won’t be frozen again in time. I just stepped on it in my tennis shoes and fell through the crust on top. Now, my feet are soaked, and I have contestants arriving for hair and makeup, but I don’t know what we’re getting them ready for because all the other rinks are booked for public skates. There’s no shifting on this. We’re going to have to cancel and lose a day of filming and flush even more money down the drain. Wehaveto pay the crew their minimum for showing up on set.I can probably get our deposit back from the rink, but that will take time, and it won’t provide us with a new place to film, and I really can’t feel my toes. I think I’m getting frostbite. And maybe trench foot from the damp. Maybe both.”

Cursing beneath my breath, I order, “Head to the costume tent and tell Kara I ordered her to give you fresh socks and shoes. I’ll be there in five minutes. We’ll brainstorm then. Caroline and I are already in the park.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ainsley breathes. “At least she’s still on board.”

“She is, and we’ll be there soon.” I end the call and nod toward the path ahead. “Sorry, I have to pick up the pace. Once again, reality television is proving it isn’t a game for the weak.”

“I heard. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Ainsley’s voice carries when she’s in a panic. What’s your plan?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m hoping something will come to me once I’m on set with nowhere to run.”

Caroline nods and sets off beside me, matching my power walk step for step. “That’s one plan. But what if you embraced the challenge, instead? I mean, hospitality isn’t a game for the weak, either, you know. We’re used to rolling with the punches and putting fires out on the fly.”

My brow knits. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, make the slushy ice part of the challenge. Give the contestants access to resources that can help us navigate the bad ice and see how we manage. We might surprise you.”

I chew my bottom lip as my thoughts race. “Maybe, but I’m not sure our liability waivers cover compromised ice. And if Ainsley fell through, the rest of you will, too. She’s barely large enough to qualify as an adult human.”

Caroline huffs in amusement. “I don’t think size is a key metric for adulthood, but I hear you.” She taps her fingertips together in front of her chest as we walk, tongue clicking softly.

“Is that your thinking sound?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “It drives Kayla crazy, but—” She stops dead, her eyes widening as she smacks my shoulder. “Speaking of rolling with the punches! What about rollerblades? Or skates! Rollerblades or skates and the Naumburg Bandshell. There’s a paved area in front and it shouldn’t be in use this time of year.”

“And we’ll be able to light that easier than a stretch of the paved path without outlets,” I say, my pulse picking up as my mind troubleshoots the solution at lightning speed. “The parks department should work with us on the change of location, since the melted ice is their error. I can get the set dressing shifted over quickly and new waivers drawn up to cover rollerblading. I’d just?—”

“There’s a roller rink on Second Avenue,” Caroline cuts in, scrolling on her phone. “They’re open until ten p.m. Should I call and get a rental quote for however many pairs of skates we’ll need? I could tell them that we can send a production assistant over to pick them up in twenty minutes, as soon as we have sizes for everyone?”

“Yes, please. Tell them we’ll need a couple dozen to be safe, and offer them a hundred dollars a pair. Two hundred if they don’t seem excited by the first offer.” I start toward the rink again as I tap my own phone to life. “I’ll text Ainsley about the change of plans, then call the parks department and get approval for the new location.”

“Brilliant,” she says, before continuing in a voice that’s pure satin as someone answers at the roller rink, “Hello, my name is Caroline Cane. I’m calling about a last-minute skate rental for a television production in Central Park. Could I speak to your manager please? Yes, of course, I’ll hold. Thank you so much.” She glances my way with a grin. “What?”

I shake my head, murmuring, “Nothing. You just…” I clear my throat. “That’s one hell of a customer service voice.”

She winks and whispers in that same, satin and silk panties tone, “Thank you. I give excellent customer service.” A moment later, a male voice rumbles on the other end of the line, and she shifts seamlessly into professional mode. “Yes, thank you Mr. Katz, so nice to meet you. As I told your associate, I’m part of a production filming tonight in Central Park, and we’ve run into an issue with slushy ice on the rink.”

As she helps put out our latest production fire without breaking a sweat, I force myself to locate my contact in the parks department and place the call. But all I really want to do is listen to Caroline talk in that voice for the next hour.

Or the entire night.

Or, possibly, the rest of my life.

Reminding myself that love at first sight isn’t real—and even if it were, it doesn’t happen to jaded reality show producers, even ones who are secretly also cranky romantics—I make my call, crossing my fingers we’ll be able to pull this off.

nine

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