Page 36 of Out of the Shadow

“Ready for the coin toss?” Both Angie and I crowd Kaitlyn, who pulls a coin out of her pocket. I allow Angie to call it in the air. The coin flies into the air and she yells, “Heads!”

Kaitlyn makes a production out of catching it and then displays it for the camera. Heads. Angie claps, then runs her hands down her skirt-covered thighs. Damn it. I shouldn’t be noticing her legs, or the fact that the skirt shows off her curves in just the right way.

She may not be married anymore, but she’s still off limits.

“Okay, King?”

My wayward thoughts are roped back to the present and I stare at Kaitlyn. “Sorry, I missed that.”

In a sharper tone, she repeats, “I said that Angie won the toss and chose to do her presentation now. You’ll have to wait in the conference room while we film.”

Angie looks a bit nervous, but she squares her shoulders, retrieves her notes from Kaitlyn, and heads over to the sofa and chairs where the “meeting” will take place. Her laptop has been brought over to the table by Milo, who’s filming our interaction.

I detour to Angie on my way to the conference room. “Good luck. May the best man win.”

She looks me up and down, her lip between her teeth. “You wish, real estate newbie. Let the expert show you how it’s done.”

I puff up at her obvious bravado. “It’s going to be fun taking you down a peg,” I retort and pass the clients in the tiny hallway.

I’m talking smack for the camera, but I really do think I can win this one. I know what people like the Dansons want. Hell, I’ve stayed in houses they’d kill to own. Angie, for all her experience, can’t touch the fact that they aremypeople.

I take a seat in the conference room. When I first saw the paintings in here, I thought they were God-awful. Now that I look at them, though, I realize Angie was trying to make her clients feel at home. They’re…cozy. The problem is the home she’s portraying isn’t one I recognize. If she wants to appeal to a million-dollar-plus clientele, she needs to play to them. Not to clients with lower-end budgets. I find another notepad and start writing down some ideas to change things up in here. This isn’t for the show—it’s for Angie.

My cell phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I tilt my hip to retrieve it. We’re supposed to keep our ringers off during taping, but since wearereal estate agents, the “prop” is sort of a necessity. “Mom” is written across the screen. My stomach tenses—how long has it been since we last talked? Maybe a couple of months? My finger heads toward the reject button, but remembering my conversation with Angie yesterday, I detour to the green one. “Hey, Mom.”

“King! Darling, how are you? It’s been too long!”

I bite the inside of my cheek and take a deep breath. When I was a kid, I used to love it when she was all lovey-dovey with me. I thought it meant I was the most important thing in her life. That illusion was soon shattered—she only acted like this when she was drunk or with a new man. I sigh. Which one is it this time?

“I’ve been busy.” Not a lie.

“Not too busy for your mommy. Let’s get together.” She giggles as she says it.

Ah, I have my answer. She cries with alcohol and is totally, deeply serious with drugs. Giggles mean she’s getting laid. Crass, I know, but I’ve had to learn her language. “Unless you’re on the East Coast, I don’t think that’s possible.”

Her giggling stops. “Are you in Miami? God, I love that place. We can meet you there.”

We. All the air rushes out of my body. At least her money worries are probably on hold, given her taste for rich men. I can hope, anyway. “Actually, nope. I’m in the Hamptons.”

I can almost hear her nose crinkling. “What are you doing out there? It’s barely Memorial Day.”

I’d hoped to avoid sharing details, but I guess she’ll find out the truth soon enough. “I’m filming one of Blaine’s shows.” And because something inside me still yearns for approval from this narcissistic woman who birthed me, I add, “I’m the lead.”

“You’re doing a reality television show?”

The horror in her voice brings me to my feet, and I start pacing around the conference table. “I would think you’d be happy for me.”

“What does Blaine have on you to make you do this?”

Money. That’s what Blaine has on me. Cold, hard cash. Which I absolutely need, thanks to Trevor. But I’m not about to share that with her. I run my free hand over my chin, letting the stubble prickle my palm. “Why do you want to get together, Mom?”

“I wanted to share some good news, but now you’ve got me all worried. What will my friends think when this reality show airs? Oh, God, it’s not one of those shows where people throw food at each other and tip over tables, is it?”

I stop pacing at her words. She’s worried my show will affecther? How rich. “No, Mom, it isn’t.”

“You’re not doing dumb things like being filmed partying ’til you puke, are you? ’Cause Thirteen won’t like that type of publicity.”

Thirteen? Who on earth names their kid a number? “His name isThirteen?”

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