Chapter 1
Cat stabbed the answer button on her phone’s screen while the makeup artist filled in her right eyebrow. “Hey, Laur. Tell me we’re a go for shooting,” Cat demanded.
“Put your eyebrow down or I’m going to make you look like you have caterpillars crawling across your forehead,” Archie warned her. Cat wrinkled her nose at the makeup artist and smoothed the muscles of her forehead.
“Yeah about that,” Lauren began. “I don’t, think you’re going to like this.”
“They said no? Who in their right minds would say no to having their destroyed town rebuilt in time for Christmas for a network special?”
“I know,” Lauren replied.
But Cat was on a righteous roll. “They don’t have to wait for FEMA money, and we can guaran-damn-tee that their Christmas Festival will happen and be bigger than ever. That’s even more revenue for the town.” Cat’s voice echoed around the white walls of the hair and makeup room.
“I know. I know. Preaching to the choir, my friend,” Lauren said.
“I shouldn’t have gone straight to the network with this one. But who knew the town was run by a dumbass?” she lamented without moving her lips as Archie slathered gloss over them.
“Well, you see, Cat. I think it’s a dumbass with a grudge. Apparently when you were in Merry for that episode of Kings of Construction, you ruffled some feathers.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Cat demanded, drumming her freshly painted nails on the arm of the makeup chair.
“The city manager felt that the show turned his town into a circus.”
Cat snorted. “We renovated the home of one of the town’s most beloved families after they were hit by a drunk driver and nearly lost everything. That same house has two feet of standing water in it! I’m not going to just stand by and do nothing!”
“You sound mad.”
“We saw the town. We were there. Half of Merry, Connecticut, was underwater two days ago,” Cat argued.
“I know. I know. I was right there.”
“Why in the hell would some city suit decide they don’t need this?”
“Well, among a few other comments, the city manager’s main refrain was he didn’t want some network profiting off the trauma of his neighbors.”
“As if I would let that happen!”
Archie poked Cat in the forehead with a makeup brush. “Stop it with the expressions until I get this shit on your face.”
Cat stuck her tongue out at him but continued more calmly. “I want his phone number,” she told Lauren.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, the guy still seems pissed about you and that bar fight when you were in town.”
“Bar fight?” Cat’s voice hit a high note that had Archie bobbling his makeup palette. “He’s going to hold that against me? Obviously, he’s never seen a bar fight before, or he doesn’t believe a woman has the right to defend herself. Either way, I’m going to have to educate him.”
“I don’t know, Cat. He seems to think you’re basically an antichrist TV star who wants to swoop in and exploit his town’s disaster for ratings.”
“I hope you’re paraphrasing.”
Lauren laughed nervously. “To be fair, I think the guy is stressed to the breaking point. I mean, you saw how bad the damage was.”
“Your pregnancy hormones are making you soft,” Cat sighed. “Text me his number.”
“Okay, but—”
“I’ll handle this with tact,” Cat promised. “I’m getting all of the ‘you’re a big, stupid idiot’ insults out now. Just don’t say anything to the network yet about this city manager guy’s refusal. We’re doing a Christmas special, and it’s going to be in Merry.”
“Good luck. Please don’t make him cry.”
Cat disconnected and leaned back in her chair.
“You shouldn’t yell at pregnant ladies,” Archie commented, holding Cat’s jaw in his hand as he swooped in with fake lashes. “Do not move a muscle.”
“I wasn’t yelling at Lauren. She allows me to freely express my displeasure at things that are stupid like a city manager refusing what could be a golden ticket to saving his town’s entire tourism income for the year.”
“Uh-huh.” His fingers deftly pressed the lashes in place.
“The town is devastated. Their huge money maker is the Christmas Festival every year, and government money isn’t going to get them back on their feet by December.”
“Mmm,” Archie said, sweeping a bronzer into the hollows of her cheeks.
Cat’s phone buzzed in her lap with a text from Lauren.
Lauren: “Here’s his number. Noah Yates. Be nice!”
“Be nice,” Cat mumbled.
“Stop pouting,” Archie insisted. He swept the cape off her and angled her toward the mirror. “You’re too gorgeous to be grumpy.”
She eyed his handiwork in the mirror. She’d trudged into the studio still half-asleep with yesterday’s hairspray wreaking havoc on her hastily tied ponytail, and now she looked like a cover-worthy model. Or at least a promo-worthy TV star.
“You’re a freaking genius, Archie. You and your god-like hands and your magical potions.”
“Nothing a gay man and his abiding love of Sephora can’t fix.” Archie checked his watch. “You’ve got five before they come pounding on the door demanding your hotness in front of the camera. Go make your call and eviscerate your city manager.”
Cat blew him a kiss, careful not to smudge the violet lip gloss he’d so expertly applied to her mouth. “Will do.”
She ducked out of the room into the hallway. They were shooting promos for her solo show’s second season to run in magazines. Apparently, hosting a home renovation show when you were a woman called for her to be decked out in four inch Jimmy Choos and a gorgeous, fitted dress the color of cranberries. She didn’t mind it. If some designer duds—that she was totally keeping after the shoot—caught the eye of an audience and made even one little girl think that maybe she could wield a sledge hammer or a circular saw, then Cat considered her work done.
If people wanted to keep putting her in the pretty Barbie box, she was just going to keep cutting and smashing her way out over and over again until they learned their lesson. She may be pretty, but that didn’t mean she was stupid or incapable or the slightest bit dependent on anyone. Catalina King had clawed her way up the ranks of reality TV to not just star in her own show but produce it as well.
And there was nothing that she loved more than a chance to use her face to make a difference. Sure, it opened her up to public scrutiny. Two weeks ago, on a whim, she’d dyed her platinum locks a sexy caramel color with highlights. Twitter had lost its damn mind. People were still debating whether or not blonde was better.
Cat took the attention in stride. Her life was perfect. A challenging job, a jet-setting lifestyle, a never-ending parade of new, interesting men available for casual consumption, and a project in the new year that would take her beyond TV stardom into something that really mattered.
But between now and then stood Merry.
She dialed Yates and tapped out an impatient beat with the toe of her shoe as the phone rang. After a handful of rings, it went to voicemail. She disconnected and called back.
“This is Noah,” the man on the other end barked.
“Mr. Yates,” Cat began. “This is Catalina King.”
She heard an honest-to-God growl from the other end of the call. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped.
“Frankly, Mr. Yates, your town doesn’t have time.”
Cat heard conversation happening in the background. “Listen, whoever the hell you are,” Noah snapped. “I’m trying to dry out an entire town here and figure out just exactly how extensive the damage is. I’ve got people who might not be able to return to their homes for months and a town that is losing hope. We don’t need some TV show coming in and churning out some sob story for ratings and advertising.”
“What do you need?” Cat asked coolly.
“I need you to take no for an answer so I can get back to work. You’re taking up my time that I need to dedicate to more important things.”
“Then maybe next time don’t answer the phone,” she suggested sarcastically.
“Great idea,” he snapped back.
“Before you continue your tirade, think about what you’re turning down here. We’re offering you a chance to rebuild quickly. The chance to get Merry back on its feet in time for Christmas. I know how much money comes into your town between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve. We can help make sure that the park is up and running—”
“We don’t need your bullshit pity, and I sure as hell don’t need some reality TV star prancing around breaking her nails and punching my residents in the face while turning my town into some sideshow. We’re good. We don’t need you.” And with that he disconnected the call.
Cat took a deep breath and glared down at her phone. Noah Yates had no idea who he just pissed off. But he sure as hell was going to find out. She was going to save Merry’s Christmas whether Noah wanted her to or not.
“Cat?” A production assistant poked her head out of a doorway. “The photographer’s ready for you.”
The real question was: Was Noah Yates ready for her?
Chapter 2
Four days earlier
The clouds, a dull gray swirl, twisted and roiled over Cat’s head as she marched down Broadway. Both the hurricane above and the woman below moved with purpose. The heels of her fawn colored boots clicked out a staccato rhythm on the cement as leaves and the occasional Manhattan debris darted in front of her on the wind.
“I’m not going to be late,” she sighed into her phone and quickened her pace.
“You already are,” her assistant, the very adorable and very British Henry, answered in his clipped accent.
“Five minutes,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes behind her oversized sunglasses. “That’s on time for me.” She was perpetually ten minutes late to everything. It wasn’t because she enjoyed making people wait or even that she liked to make an entrance—though she did—it was that a bit of fame overcomplicated everything. Leaving events and appointments was never as quick as it used to be. TV stars couldn’t just wave good-bye and duck into a car. There was small talk and photos and the occasional autograph.
She was still getting used to it, though she was certainly better suited to it than her twin brother. Gannon couldn’t stand the fuss and hadn’t looked back after leaving the “biz” a year ago. But Cat loved it, thrived on it.
She was officially the highest paid star on the Reno and Realty Network, counting both those with vaginas and penises. Her new show was the network’s version of a blockbuster. The second season was in post-production, and she had her fingers in a few side projects and endorsement deals to keep her busy between filming. Life was pretty freaking perfect.
“How did the branding meeting go?” Henry asked, all efficiency. She could practically hear his fingers hovering over his ever-present iPad keyboard.
“Duluth wants to expand the line. We’re looking at bringing in a few more feminine colors, and they’re considering my idea to rework a few of the favorite men’s pieces with more female friendly tailoring.”
“They’re happy with the sales?”
Cat could hear the smirk in Henry’s voice.
“Yes, they seemed rather pleased with selling out of product in less than two weeks.”
“Are they planning to restock before Christmas?”
“Already done,” Cat laughed. “The new catalog goes out in a week.”
“Good. Text me the drafts of the adverts you’re supposed to be reviewing, and I’ll make sure nothing is grossly misspelled and that you don’t look like a grinning idiot in them.”
“You’re a good man, Henry.” He knew her so well.
“I’d be a better one if I could get you to your appointments on time,” he grumbled.
“I can literally see the restaurant from here,” she lied, hustling around a dog walker. The man’s jaw dropped open with recognition, and he nearly stepped on a Pomeranian.
Cat wiggled her fingers in his direction and hurried on.
“I realize this is just lunch with your agent, but I’m trying to train you to have better habits.”
Cat snorted. “Good luck with that. Now, go fuss over someone else.”
“Don’t forget you’ve got a phone interview at two and mani at four.”
Cat’s nails were usually destroyed during filming. Home renovation, even for the cameras, was a dirty business. In the off-season she treated herself to shiny, pretty nails. “Then you’ve got that cocktail thing—”
“I already know you programmed each and every one of those things into my calendar.”
“It never hurts to remind you. And I can hear you making that face at me right now,” Henry told her.
“Smart ass,” Cat said, unscrewing her face. “Thank you for your obsessive attention to detail. Now, I need you to stop talking my ear off so I can get to my lunch before this hurricane opens up on us and wrecks my hair.”
“By the time you get there it will be high tea, and we’re only supposed to see about three inches of rain. Further north is going to take the brunt.” Henry was a fount of knowledge. “I hope you remembered your umbrella.”
“Bye, Henry,” Cat sang. She disconnected from her snarky assistant and stowed her phone in her bag. She pursed her lips, ran a hand down her artful over-the-shoulder braid, and smoothed her features into an impassive mask.
A handful of photographers milled about—huddling deeper into their jackets and staring at their phones—in front of the very bohemian, very popular Courtyard Restaurant and Lounge. They were always here, capturing the occasional celebrity on their way to a posh lunch or for pricey cocktails on the sunken patio. It would be the former for Cat today as the outer edge of Hurricane Veronica lumbered its way up the coast.
“Cat! Cat!”
Cat’s lips curved in the slightest hint of a smile. It wasn’t that long ago that they had no idea who she was. Sure, they’d snapped a few pictures on her way in because she dressed nicely enough to be “someone.” But now they knew her name. It was a reminder of how far she’d come in the last few years. It was this side of five years ago that she and her brother had been desperate to save the family business, and now strangers with cameras clamored for her picture.
“Who are you meeting, Cat?”
“Where’d you get the boots, gorgeous?”
“Smile pretty for me, baby.”
“Sorry, gentlemen,” she said with an apologetic grin. “Running late!”
Their comments followed her inside as the hostess stood stalwart guardian between the restaurant’s diners and those outside wanting a piece of them.
“Catalina, lovely to have you with us again,” the hostess offered the perfunctory celebrity greeting.
“Thank you. I’ve been dreaming about your kale salad all day.” It was a lie. Cat had been fantasizing about Courtyard’s very thick, very juicy bacon cheeseburger. But there was a price to pay to look the way she looked on camera. The days of eating whatever she wanted and drinking as much as she could were tapering off. Thirty two meant making more good choices than bad, a sacrifice that she was constantly reminding herself was worth it in the long run.
Her heels clicked on the tile floor as the hostess led her back into the restaurant and heads turned in her direction. She was used to it by now… mostly. Dark bamboo lined the walls and kitschy chandeliers threw off dim pools of light. High backed tufted leather booths offered diners a modicum of privacy. Or, for those who preferred to be seen, there was a selection of high-top tables clustered around the sleek bar.
The hostess led her to a booth under a folksy painting of a rooster.
“Catalina King, you always know how to make an entrance,” her agent Marta sighed. She rose and gave Cat a kiss on each cheek.
“You should talk,” Cat teased, taking in Marta’s curve-hugging white dress and glossy black hair. The former Mexican soap star turned producer’s ex-wife had carved out a very profitable niche as a fierce agent to Broadway stars and TV talent. Her cavernous three-bedroom Upper West Side apartment and Bentley were proof of a never-quit work ethic.
They slid into the booth, and Cat ordered a flat water.
“First thing first,” Marta said, her accent lightly tinging her words. “How’s it working out with Henry?”
Cat leaned back against the booth. “He’s perfect, and you’re a diabolical genius for suggesting I steal him from that bitchsicle.” Meeghan Traxx was an asshole of epic proportions. The woman was a fellow Reno and Realty star but had the personality of a cactus and the soul of a dementor. The woman had trolled Cat’s brother and his wife every chance she got. And Cat took great pleasure in stealing the woman’s abused assistant from her.
“You were a year late on the assistant front,” Marta pointed out. “You keep trying to do it all yourself, and you’ll end up combusting.”
“I should have listened to you a long time ago,” Cat admitted. She was a control freak. But she liked it that way. No one was going to be as invested in her career, in her brand, in her plans as she was—no matter how much she paid them. Though, now that she had Henry handling more mundane matters, she’d really begun to make progress on her pet project.
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