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“I’LL GIVE YOU AN INTERVIEW on one condition,” Darla said when Blake ended his call.
“Let me guess,” he said, his blue eyes glinting humor and intelligence. “You want to interview me for your show? The whole ‘you get what you give’ concept, right?”
“Now you’re getting the idea,” Darla said with approval. She still couldn’t believe she had flirted so openly with Blake. But to her surprise, she was incredibly comfortable with her now-past nemesis. “Besides, I think it would be fun. Our audiences would eat it up.”
“Here we are,” the driver said, pulling into a hotel parking lot.
Darla frowned. “I thought we were staying at the Rocky Mountain Tower?”
“My apologies, ma’am,” the driver said, glancing in the mirror at her. “I thought you knew about the change of plans. Apparently, the paparazzi are all over the Tower, looking for the new judges. The studio felt you’d have more privacy here, at least for the time being, away from where the auditions are happening and where the press won’t be on your back.”
“Oh,” she said, not sure what to make of that. “Paparazzi?”
“You seem surprised,” Blake said curiously. “The ratings for Stepping Up were huge last season. You’re about to walk into the middle of a hurricane.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed, trying to sound calm. She didn’t feel calm. The magnitude of this endeavor hit her like a ton of bricks. It could change her life, her family’s life. She didn’t want to blow this. She wasn’t going to let them sell everything, or allow the ranch to be taken over by the bank, whichever came first. “That makes sense.”
“‘That makes sense’?” Blake repeated, nudging her. “Your choice of words says this isn’t what you expected. And why do you now look like you want to be sick? What’s wrong?”
She jerked her gaze to Blake’s, realizing she’d been staring at the back of the driver’s seat. “That obvious?”
“You’re pretty transparent,” Blake said as the driver parked the car.
Darla crinkled her nose. “I really need to work on that.”
The driver opened her door. “Home sweet hotel,” he said, waving her outside.
She glanced at Blake, trying to shake off her panic over the show, and gravely joked, “See you on the outside.” She scooted out of the car and headed for the trunk, where Blake met her. And oh, was the man sexy, a handsome blend of rough-edged good looks and charming grace. If anyone could keep her mind off tomorrow’s first day on camera, this man could.
“I’ll get your bags to your rooms,” the driver offered and handed them both small packets. She noted a number on the front of each. “These are your room keys, which work the elevator, as well. Your room numbers are on the envelopes. You’ll both be going to floor eighteen. That’s a private floor. And drinks with Ms. Kellar and her party will be in the lounge area of eighteen, as well.”
Darla blinked at that. “Thank you. That’s wonderful.” Blake slid the man a tip and the driver gave them a quick formal bow before departing.
They entered the hotel and went directly to the bank of elevators. Blake punched the elevator button and checked an incoming text, quickly sending back a reply and then another, before putting away his phone. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you? Eighteen is a fairly high floor.”
She pursed her lips. “Not when there are windows and walls.”
He chuckled. “No skydiving for you then?”
“Uh,” she said, “No. No skydiving for me.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, giving her a thoughtful inspection that did nothing to diminish the heat in his gaze. “I think we should make a bet and if I win you go skydiving with me. There’s plenty of gorgeous jump locations in Colorado.”
“You did see me inside that plane, right?” she asked, giving him an appalled look. “I was the white-knuckled one who dug her fingernails into your hand, I held on so tight.” The elevator doors opened.
He smiled. “I do seem to have a vague memory of fingernail-induced pain, but that’s just all the more reason to face fear and conquer it. I promise you, once you skydive you’ll be over the flying phobia.”
She entered the empty car and he followed. “By jumping out of a plane? Are you now going to tell me that’s how your mother got over her fear? What happened to the window shade theory?”
“I plead the fifth,” he said, slipping his key card into a slot on the wall and punching the button for the eighteenth floor.
“There you go,” she said decisively. “You didn’t talk her into it and you won’t talk me into it. No skydiving.”
“You’ll have a parachute in place. Besides, you don’t even know what the bet is. You might win.”
“I never make a bet I’m afraid to lose.”
“You do know you get to pick the prize if you win.”
