Page 22 of Fierce Love (Tucker Billionaires)
Chapter Eighteen
Hollyn
J ust like when we were kids and it took him a week before he returned to The Drunk Racoon, Nate’s behavior after the spa is the opposite of what he claimed. And it confuses the heck out of me.
In the two weeks we’ve spent leading up to filming our first episode, Nate has been the consummate professional.
He’s so firmly cruising between the boss-employee lines that I’ve almost convinced myself I dreamt the way he veered so far off course in the spa.
On the eve of filming, I’m sure I’ve completely misread Nate’s intentions.
Which should make me happy, but his behavior has merely set me on edge, made me irritable with Kinsley, unable to completely focus on set, and I need to focus.
Once filming starts, we’ll be zigzagging all over the place.
We begin a project, work on the design plans for another, and film the result of a third.
At any time, there will be multiple people, multiple spaces, to consider.
Not only are Posey and I in charge of creating the design, but we’re overseeing the implementation.
I’ve redone rooms in people’s houses before—even several rooms or spaces—but I’ve never remade a house from top to bottom.
With the way the show works, if my designs are chosen over Posey’s on a consistent basis or vice versa, we could end up extremely busy or feeling very inadequate, maybe even questioning our skills.
The closer we get to the start, the more I’m second guessing my decision to stay here and take part in the TV show.
At least in New York, I knew what to expect.
Twyla has given me one last outfit to try on for this week’s wardrobe, and I’ve just taken it into the changing room, which is located inside the warehouse where everything is being stored for production.
Getting ready to film has been a weird mix of bare bones and extravagance, but I have no idea if that’s normal.
I’m wiggling into the skirt when my phone goes off.
The message is from Kin saying that Shannon is taking her to the Youth Adventure Race Club so she can try it out.
Turns out, after all these years of complaining she couldn’t do dance lessons, she doesn’t like dance anyway.
Not jazz or tap or contemporary or ballet or hip-hop—she’s tried them all the last couple of weeks.
One class after another. Each one a firm “no.”
I guess that’s one less guilt trip I’ll need to suffer when we go back to New York.
“Everything okay?” Twyla asks. She’s come to interpret my silence from the other side of the changeroom door as dislike, which is often true.
When I like some piece of an outfit, can see that it flatters the figure I’ve developed, I can’t help oohing and aahing over it.
But when an outfit makes me stare at myself in the mirror, wishing I was at least fifty pounds lighter, I barely say a thing.
“Just a text from my sister,” I say, replying to Kin with an okay and zipping myself into the leather skirt, feeling my whole body suctioned in with the fabric.
I don’t even have to look in the mirror to know the silhouette will present my curves in a way that’s inaccurate.
“I don’t know,” I say, coming out of the room, focused on the skirt, running my hands over my hips, “I think people will call me a liar in this outfit.”
“I think they’ll call you stunning,” a deep voice that is not Twyla’s says.
I jerk my gaze up, and Nate is the only one there. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I search the room for Twyla.
“She went to the bathroom,” he says. “Why would anyone call you a liar in that outfit?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears and looking over his shoulder for Twyla.
Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert to have him so close and for us to be alone.
In the last two weeks, if he’s been close, other people have been around.
Whether by luck or design, we haven’t had a chance to be alone.
There’s always someone somewhere with an opinion or a question about something that demands his input, and the lack of one-to-one time has been frustrating and a relief, depending on the day.
Being around Nate takes some mental fortitude, and it’s exhausting to be constantly braced for an impact that never happens.
“Seriously,” he says, stepping close enough that I catch a whiff of cedar and fresh air—scents that take me back to another time. Was he at the campground today? “I’m not going to let anyone be mean to you.”
That causes a smile to rise in me, and I stare up at him, my lips quirked. “Oh yeah? Nate, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the internet is full of mean people, and I’m going to be on a TV show. I’m practically asking for people to tear me down.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, his brow furrowed. “No one asks to be torn down.”
“There are probably a lot of reality TV stars who’d wonder if they did ask given their experience and the reaction from the public.
Have you ever read the comments on some of those articles and social media posts and just…
everywhere? Because I have. All my favorite reality stars have been trashed. I’m preparing myself.”
“This show is about houses and renovations and decorating. It’s not about whether a skirt makes you look like a fucking Greek goddess.” His voice has grown husky. “And it does, by the way, make you look like a goddess.”
Heat explodes across my cheeks, and I give my head a little shake. “False advertising.”
“I don’t see anything false.” His knuckles skim my cheekbone. “Why does it feel false to you?”
Because you said you were coming after me and you haven’t done a single thing since .
I shouldn’t want him to. Having him back in my life is already complicated, and throwing that door wide-open would be a mistake.
The choices I made are likely unforgiveable to him. I’d be going back on promises I made.
Still, even though it’s not smart, a part of me has wondered whether he changed his mind because not only are we different people on the inside, but I’m not thin and young anymore.
The insecurities that I can keep at bay in New York are starting to poke holes in my confidence.
The Bellerive stage with Nate and the show is big enough, but the fact that Interflix appears to be seriously interested in picking up the series off the back of the Prince Brice and Maren Tucker adventure race saga only increases the stakes.
Part of me worries I won’t be able to slip on the mask of cool confidence that I perfected in New York when it matters in Bellerive—with him or the show.
“I just think I need to be really careful about how I present myself,” I say, trying not to give too much away. We don’t need to become confidantes. That’s a slippery slope that I’ve already gone far enough down.
“I’m confident people are going to love you.” He inches closer and tips my chin to meet his gaze. “How could they not?”
I’m wondering the same thing about him right now.
How is he still single? There’s no doubt in my mind that women across the country—hell, probably the world—would do all sorts of incredible and terrible things to get a chance with Nathaniel Tucker.
I had my chance, and I squandered it. Knowing what I know, it’s not right to pursue anything with him, even if it really seems like he’d let me walk back into his life.
His proximity has enveloped me, and his aura of care and concern is the softest, gentlest blanket slipping over my shoulders.
There’s always been something about Nate that felt both unbelievably safe and yet incredibly thrilling.
Even now, as my heart beats out of tune, frantic and flustered in my chest, I know he’d never hurt me, never do anything to put me in harm’s way, would do anything to keep me safe. That’s just who he is.
I’m not sure there’s a mask that I can slip on that’ll keep me from falling back under Nate Tucker’s spell. If he wants this to happen, I doubt I’m strong enough to say no.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I whisper.
“Give me one legitimate reason,” he says, brushing his nose against mine, his lips so close I can imagine how the mint of his breath would taste.
“I already gave you lots of reasons.”
“Those were reasons an eighteen-year-old might have,” he says, skepticism clear in his tone. “Nothing a strong, confident thirty-two-year-old would worry about.”
Heels click in the hallway. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Twyla calls, just before she reenters the room.
Nate and I jump apart like her voice is an electric shock, zapping some sense into us.
“I’m not feeling well. It came out of nowhere.” Her eyes are glassy, and her tanned skin has taken on a yellowish tinge. “I think I should go home, and I know I promised you a ride—”
“I’ll take her back to the apartment,” Nate says, cutting Twyla off. “That’s not a problem. Go home. Get some rest. We’ve got Monday morning. We don’t meet the first family until the afternoon to start shooting.”
“Sorry,” Twyla says. “So sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“I love that skirt. We’re keeping it,” she says, grabbing her bag and pointing to my leather outfit. “We just need a better shirt to pair with it.”
I give her a tight smile, unwilling to detail my insecurities in this room. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Once she’s out the door, Nate and I stand staring at each other. The tension that temporarily left the room when Twyla entered returns tenfold.
“All your reasons are bullshit, Hollyn, and I think you know that.”
“We don’t know each other anymore.” I search for something else. “And you’re my boss. How would that look?”
“I’m a boss. Tariq runs the set. I just make sure everyone is happy, we’re on budget, and general production runs smoothly.” He searches my face for a beat. “If the answer is no, just say that. I can treat you exactly as I have the last two weeks. Completely professional.”
I take in a shaky breath and press my fingers to my temples because I know deep down—actually, not even that far down—I don’t want to be just his colleague. Whenever he’s in a room, I’m hyperaware of where he is and who he’s talking to, and I have no claim to him.
“We don’t know each other anymore,” I try again, the same argument that I know he can brush aside. The solution is easy and obvious.
“You said you can’t at the spa, not that you won’t . Maybe we don’t know each other, but we both know that’s laughably solvable. The only real obstacle to us trying again is if you don’t want to.”
His rich-boy confidence is out in full force.
I loved it when we were teenagers because so few people in my life were confident with good intentions, and Nate’s intentions were always good.
But sometimes I loathed his execution. He often put me in sticky spots with other people in my life without even realizing it. He’s doing it again right now.
“When the show is over, I’m going back to New York. I don’t want to stay in Bellerive. I don’t want to live here.”
“You want to put a ticking clock on us, is that it?”
“I want you to understand what this would be.” Because anything I agree to has to be temporary and as far from public as I can make it. There are consequences, beyond his feelings, that I’d like to avoid.
“And see, I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand what this is. What it’s always been.” His tone is challenging, like he’s daring me to contradict our connection that’s so strong it’s made the air in the room thick and heavy.
“Nate, I—” My phone chimes from inside the changing room, and I take the opportunity to break the tension between us by striding into the changeroom and closing the door.
I scoop up my phone and see texts from both Shannon and Kinsley.
The Youth Adventure Race Club ran around Victor Tucker’s campground, and now some dog on the property is having puppies.
Kinsley wants to stay to watch the puppies being delivered, but Shannon needs to get to work.
I poke my head out the door and find Nate running his hands down his cheeks, wearing a beleaguered expression. He looks how I feel—worn out by our conversation. We’re going in circles, and we both know it.
The solution—to give in—feels easy, but it’s the opposite of that. Giving in comes with so many complications Nate isn’t even aware of.
“Any chance you can drive me out to the campground instead? I can catch a cab back to the apartment later.”
“Cal’s place?” A furrow appears between his brows. “Why are you going there?”
“A dog is having puppies, apparently?” I flash my phone at him. “Kin is out there running with the adventure race club, and she wants to be there for the puppies being born.”
“I’ll drive you,” he says without hesitation.
The last thing we need is more time alone, but a little thrill goes down my spine at the chance to be with him a little longer. “Thank you,” I say as I close the changing room door.