She glares, but it’s not nearly as potent as it was fifteen minutes ago.

Lyle turns to me. “That’s up to him. Like I said, you need a costar.”

I inhale sharply and swallow wrong, hacking into the stiff sleeve of my button-down and finally wiping at my watering eyes. I’m not stupid. I’d figured out Lyle wanted me on the project in some capacity, but I honestly thought it would be behind the scenes. Sure, I’d been on camera in my teens, but after Jackson, I went to Columbia, got my degree in filmmaking, got an internship with National Geographic, and have since spent the last six years traveling the globe while filming nature docs.

I’d taken this meeting as a favor to my agent, Peter, who’s forever asking me to accept some work Stateside for a change, complaining my across-the-world hours aren’t conducive to a healthy sex life on his end.

(I called him once in the middle of the night. Maybe twice. Jet lag is a killer.)

Peter said he knew a guy, Tom Franklin, who was looking to class up some reality television shows and wanted to discuss an opportunity with me. Obviously, costarring with my first girlfriend on a reality home-renovation show is not what I had in mind. Furthermore, I’m beginning to suspect Tom Franklin doesn’t exist outside of Lyle’s brain.

“I’m…” Sorry? Lost? Uncomfortable in this too-small chair and mirror-glazed hellscape? Or maybe I’m shaken the fuck up because I’m here in L.A., somehow breathing the same air as Shelby Springfield, and all I want to do is drag her out of here like a maniac, beg her to forgive me for everything I ever did, then lay her down and make love to her every day for the rest of our lives?

I’m not positive, but I doubt that’s the answer Lyle is looking for here.

Or maybe it is. Which might be worse.

I level Lyle with a look. “I’m not sure why I’m here, to be honest. I haven’t been in front of a camera in ten years, and I don’t know the first thing about home renovation. So, either you are looking for a spare cameraman, and I’ll be honest, my going rate is outside your budget, or you and my agent are playing a sick joke.”

Lyle’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “Jesus, Riggs. I forgot how dramatic you could be.”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Lyle ignores the jab. “I already signed on Daniel Springfield to consult. He can teach you anything you need to know about home reno.”

“You haven’t signed him to anything,” Shelby reminds him. “But continue.”

“My point being, I’m not looking for experts. I’m looking for star power and chemistry, which is why I called you two to L.A.”