Provoke_ A Seaside Pictures Novella (Seaside Pictures #3.7) - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,8

though.”

I laughed. “Be a little bad. Binge watch the entire season with wine in one hand and mine in the other.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cute. You make that up all by yourself, or did you have to write it down and memorize it a dozen times before you got the delivery right?”

I gaped then felt her forehead before pulling back. “Wait, do you actually have a sense of humor?” I slow-clapped. “And here I thought you were half dead. I actually brought salt into my room just in case you turned into some sort of zombie.”

“Salt doesn’t protect against zombies.”

“How do you know?” I asked with a grin.

“Uhhhh.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re baiting me.”

“Always. I love a good, solid…” I eyed her up and down. “Catch. Hey, question. Are you purposely trying to show me your boobs?”

She crossed her arms. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Yeah well, I caught whatever you have, so now I’m up…” And because I was alone, and she was smiling. Because she’d said she could help, and she was, I added in. “Want some popcorn?”

We stayed up until midnight and then went our separate ways. I fell asleep hoping that we’d both decided we were friends of a sort.

Only to find myself woken up the next day by a fucking air horn and another list of likes and dislikes, followed by an assignment to write my own eulogy.

It was a bad day, to say the least.

When I was finished, I tossed the notepad to her and said, “That was bullshit, by the way. And a little too close to home. It could possibly send a person over the edge, so now I’m curious. Why the hell would you make anyone do that?”

“Sometimes…”—she spoke slowly—“it helps to imagine the worst-case scenario and then realize you’re here for a purpose. You’re here because people need you, and you aren’t done with what you’re supposed to do on this planet.”

I thought about her words throughout a quiet dinner where we barely spoke to one another. And, like the night before, I came out around ten, sat next to her on the couch, and watched more of the documentary.

Wine in one hand, popcorn in the other.

“It should be this easy,” I whispered.

“What?” She tilted her head.

“I like this side of you better,” I answered instead. “And I’m not telling you how to do your job, but if the Piper sitting next to me right now asked me to bare my soul, I would do it.”

“Versus the Piper who’s your coach?” she asked.

“She’s cold.” I shrugged. “You’re not.”

“I…I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Maybe it would be easier for both of us if you just crossed the line.”

“Make it personal, you mean?”

“Not necessarily. But maybe treat me like I’m a person, not another client on your roster. My heart does beat despite your attempts to get me to want to end my life by way of paperwork.”

She smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Chapter Four

Braden

I went to bed around midnight, my head pounding from all the stupid thoughts running around inside. Like what if she can’t help? What if she can? Why do I crave her smile so much, and why do I look forward to the number ten on my watch just so I can eat popcorn with her?

She was all business during the day, driving me insane with her ideas.

But at night? She was mine.

And I liked her better that way, without her armor on, without the red lipstick that seemed more like a deterrent than an invitation.

I quickly shot off a text to Zane, then realized it was a group chat with Will, my agent. Whoops!

Me: FYI next time you guys decide to “help” can you make sure the girl in question isn’t Pollyanna with a stick up her ass? Please and thank you.

Will: Huh? Who are we talking about?

Zane added Drew, Ty, and Trevor to the conversation.

Well shit, there went the private conversation I’d been about to have.

Zane: I’ll admit she wasn’t hard on the eyes. Honest moment, when I heard the term life coach, I imagined some Tony Robins-looking guy in a matching Adidas windbreaker and the inability to use an inside voice, so…

I frowned at the phone.

Me: Who the hell is Tony Robins?

Trevor: Ah, youths.

Ty: He’s loaded, that’s what he is. He makes people feel better about being mediocre.

Drew: You’re just saying that because you’re pissed he makes more money than you.

Zane: Yeah, he’s not wrong. Guy charges more for two days of a convention than