Page 34 of Lucky Puck
With quick, short strides, I take the lead, toying with the wedding band and hiding it behind my handbag. A self-conscious haze settles over me like I’m in an alternate universe, making this whole scene seem surreal. In an attempt to get myself back to earth, I take the deepest breath I can, given the tension tightening my core.
A young woman meets us at the door, shaking Brody’s non-ring hand. “I’m Carlotta with the Speck Ad Agency. We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Holden.” With only a cursory nod at me and Sabien, she ushers us through a short hallway straight to the studio where cameras are ready and the space is chaotic, with production assistants running around arranging set pieces made up of all kinds of obstacles: a living room with the biggest sectional I’ve ever seen and several green screens, projectors, and cameras.
“Come with me,” she says to Brody and leads him into the belly of the chaotic floor. Sabien and I stop on the perimeter where several others stand, observing. I watch Carlotta sit Brody in one of the high director’s chairs in a grouping. The woman waves someone over from the sidelines who drags a rolling cart over and proceeds to apply make-up to Brody’s face, paying extra attention to his recent stitches. Brody takes it all in stride, maintaining his careless smile as if this is an everyday thing. Maybe it is becoming that way. It’s not his first commercial shoot, but the other ones were nothing like this.
That fact is underscored as I recognize an NFL all-star walk over to Brody and shake his hand. The set is littered with high-profile athletes, all established in their sports and seasoned in the promotions game.
Sabien lets out a low whistle. “Is that….?”
I nod and glance at the other spectators to find Mr. Martino. I need to introduce myself and make sure he doesn’t have any buyer's remorse about signing Brody after his injury yesterday. I recognize him from the Cavalaro Motors website photos, standing at the edge of the group of spectators with another executive type. Martino stands out with his unmistakably slick and stylish Italian suit.
“Wait here,” I whisper to Sabien and head over to Martino, putting out my hand—the ringless one—to shake his when he sees me approach.
“It’s nice to meet you in person, Mr. Martino. I’m Bianca Brooks with—”
He clasps my hand in both of his, smiling pleasantly, and introduces me to the man who turns out to be the producer-director of the commercial.
“Likewise.”
His phone makes a beeping sound like an alert, and he puts up a finger. “If you don’t mind, I…” he says as he slips his phone from his expensive suit jacket and glances at the screen.
Then his eyes pop.
At the same time, Carlotta comes running toward us, holding her phone and waving it.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise because I recognize this is the exact moment when everything changes. Before either Carlotta from Speck or Frank Martino, our crucial money man, says a word, I know.
They’ve found out about the newlywed secret. They’re thumbing through the inevitable barrage of social media while I ignore the vibrating of my phone.
Holding my breath as they stare at their phones, mouths slack, I wait for their reaction. So far, all I see is shock while my body temperature drops to frozen.
Carlotta looks up from her phone to stare at me first.
“You… married Brody Holden?”
I nod, and she grabs my left hand to confirm that I have a wedding band. My gut twists, and I can’t think of what to say.
Sabien rescues me, approaching us with a nod and smile. He pulls me aside. “Excuse us.” Then he whispers to me, “What the hell?” He holds his phone, staring at it with his brow furrowed like he’s turned into an old man who doesn’t understand modern electronics. “Did you see this, Brooks?” He hands me his phone unnecessarily.
“No.” I’m too busy watching for Martino’s reaction, the one person who could make or break this deal for Brody and the Jett Agency. And not to mention sink my career.
“It’s crazy. The Vegas wedding story is blowing up like you and Brody are the Queen and King of some country.”
I listen as Carlotta stares at me, her gaze sliding to my ring for a moment before she goes back to scrolling her phone. “Yeah. The newlywed king and queen of Fairytale Land,” I whisper to Sabien while I keep an eye on the object of my anxiety. Martino continues to scroll madly, frowns deepening from puzzled to astonished to—I don’t want to get ahead of myself.
He shakes his head. “This is wild.”
“What did you expect when you told all the sports media at NHL All-Star weekend that Brody and I got married in a quickie Vegas wedding?”
“Not this.” His frown softens. “I’m sorry. I had no idea it would be this big a deal.”
“I know. It shouldn’t be, should it? But Brody is… special.” I leave it at that because I doubt Sabien will get that Brody Holden is the equivalent of a teenage heartthrob movie star on ice with the kind of universal appeal that’s quickly making him a household name the likes of which the hockey world hasn’t seen since Wayne Gretzky or Bobby Orr.
Except he’s a million times hotter than either of them.
Martino joins us before Sabien finishes sputtering for a response.
“What the hell is all this about?” Martino waves his phone, and I still can’t read his reaction. He could be a world-class poker player if he quit the Italian sports car business.
