Brandon presses a button on the remote and the opening credits speed up.

“What are you doing?” I yell.

“Fast forwarding. We don’t need to waste time.”

“Stop! I love the opening credits.” I snatch the remote from him and slow down the credits to normal speed just in time to see Kurt do his signature line at the end. Lunging, he aims his big gun straight ahead and says:

“Get it. Got it? Good.” I say the words with him.

Brandon gives me an odd look as Kurt pulls the trigger and a loud BOOM! fills the room. I gasp. There’s something about Kurt holding that big gun and looking directly into the camera with those fierce violet eyes that makes my heart ricochet out of my chest every time.

“Are you okay?” asks my companion.

Is it that obvious I’m totally in love with Kurt Kussler? Just like every woman in the world. “Yes,” I pant out and then chomp into my burger to satisfy my carnal craving.

“Have some fries,” he orders after I gulp it down. He holds out the bag.

Without losing eye contact with the TV, I lose my willpower and dig in. God, they’re good. Crispy and lightly salted. Worth every sinful calorie.

The opening credits segue right into the episode. Holy moly! It’s one of my favorites. The one in which Kurt doesn’t know he’s standing right next to The Locust, Alisha’s killer.

Every inch of me clenches while my eyes stay glued to the TV. Oh God! The way he swaggers in those tight jeans! Snarls his lush lips! Smolders his violet eyes! Every word that comes out of Kurt’s mouth sets my body on fire. The suspense is killing me. I gasp when the disguised assassin almost runs him off a cliff. Kurt can’t die! And then toward the end, up comes my favorite scene of all—a flashback to Kurt and Alisha’s nuptials. The perfect church wedding, the beautiful, happy couple surrounded by loved ones. My heart pounds madly. I just hope the sound of the TV drowns it out so Brandon doesn’t hear it. I glance at him. He’s into it as much as I am. I can tell by the intense, unblinking expression on his face. I return my attention to the TV. Thanks to my eidetic memory, I know every line.

The Pastor: “Do you, Kurt Kussler, promise to love and cherish this woman for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

Kurt: “I do, sir. I will love, cherish, and protect her forever.”

Oh my God! The passion in his sultry voice! The love and lust in his eyes!

The pastor asks Alisha the same question. She holds Kurt in her impassioned gaze, whispers her vow, and finally says, “until death do us part.”

I softly say the words with her. Tears well up in my eyes. Knowing the cruel fate that awaits Alisha, her vow gets me every single time. By the time they embrace (oh, what a kiss!), tears are streaming down my cheeks and I’m heaving.

Brandon turns to me. “Jeez Louise. What’s the matter?”

My tear-stained lips are quivering. Words are trapped in my throat. Snot is dripping from my nose. I’m a blubbering mess.

Finally, I get my mouth to move. “It’s so sad. I can’t take it,” I splutter as the show fades to black and the closing credits come on. “He’s going to lose her!”

Brandon turns the TV off and hands me a paper napkin. “Here. Blow your nose.”

I gratefully take the napkin from him and put it to my face. I honk into it.

“Thanks,” I stammer, totally embarrassed.

“It’s just make-believe.”

I sniff. “I know, but still…”

Brandon’s eyes don’t leave mine. “You like my show?”

Duh! “I love it! I love you!” Gah! “I mean, I love Kurt Kussler.”

His brows lift. “Really?”

“Totally,” I say convincingly, moving past my slip-up.

“What makes him appealing?”

He seriously doesn’t know? He must have major brain damage. “Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, my tears subsiding.

He draws in a sharp breath. “With this damn amnesia, nothing’s obvious.”

Obviously. So, I tell him.

“First of all, he’s sexy as sin—”

He cuts me off. “You think I’m sexy—”

I cut him off. His pending question unnerves me. “No!” Big fat liar. “Kurt’s sexy as sin.”

The conceited egomaniac looks a little deflated. “What makes him sexy?”

“He may think with his cock like most men, but he’s ruled by his heart.”

Clueless Brandon screws up his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s damaged but so passionate. I mean, just look at his abiding love for his wife, Alisha. He won’t stop until he finds her killer.”

Brandon is all ears, listening intently. I continue.

“Every woman wants a Kurt Kussler to love, protect, and cherish her.”

“Yes, don’t we all.” A sardonic breathy voice enters the room. I look up. My stomach churns. It’s Katrina. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees as the willowy blonde stomps toward us in her gazillion dollar stilettos.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Chubster.”

My boiling blood heats my skin. “Hi. Nice to see you again too.”

I remember the first time I met her. I thought she was here for a business meeting with Brandon and Scott. She acted like I was invisible and then had the nerve to tell me to take her Mercedes for a car wash. As if I were her servant. I told her to take a hike—no pun intended—and pissed her off royally. Until I started seeing pictures of them together online and in various tabloids, I had no idea they were romantically involved. And truthfully, knowing Brandon’s reputation as a player, I thought it was just another casual hook-up. His latest conquest. You can only imagine my shock when I learned of their engagement—the news broke just hours after Brandon’s horrible accident. It was bad enough that the gorgeous man I worshipped was lying in a coma but then to find out he was engaged sent my emotions into a tailspin. I cried for hours, knowing that even if he lived, I was losing him to America’s It Girl.

Fraught with jealousy and loathing, I meet her predatory gaze.

She smirks and then snubs me. “Brandy-Poo, are you ready to go out with Mommy and me?”

Brandon’s eyes blink several times. “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously, don’t you know we have a reservation at The Ivy to go over wedding plans? We made it weeks ago.”

Brandon looks perplexed. “I’m sorry. It’s one of those things I don’t remember.” He turns to me. “Zoey, did you write it down somewhere or put it on my calendar?”

“This is the first time I’m hearing about it.”

“Maybe, I forgot to tell her,” mumbles Brandon in my defense.

Katrina huffs. “Honestly, darling, you really should look into getting a competent assistant. This one’s a bigger waste of space than the space she occupies.”

I’m seething. Bitch! I bite back my tongue. Katrina again ignores me and plants a kiss on Brandon’s forehead.

“Well, darling, don’t just sit there. Throw on a jacket. I don’t want to keep Mommy waiting.”

Slowly, Brandon stands up. His eyes penetrate mine. “Set some time in my schedule to review more episodes tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I murmur. I stay seated while Brandon dons an outrageously sexy leather bomber jacket. It’s just what Kurt Kussler would wear.

Emptiness fills me as I watch Katrina shuffle Brandon out of the house. And then a wicked thought brightens my spirits. Maybe the bitch and the asshole deserve each other. My moment of satisfaction is fleeting. Who am I kidding? I wish it were me.

Brandon

Located on nearby trendy Robertson, The Ivy is a bustling but charming restaurant that feels more like an eclectic cottage with its vintage floral décor and jugs of colorful fresh roses on every table. According to my fiancée, this is one of our favorite places to “see and be seen.” It’s a popular LA hangout with A-list celebrities, agents, and other movers and shakers. I, of course, don’t remember ever being here.