Well, fuck me, I thought as Paige climbed out of the limo. I couldn’t tell if this was the best luck in the world, or the universe playing an enormous trick on me. Is this why she needed to get to New York? To be a contestant on this godawful show?

But from the sour look on her face, and the fact that she was wearing all black and not an overdone sparkly evening gown, I was able to quickly discern that she was a member of the crew. Which meant that this was the universe playing an enormous trick on me. Fuck, fuck, and double fuck.

“Hi,” I said, wishing I could grab her and get us both the hell out of this place. Even that shitty motel in Pittsburgh was preferable to this McMansion. At least the shitty motel in Pittsburgh had Paige, smiling and topless.

I got hard just remembering, but Paige just glared at me.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, her eyes flashing. She was giving me that “WTF” stare, the one that made her look like a vengeful goddess, and had drawn me to her in the first place.

I held out my hands, hoping it would be self-explanatory.

This whole show had been a terrible idea, and it had just gotten worse.

I didn’t want to be here. I thought reality dating shows were for idiots and suckers, and I had absolutely no intention of being either. At least, that had been the case until I saw Paige. Now, things were looking up.

“Dash! My man!”

Patrick Callahan, the executive producer, strode over, looking every inch the sleazy stereotype of a Hollywood producer, from his oily, slicked-back hair, to his shiny crocodile boots.

He clapped me on the shoulder, giving Paige the perfect opportunity to scamper away before we had even really had a chance to talk. I watched her go, admiring her ass in her tight, black jeans. I would have given several million dollars to be back in that motel room with her.

Instead, I had made a deal with the devil for almost the same amount.

“We are so glad to have you here.” Patrick started leading me into the mansion. “It’s not every season that we get to have a celebrity as our bachelor.”

Celebrity. I was a retired Formula One driver. Most of the country would have no idea who I was, and I didn’t think there was a lot of overlap between Ever After viewers and racing fans.

“I wish I was in your shoes,” Patrick was telling me. “Twenty gorgeous women fighting over me for attention? Talk about every man’s dream, right?”

A few years earlier, I would have readily agreed with Patrick. Not that I would have had to go on a dating show to get that much attention from the fairer sex. There had always been plenty of willing women after races—ones who were interested in handling a racer’s “stick shift”—but that kind of thing had gotten old fast. These days, I preferred more of a challenge. A woman who liked me for me, and not my fame.

My mind flashed back to Paige. The way she had felt in my hands. In my mouth. God, she had been hot.

“So, I know your agent spoke to you about what we expect from our bachelors.” Patrick directed me into the room that was acting as his office and immediately headed for the well-stocked bar. “Luckily for you, most of it entails you being handsome and famous, which I’m pretty sure we can both agree you can do in your sleep.”

I really didn’t like this guy, but I smiled at him and accepted a glass of what was sure to be extremely expensive whiskey.

“I’ll do what I can,” I told him.

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Patrick took a seat behind the giant marble desk that I bet he’d had brought in just for the effect. This guy was a showman through and through. He put his feet up and leaned back in the chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “I’m sure you’ve heard that Ever After hasn’t been doing the kind of ratings it used to.”

I nodded. It’s how my agent was able to negotiate a package that would almost make this indignity worthwhile.

“We’ve picked out some really special girls for you,” Patrick was telling me. “Smart, beautiful, and talented. And you’ve got the whole mansion at your disposal. Free-flowing drinks, great food, and a hot tub that’s available 24/7.”

I took a long drink of whiskey, trying to look on the bright side. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible. I could spend the next couple weeks relaxing, hanging out with gorgeous women, and getting paid to do so. The downside was that it was all going to be on national television, but I’d been in tabloids and in the news before. My friends would razz the hell out of me, but in the end it would all be worth it if I could take that paycheck.

“I took a look at some of our contestants this afternoon,” Patrick told me, a gross leer coming over his face. “And they are by far our hottest batch of princesses. You are one lucky guy—I have no idea how you’re going to pick your future wife.”

I stiffened. “We’ll see.” I took another drink of the whiskey. I’d had a lawyer look over the contract before I signed it, making absolutely sure there was nothing in there that required I actually marry any of the women I met on the show.

“Sure, sure.” Patrick waved a hand. “No doubt, a guy like you isn’t in any rush to settle down, but hey, think about it this way. You connect with one of the ladies, the two of you decide to get hitched—boom! We film the big, romantic wedding, you get paid, we get ratings, and if it doesn’t work out, hey, there’s always divorce.”

He sounded so casual, he could have been talking about a random hookup on a Friday night. It might have been old-fashioned of me, but I was of the mind that if I was going to get married, I was going to do it for life. Not for ratings. Maybe my parents’ thirty-year, rock-solid marriage had spoiled me, but I wasn’t about to go diving in with a stranger for the sake of those ratings.

Still, I wasn’t about to let Patrick know that. “How about I actually meet these ladies first, before we go proposing?” I said with a charming smile, and he chuckled.

“Raring to go, huh?”

More like, raring to get this over with.

There was a knock at the door, and one of the producers, Andrea, poked her head in. I’d liked her instantly, as she seemed to be a straight-talker with no interest in bullshit.

“Boss,” she told Patrick. “I need the bachelor for his hot-seat interview.”

“Of course,” Patrick said magnanimously, waving his arm. “Take this handsome devil off my hands. Dash, my man, see you later.”

I finished my whiskey and followed Andrea out of the office.

“Hot-seat interview?” I asked her.

“Have you seen the show before?” she wanted to know.

I gave her what I hoped was a sheepishly charming smile, but she just sighed.

“Hot-seat interviews are where we sit you in front of a camera and ask you about your feelings. About the girls, about love, etc., etc. We use the footage in between the action to build the story and let viewers get to know you.”

“Sounds great,” I said dryly.

“Yeah, most bachelors say it’s their favorite part of the whole process,” she said just as dryly.

I laughed. At least someone on this set seemed to have a sense of humor about the whole thing.

Andrea led me into a room that was mostly dark except for the chair where I would be sitting, a chair which was currently being blasted with lights. I sat down, right in front of the camera, and tried not to think how hard my best friend, Jean-Luc, would laugh if he saw me right now, getting a microphone shoved down my shirt while some girl with a tool belt full of makeup powdered my face.

It wasn’t exactly a typical Wednesday for me, but nothing about my life had been typical—not since my business manager decided to run off with my entire life savings, leaving me a couple of paychecks away from totally broke.

“You’re good to go.” The makeup girl stepped back.

“Ready lights!”

The lights flashed on so bright that they practically blinded me, making it difficult to see Andrea or anyone else behind the camera. All I could focus on was the lens, which I supposed was the point.

“OK,” I heard Andrea’s voice. “Bachelor hot-seat interviews, take one.”

Then a small red light appeared above the camera lens and we were off.

I forced a smile on my face, trying not to make the awkwardness of the situation visible.

“OK, Dash,” Andrea said. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself.”

I’d done enough “introduce yourself” moments on camera that I had that part down pat.

“I’m Dash Hennessy.” I kept that smile on my face. “Twenty-six, and you might recognize me if you’re a fan of Formula One racing. I was always the one coming in first.”

“Good,” I heard Andrea say. “Why don’t you tell us why you decided to come on Ever After to look for love?”

Because until I track down my bastard of a manager, this is the only way I can pay investigators, lawyers, and oh, yeah—the house I bought my parents.

At least, that’s what I thought to myself. The real reason I was on Ever After. But that wasn’t the answer they were going to get.

“Now that I’ve retired from racing, I’ve decided that it’s time to focus on my personal life,” I told the camera with another smile. “Meet a nice girl. Settle down. Fall in love.”

“What are you looking for in a future wife?” Andrea asked. “Do you have a type?”

Red-haired, freckled, and with a perfect ass and perky tits, I thought, remembering Paige in the motel room.

“I like all kinds of women,” I said. “I like a girl who’s not afraid to speak her mind.”

I thought of Paige, holding the car keys away from me, insisting that she drive.

“I like a girl who’s got a sense of humor.”

Paige teasing me for my lame pick-up line about looking under her “hood.”

“Who’s adventurous and brave.”

Paige swerving the car with amazing skill to avoid the deer, and not dissolving into tears once the car had come to a stop.

“And it’s a plus if she likes country music. Classic country music.”

Paige, nodding her head as we listened to Dolly Parton, speeding down the highway.

“Great,” Andrea said after a few more minutes of that kind of questioning. “I think we’ve got enough for now, so let’s send you to wardrobe to get ready for the introductions.”

My first chance to meet the contestants. I told myself to get excited as I headed down the hallway towards the wardrobe room. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a head of curly red hair. Paige. Immediately, I veered to the left. With a finesse that surprised even me, I snagged her arm and pulled her into the closest room.

Which happened to be a storage closet.

It was cramped and dark, but I didn’t mind at all. Neither did my cock, which was quickly recalling how good it had felt to be pressed up against Paige back in Pittsburgh.

“Hi,” I said, knowing our faces were mere inches from each other. “Funny running into you here.”

“Dash,” she said, putting a hand on my chest and taking a step back. Luckily, she couldn’t move that far away.

“Talk about a lucky coincidence,” I offered, hoping to thaw the iciness that was coming off of her.

Even through the dark, I could feel her glare.

“This is far from lucky,” she muttered.

“Really?” I asked, running my hand up her arm. I was gratified to feel her lean into my touch. “Now we can finish what we started in that motel room.”

“Are you kidding?” Paige shoved my hand away.

“Not at all.” I lowered my voice, leaning close so I could whisper in her ear. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about you. About what we would have done if we weren’t interrupted. How hot it would have been. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

“I don’t,” she said firmly, but I could sense a moment of hesitation.

“Liar,” I teased.

“I’m working, Dash,” Paige told me. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re about to be introduced to twenty women. One of whom you’ll be expected to pick at the end of this.”

“That’s just for the cameras,” I said. “And I don’t see any cameras right here, do you?”

“Stop it,” Paige said, and the seriousness in her voice made me pull back. “Maybe this is a joke to you, but this is my job. A job I need to keep.”

And with that, she pushed me aside and exited the closet, slamming the door behind her and leaving me in the dark, as amused and aroused as I had been the last time we parted.