I ran away from that storage closet as fast as I could. Because I knew that if I didn’t, if I lingered for another moment longer in the dark, pressed up against Dash’s hot, hard body, I would have made a damn fool of myself.

Heading back to the princess pen, as I liked to think of the holding area, I grabbed a cold water bottle and pressed it against my forehead and neck. I was feeling overheated and flustered from our interaction and still hadn’t really managed to process the fact that the bachelor for this season of Ever After was the same guy I had gotten nearly naked with in a motel in Pittsburgh less than twenty-four hours ago.

This was not good.

The last thing I needed on this job was a distraction, and Dash practically had the word tattooed on his extremely handsome face. No doubt the contestants were going to go nuts over him once they saw him—even if they weren’t racing fans, any human being with eyes would want to get with a guy that hot.

And I was supposed to help one of them do exactly that.

I wanted to crawl under the equipment truck and die. Instead, I found Kimmie, Savannah, and Jasmine, and focused on my job. Everyone was preparing for the big first arrival scene, so I made sure they all looked amazing. I tried not to imagine what Dash would think of them, especially in comparison to me. Why did I have to run into him wearing my suitcase-wrinkled work clothes right before he was going to meet twenty gorgeous women in gowns? Why did I have to run into him at all?

“Are you OK?” Savannah asked gently.

“You look really red and sweaty,” Kimmie added, a sympathetic look on her face.

Great.

“I’m fine,” I told them, my headset crackling in my ear.

“Get the girls in the limo,” Andrea ordered.

My fellow PAs and I shepherded the girls into the limo, before climbing onto a golf cart which took us up to the house.

As we pulled up along the side of the house, I glanced over at the lavish entryway where Dash was standing with Cal Forrester, the host of the show. It was crazy how fake and manufactured everything looked from this angle, all the lights blasting the house, makeup artists covering Cal with foundation, and people in headsets running around moving props and equipment. The viewers would have no idea how much was going on behind the scenes.

“Clear the set,” Andrea’s voice came over a megaphone, and I turned to see her standing behind the camera. Behind her was a guy with slicked-back hair and a shiny-looking shirt.

“That’s the big boss,” Lorna—who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere—told me. “Patrick Callahan. Be careful around him. He can make or break your time here. And in the industry.”

I gave a nod, but my eyes had slid back to Dash, who was looking really, really good in his suit. It fit his broad shoulders perfectly as he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could tell that he was taking all of it in as well.

What was he doing here? Dash was the last guy I would have imagined to be on a show like this. Then again, I had to remind myself that I barely knew him. That spending a few hours in a car together, and then in a hotel room—even if we were half-naked at the time—did not constitute any significant kind of relationship. Who knew? Maybe he was a huge Ever After fan. Maybe he was really looking for true love.

Ha. I somehow doubted it. Especially because of how eager he had seemed to finish what we had started in the motel room. Guys who were looking for happily-ever-after didn’t hook up with near strangers right before appearing on a dating reality show. He was probably in it for the fame, money, and hot women—like any other guy.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?” Lorna seemed to notice where my attention had gone. “Definitely one of our cuter contestants.”

“He’s OK.” I tried to sound casual.

“OK?” Lorna laughed. “Girl, if that’s your idea of ‘OK,’ I can’t even imagine what you’d consider a stone cold fox.”

“Quiet on set,” Andrea’s voice boomed, and we all went completely silent. “Go for limo,” she said. “Rolling!”

I’d have to admit it was pretty exciting. After all the preparation and behind-the-scenes activity, you could have heard a pin drop as we watched the limo make its slow ascent up the driveway, just like I’d seen half a dozen times on TV. And I was here! Right in the heart of the action as the first limo came to a stop in front of the mansion.

Cal Forrester turned to Dash. There was a camera guy with a camera shoved right in their face.

“Are you ready to meet your princesses?” Cal asked Dash, his bright smile almost blinding in the light.

“Sure thing,” said Dash, his smile almost as intense, though I could sense a little hesitation behind it.

“Cut!” Andrea called.

Patrick, the producer, came around to stand in front of Dash.

“Hey man,” he said, putting his hands on his shoulders. “This is the best day of your life, remember? Dash, you’re about to meet your future wife. Let’s try for a more enthusiastic response, OK?”

I could tell that Dash didn’t like to be given directions, but he gave a curt nod.

Patrick cleared the set and they started all over.

“Are you ready to meet your princesses?” Cal asked again.

“You bet!” Dash said, his smile broad and ridiculous.

I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, but everyone else seemed to think it was a perfectly acceptable response. The filming continued, and Cal went over to the limo door and pulled it open. Extending his hand, he helped the first contestant out.

It was Kimmie, and she looked beautiful. She emerged from the limo gracefully, shooting Cal a smile before turning her attention onto Dash. Practically gliding on her stilettos, she made her way over to him.

“Hi.” Dash extended his hand. “I’m Dash.”

Kimmie took his hand, and in a movement that looked smooth and effortless, pulled him close and kissed the air next to his cheek. I could also see her chest pressing against his, and I waited for Andrea to call cut, to tell Kimmie to stop “molesting” the bachelor, but no one said anything. I realized that I was the only one who didn’t like how close Kimmie was standing to Dash. Which was ridiculous, especially since it was great TV. I should have been proud; instead, I was really annoyed. And then I got annoyed for being annoyed.

“I’m Kimmie,” she said to Dash. “I’m a girl who knows what she wants. And what I want is love. Could you be the one for me?”

Damn. That was a good introduction. Even Dash looked a little stunned.

“We’ll see,” he finally said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“See you inside.” Kimmie gave him another air kiss and sauntered off into the house, no doubt aware that every single eye was on her and her incredible butt.

The next girl didn’t have as good of a time. She was clearly very nervous and kept stumbling over her words. They had to do several takes of it. In fact, as the girls kept emerging from the limos, I realized that Kimmie was even better than I expected. Everyone else was requiring two or more takes, whereas Kimmie had nailed it in the first one.

I knew that Ever After was staged. I just hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how staged it was.

Jasmine was the next to emerge. I held my breath, hoping that she would be just as prepared as Kimmie. And she didn’t disappoint.

“Hi there,” she said, batting her eyes in a way that looked charming and not ridiculous. “I’m Jasmine. Like the Disney princess, and just as ready to discover a whole new world with you.”

It was cheesy, but it worked. I let out a sigh of relief when they didn’t ask for another take. So far I was two for two with my girls, and I could see a few of the other PAs throwing me some nasty looks, like it was some kind of competition. I ignored them and waited for Savannah. The next two girls stumbled, as well—one of them literally—and the reset took a little longer as wardrobe had to repair the rip on the poor girl’s dress from where she had fallen flat on her face right in front of Dash. He had immediately helped her up, and she had clung to him like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. It took a few PAs to pry them apart, and in the midst of all of that, Dash found me in the crowd. He winked.

I could feel my face go red, and I turned away, hoping I was far enough away that Dash couldn’t see me. What was he doing? He had a parade of gorgeous women to focus on, not me.

I purposefully kept my gaze away from him, staring at the limo, willing Savannah to exit next. Hopefully she wouldn’t be disappointed when she got out of the limo and didn’t see Brad Pitt standing there.

She looked radiant when she emerged, her blonde hair shimmering in the light, her smile warm and open, her eyes wide.

“Well, howdy,” Savannah said as she approached Dash, and I could see the first signs of a real smile on his face. “Aren’t you just as sweet as a peach pie in April?” she asked as she accepted his hand.

Dash laughed. “Is that a good thing?”

“Oh, honey.” Savannah winked at him. “It’s a very good thing.”

“Cut!” Andrea said.

Wait, what? I thought Savannah had been doing great. Which is why my fingernails were currently digging into my palms.

“Savannah,” Andrea said over the megaphone. “You need to introduce yourself.”

Oh. Right.

“Oh, sorry,” Savannah said, flashing an apologetic smile. “Whoopsies!”

She was probably the only adult woman I’d ever met who could say “whoopsies” and not sound completely ridiculous. Somehow, she managed to make everything sound endearing.

“Go again,” Andrea told her.

“Hi there.” Savannah took Dash’s hand again. “I’m Savannah—like the city.”

There was silence.

“Cut,” Andrea said again. “Savannah, did you practice your fun fact or statement?”

Savannah blinked and then knocked her knuckles gently against the side of her head.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry, y’all,” she addressed the crew. “Guess I’m not used to all these lights and cameras.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dash, putting a hand on her back. “I’m not used to it either. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Thank you.” Savannah beamed at him, and I decided that either Savannah was as ditzy as she looked, or she was a goddamn genius.

Either way, Dash was going to stay occupied for the next few weeks. With someone who wasn’t me.

So why did that thought make me feel anything but relieved?

* * *

We shot late into the night, filming several hours of the girls mingling with Dash in the mansion before sending everyone off to bed. I was exhausted, and more than ready to drop off the rental car and head back to the hotel.

“The crew’s going out.” Lorna grabbed my arm. “Come join us, I can introduce you to everyone.”

Despite my weariness, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to meet everyone, and I had barely had enough time to introduce myself when I arrived. “Sounds great—” I started. “Crap. I have to return the rental car. Meet you there?”

“Sure thing!”

I quickly drove over to the rental place, then walked the ten blocks to the bar. It was grungy and dark—my favorite—and everyone was already drinking and having a good time. The infectious energy did a good job reviving me. A beer didn’t hurt either.

“This is Justin.” Lorna introduced me to a tall, skinny guy with a goatee. “He’s one of the editors and a tech genius.” She gave him a smile, and I clocked her crush at ten feet. Hello.

“Lorna only thinks that because I was able to program her remote control,” Justin said with a smile.

“Nice to meet you anyways,” I told him. “I’m Paige.”

“Yep.” He grinned. “I’ve heard all about you.”

“Good things, I hope.” I shot Lorna a look, wondering what wild college stories she had shared.

“Very good things,” Justin laughed, before leaning forward, his elbows on the bar. “So, you survived day one. What do you think?”

“It’s interesting,” I said carefully. “I never imagined how much work goes into a single moment of TV.”

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Justin asked. “Some people don’t want to know how the sausage gets made, but I find the whole thing fascinating.”

“How long have you worked on the show?” I wanted to know.

“A few years,” he told me. “It gets more intense with each season. And this one is crazy. Usually, we film months before the episodes get edited and aired, but this is a summer special. The show premieres on TV twice a week, starting next week, so everything we shot tonight has to be cut together in record time. It’s almost being broadcast in real-time, so we’ll be able to get audience reactions as we shoot.”

“Wow.” I began to realize why everyone was racing around in such a panic. They were on a massively tight deadline to get everything done.

“Patrick is obsessed with ratings—always wants to be number one. And he’ll do anything to make the show bigger and more intense.”

“That’s why he got a celebrity this season,” Lorna added.

“Is Dash a celebrity?” I asked, aiming for disinterested and casual, even though I wanted to gather as much intel as I could about why he was there.

“Patrick thinks so,” Justin said with a laugh. “But who knows.”

“He’s cute, and that’s what will really matter to viewers,” Lorna offered.

“You think he’s cute?” Justin made a face.

“He’s OK,” Lorna corrected quickly. “Not my type. But the girls will eat him up. Looks, money . . .”

“Don’t Formula One drivers make a ton?” I asked, remembering that Dash had been flying first class, and had then gotten picked up by a helicopter.

“I guess.” Justin thought about it. “But he’s retired.”

“A little young to be retired, don’t you think?” I said.

Lorna shrugged. “I have no idea. There was some big drama a couple of years back when he quit. He was at the top of the rankings, undefeated, and he just walked away.”

“Just seems a little weird that someone who already has money and fame would come on this show.” I really wanted them to give me some dirt, but it didn’t seem like anyone had any. “Do you think he really needs help finding love?”

“Ha!” Justin snorted. “Guys like him aren’t here for love. They’re here for attention. All fame whores are the same, and the only people that go on a dating reality show are fame whores.”

Well.

Justin got up to get us another round and Lorna leaned over close to me.

“Don’t mind Justin,” she said. “Some of the contestants are really nice, but this is a job. For all of us.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, though I still wanted to know more about why Dash had agreed to do the show. Was it really as simple as him being a fame whore?

“You really lucked out with your contestants,” Lorna noted as Justin returned with more beers. “You’ve got a good chance to bonus with all three of them.”

“Bonus?” I asked, confused.

“Nobody told you?” Lorna looked surprised. “It’s a contest, for the production staff. The longer your girls last in the competition, the bigger your paycheck. There are special bonus payments for making it to the finals, and if one of them goes all the way . . .”

Justin rubbed his fingers together. “Ka-ching!”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I said. “I better hope I get lucky then.”

He snorted. “Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s all about screen-time and drama. The producers won’t cut someone who’s great TV, so if you can get them a trailer moment, you’re golden.”

“Trailer moment?” I tried to keep up. I had just intended to put my girls in front of the camera and have them do their best.

“Something big and dramatic they can use in the previews. Sex, booze, fighting.” Justin said. “Everything is created. Everything is manufactured. And the girls know it. They know that they have to make themselves interesting to the camera if they want to stay on the show.”

I blinked. I knew certain things were staged, but it all sounded so mercenary like this.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was late, who the hell would be texting me now? Thinking it might be Emmy in London, I looked at my screen.

My room doesn’t have the character of our motel, but the mini-bar has it beat. Want to drop by for a night-cap?

It wasn’t signed, but there was no doubt who was texting me. Dash.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket. He seemed to think that it was just a matter of time before we picked up where we left off, but I was not interested. OK, I was interested, but that didn’t mean I was going to act on it. So, I ignored the text and turned back to Justin and Lorna, who were now spilling details about crew cliques and other juicy gossip-type items.

I was here to work. Not to flirt, or hook up with someone like Dash.

Especially when it seemed like my career depended on getting him to hook up—with someone else.