Oh! Fuck! Not her again. No way.

“Hold the elevator,” she yells as she comes running towards me.

I don’t do any such thing. She’s already made me late enough. Let her wait for the next one. I’m in a rush, besides I don’t want to be trapped in a confined space with this woman. This loud-mouthed, pushy, terrible driver from hell. She slammed into me and had the nerve to tell me it was my damn fault.

I lean back against the wall of the elevator and watch her through half-closed lids. She is incredibly delicious, though. Curves for days. Ahhhh…and all of them bouncing for all their worth.

When she realizes I’m not going to hold the door for her, her expression changes to one of fury. I’ve never met a girl who looks so hot when she’s mad. If we’d met in different circumstances. Maybe if she was gagged or something, I’d love to show her what ten inches really looks like. My fantasy is interrupted when she suddenly throws her purse towards me. The damn thing flies through the open doors and lands next to my feet.

I have no choice.

I kick it out of the elevator.

First her jaw drops, then she starts shouting abuse at me. She really is a very, very sexy spitfire. Instead of giving up like any other normal woman would. She starts running like her life depends on it.

I realize with a sinking heart that she’s gonna make it and I’ll have to fucking share the elevator with her. I hit the button to close the doors again and to my relief, the doors start to close.

I smile at her.

She responds with another unladylike string of curses.

She’s getting close, but I’m not too worried. There are only three inches left before the door completely closes on her. But just as the doors are about to meet, her fingers slide in and slam on the edge of one door.

Oh, for God’s sake. Can’t I catch a break today? The doors swish open. I can’t believe my luck. Like I needed something else to go wrong this morning. It’s like watching a horror movie.

She picks up her purse from where I kicked it to and walks in, giving me a murderous glance. Her face is red and her eyes are glittering.

God, she’s fucking gorgeous.  

“Are you always such a jerk?” she fumes as she moves towards the button panel. Resentment radiates from her in waves.  

Like she has any right to be resentful after what she did to my car. “You could always have waited for the next elevator.”

“I’m late for an appointment,” she informs huffily.   

“Thanks to your dramatics. I’ll be late for mine too,” I say coldly.

She goes to hit her floor number but seeing that it’s already lit up, stands stiffly as far away from me as possible. The doors close and we’re the only two people in the shiny elevator.

I refuse to look at her. If I do, I might start another fight and I should be focused on how I’m going to score a spot on the show, not whether I should strangle her or kiss that bratty mouth.

I adjust the sleeves of my shirt, making sure they’re lined up with the jacket sleeves. Then I brush invisible lint off my chest. Fidgeting. It’s what I do when I’m in an uncomfortable situation. I hear a snicker from beside me and refuse to give in, but my eyes slide over.

Nice dress. It shows off her hourglass shape. Her breasts are still heaving. They would look great on top of me.

She catches me looking and I look away. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Anything I can do for you?” she murmurs sarcastically.

I glance at the twin spots of high color on her cheeks. I don’t fancy a slap, so… “No, not a thing,” I answer coolly.

“Good, because that’s what you’ll get.”

After that, we ride up to the fifth floor in total silence. When the doors open, I can’t get the hell off the elevator fast enough.

There must be at least two hundred people milling about in the hall, waiting their turn in front of the studio audience. The two most important questions they need to answer are…

Do I look good on-camera?

Am I willing to do just about anything for that prize?

I can answer one of those two questions easily. Yes, I look damn good on or off-camera. And yes, I would do just about anything for the money this game show is offering. It’s my last chance.

“You here for the audition interview?” A harried looking production assistant approaches me moments after I step into the hallway.

“Yup.”

“Right. Get to the back of the line. At the end of the hall,” he says rudely, and points.

I look down that hall. That long, long hall. His shitty attitude makes me want to punch him one, but I pull together what’s left of my dignity and go to the end. I’m not going to fall at the first hurdle. I need the prize money.

Talk about a sea of humanity. The money has attracted a wide range of people. Most of them have dressed to be remembered. There are costumes, club clothes, even a few people clad all in leather. I bet the girl in a chicken costume is willing to do just about anything for money. I wonder if a suit was the right way to go. Who will remember a suit?

The road hazard is already waiting at the end of the line. She rolls her eyes so hard when she sees me she could do permanent damage. “Oh,” she coos sweetly. “You must be in the wrong place. This is the line for the common people.”

“Cranky little thing, aren’t you?” I retort coldly, as I take my place behind her.

She ignores my comment and turns her head to look at me. “I thought you would be here for some big-shot meeting instead of auditioning for a reality game show.”

“What a surprise…you were wrong about something.”

“Yes, I was, but I have you pegged now.” She’s all happy now, she made it on time for her appointment, and she is now in a position to give me a hard time.

“No doubt, you’re dying to tell me.”

She nods, looking me up and down thoughtfully. “Yeah, well, I realize you were just putting on a front. Tell me, was that car a rental? Is that why you freaked out the way you did?”

How the hell does this woman do it? Every single time she opens her mouth, she manages to annoy the fuck out of me again. “No, it’s not a rental.”

“Oh. I see. Then it’s something you bought—or somebody bought for you—when times were better. When you had a little more security. Now? You’re just a regular person who’s desperate for the chance to make some cash. Pretty pathetic for somebody who insults another person for having a crappy car.”

All right, I shouldn’t have been so nasty and judgmental about her car. It was only because she pissed me off by laughing at the damage to my car. Still, she’s right—I’m not in any place to judge. Does that stop me from squinting down at her and making things worse? No. “And yet, I still drive a better car than you.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with hurt before she turns her back on me.

Why do I feel like a jerk? Like I just made a big mistake?

I don’t have time to think about it because another snooty looking PA, a woman, comes out and walks down the length of the line. “All right, people, we’ll be taking you in groups of twenty for the audience to look you over.”

“Audience?” several people mutter, looking at each other.

The listing said nothing about being in front of a live audience. That doesn’t bother me—if I’m going to make it on the show, there will be a lot more people watching. Might as well get used to it now.

“We didn’t expect so many of you, so let me tell you how this interview is going to work,” she continued, her eyes flicking towards me and lingering for a couple of seconds on me.

I sense my advantage and smile back.

She turns away with a smile. There’s promise there.

Dakota is shaking her head in disgust.

This distracts me and I turn to her. “What?” I mouth.

“To think you called me a bimbo. What are you? Flirting with the staff to get some special attention? Ugh, you make me sick.”

I open my mouth to say something equally rude and the PA says, “Can I have your attention please?”

The long line of people go dead silent as everybody waits to hear what she is going to announce.

“As the ad stipulated, there’s a chance to make one million dollars as a result of winning the game. You read that correctly,” she pauses. “But there’s no way we’ll make winning a million bucks easy on you.”