As soon as Marcy walked into the library and saw the thick red folder sitting on the desk, she knew exactly what was about to happen—she’d seen the show, after all—but she played along, feigning ignorance as Josh Pendleton led her to one of the chairs and sat down opposite her.
His face was as somber as his dark grey suit and the shadowy lighting the producers had arranged in the dark, wood-paneled library only added to the funereal atmosphere. Josh leaned forward, somehow managing not to wrinkle or crease his suit with the action.
“Marcy, I know to this point you’ve been enjoying getting to know the Suitors—the first few weeks really are all fun and games—but this is when things start to get serious,” the host intoned direly. “In a few minutes, I’m going to reveal to you and only you the results of the compatibility tests that our team of experts has prepared, evaluating your potential relationships with the remaining thirteen men.” He nodded toward the infamous red folder. “At that time it will be entirely up to you what you choose to do with that information and whether you choose to reveal it to the men themselves or to the viewers at home. As you know, you have a few more days and two more dates before the next Elimination Ceremony, but we felt you might like to let this information guide you as you sort through your Suitors in anticipation of the most important Elimination Ceremony yet.” Josh straightened, meeting her eyes. “Are you ready?”
He made it sound like he was about to hand her a loaded gun, not a file full of compatibility tests, but Marcy managed to keep a straight face and meet his question with the same degree of gravitas. “I’m ready.”
Josh stood, walked to the desk, collected the red folder and returned to her, holding it out to her with both hands. When she accepted it, he nodded gravely. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The host exited, leaving her alone—if you didn’t count the two camera crews, one mobile and one stationary, that were there to catch her every reaction.
Marcy stood and moved to the chair at the desk, making a show of taking a deep breath before she released the string binding the folder together. The breath might be for show—but it wasn’t entirely fake. She’d been nervous about this part from day one.
What if she wasn’t compatible with any of them? Or what if the person the experts wanted her to end up with was someone she didn’t particularly like? Not that she disliked any of the remaining men, but there were some she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be too compatible with.
Like Craig.
If Craig was her most compatible Suitor, what would that say about her? He was openly materialistic, ambitious and ruthless—which, okay, yes, was a lot like her, but she didn’t want America to know those things about her. She wanted to be compatible with someone wholesome and good—like Daniel—not someone who openly admitted he wasn’t interested in love.
Marcy flipped open the cover. The compatibility tests were always arranged from worst to best. She flipped quickly past the first few—no surprises there. Her relief grew as she didn’t see Daniel’s name at the top of the pile. But she didn’t see Craig’s either.
Impatience grew and she flipped to the back of the pile—her most compatible Suitor.
Ninety-two percent. Not the highest the experts had ever given, but perfectly respectable. And the name at the top of the page?
Not exactly respectable. Craig Corrow.
Shit.
Daniel was next highest. Eighty-nine percent. Almost as good. But not quite. No, her most compatible Suitor was the one man she’d been afraid she was too much like. And there it was in black and white. Romancing Miss Right had some smart experts. He wasn’t in it for love and neither was she.
If she told America she was keeping him because he was her most compatible Suitor, they would be less inclined to think she was an idiot woman being taken in by a con man. People didn’t buy books from authors they thought were morons. But if she revealed that Craig was her most compatible, what would that reveal about her? Would the viewing public figure out that she was a romantic fraud?
What right did she have to write about romance? What did she know about true love anyway? She was already afraid she was a phony, was this just the last nail in the coffin? Who would she be if she couldn’t be a writer anymore? She’d built her whole identity around happily ever afters and she wasn’t even sure she believed they existed.
One of the cameramen coughed and Marcy reminded herself that she was on. She flipped quickly through the rest of the files, nodding, smiling, and then looked up to the camera with a grin. “No surprises here.” That was true enough. “But I think I’m going to keep this information to myself.”
She closed the folder, tying it shut, and wondered if she could sneak off somewhere and quietly burn it—not that the producers wouldn’t have made copies. God, she hoped the information never got leaked. She needed her illusions.
#
Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, counting slowly to three before opening them again in an effort to force her tired retinas to focus on the blurring screen. She’d been reviewing the footage for hours, trying to avoid the inevitable conclusion—the week was dull. Boring. Ever since she’d put Craig on his best behavior, the drama of the show had taken a marked drop.
She’d given the Compatibility Test results to Marcy a couple days early in an attempt to drum up something watchable, but Miss Right had chosen to play that one close to the vest and the entire plan had backfired.
She needed a scandal. Something they could promote the hell out of to tempt the viewers to stick with them until they started forming emotional attachments and picking favorites. It was too early for dull.
Tomorrow night was the Elimination Ceremony—the final night of filming for this episode. She needed a jolt of drama in the next twenty hours or she might as well start brushing up her resume.
Hands closed over her shoulders and she shrieked, half-leaping out of her chair. “Bennett! Crap, you scared me. What are you doing sneaking up on me?”
He coaxed her back to her chair in the editing bay, pulling up another beside her. “I wasn’t sneaking. You were so engrossed I think a marching band could have walked in here and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
She frowned, pulling her hand from his when he started to massage her palm. “This isn’t a good time. I’m under the gun.”
“I can help, remember? Partners?”
She shook her head, exasperated, but desperate enough to take a genius idea from anywhere at this point. “I need drama. Nothing happened this week. Nothing. Wallace is going to fire me if I don’t come up with something good, but we don’t have a single useable scandal. Unless I can somehow get the guys to break out into a brawl tomorrow before the ceremony, I’m screwed.”
She wasn’t paying attention to anything but her problem or she probably would have noticed before the last sentence the way Bennett’s expression closed off more and more as she spoke until he wore a carefully expressionless mask.
“What?” she snapped.
“You want me to help you smut-mine?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I want you to not give me a hard time about what I do for a living when I have enough to deal with already, but it doesn’t sound like I’m going to get what I want tonight.”
His face grew tense, as if the muscles of his mouth were fighting themselves on whether or not he would speak. “Are you listening to yourself? You’re fabricating scandal. You know it’s wrong.”
“I know the viewers want it and the Suitors signed up for it.”
“Those kinds of cheap stunts are what is ruining television.”
“Yeah. So you’ve said. And you’re a god among producers because you only work on high minded shows about finding the next big dance star or renovating a needy family’s home. Ratings are dropping across the board in reality television. The eighteen to forty-nine demo is leaning more and more toward scripted television. I avoided a dip last season by making Jack and Lou the romance of the year, but I can’t slack off now. You know better than anyone that getting to the top doesn’t mean taking a holiday. You work harder.”
“By stirring up imaginary scandals? You’re better than this.”
“And you’re wasting my time.”
His face tightened again, the lines jumping out in stark relief.
Miranda looked away. “Maybe we should take a break.”
“What?”
“I’m about to go on location anyway—”
“You don’t need to,” he interrupted. “Glen never traveled with the show. You have a supervising producer for a reason.”
“I want to keep a close eye.”
“You want to run away from me.”
“It isn’t always about you, Bennett.”
He shoved to his feet, stalking to the opposite side of the small editing bay. “No. It’s never about me. It’s always your show first and me last.”
Her heart was beating too fast. This was it. They might really be breaking up. “You knew what you were getting with me.”
“Yeah, a younger female version of me.”
“And that’s what you liked, right?” She threw the words at him, as if she could blame him for getting involved with her in the first place.
“I really owe my ex wives apologies.”
“Well, maybe you should go apologize. If you remarry one of them, think of the alimony savings.”
“Goddamn it, Miranda.”
“I really need to get back to work.”
He yanked both hands through his hair, as if by pulling the strands he could pull himself together. “I can’t travel with you,” he snapped. “My show begins shooting in two weeks. I’m needed here.”
“This is probably for the best.” Her throat tightened but she forced herself to look unaffected. “It was never going to last anyway.”
His mouth clicked shut and he swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess it wasn’t. Goodbye, Miranda.”
“Yeah. Best wishes, Bennett.” Happy fucking trails.
He hesitated, as if waiting to see if she would say more, then shook his head, sharp and aggravated, and stalked out of the room. The door to the editing bay didn’t slam, catching on the carpet. She swallowed thickly, turning back to her tablet. She stared at it for a good three minutes before she could focus her eyes.
Marcy. The show. That was what she needed to be thinking about. Bennett was a blip. Focus, Miranda. She needed scandal. Something juicy.
Miranda punched up her assistant’s number on her phone, only glancing at the ungodly hour after the third ring. She felt only the slightest flicker of guilt. You didn’t get into this business because you liked normal working hours.
Todd answered groggily on the fourth ring.
“Sorry to wake you,” Miranda said, more out of politeness than sincerity.
“No, no, I was awake,” Todd lied. “What’s up, boss?”
“I can’t find the background checks we did on the Suitors.” Because I’ve been awake for forty-two consecutive hours and my heart just stopped beating. “I need a deep dark secret we can exploit. Secret families would be best, but right now I’ll take anything.”
“They’re filed under the private investigator’s name,” Todd said, “but it’s a pretty clean group. We vetted them pretty thoroughly.”
“Crap.”
“Do you want me to check the tip line?” he asked, sounding much more alert—which was how he’d gotten the job as her right hand. “See if any of the crazies check out? Or we can arrange a party crasher. That astronaut from two seasons ago is always willing to fly in and stir things up.”
“Start with the tip line. If that fails we’ll try the Space Cowboy in the morning.”
“On it.”
He hung up, not asking for thanks. And Miranda went back to the footage, looking for some scrap of drama she might have missed. Trying not to think about the drama of her own shredded love-life.
#
“Jackpot!”
Miranda jerked awake, rubbing at the keyboard imprint on her cheek as her assistant burst into the editing bay, waving his tablet triumphantly.
“We have a winner,” Todd declared. “One of the crazies from the tip line turns out to not be totally insane after all. Turns out one of our boys has a secret girlfriend back home.”
That cleared away the last cobwebs of sleep in a hurry. “Seriously?” There is a God. “Which one? Never mind, who cares? Is she willing to appear on camera?”
“Already signed the release,” Todd said triumphantly. “She can be on the nine o’clock flight up.”
Miranda looked at the clock on the wall. Six thirty in the morning. They had twelve hours to put it all together before the pre-Elimination cocktail party. Perfect. “Todd, remind me to give you a raise. Or a pony. Your choice.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the raise. Ponies are a pain in the ass.”
“Good call. Get the girlfriend on that plane. I’ll meet her at the airport and prep her on the way. In the meantime, get me Pendleton. We’ll need him to do a Tactful Concern About These Rumors scene with Marcy, so she can confront the Suitor before we bring in the girlfriend to confirm it all.”
Todd turned, already on his phone to carry out her orders, when Miranda called him back.
“Wait. Which Suitor is it?”
“Craig.”
A smile spread across her face. “I’ll be damned. It’s Christmas.”
#
“He didn’t tell me where he was going.” The perky little blond sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a linen hanky she’d probably brought along just for that purpose, and blinked tearfully at the cameras. “I thought it might be a reality show—Survivor or something—he’s always wanted to be on television, but then a friend mentioned seeing someone who looked like him among the Miss Right Suitors at a Renaissance Faire and I put it all together. I just can’t believe he would do this to me.”
Miranda frowned. The “girlfriend” was as fake as a three dollar bill, but her story was surprisingly credible. Miranda muttered a question into her handset, the one linked to the earbud in Josh Pendleton’s ear and a moment later the question came out of his mouth, smooth as silk.
“Why didn’t our background checks turn up that he had a girlfriend?”
“We both wanted to keep our relationship quiet, since we work together and sometimes people can take that the wrong way. I thought he was protecting me—not wanting people to think I’d slept my way to the top—but now I have to wonder how many other times he cheated on me because no one knew he was taken.”
Miranda told Josh to wrap it up—they had what they needed from the girlfriend for now. Time to put her on ice and bring Marcy in for the I’m afraid I’ve received some troubling news portion of the proceedings.
It was a busy day. And as long as Miranda focused on the busy, she didn’t have to acknowledge anything else that had happened in the last twenty four hours.
#
“Marcy, I’m afraid I’ve received some troubling news about one of our Suitors.”
Marcy stepped back, making sure to stay out of the camera’s line of sight as she admitted Josh Pendleton into the Miss Right Mansion. She screwed her face up into concern and said, “Is everyone all right?”
Feigning a surprise she didn’t feel, she led the way into the main sitting room. Fifteen minutes ago two camera crews and hair and make-up had shown up to get footage of her gathering her thoughts for tonight’s ceremony. Since they didn’t normally film her preparation and she’d already received the Compatibility Tests, she’d have to be a fool not to suspect something was coming. The show didn’t waste two camera crews on thought gathering. Not even on a slow week.
“I’m afraid not,” Josh intoned gravely, taking a seat in an armchair and leaving her to perch on the couch. The cameramen were already in position, obviously having coached Pendleton on where to sit. “I’m just going to come right out and say it, Marcy,” the host said, pausing for dramatic effect, letting the moment build until she was ready to throw something at him. “It’s come to our attention that one of our Suitors may have a girlfriend back home.”
Marcy gasped—hoping it didn’t look like she’d expected precisely that. It wasn’t exactly unheard of in the reality dating world. “Who?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’m afraid it’s Craig.”
Something in the vicinity of her heart lurched. “Of course it is.”
Josh frowned, his face twisting with concern. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“Well, he did say he wasn’t here for love.” No, she wasn’t surprised, though she was far more disappointed than she cared to admit.
Josh nodded somberly. “How would you like to proceed?”
It was tempting to tell him to have Craig pack his bags and go. To not even speak to him. But that felt too cowardly. She wasn’t afraid to face anyone. Especially one lying, pretend Suitor.
And the show loved a good confrontation.
“I’d like to talk to him.”
Josh nodded again—all respectful and grave, as if they were planning a funeral. “We’ll set that up.” His face contorted into sympathy. “His girlfriend is here as well. Do you want to…?”
“This isn’t about her. It’s about him lying.”
“Do you want me with you when we confront him?”
Again that cowardly temptation. She stomped on it. “No. I’ll talk to him alone.” Or as alone as they could be with two camera crews and hair and make-up looking on.
Josh nodded. “I’ll get that arranged.”
Which meant Miranda would wave her magic wand while Josh had a cocktail beside the pool. So much sleight of hand in Show Biz.
Craig fit right in. The liar.
So he was a snake after all. She couldn’t pretend to be surprised. His I’m-an-open-book act had been hard to buy from the beginning. But she did feel strangely… sad to have been proved right about him. Sometimes right was no fun.
They set her up in the garden. Wardrobe thought a deep blue sundress was suitably somber for the confrontation. After long debate amongst the stylists, her hair was left down around her shoulders and make-up was kept natural. Then he arrived.
Craig walked in with his usual swagger, dark hair gleaming in the last of the evening sun. “Couldn’t wait until tonight to see me again, doll face?”
She didn’t bother with a preamble. “I understand you have a girlfriend, Craig.”
He barked a laugh. “Cute. Why did you really want to see me?” He threw himself onto the patio chair facing hers. Then he seemed to realize she wasn’t laughing and the amusement fled from his face. “You aren’t serious.”
Marcy looked to the segment producer hovering nearby. “I don’t think I got her name.”
“Marta Kirsch,” Linus provided.
Marcy turned back to Craig. “Seems you’re in a relationship with Marta Kirsch.”
“That’s bullshit. I don’t even know who that is.”
“Well, she seems to know you.” Marcy immediately regretted not having Josh next to her for this. She hadn’t gotten all the details. Hadn’t examined the proof. Somehow she hadn’t expected Craig to deny it. He was caught. She’d thought he would admit it.
“They work together,” Linus prompted, bless him.
Craig’s face instantly darkened with equal parts recognition and anger. “Marta at Midnight? Are you kidding me?”
Marta at Midnight. Was that when they met? Clandestine rendezvous?
“And you just believe this?” Craig growled. He launched out of his chair, making the camera crews scramble, but he was only stalking to the edge of the patio and back again, pacing angrily. “No proof needed. Of course I’m a two-timing prick, is that it?”
That had pretty much been it, but Marcy hesitated to admit it in the face of his anger. “Why would she lie?”
“Because she’s a grubby little fame whore who wants her fifteen minutes and thinks she can get it by piggy-backing on me,” he snapped. “I’ve never touched her—not that she didn’t make it very apparent when she first started working for K-Rock that she’d be willing to do whatever it took to advance—but I wasn’t interested then and I’m not interested now. I don’t even fucking like her. I can get you a dozen witnesses who will swear I’ve never looked twice at Marta. She’s just the girl sitting in my chair until I get back.”
A weight she hadn’t been aware of lifted, leaving her light with relief. He didn’t have a girlfriend after all. He really didn’t. She shouldn’t be so happy about that.
He stalked around the patio, then stormed back until he was looming over her. “But this isn’t about her. You just believed her. I was already tried and convicted before I walked in the door today. You actually think that of me. You think I’m the kind of guy who would make out with you while I was with someone else?” His black eyes glittered angrily. “I’m not a cheater,” he bit out. “If I had a girlfriend, there is no way in hell I would ever lay a finger on another woman. And that you would think that of me—”
“Craig.” She stood, putting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her fingertips. He was genuinely angry. There was nothing fake about the flush rising up from his collar. Obviously fidelity was a button. “I didn’t know. We’re only starting to know each other and Josh came to me with this story that… I guess I just thought they’d checked it out.” She took a half-step closer. “I’m sorry.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she liked seeing him riled up like this at the threat to his honor. Craig Corrow had honor. Who knew? He was more than just a shallow exterior. He was a one woman man. And that was hot as hell.
“Forgive me for believing the worst?” she asked.
“Yeah, I forgive you.” The fight seemed to drain out of him. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle like that.” He grimaced, then admitted, “My dad cheated. With my mom. Though she didn’t know she was the other woman until she was pregnant with me and he bailed. I swore I’d never be that guy.”
Ouch. No wonder he’d reacted so strongly.
He put his hand over hers where it rested on his chest.
“You aren’t,” she said. Underneath all his bad boy exterior, she was starting to wonder if Craig Corrow wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
His dark eyes met hers. It was the most natural thing in the world to rock up onto her toes for a kiss. They’d had searing kisses before. Mind-melting ones. But this was something different. An apology. An offer. A request. It was asked and answered with surprising tenderness.
She rested back on her heels, and his lips clung for a moment longer before he lifted his head.
“I should start getting ready for tonight,” she said.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Another brush of his lips against hers. Then he was gone and she sank back onto the patio chair, resisting the urge to fan herself.
Craig Corrow. Who knew?
#
“Is she here?” Craig waited only until he was out of Marcy’s earshot before turning to the nearest producer. “I want to talk to that lying little bitch.”
Miranda appeared through a nearby doorway. “I assume you mean Ms. Kirsch. I’m not so sure that would be a good idea.” The producer cocked her head, considering. “Though if we could film it…”
“She won’t be honest if she knows she’s on camera.”
“She doesn’t have to know. She signed the blanket release. We can film her without her knowledge.”
“Well?” he demanded.
Miranda studied him and smiled. “I’ll set it up.”
#
The room was perfect. If Craig hadn’t known it was riddled with hidden cameras, he never would have suspected. All but climbing the walls, he waited for Marta. The Elimination Ceremony was in less than two hours and he still needed to put on his suit, but he wasn’t letting his accuser slink off without facing him.
Vindication on national television was going to taste sweet as hell.
The door opened and he spoke almost before the little blond crossed the threshold. “What the fuck, Marta?”
She shut the door behind her, scanned the room for cameras, and held out her hands placatingly. “I know it was pushing it, but can you blame me? It’s national exposure, Craig.”
“I know. Why the fuck do you think I’m here?” He shook his head. “I’m not surprised you wanted a piece of the fame, I’m just surprised you had the brains to figure out where I went and how you could use it to your advantage.” Her gaze skittered away from his and he groaned. “You didn’t, did you? Let me guess—one of the listeners put together where I went and you just figured you could tag along on my notoriety.”
“I didn’t think you’d be mad. This will increase your airtime.”
“By calling me a cheater on national television. Did you think I would thank you? That I wouldn’t call you out as the liar you are?”
“I didn’t think it would matter. She’s bound to figure out you’re not marriage material and drop you anyway. I figured we’d both get a little airtime before she wises up.”
“Thank you for that flattering assessment of my romantic appeal. Go home, Marta. Keep my job warm for me. But I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you. Even if I leave K-Rock to go on to bigger and better things, no one wants to work with a saboteur.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t get too comfortable either, Romeo. You always were an asshole, and sooner or later, little Miss Right is bound to figure you out.”
He shrugged. “Just as long as it’s later.”