“Hawaii is the perfect place to fall in love—”
Miranda frowned, leaning over Todd’s shoulder in the editing bay as a lei-bedecked Marcy gushed about the passion of the islands. “No, no, not that segment. Fiji. The tribal village with the school.”
“Right,” her beleaguered assistant muttered, switching the footage. “It might help if you told me exactly what you’re looking for.”
“A spark,” Miranda said absently. “Scroll through. It’s when they’re with the kids.”
Her assistant obliged until Miranda jabbed her finger at the screen. “There.”
The footage froze on an adorable little girl, maybe four years old, hanging back as the other kids rushed forward to snatch cookies from the outstretched hands of Miss Right and her Suitor.
“Get me the other camera, the one on Marcy, and put the two side-by-side. Play from there.”
A few keystrokes and the scene began to play out. The little girl stood in the background, drawing a circle in the dirt with one bare toe. Marcy knelt, swarmed by kids, and her Suitor glanced up, noticing the little girl. He made a face at her and her little lips twitched, but didn’t quite smile. He dropped down onto all fours—two slightly older boys immediately clambering onto his back to ride him like a pony—and prowled toward the little girl, baring his teeth and snarling until she giggled, squealed and ran in a circle, far enough away to pretend to escape but not so far that he couldn’t reach out and catch her with a roar, surging to his feet with the two boys clinging, dangling from his shoulders as he raised the girl high above his head.
“Pause.”
And there it was. On Marcy’s reaction shot. As Craig cradled the giggling girl in his arms, Miss Right looked at him like she’d been hit in the face with a two-by-four. A two-by-four wielded by her biological clock.
Craig wasn’t supposed to be Daddy material. He was supposed to be too cynical and citified to enjoy the river tribe date. He was supposed to roll his eyes not laugh and add his decidedly-off-key voice when the pre-schoolers started serenading Marcy with an old One Direction song.
He wasn’t supposed to be Mr. Right, damn it.
Miranda cursed. Ever since the fake girlfriend incident—which had probably helped Craig rather than taken away some of his influence over Marcy as she’d hoped—Craig Corrow had been far too popular with their Miss Right. He was starting to look like the goddamn favorite.
“What?” her assistant asked wearily.
Miranda jabbed a finger at the screen. “Every woman in America just melted. Including Miss Right.”
He shrugged. “So he bought himself another two weeks. He won’t make it past Meeting the Parents. That’s when things always get real.”
“She’s smitten.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as—”
“See for yourself,” Miranda cut him off, bringing up the rough cut confessional footage she’d been reviewing earlier.
On screen, the lovely Miss Right smiled, poised as ever, as she spoke about her remaining six Suitors. In the last four weeks, they’d traveled to three different tropical locales and the dates had run the gamut from putting the men in loin clothes and teaching them warrior dances to a romantic dinner on a floating platform in the middle of a lagoon, surrounded by a thousand drifting paper lanterns. And through all the romance and travel advertisements, Marcy had winnowed away at her Suitors until only six remained. In a couple days, two more would be sent packing and the rest would head to their homes to introduce Marcy to their parents.
“I wasn’t sure this would happen, but I can feel there’s something real building with several of the guys. I definitely feel most comfortable with Daniel. There’s never any pressure when I’m with him. He’s such a gentleman. And then Darius.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Darius has game. There’s no denying that, but he’s very competitive. I worry it’s all about the chase for him, the competition. Aidan is a sweetheart, but I’m still waiting for him to make a big move. To really open up. He’s so hesitant with me. Mark is quiet too, and you might think he would fade into the background, but there’s just something about him. He’s very charming, in his own way. And Craig…”
She trailed off, her eyes going distant and a flush rising to her cheeks. For all the others, she had clear eyes and a ready line, but whenever she spoke Craig’s name, she’d forget what she was about to say and have to start over several times.
Danger, Will Robinson. “Smitten,” Miranda snapped. “And sometimes smitten takes a guy all the way to the final show.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“He isn’t happily-ever-after material. A dramatic break-up is all well and good as long as it happens before she rides off into the sunset with Prince Charming. America needs that cathartic happy ending and Craig is a bad bet.”
Miranda needed that cathartic happy ending.
She’d been off her game ever since they left LA. Her staff had even begun to reflect her tension. She knew she was driving them crazy with her nit picking and micromanaging, but she couldn’t seem to stop. She needed this one aspect of her life to be perfect. She may not be able to orchestrate a perfect happy ending for herself, but she would create one for Marcy.
Marcy, who was still too guarded. Marcy, who reminded her more and more of herself. Scared of the out-of-control flying-leap-of-faith aspect of love.
Miranda had never felt in control growing up, never trusted relationships to last as her mother went through a revolving door of perfectly nice guys. Fathers for five seconds. She hadn’t been able to control that any more than she’d been able to control Bennett walking away. But she could control the show. It was the one aspect of her life where her control had always been perfect. She could make it perfect for Marcy. And she would, damn it. Even if it drove her people crazy in the process.
Marcy wasn’t going to get forever with a guy like Craig. Miranda had seen dozens of him and he had heartbreak written all over him. Daniel was the forever guy and Marcy needed to be falling in love with him, and she would if Craig could stop getting in the way.
Miranda had thought the lie detector test would trip him up but he’d been completely honest—even on the difficult questions—and actually gained points in Marcy’s estimation, as opposed to several of the other guys who had stupidly tried to bluff. Of course, Craig’s honesty had never been the problem. He’d been very honest about what he wanted.
He would do anything to get a job in television.
It was time to intervene.
Miranda glared at the screen. “What time is it in LA?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“Get me Wallace on the phone. I need a carrot to get this asshole off my show.”