He’d only been back in his hotel room for twenty minutes when the production assistant knocked on his door. Not even long enough to get a good start on a bender. Craig opened the door, mini-bar scotch in one hand, the other braced against the door to keep it open. “Yeah?”
The PA clutched a tablet to her chest. “Marcy would like a word with you.”
Shit. Craig downed the rest of the tiny bottle in a single swallow and sat on the bed to put on his shoes as the PA shifted from foot to foot in the doorway.
He hadn’t known whether she would wait until the following night and the Elimination Ceremony or whether she would come after him as soon as she got back to town, but he supposed sooner was better than later.
He followed the production assistant down the hallway to the little sitting area that was used for the hotel’s continental breakfast every morning where Marcy and a host of cameras were already waiting.
He wasn’t so melodramatic as to think it was like walking to the executioner. He was already resigned to the fact that he was leaving. He’d done the damage this afternoon. All that was left now was to take his medicine and go home—with his new job in his back pocket.
Maybe they’d see one another again someday down the road, probably at a Romancing Miss Right reunion show. When she’d be engaged to someone else.
Craig rubbed at his mouth, wishing he’d taken the time for a second mini-bar shot.
She was still wearing the v-neck T and shorts she’d worn for the picnic this afternoon, her hair swept up and back in a simple ponytail. Still as undeniably beautiful as ever, her clear green eyes steady on him when he walked into the room.
“Marcy.”
“Craig.”
They’d never been awkward with one another before, but if they were going to be awkward, now seemed a likely time. The Big Goodbye.
“Have a seat.”
Ah. So they were being civilized. Craig took the chair that had been set up and perfectly lit next to her. It was comfortable. Squishy. At least he wasn’t going to be dumped in one of those awful hard-seated chairs they’d had at the dinner after their bungee-jumping date. Though he hadn’t minded the hard seats then. Marcy had made the night fun.
Now, in her own comfy chair, she took a deep breath, visibly bracing herself. He knew the platitudes. Eliminations were never easy. Craig ran over all the possible break-up lines in his head. It’s not me, it’s you. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out. Go fuck up some other girl’s life.
“I have a question I need to ask you.”
Craig frowned. He hadn’t been expecting a question.
She wet her lips, a nervous tell. “You’ve always been honest with me and I appreciate that—”
This did not sound like a break-up speech. Craig’s frown deepened.
“So please, be honest now.”
She paused. Thinking she needed some kind of response, he muttered, “Okay.”
She nodded, swallowed hard and wet her lips—so many little nervous gestures. What did she have to be nervous about?
“If I took you to the end,” she said, her voice starting soft and gaining volume. “If I picked you, if I loved you and you won it all, would you break my heart?”
His mouth went dry. Sahara dry. Kalahari dry. She had to make this hard on both of them, didn’t she? The producers had probably put her up to this. The assholes.
His answer—the only answer he could honestly give—came out as a croak. “Yes.”
Something shuttered in her eyes, though she didn’t show even a flicker of surprise. “Okay.” She swallowed again, taking another slow breath. “So why should I take a chance on you?”
“You shouldn’t. Marcy, you should send me home.”
This time she did react, irritation flashing in her eyes and tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You want me to kick you off the show.”
It didn’t sound like a question, but he found himself answering anyway. “It isn’t about what I want.”
“What’s it about then, Craig? Because I don’t know what the hell is going on with you today.”
He had to tell her. He had to confess about the job. As soon as he told her about the offer, she would understand. He wouldn’t need to say he was choosing money over love. She would know. Marcy got him.
That’s what you’re giving up, dumb ass. The one woman who gets you.
But if he stayed there was no guarantee it would work anyway. Relationships failed every day. Especially relationships formed on reality television shows. The job was a sure thing. A shot at the life he’d always wanted. He could buy his mom that house. Get her out of her shabby neighborhood. Bird in the hand…
“Marcy, there’s something I need to tell you—”
“I swear to God, Craig, if you are really dating that bimbo from San Diego—”
“It isn’t that.”
“Then what? What is this big dramatic secret that’s had you being a dick all day?”
He swallowed. Rubbed the back of his neck. Now he was the one with the nervous ticks. He didn’t want to say it. As soon as he said it, it was real. It was over. They were done. And he wasn’t ready to be done with her yet.
But he wasn’t sure he ever would be and the clock was ticking. Better now. He’d never have a more perfect opportunity.
Craig leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “Miranda came to see me the other day with an interesting offer—”
“Marcy!”
The distant shout froze the rest of the words in his throat. There was something in it—some edge of fear or urgency that made Craig’s stomach automatically clench with dread. Bad news. Footsteps thudded rapidly down the hallway. A PA appeared in the doorway, out-of-breath, eyes seeking out Marcy’s.
“It’s your father.”