Miranda sat in the editing bay, scrolling through the footage from the previous night. Miss Right and all the Suitors had retreated to their respective mansions and collapsed after shooting had finally wrapped close to five a.m., but there was no rest for the wicked. And Miranda was pretty sure she qualified as wicked. Anyone who made her living manipulating people’s emotions had to fit the bill.
On screen, Daniel swept Marcy into his arms, gallantly carrying her across the lawn, and Miranda made note of the time-stamp on the footage. That was a money shot right there. The reality TV gods had been smiling on her when they gave her Daniel.
In a few hours, Marcy would wake up and start getting ready for her first private date. It hadn’t been hard to make sure Marcy “picked” Daniel for the first date, setting him up as the early favorite. The viewers tended to be like baby ducks—imprinting on the first Suitor out of the gate who was remotely promising. And Daniel was very promising.
He had a real chance to win the whole thing, but Miranda almost hoped that he didn’t because using him as the next season’s Mister Perfect would be pure, undiluted ratings gold.
The casting team had dug him up out of nowhere. A school teacher from the Midwest, nominated by the mothers of several of his students. Went to church. Loved his parents. Wanted to have kids, but just hadn’t met the right woman yet.
The poor bastard hadn’t known what he was getting himself into, signing up for Romancing Miss Right. His homespun values and innate chivalry were for real. Completely uncoached. You couldn’t train that kind of sincerity.
If only Marcy seemed to like him more.
She’d been good last night—composed and elegant when needed, fun and flirty when called for—but those emotional walls were still an issue. The viewers wanted all the emotional ups and downs of falling madly, wildly, foolishly in love. They weren’t going to get that if Marcy was too reserved.
Miranda scrolled through the footage, pausing again when she saw a flicker of uncertainty on Marcy’s face. There. That was human. That was real. But who was she looking at?
Miranda’s cell phone rang and she reached for it absently as she pulled up additional angles of the same moment. “Miranda Pierce.”
“Why are you still awake?”
At the sound of that voice, she stopped seeing the screens in front of her, going blind as her entire being seemed to lean down the line. Only Bennett Lang could do that to her. Her former mentor and current lover was the only thing that could so completely swallow her focus. “Bennett.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still working.”
“All right, I won’t tell you.”
He made a small disapproving sound. “You need to take care of yourself. Or better yet, let me take care of you. Come over tonight.”
“We’re filming tonight.”
“And your minions can take care of it,” he argued. “That’s the benefit of being EP. Delegation.”
“The first few episodes are crucial. They set the tone for the entire season. I can’t just decide to take a night off. Not right now. I warned you that for the first couple weeks I practically live at the mansion.”
“You’re looking through raw footage right now, aren’t you?” he accused, proving yet again that he knew her entirely too well. “You have story producers and editors for a reason, Miranda. Use them.”
“They don’t see what I see. This is how I got where I am. If I don’t stay vigilant, Wallace will give my job to someone else.”
“And then you can come work with me at ADS again.”
Miranda snorted. “Because that wouldn’t be a conflict of interest at all.”
They had met when she was just starting out as a segment producer on American Dance Star—and she’d left a job she loved to go to the Marrying Mister Perfect/Romancing Miss Right franchise when she realized she was having unprofessional feelings for Bennett. She refused to be that woman who slept her way to the top. She wasn’t going back on that now.
“We could work that out,” he argued, ever persuasive.
She tensed, annoyed by the same old argument. “Bennett. I haven’t slept. I’m busy and I’m tired. Do we have to discuss this now?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said, though they both knew she wouldn’t be sleeping when she got off the phone. “First night go well?”
“Better than I could have dreamed. Though I may have just jinxed it by saying so.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”
“I don’t.” Her eyes fell back on the monitor and she frowned. Who was Marcy looking at?
“I just lost you, didn’t I?” Bennett said, again with that eerie perception.
“Sorry. You caught me in the middle of something.”
“At least consider taking a night off, all right? You have months before the first episode airs to make everything perfect. Let your minions do some of the work for a change. I want to see you.”
“I’ll think about it.” When I have time.
“I guess that’s all I can ask.”
“G’night, Bennett.”
“It’s morning, Miranda. I’m calling from the office.”
“Then good morning.”
“Good morning,” he echoed.
She disconnected and set her phone aside, attention already back on the screens. On them, the room was crowded. It was hard to tell who Marcy might be looking at, but someone there had gotten under Miss Right’s skin and Miranda would find out who. She would find that spark of vulnerability and fan it into genuine emotion.
This was going to be an unforgettable season. She would make sure of it.