Dion parked down the street from the restaurant the next day. He’d never been on camera before. The thought put him as off-balance as he’d probably made Kasee the day before when he’d asked her to try to fall in love with him. In the moment he’d given into the temptation to push her like he had with her sexuality on the phone. He didn’t like to see people taking the easy way out. Time would tell what sort of person Kasee Kean was. For now he needed to focus on himself—the third-date wonder.

“Prepare to become a sex symbol,” he muttered to himself as he left his car and buttoned his jacket.

He’d had been forced to invest in one nice suit the year before, when he’d snuck into a society wedding at a hotel in a successful attempt to take exclusive pictures. They had netted him twenty thousand dollars, a clear profit over his thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit’s cost. But after that, the suit had gone back into his closet, carefully covered with a dry cleaning bag, and he was lucky it still fit.

Kasee clearly approved of his classic choice in suiting. Her eyes roved over him as she stood from the bench where she’d been waiting. “It’s a cliché, but you sure clean up nice,” she said, her voice cheery.

He was glad he’d chosen well. “You look very nice yourself.” She wore an outrageous pair of high, gold-beaded stilettos with a little black dress that had a flounce at the bottom giving teasing glances of her toned thighs. The woven gold necklace she wore with a diamond detail at her throat probably cost at least what he’d made at that wedding. Kasee Kean was one expensive woman.

A man in jeans with a three-day scruff on his face came up to them. Behind him was a dreadlocked, bean-pole of a woman holding mic packs. “Let’s get you ready.”

“Does the rest of the cast know we’re coming, Brock?” Kasee asked.

The man shook his head. “Not a one, so you’d better get maximum mileage out of this.”

“Hey, I know my life is on the line. Make sure the camera operators get all the double takes.”

“Hey, who is the professional here?” Brock said, but in good humor, as the assistant hooked up Dion’s mic pack.

Kasee’s bulged at the back of her dress, attached to her bra, but his was able to be hidden in his suit. When they were done, the producer nodded satisfaction and led them through the bar to the back of the restaurant, where the private event room was.

“Who will be there?” Dion asked, wishing he’d thought to initiate a phone call to her so he’d be better prepared.

“Keith and Tammy, of course, my ex and my ex-best friend who married the jerk,” she whispered. “The other three Ladies of Baltimore are Juliette Hink, Amber Bohl, and Stephanie Steele.”

“Stephanie is the sista, right?”

“Yes. Amber and Tammy are the youngest, I’m the next oldest, and Juliette is thirty-nine. They are all married. Juliette and Amber have doctor husbands, and Stephanie just filed for divorce from her husband, who owns a landscaping company.” She leaned into his ear. “I don’t think he was grand enough once she made it onto the show.”

The assistant’s dreadlocks brushed Dion’s cheek as she leaned in front of him and opened the double doors of the private room. A camera crew came out of nowhere to shoot them from the right as he and Kasee stared into the room.

Inside, a long dining table was surrounded by seated people. He recognized Stephanie, in her mid-thirties, lean with stringy arm muscles displayed by her sleeveless shift, alone at the end of the table. A woman in the center of the table, opposite of them, leapt to her feet. The man next to her, Kasee’s ex Keith, grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her back into her seat as she shrieked.

This must be Tammy Lefrand Kean. “How dare you show your face here!” She ripped her arm away from her new husband, dislodging a glittering diamond tennis bracelet in the process. It slithered onto the table, reflecting light.

Dion put his arm around Kasee’s shoulders, not sure what he should do. A camera operator in the left corner of the room came forward, aiming directly at them. Kasee’s head went up, but he could feel her trembling under his arm.

“Well, well.” Stephanie stood, and came over for a hug.

Kasee smiled at her first ally.

“Who’s this fine hunk of chocolate?” Stephanie asked.

“Dion Hamilton,” Kasee said.

Stephanie ran her hand down his free arm. “Where did you find him, and does he have a brother?”

Dion forced a laugh. “There’s always my partner, Jorge.”

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed, and he remembered a second too late that this was a show about the ladies. He probably shouldn’t speak unless the women couldn’t come up with something fast. “Oh, honey, I’m off men. My divorce isn’t even final yet.”

“We need to have a girls’ night and catch up,” Kasee said. “Amber? Juliette? What do you think?”

Juliette, a redhead in her late thirties, clutched her husband’s arm and pretended she hadn’t heard, but Amber, about thirty with pixie-cut white blond hair, jumped to her feet and tottered over in six-inch heels to throw her arms around Kasee.

“I’ve missed you!” Amber squealed. “Come sit by me!”

Dion remembered the original cast picture. Amber had been anchoring one side, half hidden by Tammy. She’d probably been the weakest link in the allegiance. Kasee had been in the center of the pack, probably because she’d been married to a bona fide local celebrity. Dion realized he’d misinterpreted Stephanie’s rush to Kasee’s side.

Stephanie wasn’t an ally, she was a rival queen bee. So now, Kasee had Tammy and Juliette as enemies, and Amber as a friend. Another woman was at the table as well, but the cameras weren’t paying any attention to her. She must be the backup “lady” in case Kasee failed to get her spot back.

Amber led them to her side of the table, and seated Dion next to herself. As soon as Kasee sat down, waiters poured deep red wine into large glasses and appetizers were served.

Dion stared at the food Kasee placed on his plate, thinking this was about the worst third date he’d ever been on. His idea of a third date was beer and pizza on the couch, followed by a wild and sexy dance beneath the sheets. The first time fast, to get pent-up lust out of the way, the second, long and sweet, if the first time had been mutually satisfactory.

He blinked as he realized Tammy Kean had addressed a question to him. Carefully, he draped a napkin over his lap and turned to her. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Those internet dating sites are spitting out odd combinations these days,” she said.

“Internet dating?” he said, forcing a laugh. “No, we met at Pat’s. Lust at first sight.”

Amber laughed loudly, and as if that were the cue, her husband chuckled as well, his voice a bass counterpoint to his wife’s tinkle.

“What do you do, son?” Keith asked. “Deliver pizza? Janitorial services?”

“With those muscles?” Stephanie cooed. “I bet he’s an elite athlete.”

Something told him that a social climber like Stephanie knew exactly who the sports stars in town were, each and every baseball and football player, and who was single. And why wasn’t she reacting to Keith’s stereotypical racism?

“Are you on the reserve list for the Ravens?” Juliette’s husband asked. “I’d recognize you if you were on the active list.”

“I’m not in sports, I’m a photographer,” Dion said.

“But you’re so fit,” Amber said, running a finger down his arm.

All this touching was getting to him. “I have an active job, and I do shoot sporting events all the time, but I’ve never been a professional athlete.”

“Maybe I’ve seen you with a camera around the field,” the husband said.

“Could be. Ravens, Birds, I’m usually there for home games.”

“Do you know Jimmy Allen, the running back? I’d love to get an introduction to him,” Stephanie said dreamily.

“He’s twenty-four,” Dion said without thinking. “And a Christian.”

Stephanie’s head swiveled. Her tone went nasty as her eyes turned to flint. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dion felt a hand on his knee. He put his over Kasee’s and squeezed, wishing they’d set up some signals. The feeling that he’d just stepped into a pile of dog doo washed over him. These people wanted good television, not a pleasant conversation. “I don’t know much about you. I’m just telling you what I know about Allen.”

“Leave it to Kasee to find a dumb one,” Tammy muttered. While she’d faced Keith, she’d spoken loud enough for everyone else to hear.

“And black?” Juliette said in an only slightly lower voice. “I can’t believe how low she’s had to sink to find some dick.”

Stephanie leapt to her feet and threw the contents of her wine glass into Juliette’s face before Dion could react to the slur. The older woman shrieked and upended her plate in Stephanie’s direction, before her husband grabbed Stephanie’s arm.

“That’s assault and battery!” Stephanie cried, and then the room descended into chaos as Keith reached for Juliette’s husband and Stephanie launched herself at Juliette.

Twenty minutes later, the producers had the battling parties separated into bathrooms, trying to get them cleaned up. Dion found himself facing Kasee. When he lifted his eyebrows at her she started giggling.

“I knew you were perfect for me,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Bitches, I’m back!”

Only then he noticed that the camera had been trained on her. He said nothing so her moment could stand on its own.

They were finally allowed to leave an hour later, after they’d all been interviewed separately for their reactions. Dion was hoping he’d be offered an envelope with a check in it at some point. He hadn’t filled out any official hiring paperwork, either. How did this reality TV thing work?

He went to the curb with Kasee to wait for the valet to retrieve her car. For the moment, they were alone. Elation came off of her in waves, firing him as well, and he grabbed her hand. “It went well?”

She interlaced her fingers with his and swung their linked arms, turning her torso from side to side like a happy schoolgirl. “So well. I got a thumbs-up from the assistant producer and a text from Brock congratulating me. I’m back on the show as a main cast member!”

He grinned at the official news of their success. “Congratulations. Where does that leave me? Do I need to fill out paperwork?”

Her arm went slack. “You did the release before we entered the party.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know, but what about my pay?”

“Oh, you don’t get paid,” she said in an offhand manner. “Boyfriends don’t get paid. Only husbands.”

He stepped back, releasing her. What kind of self-absorbed brat was this Kasee Kean? “Excuse me? Then what am I doing this for?”

She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “The exposure, remember?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean the humiliation? The racist comments? I don’t think so.”

She put her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t that bad. And think of it this way. You gave Stephanie a platform to fight prejudice. You’re her natural ally.”

He jerked away. Had she seen what he had? That Stephanie had just let it all escalate, saying nothing, until she found an opening to physically attack someone with her drink? Had the producers planned the entire scene? “I don’t want a psycho ally. I don’t want to be a token minority. I want a paycheck.”

“I can’t get you that, not this season.”

“Then I quit.” As the valet pulled up in front with Kasee’s late-model luxury car, he sketched a wave. “Let being dumped by the bi-racial guy be part of your story arc this season.”

He set off toward the corner, ignoring her shout in his direction. Forget it. He wasn’t doing crazy for free. How had he let her take him for a ride? Wasn’t he smarter than this, to be fooled by a pretty blond chick into wasting his time helping her get what she wanted? He thought he was pushing her, but she’d just been pushing his buttons.

He pulled out his phone, muttering to himself. He’d skipped a soccer league practice to be there, and he knew he could have sold a photo of the goalie because he was mixed up in a crazy interfamily love affair. At least they’d probably air the part about his job because of Keith’s racist remarks.

~

Kasee stepped into her car as fast as she could, but other than the flounce at the bottom, her skirt was really tight and hard to maneuver in, and then the point of her stiletto caught in the carpet as she was moving it to the brake pad. Before she could extricate her heel, Brock called to talk terms. Ten minutes had passed by the time she disconnected. But she had a contract for a quarter of a million dollars, and an agreement that her storyline wasn’t going to be all humiliation from her ex and her ex best friend. For it to work, though, she needed Dion. She’d made storyline commitments.

The first thing she needed to do was find the man. She kicked off her shoes and pushed the chilly gas pedal with her stockinged feet, then drove down the road in the direction he’d taken. He’d obviously turned off onto a side street because she didn’t see him anywhere. Taking a gamble, she went in the direction of the Inner Harbor where she had the impression he lived, near the sports arenas. Finally, when she turned down Paca Street by the stadium, she saw him exiting a car, his cheekbones highlighted under a streetlight, making him look like a statue or something carved in stone.

She pulled over, tires screeching, and rolled down the passenger window. He stopped, shoulders stiffening, then looked over at her.

“It’s just me,” she said. “Come on, Dion, I need to talk to you.”

“You’ve got cars behind you,” he said after a long pause.

Behind her, a horn honked. “Get in,” she begged. “Please. I don’t know where you live.”

With a growl, he pulled open her door and slid into the passenger seat. She drove on as soon as he put on his seatbelt. “Where should I go?”

He grimaced. “If you see a place to park, take it. Or park in one of the surface lots.”

She saw a parking lot ahead and pulled in. “You’re going to walk me back, right?”

“We aren’t going anywhere, Kasee. We can talk in the car.”

“You’re one tough case, Dion Hamilton.”

“I’m not easy to jerk around, is all. You aren’t smarter than I am.”

“I never thought I was.” She parked in a spot and turned off the lights and the car. “I thought I was more desperate than you, but I guess not. I mean, you’ve got a good job, unlike me, so what’s wrong with gathering a little fame for free?”

“I’m not providing entertainment to a television network without getting paid,” he said. “No one is gonna get rich off my back. Tonight was miserable, all those crazy rich people fighting. Yeah, the food and the wine was good, but it’s not like we got to enjoy much of it.”

“Right. And we have to do it all again tomorrow.”

“Not gonna happen,” he said flatly.

She hiked up her skirt and rotated toward him as much as she could. “They want to film a romantic dinner between the two of us tomorrow night, plus more extensive interviews.”

“You got dumped, so film a girls’ night out with lots of wine and sobbing.”

She put her hand on his leg. His thigh muscle jumped under her fingers. “Look, I get not wanting to be used. It’s part of why I wanted my spot back on the show so bad. You know I’m going to be coming up in conversations all the time, so why should they get to use my name for free?”

“I hear you. But that’s what’s going to happen to me, for free, when you film that sobfest tomorrow night.”

She heard him. Neither of them wanted to be used. “Look, what do you want? It can’t be money. Do you want jewelry, charity donations, what? I can give you a present tomorrow on camera, or you can ask me to come to a function with you and I’ll make a donation in your name.”

“I thought you were broke.”

“I got my offer tonight. It’s not serious wealth, but it’s a good amount of money for a couple months’ work.”

“Well, that’s what I want, too. Cold, hard cash.”

“So you’re just a total mercenary?”

“Sure. Believe that. Just cut me in. I won’t even ask for half of your paycheck because I wouldn’t be involved if not for you. How about forty percent of your pay for every episode we’re both in?”

Her heart actually fluttered with horror. He so did not understand the reality of her situation. "I can't. If it came out that I paid to have a boyfriend I'd be humiliated.”

“I don’t know. It’s a storyline for you.” His tone was unyielding.

“I’m tired of the humiliation. That ended up being the takeaway about me last year. Don’t you get it? Keith’s affair was caught on camera. The first part of the episode, me beaming through some dinner party, and the second half, him telling me he had to go out, then making out with Tammy in some seedy club. They filmed all that!”

He shook his head. "It has to be cash. That's what I need."

Why? He had a job. Oh, no. Was it drugs? Did he have some other problem? Gambling? What had she gotten herself mixed up in? “Do you owe someone money?” she asked carefully.

“Not exactly.”

She took a deep breath. “Tell me the entire story."

“My dad left, okay? That was hard enough on my mom, but then she remarried and when I was nine, had a second child, my brother Johan.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, well, she was widowed, and she’s developed a drinking problem from the stress of it all. It’s all she can do to care for my brother.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He has Down’s syndrome. He’s a great guy, you’ll never meet a sweeter soul, but she’s his primary caregiver, and they’d be completely living on the state if it wasn’t for me. She says she needs more caregiver support than the state pays for, and that’s really expensive. Twenty dollars an hour. I can’t swing that right now, but I’m worried about my brother’s safety if I don’t. Mom has a way of getting what she wants.”

Kasee winced. That sounded menacing and she didn’t want to be responsible for having a vulnerable person at risk. “I get that.”

“You do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not up here living in my ivory tower or anything. You aren’t the only family with issues. Why don’t you move him in with you?”

“It would kill her,” Dion said. “And in the end, I’d need to pay for even more caregiver hours. I feel selfish paying all this money for an Inner Harbor studio, but I’ve got to have my own space.”

“Well, it’s perfect for your work,” Kasee said. “You keep talking about sports so you must make a lot of your money right around here.”

“More than half,” he agreed. “And I have the cheapest studio I can find around here. Believe me, I’m not trying to be selfish, just survive. I don’t have extra money right now and you have to understand that all these hours at parties will cut into my bottom line. I gave up some good shots tonight.”

“Okay then. How about every hour you are stuck filming with me, or prepping for it, I’ll pay for an hour of caregiving?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“That keeps it business-like, right? You never have to spend any time with me that you aren’t compensated for.”

“And you look like a hero if it ever comes out, instead of like a woman who has to pay for a date.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s just like I paid for a babysitter if you had a child.”

“Right.”

Then why did she have a hard lump in her stomach? After all, she was off men forever. Thirty-one, and she might as well let all her lady bits dry up and fall off. She held out her hand. “Deal?”

He took it, and with a pang she remembered the effortless hand-holding of an hour before, when she’d thought they would actually have a good time together. But they were both completely mercenary, and he’d won the prize for non-selfish behavior. All she wanted was her reputation restored and a job, and he wanted to take care of his mother and brother. She wasn’t worthy of him.

She pointed to her purse, on the floor at his feet. “Can you grab that for me? I’ll give you my credit card number and you can give the caregiver my billing information.”

“You’re just going to trust me with that?”

“Of course,” she said simply. “You’re a good person, and I apologize in advance for any rudeness you experience during filming. It’s not like you’re getting anything out of this. It’s for your brother.”

“It’s for my piece of mind,” he muttered as she opened her purse. “Don’t see me as some kind of hero.”

“I’ll see you any way I want,” she said, handing him her card so he could write down the numbers. “But tonight, please think about what we should say on camera about your situation. Tomorrow night will be the romantic dinner so we’ll be filmed one-on-one for hours.”

“Where are we going to eat?”

“My apartment if that’s okay. I want it to be sexy, and have it look like we’re going to bed at the end.”

He rolled his eyes, and she could feel how completely not into her he was. “Do I have to get naked?”

She poked his thigh. “Like you’d be embarrassed by that. I can tell you work out.”

He grinned. “I do have to lift heavy cameras and chase people for my job. It’s important to stay in shape.”

“Well, you just ignore any drooling or lusty expressions I sent your way. I’ll just be acting while the camera devours your hot body.”

“I appreciate that, and ditto.”

They smiled at each other, and the friendship was restored, just like that. Kasee breathed a sigh of relief as the knot in her stomach dissolved. This was going to work. It wouldn’t be free, but she’d closed the deal, and had herself a sexy television boyfriend.

~

“Thank you.” Dion hung up the phone and leaned his head back against his second-hand couch. The caregiving agency had run Kasee’s credit card for seven hours of caregiving, the number of hours he’d spent on the previous night’s dinner party. Tomorrow he’d call again with the hours from tonight’s romantic dinner. He’d heard from his mother again, saying she really needed a girls’ night out. A night like that meant she’d be too hung over to function the next day, which meant he needed about twenty-four hours of caregiving. But some money was better than nothing, so he’d told her to go ahead and schedule with the agency, and the scheduler knew she’d have to book hours for the hangover as well.

While he spent as much time with Johan as he could, he tried not to schedule it in advance because he never knew when he’d get a work tip. He could plan for sport practices and events, but not celebrity drop-ins to Baltimore. Today he planned to spend the afternoon hanging around a hotel because a Grammy-winning band was in town and the lead singer had a supermodel girlfriend. He hoped to get some good shots. Then it was off to Kasee’s apartment in Fells Point.

~

At seven p.m., he arrived on Shakespeare Street in Fells Point. Kasee had told him she’d been awarded a townhouse in the divorce settlement that they had owned as a rental property. An assistant producer Dion recognized from the previous night led him into a rear courtyard tiled in brick. He stood under a large tree, leafy fronds creating a canopy over his head, as he admired the red brick exterior and dark green window sills of the eighteenth-century building while he was miked.

“What is this property worth?” he asked the assistant producer, unable to resist his curiosity.

The man shrugged and adjusted Dion’s battery pack. “Maybe half a million.”

So Kasee was sitting pretty in a nice property and acting like she didn’t have any money? Hadn’t she ever heard of a mortgage? He understood that she needed a job, but she didn’t need to steamroll anyone. She wasn’t desperate, didn’t have kids to feed. He had to remember that the rich weren’t like the rest of the world, and that he couldn’t hope to make her understand his point of view or vice versa.

They were just too different. But he sure didn’t feel guilty for getting twenty bucks an hour from her to help out his family.

“You have to have a nice place to be on a show like this,” the assistant producer said. “Everyone wants lifestyles of the rich and famous. But people are fronting, a lot of the time.”

“For sure. Fortunes rise and fall.”

“If you were a real celebrity you wouldn’t want cameras on you all the time anyway.”

Dion straightened his shirt and jacket. “You’re wrong about that. I’m a professional photographer and some celebrities love it. Why, there are folks endlessly filming themselves, just in case they get a documentary deal.”

The producer’s eyelids fluttered. “I just don’t understand that level of narcissism.”

“Then you’re in the wrong business, brother.” Dion winked at him as an assistant opened the front door and leaned out with a bouquet of expensive roses. He recognized the tall, thin sister from last night who’d given him a look of sympathy after the fight at the dinner party.

“For you to give to Kasee,” she said.

Dion took the flowers. “I should have thought of this myself.”

The assistant shrugged and pushed her dreadlocks behind her shoulders. “It’s all for the camera, right? One romantic date, coming right up.”

“Thanks.” He leaned in and spoke in her ear. “Anything I should be warned about?”

“We’ll have to deal with your mic right at the end, before you get undressed for the bathtub. So don’t take your shirt off until we remove the pack. Destroys the illusion.”

Dion almost dropped the bouquet. “Ummm, excuse me?”

She spoke in a bored voice. “I’m supposed to run a bubble bath for you in two hours. Rose petals and everything. You’re supposed to undress to the waist so we can get a look at your impressive body.”

“Do I have to?”

She spoke into his ear. He could smell the shea butter in her hair. “It’s to provide contrast to the sight of Keith’s saggy man boobs from a similar scene with Tammy in season one.”

He rubbed his chin. “Man, you really did film his affair.”

“I don’t think he thought Kasee would care. He was just proud of being such a man whore,” the assistant said.

“What do you think about Kasee, between the two of us?”

“You into her?” The assistant’s tone was bored, but her eyes had a certain sparkle.

“This is business.”

The assistant bit her lip, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’m Lizzie. Call me later and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Her fingers reached into his jacket, brushing his nipple as she found the interior pocket and slid the card in.

He knew Lizzie was hitting on him, and under other circumstances, he’d have flirted back, but business or not, he didn’t think Kasee would react well. She might even get Lizzie fired. So he didn’t wink, didn’t pat his pocket, didn’t touch the assistant back.

He nodded politely. “Thank you for the flowers.” He checked his tie one last time, hoisted the bouquet, and watched Lizzie disappear into the hallway and shut the door in his face.

“Ring the doorbell,” the assistant producer said. “Kasee will open it and the scene will begin.” He gestured to a camera operator and the burly guy, his lower lip distended with chewing tobacco, came forward, hoisting his camera to his shoulder. A lighting specialist moved a spotlight into place at the doorway.

“Am I supposed to be nervous? Confident?” Dion asked.

“Just be yourself. This is reality television,” the producer said.

Could anything be less real? Dion took in the scene. The real point of interest was all the work it took to stage something like this. He wished he had his own camera to take it all in. Maybe someday he could write an exposé of all this. When chasing celebrities became too much, he hoped to use his industry contacts to become a writer.

Cradling the roses in his arm as if they were a baby, he rapped on the door. Thirty seconds later, Kasee Kean opened the door. He made sure to plaster an expression of delight across his face before he even saw her, since he knew cameras were filming over her shoulder. But the sight of a beautiful woman in such a tight strapless column of a dress would make even a dead man smile. The breasts might be fake but they were absolutely perfect, and the deep vee between them drew the eye. Her necklace was simple, just a diamond circle on a chain, but her face was flawlessly made up, and for the first time he noticed the dimples punctuating her smile. Whatever she’d done with her blond hair, some kind of messy topknot that revealed a quarter inch of darker roots, made her look half a decade younger.

He looked down and found that her feet were bare.

“Just dinner at home,” she said with that adorably dimpled grin.

The words fell out of his mouth as he caught sight of her soft, plump toes. “I’ve never seen your feet.”

They blinked at each other, then he forced a laugh.

“What a thing to say, Dion! I just love that we’re finally going to have a quiet night together. Dating is fun but we’ve been out in public enough.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, handing her the bouquet. “For you, my sweet.”

“Aww, thanks.” She buried her nose in the blooms and sighed happily. “I love the scent of roses.”

Personally, he didn’t think they had much of a scent. Store-bought and bred to last rather than smell pretty, but this was television. “I’m glad I got your favorite flower right.”

She lifted her head and stared at him. Rats. Had he dropped a sarcasm bomb? “Uh, your friend Lizzie said you liked roses.”

“It’s nice to have a bouquet again. Keith used to buy me roses every Friday night.”

Damn, they’d thrown him under the bus to get her reaction. “We’ll have to start a new tradition,” he said firmly. “Maybe a doorway dance?”

She forced a smile, and he had the feeling she was genuinely hurt by her memory. Had Lizzie personally set them up with the roses? Of course the producers wanted to push all of their buttons. “How about you just come in instead? I’m not much of a dancer.”

“That’s because you’re afraid of falling out of your dress,” he said.

She gasped, her free hand going to her generous chest, as she stepped back. “Dion!”

He walked into the townhouse. Someone shut the door behind him. He stood in front of a staircase that mostly separated a dining room space from a living room space. The walls were wallpapered with a loud fan print that was probably historically accurate, but hurt his eyes. The wood floors were a pleasing shade of yellow brown, however, and the fireplace, with its double mantel, was lovely.

“I should put these in some water,” Kasee said. “Why don’t we have dinner right away? I have a treat planned for after we eat.”

“Sounds good,” Dion said, resisting the urge to look into the cameras. Stationary units were set up around the table to catch them from every angle, though there were a few camera men there as well. So much for romance. He glanced over the table, set for two with an artful candle-focused display in the middle. Two salad plates were placed atop larger plates, and he counted three forks in the place setting. Was this Kasee’s style or just a setup for the show? Takeout on the couch was more his kind of thing.

She came back with a bottle of wine. “Looks yummy, doesn’t it? Can you open it for me?”

He took it from her and made a show of taking off his suit jacket and turning up his shirt cuffs, then went to work with the bottle opener. He didn’t like wine and couldn’t think of anything to say, so at least he ought to look sexy dealing with the bottle. When he was done, he poured a little into a glass and handed it to her.

She took a sip and nodded. “Yes, this was a good suggestion.”

He lifted the bottle again and filled her glass, holding her gaze with his as he poured to the very brim.

She giggled. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”