by Tess Oliver
I walked over to the giant picture window and gazed down at the city below. A few stringy white clouds hovered above, casting shadows on parts of the busy town. I heard Eliot’s hurried footsteps behind me. She seemed to always be in a rush as if she was constantly struggling to keep up with her life.
I pointed out to the horizon, where a haze had settled over the coastline. “I’ll bet on a clear day, I’ll be able to see all the way to the ocean.” My gaze traveled to the east, where, just a few miles away, an equally lavish estate was perched on the hillside. It had a pool deck that jutted out over the steep terrain. “Bet the neighbors have an awesome view of the valley when they’re swimming.” I turned around.
Eliot brushed her stray curl off her forehead, a forehead that was pink from scrubbing. The remnants of her class notes were a little less visible now. “Actually, there are no neighbors. When the studio bought this place, the people who owned the neighboring property tried to stop the whole transaction in court. So the studio offered them an exorbitant price for their place too. They took it and never looked back. Some of the movie stars stay there when they’re filming in the studio. And they string sparkling white lights all around that pool area for our annual Christmas party. It’s pretty cool.”
“I’ll bet.” My eyes traveled back to the crystal blue pool jutting out over the hillside. “How come there’s no pool here at the Sealed with a Kiss compound?”
She laughed at my use of the word compound. “Well, Rapunzel, over on this side of the fortress, there is no moat because it’s a liability. They actually filmed the first season across the way at the Eastern Estate, as they call it. The contestants had been trimmed down to the final six, and they were all quite drunk when one of the girls almost”—she lifted her air quotes— “accidentally drowned the woman who looked on track to be top pick.”
“Accidentally, you say?”
“Seems she jumped off the diving board at the exact moment the other woman was swimming beneath it. Took her straight to the bottom and caused her to crack open her chin on the floor of the pool. The whole fiasco was caught on camera and then deftly trimmed and edited into the most riveting scene of the season. Blood travels fast and far in warm water. It looked like a shark attack. And in a way, it was.”
“Was there a happy ending for the woman with the cracked chin or was she out for the season?”
Eliot busied herself fluffing the pillows on the couch. “Nope, she was a trooper, and she made it to the end. But he picked someone else. The fans were pissed.”
“Don’t tell me he picked the shark.”
She fluffed up the final pillow. “Heck no. She was out the next show. You only had to watch the video once to see that it was not the slightest bit accidental.”
“I guess some of the fans get really invested in the whole thing.”
“Depends on the season. Last season, the ratings sank because the bachelor just didn’t have a spark. I think this year might be different. But no pressure. So long story short, no pool.” Her blue eyes circled around the room. “I’ve only been in this house a few times. They sure went with all the generic furniture and colors. Apparently their interior decorator didn’t have much flare. I’m sure you’re used to a much bigger place and much more lavish furnishings.”
I shook my head. “Nope, this is bigger than my place, and as for my furnishings—let’s just say flare was never my thing either. Although I do have more of a distinct style than this.”
Her smile was great. It made you feel as if you could talk to her about anything. “More distinct?” She looked down at my jeans and the black motorcycle boots, before tapping her chin in thought. “Let’s see—modern day motorcycle gang? Black leather couches, silver chrome light fixtures and the occasional red carpet?”
“Hell no. Leather and chrome are strictly for my bike. I guess I would call my style lazy surfer with a touch of wild west.”
Eliot looked pointedly at the tattoo running along the side of my forearm. “Ah ha, guess that explains why the word ‘outlaw’ is inked on your arm.”
“Actually, that’s the handle they used to call me in the army.”
“I’ll bet there’s an interesting story behind that nickname. I confess I haven’t had much time to read the briefing package. I’ve been sort of busy with—”
“Enzymes and things like that?”
A light pink blush filled her cheeks. “You’ve found me out. In my spare time, I lead a glamorous life.” She walked over to the couch and fluffed the pillows. “I’m sure you’re used to being well taken care of by people who know what the heck they’re doing, but I’ll try my hardest to be a good assistant. It’ll just take me a few days to get the hang of it.”
“Guess you really haven’t read the briefing package.”
Her face popped up as she continued to straighten the pile of decorative pillows. “Huh?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I think you’ll find I’m not all that demanding.”
Eliot noticed the framed picture I’d set on the coffee table. She walked in front of the couch and picked it up. “What a great looking dog.”
“Thanks. That’s Tracker. I figured if I was going to be cut off from the outside world, it’d be nice to at least have my best friend’s picture smiling back at me. He’s staying with my parents while I’m here.”
She put the picture down and gazed at me as if she was trying to figure me out.
“What? Too corny for the show’s bachelor?”
“No, I was thinking just the opposite. Kind of refreshing. I like that you brought your best friend’s picture along. I love dogs, but my apartment only allows cats. Cheesy, is my big orange buddy. Not quite the same as a dog, but he still gets pretty excited when I come home. Although, that’s usually because he’s hungry. But I’m easily flattered. Shit, just stop me when I ramble. I’m always moving and talking at warp speed. Sorry.” She placed the picture on the table.
“It’s only rambling when the person isn’t making sense or has nothing important to say. It seems as if we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so I’m glad to get to know you.” I walked over to one of the cameras mounted in the corner of the vaulted ceiling. It wasn’t moving. “I was told there would be a small dinging sound just before the cameras turn on and then a light would blink letting me know I was being recorded.”
“Yes, you’re lucky. You get more privacy than the women. But there are security cameras all over the property, and they are always on. Mostly to make sure some crazed fans don’t climb the gate, hike down from the hills above or sneak up the back way on the mountain road. But if the outdoor cameras pick up something, then this camera will turn on automatically. So, if like my roommate, you prefer to strut around in the nude, you might want to take precautions.”
“Did you say your roommate walks around in the nude?”
“Yep, Lady Godiva without the horse. She was raised in a commune where clothes were apparently frowned upon.”
“I like that. Never had a naked roommate before.”
“We do occasionally get a bachelorette who likes to run around in the buff. It’s always disconcerting for the other women, not to mention the censors, who have to bleep out questionable language and images. The cameras never stop rolling in the big house. They want to be ready in case something dramatic or noteworthy happens. Which is often since they are placing twenty women who have never met and who are competing for the same man in one house. Plus, they have an endless supply of alcohol to help get things rolling.”
I leaned against the back of the couch. “You don’t sound as if you’re a fan of the show.”
“Not true at all. Sometimes I even find it entertaining. I usually only see it in spurts, when I happen to be hanging out in the cutting room or on the set. Truth is, I don’t really have time to watch television or anything else for that matter.”
“What are you studying?”
“Biology. I’m not completely sure which direction I’ll head wi
th it, but I’d like to get into cancer research.” She dropped her gaze, and for the first time, I noticed she had on no makeup. The curtain of long, black lashes was completely natural. Like the girl herself.
She seemed to shake off a moment of sadness as she brushed the stubborn curl from her forehead, a habit I’d already discovered and found likable. Again, like the girl. “Anyhow, your suit was delivered earlier. I hung it in the bedroom.” She walked over to the kitchen island and picked up a box. “Since you can’t use any twenty-first century technology, we are providing you with a pager.” She pulled the gray device out of the box. “Can’t believe they still make these things.” She lifted the hem of her oversized, coffee stained t-shirt to expose the matching pager she was wearing on her jeans. “Just beep me if you need something. They want me down on the set to help arrange the meet and greet party.” She struggled to hold back an amused smile. “Just think, in a few hours, you will be meeting your future bride.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that shot from my mouth.
She stopped and tilted her head as if still trying to puzzle me out. “I have to say, you don’t seem like the usual bachelor type. What prompted you to try out for this show?”
“It all started with a bet.”
“A bet? And let me guess—you won?”
“Nope, I lost.”
This time she couldn’t stop her laugh. “Well, that just made this season way more interesting, but—” She turned a cute, little invisible key against her pink lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Good ratings mean job security on my end.” She headed toward the door. “I’ll be back in the luxury golf cart in an hour to chauffeur you down to the first filming.” Eliot stopped at the door and glanced back at me. “I lost,” she repeated with a laugh as she walked out the door.
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About the Author
Tess Oliver is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of sexy romances. She’s always working on new and exciting projects. You can stay up to date, and get a free book by visiting her website and subscribing to her newsletter.
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