by Lizzie Shane
The man was entirely too perceptive. The others were all too happy to believe the role she was playing, but Craig saw through her masks like they were made of glass. He wasn’t supposed to be that guy. He was supposed to be the villain. The bad boy. The one all the men hated and she tolerated until it was time to cull the herd and get down to the favorites. She wasn’t supposed to be tempted by him and threatened by his ability to see through her at the same time.
“Marcy, Craig. Time’s up,” the segment producer called. “Time to hit the dungeons.”
Craig straightened slowly, taking all that warmth and intense focus with him. She shouldn’t have been relieved to get away from his all too knowing eyes—any more than she should have been so disappointed that he hadn’t tried to kiss her again.
Chapter Nine
Miranda flicked through the messages on her tablet from producers and camera crews across her little reality empire as Marcy hitched herself into the Escalade and yanked at the hem of her skirt.
“Do you think you could make my skirt a little shorter next time?” Miss Right grumbled, as she buckled in and the car began to move. “It’s a miracle I didn’t flash anyone tonight.”
“You’re the fantasy, sweetie. Sometimes that means uncomfortable clothes.” Miranda said, without looking up from her tablet. “Statistically speaking, four of the men on your date tonight were likely to be leg men.”
“For the next date, can I be the fantasy for men who like to see women in comfy baggy pajamas and flip flops?”
Miranda acknowledged a message informing her that the men from the date were now back at the Suitors’ Mansion, bragging about their triumph at the Ren Faire to the poor schmucks who’d been left behind. “Sorry, sweetie. Tomorrow’s group date is Rock n’ Roll Fantasy. Brace yourself for leather corsets and big hair.”
Marcy groaned and dropped her head back against the headrest. “Should I be this exhausted three days in?”
“It’s a marathon,” Miranda said.
The shows would be edited down to the highlights, but for Miss Right the hours were far longer than the home audience could suspect. Two hours flirting with twelve guys in the dungeons of a Renaissance Faire castle and two more hours of explaining how each and every conversation made her feel translated into just under fifteen minutes of actual screen time.
And there was no down time. There were no camera crews in the car with them now—but every vehicle in the Romancing Miss Right fleet was wired for video and audio and recording at all times so they never missed a juicy moment. Marcy’s privacy had been signed away the second she agreed to be Miss Right—and for many of their contestants that was as tiring as the physical demands of the show. The fact that they were always on.
“What time is call tomorrow?” Marcy slipped her feet out of her heels and bent to rub the ball of her foot.
“Hair and make-up at eight. We’ll need you on site and in wardrobe by ten-thirty for the arrival of the Suitors. You’ll explain the competition, divide them up into rock bands, and then at eleven-thirty send them off to rehearse and get in costume for our charity rock show. You’ll need to visit each band and encourage the guys as they are rehearsing—and then we’ll squeeze in your lunch before doors open to our Super Fans at one-thirty for a two p.m. curtain. You’ll greet the audience with Josh and then take your seat front row center for the guys to serenade you with their efforts. Pick a winner, thank the audience, recap how each performance struck you—then back to wardrobe to change for the evening cocktail party. Private time with the winner, group time with all the guys, recap the evening for our cameras and you should be done by eleven if we stay on schedule.”
“How many guys tomorrow?”
“Another twelve.”
“Which leaves three wondering who gets the last private date and who gets shafted this week.”
“James will receive the invitation while you’re at the Rock n’ Roll date tomorrow.”
“And that’s the low key, riding bikes through the park and having a picnic date, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“And next week?”
Miranda flicked through screens on her tablet bringing up the schedule for Week Two. “Two group dates again—cowboys and s’mores on the first, beach volleyball a la Top Gun on the other. Two private dates—one thrill-seeker and one wine-tasting in Napa. After the Elimination Ceremony, we’ll sit down and talk about options for who goes on which—”
“Give Craig the next private date.”
Miranda frowned. “Two of the guys won’t have had a date with you yet. If you keep them, typically we try to reward their patience with a private date.”
“So give one of them the other private date.”
Her voice was firm. Decisive.
Damn it.
Miranda hated it when Miss Right decided she knew what she wanted. Life was so much easier when the girls were wishy-washy and willing to be guided through the journey.
She probably had Craig’s influence to thank for this. Was he the one Marcy had been looking at in that shot? If so, Miranda needed to make sure they spent more time together.
She needed more of that spark of real emotion in Marcy’s eyes. Even if it would be showing him too much favor too early on. Though maybe if she was lucky throwing them together a lot early would lead to a nice implosion.
“Craig it is.”
“Settle, people!” Miranda strode into the basement rec room the production team had commandeered as their command center, raising a hand to call the room to order. “The sooner we get started, the sooner we can all get some sleep.”
The roar in the room instantly descended to a murmur. It was nearly three in the morning and they’d just wrapped up the second Elimination Ceremony with not one but two of the departing Suitors devolving into drunken tears as they professed their longing for everlasting love to the cameras.
“Excellent work tonight,” Miranda announced as she settled into a chair at the long, cluttered conference table. “Just a quick note before we get to the schedule for the next week—remember this is when we need to start keeping an eye on how much the guys are drinking—a drink to take the edge off and help them open up is encouraged, but after the fiasco of the Rock n’ Roll date we have all the drunken idiot footage we need so let’s reel them in when possible. The show is about finding love, not partying hard, and we don’t want the audience to forget that. Now for the upcoming week…”
Linus leaned forward. “I’d like to recommend Paul for the bungee jumping date. He’s terrified of heights. She’ll help him work through his fears—”
“Darius,” another segment producer insisted. “He’ll be totally in his element, being all manly and adventurous and letting her lean on him.”
“Darius had a date last week,” Linus protested, “and Paul has been a great sport about waiting on the sidelines. Plus, he really needs the chance to share his personal tragedy with the audience at home. His story is heartbreaking. Sure-fire sympathy favor.”
Miranda lifted a hand before the argument could get out of hand. “Craig gets the bungee jumping date. Marcy’s call.”
A murmur of surprise traveled around the table.
“Paul can have Napa. It’ll be better for sharing his story anyway,” Miranda said, making a note in her schedule. “Now let’s talk Cowboys.”
The rest of the meeting went smoothly, as smoothly as the show was going so far—which made Miranda nervous as hell. When things were going right, she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The production room was clearing out, everyone dispersing to grab some shut eye, when one of the PAs approached her, hovering on the edge of her vision until Miranda snapped, “What is it, Emily?”
“It’s probably nothing.”
Miranda sighed. God save me from wishy-washy film school grads in their first real job. “If it was nothing, you would be on your way home. What is it?”
“Well.” Emily twisted her hands together. �
�It’s Craig.”
Miranda set down her iPad, giving Emily all of her attention. “Did he hit on you?”
“Me? Gosh no.”
Gosh. She should mate with Daniel. They could have wholesome naïve babies. “Then what’s the problem? Did you see him do something inappropriate? Something that violates his contract?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really sure I saw anything.”
Miranda resisted the urge to wring the girl’s neck. “Emily. I’m tired. Spit it out.”
“I saw him talking to Patrick and Mark J. today.”
“Lots of the guys talk to one another, Emily. It’s part of the show.”
“Yeah, but he was talking to them right before they had their melt-downs and did all the crazy shit that made Marcy decide to get rid of them.”
Miranda’s eyebrows flew up. “You think he’s manipulating the other Suitors into sabotaging themselves?”
“I don’t know. But I remembered him talking to Stefan, drinking with him that first night, and I thought…”
“You thought he might be doing everything he could to improve his odds.” Miranda nodded. It sounded plausible, coming from Craig. “Do you have footage?”
Emily nodded. “Camera Three was on it.”
“I’ll look into it. Good work, Emily.”
The girl blushed and Miranda almost expected another gosh, but she just received a quick bob of the head before Emily left.
Craig was proving to be an interesting conundrum. Marcy was captivated by him, the men seemed to dislike and distrust him, but he still managed to get in their good graces enough to set them on paths to self-destruction. As long as it made good television, Miranda was happy—but she wasn’t about to let him hijack her show. There was only room for one puppet-master here and it was going to be her.
She might have to have a word with Craig Corrow. But she’d hold off for a bit. Give the amateur puppet-master a chance to show her what he could do.
Chapter Ten
“Are you ready for this?” Craig’s wicked black eyes gleamed into hers from a distance of inches. “Ready to take a leap of faith into the unknown of our relationship? Ready to plunge headlong into love? Ready to bungee into bliss?”
Strapped together in the bungee harness as they were, she didn’t have much room to maneuver, but she smacked his shoulder, fighting a grin. “Shut up. You’re ruining this beautiful moment for me.”
“Didn’t the producers ever see Speed? Don’t they know that relationships based on extreme experiences never last? We’re supposed to base it on sex.”
Before Marcy could respond, the segment producer waved his hands, shouting over the wind on the bridge, “Okay! The chopper is in position! We’re good to go!”
Beside them, the bungee expert yelled, “Don’t worry if you swing a little bit in this wind. On three. One. Two.”
“Swing?” Craig asked, the first flicker of doubt cracking through his self-assured cockiness.
“Three!”
They tipped off the bridge, Craig’s arms spasming tight around her as she let out a scream that almost drowned out his.
Almost.
The wind rushed past, gravity making the world race, her heart drumming so fast and loud she couldn’t hear a break between the beats. As they hit the limit of the bungee and sprang back, his scream cut off with a yelp. Hers converted into peals of laughter as they rebounded back up toward the sky. She’d never felt so wild. So alive. Like her heart had leapt right out of her body, but it was all right because she didn’t even need it anymore. She could fly.
And there was Craig’s face—white as a sheet—right in front of her. “Holy shit.”
She laughed as they bounced again. “That was awesome.”
They stopped bouncing and came to a rest, dangling upside down in the ravine, swaying and swinging at the end of the rope. Craig’s arms were still locked in a death-grip around her.
“Holy shit,” he repeated.
“Wanna go again?”
He groaned and pressed his forehead against hers, so close.
This was it, the moment when he would finally kiss her, when she would finally know if the bad boy was all talk or if he could deliver on the promise of chemistry that sizzled between them. Her heart rate was still high, every sense hyperactive. Even his scent was a turn-on—aftershave and fresh laundry.
He leaned in and her eyes fell closed, but it wasn’t her mouth he went for. His mouth moved against her ear, whispering, “Don’t tell anyone I screamed.”
She laughed, giddy with adrenaline and the rush of blood to her head and the fizzy feeling of delight that his words inspired. “Your secret is safe with me.” And the two dozen microphones that doubtless picked up his girly shrieks, but she didn’t say that. She was still waiting for that kiss.
But it didn’t come.
The rope jerked and began reeling them slowly back up to the bridge, and Craig leaned back, craning his neck to look around. “So what’s next? Lion taming? Sky-diving? Running with the bulls?”
“Nothing so extreme. Dinner.”
Marcy fidgeted in the confessional, impatient to get through the touchy-feely crap and get on with the date. “Craig joked about fabricating emotion through adrenaline, but the truth is I can’t imagine sharing this experience with anyone else and I do feel closer to him now.”
It was all true, she did feel closer to Craig, but it wasn’t leaping off the bridge that had done it. It was the little real moments around the edges—the way he made her laugh with his bluntness and sarcasm about the contrived romance of it, all masking what she realized now was his fear. A fear only she had seen when he had whispered in her ear for her to please keep it secret.
“We took this leap together and I know the risk was worth it. I wasn’t sure if Craig was here for the right reasons, but sometimes you just have to leap and he leapt with me. We’ll always be bound by that now.”
“Do you think he could be your husband?” the producer, Avery, coaxed.
“Uh…” For a moment her mind went absolutely blank. The thought of marrying Craig was too foreign to be considered and her brain shut down in protest. “We have fun together, but I guess I’m not sure I really know him?”
“So tonight, Craig needs to prove…”
“Right, yeah. Sorry.” Marcy cleared her throat and put on her Concerned Miss Right face. “I really enjoy the time I spend with Craig, but I feel like right now our relationship is all about fun and thrills and if we are going to have a future together I really need to get to know him on a deeper level. Tonight, if he wants to earn my favor, he’s going to have to prove that he can really be vulnerable and show me who he really is.” She twisted her hands together where the camera couldn’t see them. “How was that?”
Craig shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as he waited for Marcy. So much fucking waiting. Sometimes it felt like there was nothing but waiting. Waiting for his dates, waiting for her on their dates while they were separated to tell the cameras how they felt about everything. He’d been asked to talk about his emotions more in the last week than he had the rest of his life combined.
He’d bullshitted his way through so far, but tonight he felt… something. Off balance. Edgy.
Jumping off that bridge today had scared the ever-loving shit out of him, but Marcy had gotten him through it, grounded him when he would have panicked—all without seeming to realize what she was doing.
It was ridiculous to think the show’s heavy-handed emotional manipulation tactics were working, but the truth of it was he liked her. He hadn’t been supposed to like her. That wasn’t supposed to even enter into the equation. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. That wasn’t why he was here.
A PA hovered nearby, listening intently to the buzz of conversation in his earpiece. Craig jerked his chin to get the kid’s attention.
“What’s the deal with tonight?” he asked. “What do I need to do to score the favor?”
“Be vulne
rable,” the PA said instantly. “Private dates are all about intimacy and honesty. You really need to reveal your inner soul tonight.”
Craig snorted. “I don’t have an inner soul. What you see is what you get.”
The PA blinked, visibly unsure what to make of that. “You could always just kiss her, I guess. That usually works too.”
The camera crews suddenly surged into action, one taking aim at an archway at the opposite end of the garden while another swiveled around to get Craig’s reaction shot as Miss Right herself stepped into view. She looked like a Grecian goddess, all flowing fabric and graceful curves—and the moonlight loved her.
Craig ate her up with his eyes. “That I can do.”
Seducing her wouldn’t be a problem, but emotional intimacy? That wasn’t happening. Craig didn’t do vulnerable.
“So Craig, tell me more about yourself. What’s your family like?”
He took a long swallow of wine—even though he was more of a beer guy—to buy himself time. He’d been dodging the intimacy crap all through dinner, but now they’d fed one another the last few bites of chocolate cheesecake and their plates had been cleared away and he was running out of excuses.
He had to give her something. Best to keep it brief. “It’s just me and my mom. She’s an incredible lady.”
“And your dad…?”
“Was never in the picture.” The muscles across his shoulders tensed as he braced himself for the usual Psych 101 abandonment issues crap, but Marcy surprised him.
“Your mom—so she’s the one who wished Miss Right would be someone else?”
He grinned in spite of himself. “That’s her, yeah.”
“Was it a sort of no woman is good enough for my baby thing or was it me specifically? Is this something I should be worried about if things progress and I meet her?”
“I don’t think she’d be rude to you.”
“But it was me specifically?” She cocked her head to the side, her loose brown curls flowing over her shoulders. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of her hair.