Romancing Miss Right

by Lizzie Shane

  Bennett’s hands slid from her cheeks down her throat and around to the back of her neck. He began to gently knead. “What does he want?”

  “Hmm?” she asked, leaning into his hands.

  “You need to control every aspect of your world. What does he need and why? Find that and you have him.”

  Miranda felt her eyes growing heavy. Her brain was thick with exhaustion and the words were slow to penetrate. What did Craig want?

  She frowned, opening her eyes. What did Craig want?

  “I have to go.”

  Bennett groaned. “Miranda…”

  “I won’t be long. Stay here if you want. I’ll come back and thank you for your help.” She went up on her toes and kissed him, quick and hard, then bent to grab her tablet, already halfway out the door.

  “You’re welcome!” Bennett called after her and she grinned at his cranky tone.

  “I’ll thank you when I get back.”

  Striding quickly down the hall, she tapped a button on the tablet, bringing up the voice message function and calling up the number of the producer who was running the circus over at the Suitors’ Mansion tonight.

  “Get me a twenty on Craig.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Well?” Aidan and Darius pounced on Craig as soon he opened the front door to the Suitors’ Mansion.

  “What did you do?” Aidan asked. “How was it?”

  “Why are you so late getting back?” Darius demanded.

  More of the remaining sixteen guys seemed to come out of the woodwork, popping out of nearby rooms and hallways to study him for any trace of how his date with Marcy had gone.

  Craig plastered on his cockiest grin for the benefit of his audience and held out his hands. “Guys, please, a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “She wouldn’t have kissed you,” Daniel declared, arms folded in the kitchen doorway. “I’m surprised she didn’t see through your bullshit and send you home.”

  Craig ignored the second half of that—at the moment he was a little surprised too, like he was getting away with something. “You sure she wouldn’t kiss me?” he challenged, still grinning.

  “Fuck,” John from Baltimore groaned, “I haven’t even held her hand yet.”

  “Neither has he,” Daniel insisted. “He’s messing with us.”

  “Am I?” Craig asked. “We’re all dating her. Dating. You have to expect anyone who’s been alone with her has laid one on her at least once.”

  “Some of us respect her,” Daniel snapped.

  “And some of us think her desire to test-drive the goods is smart rather than slutty. Or were you calling Marcy a slut, Danny Boy?”

  Daniel unfolded his arms, cracking his knuckles and the camera men who had been calmly filming the conversation all came alert with the fight-radar that all men possessed. They shifted to get better angles, but Darius—the only one of the remaining Suitors who could probably put Daniel in a half-Nelson without breaking a sweat—put his big body between them.

  Darius glowered at Craig. “What do you mean her desire? Are you saying she initiated it?”

  “Guys, you’re just gonna have to wait until the episode airs. I’m not talking.” Then he shrugged. “But if I were Marcy, I’d want to sample the merchandise. And I wouldn’t be keeping around any guys who weren’t displaying an interest in me in that way. Chemistry is crucial. And initiative is sexy. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  He scanned the crowded foyer, easily picking out the guys who had kissed Marcy already based on who looked smug rather than nervous. Only about four real threats so far then. Danny Boy—no surprise, the fucking goodie goodie. Darius—who seemed most possessive toward Marcy of all the men. Mark L.—now the only Mark since Mark J. left and a bit of a surprise since he had a sort of bumbling professor vibe. And James who’d had the other private date so far—putting proof to Craig’s theory that anyone who had her alone was getting a little lip action.

  Shy Paul, who hadn’t had a date yet, looked distinctly uneasy, while John from Baltimore looked almost queasy, but Drunk Aidan looked determined, as did several of the other guys.

  A dry female voice spoke from the open doorway behind him. “If you’re done stirring up trouble for now, I’d like a word, Mr. Corrow.”

  He turned to find Miranda watching him with narrowed eyes and tightly pursed lips.

  The Suitors hadn’t had much contact with the executive producer so far, as they were typically wrangled by one of several teams of segment producers, and he couldn’t imagine being sought out by her was a good thing at this stage in the show.

  Had Marcy decided he was too much trouble after all? Was he being sent home?

  “My pleasure.” Craig swept a mocking bow, concealing his nerves behind his usual bullshit, and followed Miranda out the front door and onto the cobblestone driveway.

  He wasn’t sure whether he should feel comforted or concerned that no camera crews followed them. “What’s up?”

  She turned to face him, holding a tablet loosely at her waist as she studied him. “What were you doing in there?”

  He looked back over his shoulder at the house. “With the guys? Just being honest. I’m an honest guy.”

  “Especially when you know honesty will piss people off, I think,” Miranda observed, her sharp eyes assessing him.

  “What can I say? I’m a straight shooter.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that phrase means the same thing to you that it does to most people,” she said dryly. “But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

  This was it. The moment when he learned Marcy was giving him the boot. Craig felt his muscles tensing, bracing for the impact of the words.

  “What’s your endgame, Craig?”

  It took him a moment to recognize the unexpected words. “What?”

  “Don’t be cute. You’re trying to manipulate my Miss Right and we both know that’s my job. I could make life very difficult for you, if I chose, but instead I’m asking, what do you hope to gain from this? We both know you aren’t here to fall in love with Marcy, so why are you here? What do you want?”

  His brain finally caught up with the conversation. “A job,” he said bluntly. “A big, juicy network television contract. Or HBO or Comedy Central. I’m not picky. Hell, I’d even host E! Entertainment Television if that’s where I have to start.”

  By the second sentence, Miranda was slowly beginning to smile. “You want to be a star.”

  “Damn right, I do.”

  Miranda didn’t realize until she felt the wave of relief exactly how nervous she’d been about not being able to control Craig. But Bennett had reminded her of something she’d long known. Control was all about knowing what people wanted and knowing how to dangle it in front of them. She had him now.

  She’d glanced over Craig’s background information on the walk over to the Suitor Mansion. He’d grown up starving poor with a single mother who had provided for him the best she could through every curveball fate through at them. That sort of thing marked a person. It all made sense now. Craig would never feel secure and always want money. It was the fortune as much as the fame that drove him.

  So all she had to do was offer him a golden ticket.

  She could play him along, let him get as far as was good for the show, and then put a Love or Money choice in front of him and he’d choose Money, walking away from Marcy and giving Miranda a gorgeous, juicy television moment that audiences would be talking about all week. America would hate him, but Craig didn’t seem bothered by that. He would be notorious. Marcy would be disappointed, but she wouldn’t invest her emotions enough to actually have her heart broken. It really was the perfect solution.

  Miranda knew how to keep Craig Corrow, the Biggest Pain in her Ass, in line.

  “Craig, I think we might be able to help you get exactly what you want.” She smiled, all teeth. “On the condition that you stop fucking with my Miss Right’s head. Play nice and I’ll see what I can do for you
. Make my life hell and I’ll return the favor. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, smug and easy, but now Miranda didn’t find that grin unsettling. She had his puppet strings now. She was back in control.

  Chapter Thirteen

  High watt lights angled at the pool simulated moonlight glittering on the water as Aidan tilted toward her on the loveseat.

  “Marcy, I just want you to know how badly I want to be here—how sexy I think you are—” Aidan leaned in, his slurred words and the fumes wafting off him letting her know in no uncertain terms that he had been partaking liberally of the liquid courage before this attempt at seduction. “If you want to test our chemistry, I am ready, willing, and able, baby.”

  His lips puckered, eyes falling closed and he swooped closer. Marcy squeaked and scooted backward on the couch. Aidan kept listing forward, tipping precariously when he didn’t bump into her face-first as intended. She braced a hand on his shoulder to keep him from tumbling to the floor. “Aidan.”

  “Marcy,” he crooned, still in romance mode.

  She cursed under her breath. Aidan really was a sweet guy. A little too likely to reach for a bottle when he was nervous, perhaps, and definitely too inclined to cave to peer pressure, worrying about what the other guys were saying and fixating on what he should be doing to win her, but he was so adorably earnest she’d wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  If she hadn’t felt like she was being attacked lips first for most of the week, she probably would have had a little more patience for his amorous efforts. It was like someone had painted a target on her mouth. Every guy in the house had been on a mission to kiss.

  The only date that hadn’t been dominated by clumsy make-out efforts was Paul’s Napa Adventure—which had been dominated instead by Paul’s tragic history. Neither of them had felt much like making out after he’d confided in her that he donated a kidney to his diabetic sister only to have her die in a car accident two months later.

  But with everyone else, it had been a race to her mouth.

  Aidan swooped in for a second attempt and Marcy gave him a gentle shove until he collapsed back into the depths of the plush loveseat.

  “Aidan, who put you up to this?”

  “What?” he blinked at her blearily. “Put me up to what?”

  “Who told you that you had to kiss me, Aidan?”

  “I want to,” he insisted.

  “I’m glad, but why are you suddenly in such a hurry? Why are all of you suddenly all about making out?”

  Aidan shrugged. “I dunno. Craig said… you know.”

  “Craig said. Of course he did.” She stood and Aidan’s head wobbled on his shoulders as he tried to track the movement with his eyes. “Let’s find you some coffee.”

  Then she had a piece of her mind to give to Craig.

  “You warned me that you were a bad influence, but I somehow thought you were only trying to influence me.”

  Craig looked up from his game of solitaire—minding his own business like a good boy like he’d been doing all week—to find Marcy standing over him with her hands planted on her hips. Tonight was the Elimination Ceremony and he was laying low, hiding out in the card room and trying to avoid confrontations, but Marcy had found him and she looked pissed.

  Wasn’t that how it always went? Just when he started actually behaving himself, he got accused of all manner of nefarious things he didn’t actually do.

  He gathered the cards into a stack. “Who am I influencing now?”

  She ignored the question. “Did you start some kind of competition to see who could kiss me this week?”

  “Ah.” He might have done that. Not in so many words, but he’d known the effect his challenge would have. On the plus side, at least he was being accused of something he’d actually done. “It wasn’t a competition, per se.”

  “I can’t believe you.” She threw up her hands and the cameramen swiveled to get a better view. She really was something when she was pissed off. Face flushed, eyes flashing—it was a good look on her. Eat your heart out, America.

  “In my defense…” He trailed off. He didn’t really have anything to say in his own defense. Apologizing, justifying his actions, they weren’t exactly activities he had a lot of practice with.

  “You did it on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

  Craig slapped the cards down on the table. Fuck it. Being good was boring as hell. “Of course I did. We’re competitive beasts, princess. I didn’t even have to say much to bring out the Neanderthal brigade.”

  “That’s your excuse? It was easy?”

  “It’s not an excuse. Just a fact.” He rose, tired of giving her the high ground—literally—in the argument. On his feet, he had several inches on her, even in those pointy heels—don’t get distracted by the legs, Craig. “How many of them see anyone beyond Miss Right when they look at you? They’re competing for the prize. At least I see that there is more to you than just the girl we all want to win.”

  “Do you want to win? Or are you just here to make a splash so you can become a star?”

  “Can’t I do both?” he asked, though he knew he couldn’t. The winners tended to fade from memory, riding off into the sunset together. It was the runners-up who stayed in the public eye.

  “I don’t know. Can you?”

  “Look, Marcy…” He reached for her, certain that if he could just touch her, he could bring them back to a good place, but she shied away from him, stepping back quickly.

  “Just stop sabotaging the other guys, will you, Craig? You may not want to find love, but some of them do and I’d like them to have a fighting chance.”

  If his mediocre efforts could derail them, they didn’t deserve her, but before he could say as much, Marcy swept out of the card room, in search of comfort from some other Suitor.

  Craig threw the cards and cursed vehemently. Let them bleep it out.

  Marcy moved quickly through the mansion, needing distance not just from Craig but from all the Suitors, from the show itself. She was so sick of this. Sick of always being on display. Sick of having every second of every day planned out for her. Sick of the illusion that she was in control of the situation when really she was just a plaything, America’s toy, a doll supposed to love and laugh and cry on cue.

  She tried to block out the sound of the camera crew behind her. They rushed to keep up as she lifted up her train and half-jogged in the excruciating high heels into the courtyard garden. If she never saw another camera crew again her life, she could die happy. And as for the Suitors, never would be too soon—

  Daniel stepped out of a break in the sculpted bushes. “Marcy, I’ve been hoping to catch you alone. I have a surprise for you.”

  Her hand went automatically to her face and she only realized after she brushed her cheeks that she was checking for tears of frustration. But her cheeks were dry. And Daniel didn’t even seem to notice she was upset. Perhaps she really was an ice queen, keeping all of her emotions bottled up behind Midwestern reserve.

  “Daniel, I’m really not in the mood.” Her voice surprised her with how calm and collected it sounded—further evidence that she couldn’t show her emotions, no matter how violently she felt them.

  “Let me put you in the mood,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do something special for you.”

  She wanted to argue. To scream that none of them ever listened to her—except Craig, which she didn’t even want to consider. She sighed and extended her hand, letting Daniel lead her to whatever surprise he’d cooked up for her since it would be a battle she didn’t want to have to resist him.

  Daniel guided her through the courtyard gardens, back into the mansion, along the west wing—where she’d had her room when she’d been one of the Suitorettes—and onto the pool deck. Several of the Suitors were gathered there, looking incongruous in their suits on the lounge chairs, but Daniel didn’t pause, taking her around the pool to the edge of the lawn. He then turned to her and swept her
up into his arms—which had none of the impact of the first time he’d done it—and carried her over the grass until they were back at the gazebo. Only this time, in addition to the fairy lights, it was stuffed to the rafters with roses.

  The smell of them hit her first, cloying and sweet, and she almost sneezed.

  Some devil inside her—influenced by Craig, no doubt—urged her to tell him that she was more of a daisy kind of girl, loving the happy little faces of the flowers, and that she actually preferred carnations, with their carefree petals, to rosebuds. But he hadn’t asked. So she didn’t volunteer.

  Then she noticed the cameras. They were stationary—like the ones that were set up for some of the longer dinners and events where they didn’t need cameramen chasing them with steadicams. The kind of cameras that were operated by a producer by remote, so the cameraman wasn’t even present, giving them an illusion of privacy they didn’t really have, but at the moment, Marcy was grateful for even that much space.

  “Thank you,” she said to Daniel, glad to have found a way to mean it. “This is lovely.”

  He set her on her feet and took her arm to help her up the steps into Flower World. It was surprisingly dark, the flowers blocking out most of the moonlight and making the fairy lights seem dimmer. Marcy wondered if the stationary cameras would be using night vision, if her face would be green and her eyes glowing demonically for whatever romantic scene Daniel had planned.

  “I wanted to make this place for you, where you can get away from the competition and the stress and just be with me.” He took both of her hands. “I want you to know that I know about the kissing gauntlet that one of the Suitors threw down and how the other Suitors reacted to it and that’s why I’m not going to kiss you this week.”

  Marcy blinked. Daniel was generally pretty predictable, but she hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “I want to be your safe haven,” he went on. “I want you to know there will never be any pressure from me and you can always come to me when you need someone who doesn’t want anything from you beyond the right to guard your heart.”