Marrying Mister Perfect

by Lizzie Shane

  Marcy grinned at him, showing him unsuccessful the attempt had been. “Oh, indeed.” They took two more steps before she cocked her head at him and murmured, “She’s crazy about you, too. In case you were wondering.”

  Jack almost missed a step. “Excuse me?”

  “Head over heels. It’s written all over her face.” Marcy tipped her head to the side and smiled knowingly. “I approve wholeheartedly. If I’m going to be jilted, I’m glad it’s not going to be Katya’s silicone perfection taking home the prize.”

  “What makes you think...” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

  “Let’s call it women’s intuition.” Marcy stopped a few steps from the limo and turned to face him. “So, what are you going to do now? She doesn’t know you care for her. It was almost tragic watching her pine for you tonight.”

  Jack gave up pretending he didn’t have a clue what Marcy was talking about. “I can’t say anything because of the show and she’s pushing me away because she’s worried about how it will affect the kids and everything is so complicated right now.”

  “Excuses.” Marcy wiped that away with a wave of her hand. “I don’t have time for love or my life is too complicated right now are just excuses women tell themselves when they don’t want to admit they desperately want to fall in love. What you need is the Grand Gesture.”

  “The Grand Gesture?”

  “You know, something over-the-top romantic. Something that screams I Love You, since you can’t say it. But in a way that’s uniquely about the two of you. There’s nothing worse than a generic Grand Gesture.” Marcy glanced at one of the producers hovering nervously in the background and grinned wickedly. “This show is all about Grand Gestures. Do you think you can use that to your advantage?”

  “I don’t know. Right now I’m not sure I could get her to participate in a Grand Gesture.”

  Marcy rolled her eyes. “You’re dating a couple dozen other women in an attempt to find someone to replace her. Don’t you think she has a little bit of a right to be conflicted right now? You just have to prove to her that she’s special. That you see her and she isn’t an invisible accessory in your life.”

  “I’ve never thought that.” Okay, yes, he had sort of thought that for a while, but he should get credit for not thinking it now.

  “It isn’t about what you think, Jack. It’s about how you can convince her.” Marcy stepped toward the limo. The driver quickly opened the door and she flashed him a smile, but paused with one foot in the car. “Try the Grand Gesture, Jack. Trust me. She’s worth it.”

  Jack couldn’t argue with that.

  He watched Marcy drive away, then turned back toward the house.

  He gave a five minute, “Yes, Marcy’s wonderful” recap in front of the fireplace, then the crew began packing up for the night, leaving him to his own devices. The kids were already in bed, his parents had long since left, and he had some time before they smuggled him off to the hotel so his own devices meant Lou.

  He found her in the kitchen, sitting in her usual chair. She didn’t seem to hear him come in as she gazed down into her coffee cup. Decaf, two sugars. He saw another cup sitting in front of his chair. The liquid inside was the tan of coffee with his favorite amount of cream. A good sign? Or just force of habit?

  “Marcy’s wonderful,” she said suddenly, proving she’d heard him after all.

  “I like her.” But he didn’t love her. Jack crossed to sit and pick up his coffee. It was still hot.

  “I have to move out, Jack.”

  He choked, nearly snorting coffee out his nose. The hot liquid scalded his nasal passages and he gasped for air. “What?” he managed, wheezing.

  “You could come home from the finale engaged, Jack. It wouldn’t be right for me to be here.” She was pulling away from him. It was there in her body language, the closed off tightness of her expression and the icy delivery of those words. She was actually going to leave him. His heart stuttered.

  “You want to move out next week?” He put down his coffee, holding up a hand to stop her. “Don’t answer that. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Getting engaged is a big step. I may not—”

  “I don’t want to hold you back, Jack.”

  “And I don’t want to trap you here if you don’t want to be here, but Lou—” The words were on the tip of his tongue. To tell her that he wasn’t in love with Marcy or any of the other girls. To tell her that he wasn’t going to get engaged to any of them because she was the only one he wanted, but the fucking show tied his tongue.

  “You never trapped me, Jack. I always wanted this life. Maybe too much. I should have left a long time ago.”

  Hope shuddered through him. She’d said she wanted this life. How far was that from wanting him? “Lou, I don’t want you to move out. I can’t explain—”

  “You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I understand. But I’m going to start looking for apartments tomorrow.”

  “Lou—” Fuck nondisclosure. He had to tell her.

  The kitchen door swung open. “Mister Perfect!” Miranda called cheerfully. “We’ve got to get you back to your hotel. You have a long flight tomorrow.”

  Jack wondered if killing television producers was considered justifiable homicide.

  “Travel safe,” Lou said, already out of her chair and halfway out of the room.

  “Lou!”

  Miranda glared at him. “Behave, dumbass.”

  “Have you noticed that I’m always either Mister Perfect or dumbass to you?”

  “All men are. It’s your curse. Come on. The car’s waiting.”

  He wanted to argue, wanted to chase after Lou, but Marcy’s recommendation about the Grand Gesture teased his thoughts.

  Lou had said she understood, but he was sure she didn’t. He didn’t want to lose her because of all this bullshit, but as Marcy had said, the show did excel at Grand Gestures. Was a Grand Gesture the best way to break through Lou’s uneven defenses and see what really lay in her heart? Could this damn show actually work in his favor somehow?

  He trailed Miranda out to the waiting SUV, when the door closed, sealing them both inside, he turned to her. “I want time with Lou. Away from the kids. Away from all this.”

  “We discussed this,” Miranda said unsympathetically, focused on her tablet. “You have to treat her like any other Suitorette. No confessions of love.”

  “I get two-day dates in exotic locales with the other Suitorettes.”

  Miranda looked up from her tablet then. “True.”

  “Lou doesn’t know she’s a candidate. She told me she wants to move out today. I don’t want to lose her because of this show, because you made me sign some fucking contract that I’m not allowed to tell her how I feel about her. Please, Miranda.”

  The producer smiled. “Honey, don’t worry. I’ve got you. I’m a pro at keeping girls who are afraid of their own feelings from running off.”

  “How?”

  “We romance them. It’s what we do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Miranda glowered at the budget, trying to find a way to make the numbers bend until she could cram an extra two-day luxury date into the shooting schedule. It wasn’t the flights and hotels—those were always comped in exchange for the publicity. It was the crew salaries and overtime hours that weren’t in the original budget.

  But she’d promised Jack that she was going to make this happen, and if it worked out the way she expected it to, it was going to make her show the most talked about reality television show in years so she was going to make it happen, no matter what it took.

  Executive Producer, here I come.

  Her cell phone rang and she reached for it automatically. “Miranda Pierce.”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  Bennett’s raspy voice made her shiver. She rocked back in her chair, fidgeting with the hotel brand pen on the desk. “I’m in Chicago.”

  “So am I. I’m at the Palmer House. ADS is doing auditions here thi
s week. Have dinner with me.”

  “Can’t. I have a work problem to solve.”

  “If I solve it for you, will you eat with me?”

  Tempting. So tempting. On so many levels. “I need a full camera crew for two days in Paris and I can’t pay them. Solve that.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Unpaid audition.”

  “Come again?” He did not just solve in five seconds what had been giving her trouble for the last hour.

  “Use it as a way to audition new local crews—if they perform well they have a chance to be on your roster of local crews in the future.”

  “Won’t the unions object?”

  “If you were doing it the U.S. you might have trouble—and I’m not sure about the laws in France, but you might be able to get away with it as a foreign production. Run it past your lawyers. After you have dinner with me.”

  “It isn’t solved until I talk to my lawyers.” But it was as good as solved and they both knew it.

  “Going back on your word?”

  There were good choices, bad choices, terrible choices, and then there was Bennett. She’d never been able to resist Bennett. “Where?”

  “How are the auditions going?”

  The restaurant at the top of the Hancock Building boasted the best views and most expensive cocktails in Chicago, but since Bennett was buying Miranda sipped her martini without an ounce of sticker shock.

  He looked better than she remembered. More silver in his hair, more lines around his eyes, but he’d always worn his age well. One of those disgustingly gorgeous men who got sexier with the years.

  “They’re going fantastically,” he said, studying her over the rim of his scotch. “Every year they get more amazing. I think this might be our most talented batch of dancers yet.”

  Miranda smile nostalgically. “I always loved that part. Seeing the future contestants perform for the first time and realizing that one of them was going to be the next American Dance Star.”

  “You had an incredible eye. You always knew who America was going to love before anyone else.” He took a linger sip. “I never understood why you left ADS to go to MMP.”

  Of course you didn’t. Because I left to get away from you. “More opportunities for advancement. I’d never have the chance to make EP so young at ADS.”

  Bennett frowned. “That’s a bald faced lie. You were already on track for it.”

  “But it will always be your show, whereas with MMP I have the chance to make it mine. Wallace doesn’t want to be involved in shaping the show. As long as I keep him updated, I have free rein.”

  “And that’s satisfying for you? Feeding America’s hunger for love-starved wanna-be-stars having emotional breakdowns on television? Manipulating them into giving you drama?”

  “You’re awfully high and mighty, considering we have the same job,” she said tightly.

  “Your job is to manipulate people into being happy they made the choice to be on a show that exploits their emotions. Mine is to give people an opportunity to be on a show that can genuinely change their lives for the better. See the difference?”

  Miranda put her martini glass down with a decisive click. “Did you invite me to dinner to insult me?”

  “It’s a compliment, not an insult. You’re better than what you’re doing at MMP. Come back to ADS.”

  Her stupid heart lurched. Damn it. She’d actually wanted him to be asking her out because he wanted her. Not because he wanted to offer her a job.

  “No.”

  “You won’t get an executive producer credit right away, but it wouldn’t be far off for you. Not the way you work.”

  “I’m not interested, Bennett.”

  “Why not? We could be making amazing television together again. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

  Because I’m halfway to being in love with you, you idiot.

  “I’m already making amazing television and I don’t need your patronage to do it.”

  He frowned. “I’m not trying to be patronizing.”

  “It just comes naturally to you, does it?”

  “You always did have a smart mouth.” His eyes drifted to her lips.

  She waited for him to say something else about her mouth—or what she could do with it—but he just looked away, out over the skyline, sipping his scotch.

  She should have known when he didn’t want to have dinner someplace closer to his hotel that this wasn’t that kind of date, but she was still stupidly disappointed.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how my season is going?” she prompted.

  He shot her a frustrated look.

  “Oh, thank you for asking, Bennett!” she mocked. “It’s been really brilliant actually. Very outside-the-box. I think this one might land me an Emmy and if I don’t screw it up, I’m a lock for EP. I really appreciate your help with that budgeting issue too. I’ll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech.”

  “Just remember to speak slowly,” he said dryly. “It’s easy to rush under all those lights.”

  She grimaced. She’d forgotten that he’d actually won an Emmy. Four of them, if she remembered correctly.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He sighed. “You really won’t consider coming back? I’ll match whatever you’re making at MMP.”

  “You have a lot of great producers. I don’t see why you need me.”

  His gaze held hers, and again that stupid hope that this was more than a business dinner rose up. Then their food arrived and the spell was broken.

  “You’re the best,” he said, as he poked at the delicate tilapia with his fork. Heart healthy. Was Bennett watching his cholesterol? It was discomfiting how badly she wanted to know the intimate details of his diet.

  “Thank you.” She cut into her lamb. “I’m also unavailable.”

  In more ways than one.

  His eyes held hers for a moment. “My loss.”

  Miranda smiled. “Damn straight.”

  But she had a feeling it was hers too. Bennett Lang wanted her. If only it was the way she wanted him to…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lou was up to her elbows in Kelly’s oven when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She managed not to fling the tray of blueberry scones for Emma’s snack day across the kitchen, dropping them hurriedly on the cooling rack. She threw off Kelly’s borrowed oven mitts and dug into the pocket of her jeans for the buzzing phone, but her new jeans were so tight her hand got stuck. Lou hopped around in a circle, cursing Kelly for talking her into buying the tight jeans in the first place.

  “What are you doing?” Kelly stood in the doorway. Behind her, the children shrieked as they played tag through the halls of Kelly’s house. Luckily, Kelly was wise to the ways of hooligan children and had long since packed away all breakables into storage until the twins hit puberty. Outside, the rain that had been falling all day drummed against the window panes.

  The phone finally jerked free of its denim cage. Lou hurriedly flipped it open before voicemail could catch the call. “Hello?” she said, a little breathless from jumping around like an idiot.

  “Lou? Thank God I got you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of that voice. Stupid heart.

  “Jack? Where are you?” Tahiti, Venice… he was bound to be somewhere disgustingly romantic and exotic.

  Kelly perked up and stepped farther into the room. “Is that Jack?”

  “About where I am... that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Is something wrong? Do you need me to send you something? Did they send you to Antarctica or something and you didn’t pack the right clothes?”

  Kelly’s eyebrows flew up questioningly. Lou waved her away. This was her conversation, but it was Kelly’s kitchen—necessary since her oven was still out of commission. So much for privacy.

  “It’s Paris.”

  Lou’s breath whooshed out and her knees turned to jelly. Kelly quickly guided her down onto one of the stools at the br
eakfast bar. “Paris?” she whispered.

  Her Paris. Of all the places around the world that she’d dreamed of seeing, that one had always topped the list. The one city more than any other in the world that she wanted to see before she died. The most romantic city in the world. Jack was there.

  With someone else.

  She’d resolved to let him go, but Paris. She hadn’t factored France into the equation. Why did he have to tell her? Why couldn’t he have let her live in ignorance? She liked ignorance. It was bliss, dammit.

  She realized Jack was still talking and keyed back in on the conversation.

  “…need to hurry. My folks said they could take the kids, but the only flight I could get you leaves from O’Hare in less than three hours.”

  “Wait. What flight?”

  “The overnight to Charles De Gaulle. It leaves at 6:30. Can you make it?”

  Lou felt as if every molecule of her body went still. She held her breath, bracing against the bulletproof hope that rose up in a fierce wave. “You want me to come to Paris?”

  “Omigod!” Kelly squeaked. “Yes! Tell him yes! You have to go! The kids can stay here with me.”

  Lou shushed her so she could hear Jack.

  “I know you’ve always wanted to see Paris and… I owe you Europe, Lou. Just you. No kids.” There was a short pause, as if he was hesitating, trying to decide what more to say. “I want to give you this after all you’ve done for me.”

  Lou ignored Kelly’s chants of “Say yes say yes say yes” and tried to force her brain to consider this rationally. “Miranda says this is okay?”

  He gave a slight groan. “Actually, there will be some camera crews. Miranda is using it as a chance to audition some new camera crews or something.”

  Being followed around by camera crews was less than ideal, but it was Paris. Part of her hesitated. Every time she’d tried to go overseas before some disaster had happened to stop her. Her mother’s cancer. Gillian’s death. Bad things always seemed to chase away her dreams.

  “I don’t know, Jack.”

  “You never take anything for yourself. Let me give you Paris. Please.”