by Lizzie Shane
He smiled—and realized he was staring at her mouth.
He didn’t want her going on the show. He didn’t want it to spoil her. He wanted her.
Which sent a warning alarm echoing in his brain.
Josh rocked back into the far corner of the cushions, taking a deep breath of air that didn’t carry a light floral scent. What the fuck was wrong with him?
The glass of scotch was heavy in his hand.
Oh. Right. That.
“Josh?” Her teal gaze snared him again.
They had to be contacts.
But his body didn’t care. The air seemed to crackle around them, a lightning storm waiting to happen, pulsing with inevitability. Every inch of his nervous system was waking up and reporting for duty. She looked at him with mischief and promise in those teal depths and his better judgment went on hiatus.
He was going to kiss a Suitorette.
Chapter Three
She was possessed. It was the only explanation.
This wasn’t her. Sidney had never been this girl before. She didn’t break curfew. She didn’t drink scotch—which was frankly gross. And she had certainly never flirted with the host of a major network television show.
She read about adventures. She planned them for other girls. But this wasn’t her.
She’d come to Marrying Mister Perfect with a plan. Get the guy, grow her business, live happily ever after. None of which included making gooey eyes at one of Us Weekly’s 100 Hunkiest Hollywood Hotties.
Even if he was single.
That didn’t make him available. Not to her. But the way he was looking at her…
Almost like he might kiss her.
Holy Moses. Josh Freaking Pendleton was looking at her like he might kiss her.
This wasn’t her life. She’d been lifted right out of her body and dropped into the shoes of someone a thousand times more glamorous than her.
She wanted to pinch herself—
But then his gaze skated off to the side and he cleared his throat roughly, rising from the couch. “Miranda’s probably gone by now.”
With those words, reality returned with a thud. This wasn’t her Prince Charming. Even if he was single—which would give Parvati heart palpitations. Sidney stood as well. “Right. Of course.”
Yes, if she was honest she’d sort of had a crush on Josh Pendleton ever since she’d first seen him hosting the Brainiac quiz show ten years ago—but she was meeting Mister Perfect tomorrow, she certainly hadn’t planned to fall into the arms of another man tonight.
Or be awkwardly lifted into them.
This strange electric feeling in her blood wasn’t attraction. It was just a reaction to meeting her first bona fide celebrity. If he seemed to glow with the force of his personality—well, that was probably just what celebrities did.
She trailed after him to the door, waiting as he opened it and peeked outside before closing it again and giving her a nod. “All clear.”
“Thanks.” She moved to stand close to him in the small space near the door. She might never be this close to Josh Pendleton again.
His hair was thick chestnut, messier than she’d ever seen it on television, when it was always neatly trimmed and gelled into position. It made him seem more approachable somehow, that disordered mop. Touchable.
A hint of wryness shadowed his eyes, something just a little bit cynical that he’d never revealed to the cameras. It gave him an edge—and made him more real. This wasn’t Josh Pendleton the host. This was Josh Pendleton the man.
And what a man.
“I’m sorry about your divorce.”
He shrugged, looking away. “It happens.”
“Not always,” she said with quiet emphasis. It was suddenly irrationally important to her that he realize the entire institution of marriage wasn’t a lost cause because his had ended. “Sometimes love finds you when you’re least expecting it.”
He studied her then, his gaze so intent she could almost feel it tracing her features. “This show is going to eat you alive,” he murmured low.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I bet I come out the other side believing in love just as wholeheartedly.”
His expression turned quizzical. “Why?”
“A girl has to believe in something. Why not love?”
“Because it hurts like a bitch when it ends.”
“But what if it doesn’t end? What if the next guy will be the one that goes the distance and I might have missed my destiny if I was too scared to take that chance?”
“You’ve been watching too much Marrying Mister Perfect.”
“Listening to all the things you say every week on the show, you mean?”
His dark eyes gleamed wryly. “What can I say? I’m a peddler of false dreams.”
“Have you always been this cynical or is it a product of your divorce?” His relaxed face tightened and she lifted a hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She’d rather believe he was speaking from pain rather than core-deep cynicism. “It was nice to meet you, Josh Pendleton.”
It was the most natural thing in the world, going up on her toes to kiss him. One hand rested gently on his chest as her lips brushed his.
It could have been innocent. It could have been a sweet, inconsequential goodbye kiss.
It wasn’t.
His head angled, his lips parted, and suddenly he was kissing her back with the taste of scotch on his lips, and she melted against him, lost in the searing rightness of the kiss.
*
It ought to feel wrong. He hadn’t kissed any woman other than Marissa in over seven years. He shouldn’t even remember how, but damned if it wasn’t all coming back to him. And damned if he didn’t like it. Probably far more than he should.
She was sweet and soft and smelled heavenly. Daniel didn’t know what he was in for.
Daniel.
Josh pulled away, his good sense returning in a rush as soon as he wasn’t kissing her anymore.
She was there for Mister Perfect. And his job was to smooth their path to love. He couldn’t want her. Not without losing the job that was the only thing left of the life he’d worked toward for years.
“You should go.”
Wide teal eyes gazed back at him. “I should?”
“It’s late. We both need to get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow. You’re meeting the man of your dreams.” And that man wasn’t him.
Questions darkened her eyes. “Josh, I—”
“Good luck this season,” he said, more forcefully than necessary, as if emphasis would make his wish more sincere. “I’m sure you’ll go far. Mister Perfect will love you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured softly.
He opened the door, checking the hall one last time. Finding it empty, he urged her through the doorway. “Good night, Sidney.”
*
“Are you ready to meet Mister Perfect?”
Sidney forced a smile, hoping it looked even remotely genuine as the segment producer chirped excitedly about fate and romance and that all-important first impression with the man she would spend the rest of her life with.
All she could think—over and over—was I kissed Josh Pendleton. But she had to keep her eyes on the prize. She couldn’t let last night’s stupidity destroy her dream. Parvati would be thrilled that she’d laid one on the hottest host on TV, but that was as far as it could go.
Sidney had spent all morning mentally preparing herself for her fairy tale romance, psyching herself up for love with the help of the show’s producers and therapists… but Marrying Mister Perfect didn’t feel like a fairy tale.
It just felt staged.
She tried to stay positive, but it was hard to find anything romantic about waiting for hours in uncomfortable heels as Mister Perfect slowly made his way through the various set-ups around the mansion, meeting the Suitorettes one by one. There was no sense of destiny approaching. Just looming boredom.
And the sense that she was being indoctrinated into a cult.
<
br /> If she hadn’t already been determined to find love, the enthusiastic—and constant—reminders by various producers to lead with her heart open and embrace the journey to love and consider the possibility that she was about to meet her husband would have brainwashed her into doing just that.
No wonder the Suitorettes were usually chugging cocktails on night one. If the regular first date jitters weren’t bad enough, they had to deal with the competition aspect as well as the constant pressure to feel insta-love from the producers. It was enough to drive anyone to drink.
But Sidney clung to her soda water, no matter how many times a production assistant offered to fetch her a glass of champagne. She was determined to be sober when she first appeared on prime time.
Though even without the help of alcohol, she might throw up on his shoes. The waiting was not doing good things for her stomach. Of course that might have been the aftereffects of the putrid scotch as well.
The producers would probably love it if she tossed her cookies. She’d be in every highlight reel for the entire freaking season.
“Just a few more minutes,” the segment producer who had been assigned to babysit her enthused. “One more girl to go and then it’s your turn.”
Sidney shifted her bouquet to one hand, adjusting the veil that was perched precariously atop her updo. Each of the Suitorettes had been assigned a different setting, supposedly designed to show off her unique talents—musicians played music, chefs cooked, athletes demonstrated their prowess and models displayed their shapely selves. It was a time-honored gimmick-fest, and Sidney, as wedding planner, was, of course, this year’s bride.
The dress Victoria and Parvati had helped her pick out was cocktail length and ice blue, but the lace overlay gave it enough of a bridal feel that the producers were in raptures. They’d even set up a sort of altar in the gazebo where she was waiting.
Unfortunately, the strange autumn heat wave had yet to let up and Sidney had resorted to fanning herself with her bouquet in an effort to keep from being the Sweaty Suitorette when Mister Perfect finally made an appearance. It was downright sweltering out here.
She tried not to think about the camera lens only a few feet away—and the ten pounds it would add.
Not exactly how she’d envisioned meeting the man of her dreams when she’d agreed to come on the show.
“All set?”
Sidney whirled toward the familiar voice, her heart pounding triple time as Josh stepped out of the shadows and into the professionally lit gazebo. Her hands clenched hard around the stems of the bouquet. She’d already known he looked amazing in a suit, with every hair styled into place, but somehow he was even more heart-stopping now that she knew what he looked like when he was a little rumpled.
“Hi.” God, why did she sound so breathless?
She hadn’t seen him since he’d thrown her out of his room the night before. She’d made it back to her own room undetected and so far no one had even hinted that they knew she’d snuck out.
Sidney wished she could tell Josh that they’d gotten away with it unscathed, but more than anything, she wished she could talk to him about the kiss. She shouldn’t have kissed him—he’d made that clear when he’d all but thrown her out—and she needed to smooth things over, get back to normal with him, tell him it had just been the scotch kissing him, but the cameraman, segment producer and audio tech were all watching, absorbing every word—and probably filming it for all she knew.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all set,” Josh said, the words seeming filled with a thousand possible meanings as he held eye-contact.
Was he checking up on her? Checking to make sure she hadn’t been kicked off the show because of last night’s adventures? Checking to make sure she hadn’t made a run for it? Or was there some other meaning she was missing entirely?
“Good to go.” The words rushed out on an exhale.
“Good. Good.” He nodded to himself. “You’ve got a good set-up here.”
“I do?” She reached up self-consciously to check the veil. It was a massive monstrosity of a thing. Huge to the point of tackiness.
Marrying Mister Perfect wasn’t really known for their subtlety.
“The gazebo’s good. You know you’re a favorite if they put you in here.” Josh smiled reassuringly. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s going to love you.”
Sidney had to remind herself which he they were talking about.
Mister Perfect. Daniel. Man of her dreams. Right.
“Thanks. I just keep telling myself to think of The Veil. It’s my new mantra.”
Josh cocked his head quizzically and she explained, “The Veil magazine. There’s a list they put out every year. A Who’s Who of Wedding Planners. If you get on there, you’re set for life. But it’s more than just a list. It’s a tangible marker of success.”
“And that matters.”
“I’m a Dewitt.”
He arched a brow questioningly.
“In my family, you don’t do anything unless you’re The Best. My father is Titus Dewitt—”
“Holy crap.”
“Exactly. My mother is the president of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world. My brother started his own business when he was seventeen, sold it for millions when he was twenty-three and started another last year just for fun. And I plan parties for a living.”
He shrugged. “I play matchmaker on national television. We’ve all gotta do something.”
“Yeah, but I have to be The Best. Hence the Veil list.”
He smiled. “More people should say hence.”
Something warm and sweet unfurled in her chest at his smile, but when she would have spoken, he lifted a finger, his eyes going distant as he listened to an exchange through his earpiece. “He’s on his way. Just relax. Be yourself and he won’t be able to resist you.”
“Thanks.” A flush heated her face that had little to do with the sweltering weather. Then Josh was gone, vanishing into the night beyond the reach of the industrial grade lighting.
Seconds later, another man stepped into the bright lights of the gazebo, grinning from ear to ear and trailing a pair of mobile camera crews.
“What have we here?” he asked, his charm on high-beam as he took in the altar, veil and bouquet.
Daniel the Teacher. He’d been the odds on favorite to win it all last season, but Marcy had shocked the world by picking Craig instead, leaving Daniel unattached and ripe for the picking as the next Mister Perfect. She’d thought it would be him. She’d been thrilled by the idea. She’d wanted it to be him.
So why was she just standing there like an idiot staring at him while the cameras captured her tongue-tied idiocy?
“I’m a wedding planner. Sidney,” she blurted—and thank God her tongue came unstuck.
The next few minutes were a blur. She didn’t know what she said or what he said back. She made him laugh—a deep, warm, appealing sound—but then he was promising to speak more with her later before disappearing back out in the night, surrounded by the whirling orbits of his mobile camera crews.
The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a minute and a half.
Sidney stared after him.
“Was that it?”
The segment producer—who never had given Sidney her name—beamed at her. “You did great. Now we’ll just move you back up to the house for the welcome toast and the first challenge. Come along.”
Sidney tugged off the veil and set it on the altar along with the bouquet. She trailed along like an obedient child until they reached the Suitorette Mansion that would be her home for the next several weeks—or as long as Daniel decided to keep her.
It was surreal, that uncertainty, that lack of control. Her entire life suspended on his whim.
She entered the living room—one of many in the mansion—where the rest of the Suitorettes were gathering. It was her first chance to size up the competition—and meet the women she’d be living with.
Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Women of every ethnicity and type, they covered the spectrum, except for the fact that they were all, every last one, intimidatingly beautiful.
And thin.
They showed off their sleek figures with the confidence of women who never gave a second thought to the camera’s extra ten pounds.
The first challenge would begin soon. Some ridiculously impossible or embarrassing task designed to reveal their true characters to Daniel—and entertain the drama-hungry masses at home. Sidney had been one of those eager viewers for too long not to know the drill.
Many of the women were already laughing together in clusters of three or four—or sizing one another up with barely concealed predatory stares. Sidney sidled up to the nearest wall, tugging at her skirt and trying to avoid being in the line of fire for the majority of the cameras, painfully self-conscious. A couple feet down the wall, a waifish redhead hovered, anxiously apart.
A yank of empathy had Sidney leaning toward her and murmuring, “The worst is over, right? We’ve all made whatever first impression we’re going to make. I’m just glad I didn’t lose my lunch all over his shoes.”
The redhead turned to her with palpable relief. “Oh, thank God. I was sure I was going to be sick, but everyone looks so confident and together, I thought I was the only one.” She thrust out her hand, the long elegant fingers tipped in pastel polish. “I’m Caitlyn. Piano teacher.”
“Sidney. Wedding planner.”
“Nice to meet you, Sidney.”
“You too.” Sidney had always thought the stories of Suitorettes forming life-long friendships with other women who were competing for the affections of the same man were ridiculous, but as soon as she shook Caitlyn’s hand, she felt a weight lift off her.
She wasn’t in this alone. All the insanity. The cult-like indoctrination. The surreal blur of her first conversation—she’d never be able to adequately explain it to anyone back home. Not even Parvati and Victoria. But Caitlyn was in the trenches with her. For better or worse.
A cheer went up at the far side of the room, announcing the arrival of Mister Perfect. Sidney steeled her nerves. She’d known it wasn’t all going to be fairy tale dates. She just had to get through this to earn her happy ending. “Let the games begin.”