She goes back to explaining the rules, but I get lost in my thoughts. Does anyone really find love on a TV show? I mean, I love watching them myself, but I’m not stupid. I don’t expect them to live out their lives together after the show. Hell, the tabloids usually start popping up about couples splitting shortly after the show ends. Even if they do get married, it’s only a countdown until the inevitable divorce.
Still, I can’t deny that I’m feeling somewhat excited under all the anxiety. Even if I’m probably not going to find true love, getting to go out with a bunch of hot guys and do crazy, adventurous things sounds fun to me! Who knows, maybe one will be worth dating afterward. What single girl wouldn’t be onboard with that?
Meredith is still going on about details of the show that I really should be paying close attention to when I hear footsteps and clicking heels behind me, followed by voices.
“Don’t you even try it, biatch,” a sassy, high-pitched male voice hisses. “I’m doing her makeup first.”
A woman’s sultry laugh follows. “Go ahead, sweetie. I’ll try my best to keep her foundation pristine when I wash her hair.”
“Bitch, please. You fuck up my makeup and I’ll fuck up your life.”
Standing in front of me, Meredith stops talking and shakes her head in disapproval at the newcomers, but I can’t help but laugh. Curiosity forces me to turn my head to get a look at the pair.
A curvy woman with pink hair done in pinup curls and a petticoat peeking out of her circle dress approaches me, a smile on her face as she looks me up and down. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, flashing a smile that I’m not sure is genuine. “I’m McKayla Quinn.”
“Nice to meet you, McKayla,” I begin to say, “I’m—”
She talks right over me, waving her hand. “You can call me Buffy. It’s what everyone calls me anyway. I’ll be your hairstylist for this shindig. But do me a favor. After I’ve spent hours making your hair perfect, keep it that way and we’ll get along quite well. Hmm?” She finishes with a big open-mouth wink.
I smile politely. “I’ll try my best—”
“And this is Brangelina Cooper,” McKayla says over me again, gesturing at the flamboyantly dressed man beside her. He’s tall and thin, wearing a pink shirt and designer blue jeans, his hair dyed platinum blonde with pink streaks. I think he has the bluest set of eyes I’ve ever seen and dimples that make me jealous. I wish mine were half as cute.
“His real name is Brad,” McKayla continues, not even pausing to take a breath, “but he likes to be called Brangelina for some reason.”
Brad scoffs. “Bitch, that’s because I embody Angelina’s beauty and Brad’s hotness. And I’ve got a better ass than both.”
“Apparently, no one’s told him that Brad and Angie are finished,” McKayla mutters. “And his ass isn’t that good.”
It’s difficult to hide my smile as Brad offers me his hand and I take it.
“Excuse her,” Brad says, smirking at McKayla. “She doesn’t get out much. I’m delighted to inform you that I’ll be your makeup artist while you’re here.” He leans in close and I catch a whiff of a woodsy feminine fragrance. “Between the two of us, we’ll keep you primed and polished for your every close-up! I’ll have your face looking beat and snatched at all times.” He boasts as he flicks his wrist and snaps his fingers.
“Any questions before I take off?” Meredith asks, drawing my eyes back over to her. Judging from her body language, she isn’t pleased at the interruption but she doesn’t outright say anything. The look on her face alone says it all.
I have a million and one questions running through my mind, but I’m too tongue-tied to ask any of them. Plus, I don’t want her to know that I was only half listening to her sermon. Instead, I slowly shake my head. “No, none right now.”
“Good. I’ll leave you in the dynamic duo’s capable hands before we parade you in front of the producers.” Meredith’s expression doesn’t match her complimentary words as she looks at the two like they’re children. “They want to see how you’ll look on camera all dolled up.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Mere,” McKayla says in a way that makes Meredith grit her teeth, “We’ll take good care of her.”
“We promise,” Brad echoes. “She’ll look better than any fifty-dollar Sunset hooker by the time we’re done.”
Meredith lets out a dramatic sigh, raising her head to the ceiling. “Lord, if you two weren’t so good at what you do, I’d . . .” she trails off, not finishing the threat.
“I don’t care what you do with us as long as you pay me,” McKayla says distractedly, turning her eyes on my hair. It looks like she’s already making plans on the styles she wants to use.
“I know that’s right,” Brad echoes. “A bitch gotta eat. Those happy meals are expensive.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” Meredith growls, throwing her hands up and walking to the doorway. Before she walks out, she stops to order curtly, “Just as long as you get her ready.”
McKayla and Brad burst into laughter when she leaves. “I bet you her Spanx just got a little tighter, so tight she’s about to burst out of it,” Brad says.
McKayla laughs. “She did look a little flustered.”
“Are you two always like this?” I’m forced to ask, shaking my head and giggling.
Brad looks at me like I’m crazy, doing a neck roll that I’m surprised doesn’t make his head pop off. “Are you serious? Girl, yes! It’s the only way we can do our job without dying of boredom. Not only will we get you camera-ready, but you’ll be loosened up and ready to kick ass.”
McKayla looks at me, gesturing toward the door. “All right, let’s get a move on. Come on, baby girl, we gotta get you ready before Cruella Deville has our tits for breakfast.”
Chuckling, I climb out of my seat and follow them several rooms over to what looks like a dressing room. Despite the constant back and forth, I like these two. Something tells me that they’ll be the breath of fresh air that I need.
Brad has me change into a pair of comfy shorts and a matching tank, explaining that I’ll be able to take them off for wardrobe without messing up their masterpiece. I’ve definitely never been called that before. I sit in the salon-style chair and try not to flinch as they swarm around me. Sparring and gossiping at the same time, McKayla and Brad go about getting me ready.
I never knew I needed so much work to look presentable, and I have to wonder what the producers really thought when they saw me for the first time. I get shaved, plucked, exfoliated, washed, dried, straightened, and curled, and then it feels like Brad paints three pounds of makeup on my face. “Why not use a power sprayer next time?”
Brad laughs. “Don’t tempt me. Now chin up!”
When they’re done, they stand back, appraising their work. I stare at myself in the mirror in awe, hardly recognizing the girl looking back at me. Big hair, big makeup, big change. I look so different, I’m not sure if I should be shouting for joy or crying.
McKayla, on the other hand, isn’t so impressed. “Why’d you pick that highlight?” she complains to Brad, peering at my face critically. “It’s too glittery. She looks like a Vegas showgirl.”
Brad twirls on McKayla like he’s about to pop her. “Girl, are you nuts? You’re looking at pure perfection right here!” he brags. He snaps his fingers, twirling his hips and sticking his bony ass out. “Honey, she’s glowing like an angel dusted her cheeks.” He looks at my hair, clucking his tongue. “Trying to talk bad about me, but what the hell is up with this Texas-sized bouffant on her head, huh? You could hide a family of rats up in there. Looks like a Tammy Faye bobble head!”
McKayla brandishes her curling iron in Brad’s face. “Bitch, now you’ve gone too far. Those big, juicy curls will bounce every time she moves.” She flips one of my curls and it bounces up and down for full effect. “You’re just jealous because you only wish your ass had this much bounce.”
Wow. I literally can’t with these two, and I don’t know if I should b
urst out laughing or cry. As they insult each other as if I’m not even there, my head ping-pongs between them, trying to decide which one is going to throw the first punch.
“I think you both did a good job,” I finally say, silencing them. They both pause, looking at me. “I love the makeup and the hair.” I’m not really sure if I love either, but if it will shut them up, I’ll live with both.
“See, I told you she liked my angel cheeks,” Brad boasts to McKayla, who rolls her eyes. “Jealous ho.”
“Difference is, I don’t need her opinion. I know my shit looks good.”
They square off toward each other, hips popped and bitch faces in full effect. At this point, I’m convinced blows are about to rain, or maybe an epic bitch-slap fight with nails and glitter exploding everywhere. Before either can ask me to hold their earrings, I start to slink away from my chair in a desperate bid to get some distance from the inevitable battle. Keeping an eye on their staredown battle, I see the switch in Brad a moment before he bursts out laughing. And just like that, the tension is gone as the two laugh at each other and do a little high-five, causing me to let out a relieved sigh.
McKayla snaps her fingers at me when they’re done. “All right, chickadee, let’s get you to wardrobe. Our work here is done. You look good, and you should be loose enough to deal with getting poked and prodded.”
I can’t help but let out an audible groan.
McKayla chuckles at my distress. “What? You don’t feel like Cinder-fucking-rella yet? Just look on the bright side. You’ll get to try on more clothes than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Without another word, we’re hustling down the hallways.
Chapter 4
Hayden
The hum of my Harley dies down as I slowly pull to a stop at the huge gate. I stare through the bars for a moment, spotting the looming mansion and beautiful manicured grounds. I don’t know what the fuck Jay’s gotten me into, but I hope it’ll be worth the trouble.
I lean forward and press a button on the callbox attached to a brick column near the gate. Shit, even that’s fancy. There’s no static at all, nothing but smooth silence before a voice answers, asking for my identity.
“Hayden Bishop.”
There’s no reply, but the gate sweeps open and I slowly pull up toward the house.
A young guy who looks like he’s only eighteen but is probably a bit older runs up and stops me. He’s clutching a clipboard in his hands, looking rushed. “Name?”
“Hayden,” I reply. “Hayden Bishop.”
He looks down at his clipboard and then marks me off the list, gesturing off to the side. “Park your bike over there.” The guy begins to turn away and then stops. “Oh, and make sure that when you head inside, turn left down the first hall, and then go into the den on the right.”
“Will do. Thanks.” I quickly park my bike away from the circular driveway and make my way inside. Opulence greets me as I step through the door. This place is one of those homes that is best described as ‘palatial’, but that only scratches the surface. I’ve done a shoot or two in places like this, but as I’m walking down the hall, I feel my heart thump in my chest.
Walking toward me are a curvy pink-haired pinup and a flamboyant blond man. But that’s not what’s caught my eye. It’s the gorgeous woman with full hair and makeup walking between them, her hips swaying with an unconscious seductiveness that bypasses all the layers of makeup that have been put on her. She’s all dolled up, but for some reason, she only has on a simple tank top and shorts. I can hardly take my eyes off her beautiful face to notice. She’s so stunning that it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing.
As they pass, she glances up and gives me the most perfectly sexy shy smile I’ve ever seen and my jaw drops. Jesus, what the fuck’s wrong with me? The last time a girl tripped me up that easily, I was a hormonal high school boy who didn’t know my dick from my emotions.
Fuck, looking at her gorgeous smile, I can’t help it. I have to say something. Before I can speak, the man motions me sharply down the hallway.
“Uh-uh, honeybuns. You gotta wait your turn for Miss Thing here, I don’t care how hot you are. Now move along!”
Obviously dismissed, I watch as they continue down the hall away from me, the gay guy swishing his hips as if he’s in competition with the two women next to him. I’m forced to laugh a little at the ridiculousness of it all. Shaking my head, I smile. Hopefully, I’ll see Miss Thing again if I don’t get sent home immediately. Maybe this trip will be worth it, after all.
As soon as I step through the door to the den, the smell of cologne assaults my nostrils. Lots of it, to the point that I want to either gag or sneeze. The room must be filled with at least forty other dudes, all seated in chairs, waiting. They’re all primped, dressed in their best, and dandied up to the point that it’s nearly eye-rolling for some of them. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb, but maybe that’s a good thing.
With so many here, it’s not a sight that I welcome. It means more competition for me in some form or another, but I’m used to it. I figure this is going to be just like any other cattle call I’ve been on. I just need to make the most of it and do my best.
I find a chair and settle in to wait my turn as the men around me chatter, a lot of them boasting about their accomplishments. After listening for a bit, I engage in the small talk, wanting to find out who my competition is. I’m sure most of them are just here for the opportunity of being on TV. But the more I talk, I’m surprised that there’s a few other than me who don’t seem to be braggarts looking for a quick fifteen minutes of fame.
It’s not long before we’re getting called to the back, one by one. I sit patiently as each name is called out, watching the reactions of the men who come out. Some of them come out after a few minutes and sit down with smiles on their faces, while others come out with grim expressions and leave without saying a word.
After what seems like an eternity, my name is finally called.
“Hayden Bishop.”
I get up from my seat and walk into the adjourning office. Inside, there’s an impeccably dressed woman who reminds me of Meryl Streep standing before a table that seats a group of men and women. They must be the producers or other execs.
The woman’s face lights up when she sees me, and she gives me a warm smile. “Hello, Hayden,” she greets me. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Meredith Ward, executive producer of the show.” She gestures to her side. “And these are my wonderful colleagues.”
I nod at everyone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
Meredith grins. “That it is. Shall we get right to it?”
“Of course.”
Meredith starts by asking stuff she should already know based on my resume, but I answer each question with a confident smile. I make sure to flash the dimples Jay said would be my ticket in the door. I don’t usually use them intentionally, but whatever. If it works, it works.
“And how is your modeling coming along?” Meredith asks. “I understand you’re in high demand.”
I don’t bother to correct her about my popularity. It must be something Jay added to my profile. “I just finished a shoot before coming here, actually. It ended up being a little more full-throttle than what I was expecting, honestly.”
Meredith and the other executives laugh and I grin. After, she grows quiet and I feel a little twinge of anxiety returning as she looks to her colleagues. They don’t say anything but their faces are expressive.
After another moment, Meredith walks over and picks up a piece of paper off the desk and hands it over to me, along with a pen. “All right, Hayden,” she announces with a smile. “I think you are what we’re looking for. Please sign the NDA and we’ll get down to the details.”
A sense of relief washes over me as I take the paper. Excited to find out what the big secret is, I hastily sign. Besides, this is just a standard one-page NDA. It’s not like I’m signing my life over.
Meredith smiles in approval as sh
e takes it back and slides it over to one of her colleagues. Then she picks up another form, this one multiple pages. She fingers it with one manicured nail as she speaks. “So in case you’re wondering, you’re here for a show called Matchmaker.”
She explains about how it’s a new game show-meets-love connection-type reality show and that I would be one of many male suitors. Hearing it, I frown. I definitely wasn’t expecting something like this. I’ve always thought these shows about finding love on TV were pretty much bullshit.
If I do this, I can only picture the shit my parents will get back home. Dad will probably laugh his ass off at me, and Mom will talk about how tactless it is.
Meredith appears to notice the distaste on my face. “Think about it. You do well here and you’d have a name in the industry. You won’t be kissing up to pervy photogs or scrabbling at cattle calls for runway work.” She grins. “Just think of it as a platform to promote yourself. A form of free advertisement.”
I feel the weight of all eyes in the room on me and I scratch the back of my neck. Shit, I’m being put on the fucking spot. The only thing that sounds fun about this right now are the adventures. When else am I going to get to travel for free? When I don’t reply right away, Meredith speaks up. “Don’t you want to at least see her?”
Taken out of my reverie, I focus my eyes on Meredith’s face. “Huh? Her?” I ask in confusion.
Meredith smirks. “The lovely lady you’ll be competing over.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, walking over and grabbing a glossy piece of paper from the end of the table and handing it to me.
My heart jumps as my eyes fall on the same face of the girl I saw in the hallway. The hair isn’t the same and she doesn’t have on the gallons of makeup, but it’s definitely her. I’m slack-jawed as I stare at the photo, transfixed by her beauty. She looks even more gorgeous without all the face paint.
Matchmaker Page 3