by Aubrey Dark
“Piers! Piers! I love you!”
“Sounds like you have a fan,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Let’s go,” Piers said, snapping his fingers.
“Are you seriously not even going to say hi? Sign an autograph?”
“It’s too early in the morning for that,” Piers said.
The limo pulled away, leaving the woman on the sidewalk. I stared back after her. She had a starstruck look on her face, her cell phone out to take a picture of the limo. It seemed like a total jerk move to drive away like she was nothing.
Maybe he was a total jerk. I’d been so attracted to him that I hadn’t really focused on anything else. Maybe I should have.
“I can’t believe you would just leave her standing there like that,” I said.
“I can’t believe you would open the door wearing those pajamas,” Piers snapped.
“What’s wrong with my pajamas?”
“Nothing. Are we rolling?”
The camera light flicked on and the camera guy gave a thumbs up.
“So Lisa, are you ready to meet your soulmate?”
I stared balefully at Piers. The camera light was on, and the boom mike was snuggled up on the ceiling of the limo near my head.
“Uh, sure,” I said.
“You don’t sound excited,” he said. There was a hint of irritation in his voice.
“I don’t really—um—believe in soulmates,” I said, settling back in my seat and looking around. “This is a cool limo. I’ve never been in a limo before.”
“Why not?”
“Why haven’t I been in a limo?”
“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?”
Piers was only half turned toward me. I realized that he was angling himself to get a better shot for the camera. Ugh. Such a self-absorbed jerk. I was starting to get angry with myself for ever having fallen for him and his lame pickup lines. How many orgasms can I give you in a half an hour? Ugh. I crossed my arms.
“I think that it’s a stupid concept. Mathematically, anyway. How many people are alive on Earth? Six, seven billion? Even if you narrow it down to men who are around my age, that’s still a few hundred million possibilities.”
“And you don’t think one of them is your soulmate?” Piers frowned.
“I think it’s dumb to say that only one of them could ever be my soulmate. What if my soulmate is a software engineer in India? What if he’s a Belgian grape farmer? That’s a whole lot more likely than finding true love in, oh, say, a New York elevator.”
Again, he looked irritated. Good.
“I don’t think anyone is saying you have to find true love in an elevator.”
“Of course not. You could have some fun in an elevator,” I said. “Maybe even find a really attractive guy to hook up with in an elevator. But then it turns out to be nothing at all and the guy is a jerk anyway.”
Piers glared at me. I glared right back.
“If I only have one soulmate, then I would probably never meet my soulmate,” I continued.
“That doesn’t mean he’s not out there.”
“Yeah, but that would mean that statistically, you’re not likely to end up with your soulmate at all. Statistically, my soulmate probably married a Chinese lady two years ago, and they already have a kid.”
I leaned back, raising my eyebrows. My logic was impeccable.
“So. You don’t think that you’re going to meet your soulmate today?”
“Apart from the whole issue of believing in souls, no. I think that’s stupid as hell. I’ll settle for any decent, intelligent, emotionally mature man who has his shit together. And for the record, I don’t think that’s settling.”
“Our billionaire wants to meet his soulmate today,” Piers insisted, his dark features drawn together.
“Then he’s not intelligent, and we wouldn’t be compatible anyway.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”
Piers leaned over suddenly and snapped off the camera. The red light disappeared.
“What are you doing, man?” the camera guy asked.
“What are you doing?” Piers hissed at me.
“Me? I’m telling the truth.”
“Can’t you pretend to be a little bit excited about meeting a billionaire? Just for one interview?”
“I don’t know. Can you pretend that I’m not a total idiot for a second and stop talking about soulmates like it’s something real?”
“One of our contestants is destined to win this competition—”
“Destined?” I laughed. “Please. You said yourself that reality TV was fake. Now you’re talking about destiny?”
Piers huffed and threw his hands up.
“I can’t believe you’re acting like this,” he said.
“Why are you so upset?” I asked. “If this is about—”
“No,” Piers said, cutting me off. His eyes warned me not to say any more in front of the crew members. I clamped my lips shut and stared back at him. “I’m giving you a chance here.”
“Really? I thought you needed some comic relief. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Is that why you’re dressed like the world’s biggest slob, too? Because you think this is all a joke?”
“Ouch,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my tongue. I couldn’t believe that I had ever felt attracted to this guy. He was nothing but a jerk. “Sorry for having a sick niece. I was up at five this morning dealing with a screaming baby. That’s why I’m dressed like this.”
“Fine. Fine,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, let’s just finish this before we get to the penthouse. Cameras up.”
The red light flicked back on.
“I can’t wait to meet this billionaire!” I said. “I hope he’s the one, I really really do!”
Piers gritted his teeth into a fake smile. He pulled out a bottle of champagne from the sidebar and poured two glasses. When he held one out to me, I beamed and flicked my hair over my shoulder.
“Every other girl I’ve interviewed has toasted to soulmates,” Piers said. “So what should we toast instead?”
“Let’s have a toast,” I said, “to reasonable expectations.”
“To reasonable expectations,” Piers said, clinking his glass to mine. “You are so romantic.”
“And you are such a gentleman.”
We glared at each other as we downed our champagne together in one gulp.
Chapter Thirteen
Piers held open every door for me, like he was going to prove that he wasn’t an asshole by sheer force of will. He even pretended to hold the elevator door open for me.
“After you, love,” he said.
The camera crew had gone up ahead of us, presumably to get a shot of us walking into the penthouse. Which meant that I was stuck in an elevator with Piers, again.
“As long as you don’t press the stop button,” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Of course not. My pajamas aren’t sexy enough to compete with the rest of these girls, right?”
Piers turned to me. For a very brief moment, I thought he was going to shove me against the wall and kiss me again. But his face was filled with irritation, not desire.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said.
“Me?” I was astonished. “What’s the matter with me?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I didn’t even get a chance to take a shower this morning, and then I had a camera thrust into my face, and then some asshole is making fun of my pajamas and telling me I’m not romantic enough.”
“You’re not romantic at all!” Piers said.
“I’m not gullible. There’s a difference. You don’t have to believe in soulmates to be romantic.”
“What was the last romantic thing you did?”
I cast around in my mind for the last romantic thing I’d done. I was pretty sure that watching Ten Things I Hate About You with Emma and Arlen was th
e closest I’d come to romance in the past year. But I wasn’t going to admit that, of course.
“I don’t have to answer that,” I said lamely.
“That’s because you don’t have an answer.”
“Do you think that you’re romantic?” I flung back at him. The best defense was a good offense, after all.
“Maybe.”
“Flinging a girl down on the floor of an elevator? Is that romantic?”
“It was spontaneous.”
“So is nuclear decay. That doesn’t make it romantic.”
“Who’s talking about romance, anyway? I thought we were just having fun in that elevator,” Piers said. His face was turning red, and he looked completely different from how he’d looked at me in the limo. He looked…
He looked awkward. Like he was unsure of himself. It was very weird to see.
“Is that why you invited me onto the show?” I asked.
“I didn’t invite you,” Piers hissed. “The producers said they wanted you after that little fake audition. I had nothing to do with it!”
I flushed hard, swallowing back my embarrassment.
“You didn’t want me to be on the show?”
“I mean, at first, maybe.” Now he looked really flustered. He ran his hand through his dark hair. “You seemed like you might want… you know…”
“When did I ever seem like I would want to go on your reality TV show!?”
“The first time I met you!” Piers said. “You were having trouble finding a good guy to date. Weren’t you?”
My mouth dropped open.
“You think I’m that desperate? That I need to go on a dating show in order to find a guy?”
“What? No! I just meant—”
“What? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Forget it.”
“No, let’s not forget it.”
“You decided to come on the show, didn’t you?” Piers asked.
“After you stormed into my office and conned my boss into going along with your stupid little plan! You know why I’m here?” I asked. “I’m here so that my boss doesn’t fire me. That’s the only reason I’m here!”
“That’s the only reason,” Piers echoed hollowly.
“That’s right.”
“It has nothing to do with the three orgasms I gave you in the elevator—”
“Will you shut up about the elevator already?” I pressed my hands up to my face, trying to block out my shame. “I don’t want to hear another thing about the elevator. That was just one big embarrassing mistake!”
Piers’ face turned pale. I couldn’t tell if he was mad, or shocked, or something else entirely.
“Technically, it was three mistakes,” he said.
“Shut up—”
“Three little mistakes? Or three big mistakes? How big were those mistakes, would you say?”
His gaze burned into me. I faced forward and pressed my hands tightly over my ears.
“Shut! Up!”
“You’re so mature,” Piers said. “I’m sure you’ll get along great with the mature, intelligent billionaire who absolutely isn’t your soulmate.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Oh, here. I have something that belongs to you.”
Before I could say anything else, he’d thrust a pair of panties into my hands. I stared down at them.
“What—what—”
“They’re yours. You forgot them on the floor of the elevator while we were being completely unromantic together.” The words came out seething with rage.
Oh, God.
I crumpled the panties in my hands. I didn’t know what to do with them. My pajamas didn’t have any pockets. The elevator came to a stop. I had to do something. I stuffed the panties down the front of my pants. Panties stuffed inside of panties.
“Clever girl,” Piers whispered, as the elevator doors opened.
“Panty-snatcher,” I whispered back.
“And here’s the penthouse you’ll be living in!” Piers instantly switched back into his fake persona as he stepped out of the elevator and into the luxury apartment.
I stopped in the doorway, frozen in awe. The ceilings were so high they could have had their own weather patterns. The whole apartment was white, pure white. White curtains, white furniture, white carpet. There was a white ceramic vase with white roses on a white wicker table. The entry walls were made from white marble. All of the other contestants were sitting primly on two oversized white leather sofas in the middle of all the whiteness.
It was an apartment meant for people without pets or kids, I decided. Totally sterile. Modern as hell. Jessica would have loved it.
“Ladies and other ladies, your tenth and final contestant—”
Piers gestured sideways, and then realized I hadn’t followed him in.
“Lisa? Want to come inside?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, stepping in nervously. “I feel like I’ll stain the carpet just by looking at it the wrong way.”
Piers laughed, a hollow fake laugh that boomed across the room. All of the other girls tittered along with him. As I moved forward, I saw a couple of them whisper to each other, looking at me.
It was then that I realized that everyone else was dressed up perfectly from head to toe. Their hair was combed, curled, and coiffed. Their fingernail polish matched their dresses. And they were all wearing heels. I suddenly felt terribly self-conscious of my tank top and ninja turtle pajamas, my un-made-up face and disheveled hair. After Emma and Jess had spent so much time getting me prepared, I was going to embarrass them like this.
“Sorry I’m dressed like this,” I said boldly. “Piers told me it was pajama day for the first contest, so you’re all obviously at quite a disadvantage.”
Every head swiveled to Piers in confusion.
“Just a joke!” I said quickly. I sank down on the edge of the nearest couch, next to the young blonde girl I’d noticed at the auditions. She looked even more nervous than she had before. “I really just overslept.”
“Oh my God,” the girl said, staring in unabashed horror at my pajama pants. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Not the end of the world.” But she was looking at me like a global apocalypse would be preferable to the way I was dressed. I bit my lip. Maybe it was worse than I thought.
“The first contest is a cooking competition!” Piers announced. I could see relief washing over some of the girls’ faces. A few of them, though, were stricken pale.
“They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Piers continued. “So we’ve prepared a kitchen full of the most exotic, organic ingredients for you to make a dish that will impress a billionaire!”
Now all of the girls were starting to look worried. I was worried, too. All of the cooking I did was for Emma and Arlen. And both of them liked applesauce and burgers more than caviar and coq au vin. There was no way I was going to cook something that would impress a billionaire’s palate.
“There are five cooking stations set up inside the penthouse kitchen through that doorway,” Piers explained, gesturing behind him. “Two girls to a station, so you’ll have to share the workspace. You all have access to the pantry and fridge, where you will find all of the ingredients available to you. At the end of one hour, you must have a finished plate worthy to serve to a billionaire. Are you ready?”
None of the girls looked ready. Hell, I wasn’t ready either. But my competitive spirit was raring up inside, and my pulse was racing. I was putting together a plan in my head when Piers yelled “GO!”
I might lose this contest. In fact, I was counting on it. Even if I got kicked out in the first round, I would have a decent story for Moi. But if I was going to lose, I was going to lose my way.
Chapter Fourteen
I leapt over the arm of the couch and raced through the doorway to the kitchen. I’d expected to be the first person inside, but some of the girls were surprisingly fast in heels. I bumped into a
girl in a gold miniskirt as I yanked open the giant fridge door, and she shoved into me to get a good look inside.
It was a huge fridge, but everything inside was labelled clearly. A basket of mussels. Kale greens. Venison and scallops, fennel and rutabaga. All kinds of herbs and fancy cheeses.
By the time I’d even glanced through the shelves, there were five other girls pressing from behind to get in. I quickly grabbed a package of chicken breasts, a couple eggs, and a handful of herbs. When I made it away from the fridge door, two girls were pulling at both sides of the basket of mussels.
“That was mine!”
“I got them first!”
“You can’t take all the caviar!”
I backed away from the mob. Mussels clattered to the floor amid shrieks of panic. One girl had already spread all of her ingredients over the entire stove top, and was arguing with the girl who was supposed to be sharing with her.
“I don’t have any room to cook!”
“I need all these pans! You can cook in the oven!”
“OH MY GOD! SHE STOLE MY POMEGRANATES!”
“There were only two of them! You don’t need both pomegranates!”
I spun around to find my station. The stovetop labeled with my name was right next to the pantry. Perfect. I got there and plunked all of my ingredients down onto the table next to the stove just as my partner arrived and did the same. It was the really young blonde girl from before, the one who thought I was serious about pajama day.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly. “I’m Lisa.”
“I’m Kate,” she said.
“Truce for the next hour? I don’t want to fight you over papaya slices.”
I offered my hand. She looked down, as though deliberating, and then shook it.
“Truce. Let’s be partners.”
“I’m going into the pantry,” I said, clutching a mixing bowl to my chest as gravely as though I was going to enter a warzone. “Do you need anything?”
“Oil. And flour.”
“You got it,” I said. “Don’t let anyone steal my chicken.”
She nodded, already starting to chop up a persimmon. The chef’s knife flew as she worked, dicing the fruit into perfect cubes. Within a moment, it was done and she was shaking almonds into a pan to toast.