by Tess Oliver
“There’s such a thing then? Damsel in distress cards?”
“In a virtual sort of way. Only some women have a lot more of them than others. Not the lingerie model though. I’m sure that was all too real.”
“Janelle.”
“Who?”
“You keep calling her the lingerie model, but her name is Janelle.”
Eliot nodded and looked slightly ashamed. “You’re right. Sometimes we women are really good at taking ourselves backward instead of forward. Janelle. Seems like maybe she’s one of your top choices.” It was a statement that sounded like a question. “This won’t be all that hard for you. You’ll see.”
She pushed the curl aside, and it inadvertently lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing the blue panties beneath. “I need to get in that shower and get dressed.” She reached down and gave the shirt a stretch to cover her thighs.
“Hey, El,” I said and then paused to watch her fidget with the shirt.
“Yes?”
“You’ve got nice legs.”
A pink blush colored her cheeks. “They’re pretty standard, I think. Knees, ankles and a place to put my shoes.” She sidled past me.
“Nothing standard about those gams,” I called to her as she headed back to the bathroom.
The spaghetti was finished just as the bathroom door opened. The faint smell of soap mixed incongruently with the aroma of marinara.
Eliot’s feet pattered along the wood floor of the hallway. “Smells good. I just realized I’m starved.”
I spun around with two plates of spaghetti, and stopped short enough to send sauce covered noodles over the side of each plate. I glanced past the plates to the mess on the floor. “Guess I’ll cross fine dining server off my list of possible future jobs.”
Eliot hurried around the kitchen island. “I’ll get it.” She pulled on the paper towels, unraveling a good amount, and crumpled them in her hands. I lowered the plates onto the kitchen island, and even knowing what an ass I was for doing it, I stood and watched as Eliot stooped down in her small black shorts to wipe up the splatter.
“Yep, the Sparky’s uniform is coming back to me very clearly now.”
Eliot stood up and twisted around to look at me. Her wet hair was combed back and the curl was being held in check by the moisture. I realized I missed seeing it there on the smooth skin of her forehead. “What are you rambling on about?” she muttered as she carried the paper towels to the trash.
I leaned against the granite edge of the island. “I was just reminiscing about the old days, when I was free to move about the planet and hang out in places like Sparky’s where hot women brought me cold beers on a black tray.”
“You’ve only been in here for three days. And you are free to move about planet earth as long as it’s in the vicinity of the studio cameras.” She walked around to the stool under the kitchen island and hopped up onto it.
“The mystery of what you’ve been hiding under that gigantic studio t-shirt has been solved. Probably not considered proper manners to be saying this to my butler, but you rock that little Sparky’s server uniform. In fact, you’re technically to blame for the runaway spaghetti mess.”
Eliot quickly diverted her gaze.
“You sure like to hide from compliments.”
She responded by adjusting the clingy shirt so that it covered her cleavage.
I grabbed the salt and pepper shakers off the counter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m zipping it up.”
She quietly pulled the plate of spaghetti closer and picked up the fork. “By the way, I won’t be on set until ten tomorrow. I have class in the morning. So if you need something—”
“I don’t need anything.” I couldn’t hold back a smile as I watched her dive into the spaghetti. She wasn’t one of those women who picked at her food. None of my reactions ever escaped her notice. It was incredible how quickly we’d become friends. It seemed we could almost read each other’s thoughts.
She slurped in a long noodle and wiped her chin with her napkin. Her lips pushed up into that crooked little grin that I’d already characterized as one of the world’s best smiles. “I’m so glad I could entertain you with my eating habits. Aren’t you going to have some?”
I circled around to the second stool. “It’s just nice watching a woman eat without looking at the food as if it is her mortal enemy.”
“Thanks? I think. What happened to zipping it up?”
“I lied. But now I’ll eat spaghetti and try to keep my comments less focused on you.” I climbed up onto the stool and, again, ignoring my promise, returned to my favorite topic. Eliot. “So, you worked all day. Now, you’re going to serve beers to a bunch of drunken asses. Then tomorrow, you have class. You sure drive yourself hard, El.” I looked over at her as she continued to eat the pasta. “I figure you’re either working hard to get away from a life you aren’t happy with, or you’re working hard to make up for something. A mistake maybe?”
Eliot had a forkful of noodles but instead of eating them, she lowered them onto her plate. Her long lashes fluttered down as she stared at the uneaten spaghetti.
“Sorry, El, none of my business.” I picked up my fork. “See, I’m shutting up.”
“I should get going. There will be traffic.” She slid off the stool.
“Eliot, don’t go. Finish your food. I won’t say another damn thing. I promise.”
“I can’t be late, or I get docked pay.” She carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it off and stuck it in the dishwasher.
“Eliot—”
She turned around. The turquoise blue of her shirt made her eyes even brighter, if that was possible. “Thanks for the spaghetti. Get some sleep, bachelor. I hear you’re going on a bike ride tomorrow with the other half of the contestants. Hopefully there won’t be any runaway bicycles to contend with.” She winked at me and turned to leave, but I grabbed her hand.
“Eliot, please don’t leave yet. Ignore my big mouth. I’m being way too familiar with you, and I apologize. It’s just I felt this instant connection to you, as if we’ve been friends for a long time.”
She stared down at her hand in mine for a moment and then lifted her gaze to mine. Reluctantly, I released her hand.
“No apologies necessary, Rafe. And if it helps, I feel the same way, as if we’ve known each other long before this. I’m thankful for that. It makes my job easier.”
“Actually, that helps a lot. I didn’t want you to leave here angry or hurt by what I said. It was just an observation. Not a judgment.”
Eliot shook her head. “I’m not angry or hurt. My reactions come more from the fact that you are always spot on with your comments, the working hard to go unnoticed, being every guy’s chum, all of that. It’s like you see me better than I see myself.” Her smile tilted slightly to the right. “You’re like the world’s hottest psychiatrist.”
I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my fingers over the back of her hand. “Hey, anytime you need to sit on that couch and lay your soul bare, I’m there for you. And I won’t charge you a penny.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She picked her keys and books up off the coffee table. “I’ll see you around ten tomorrow.”
“Drive safely.”
“Thanks.” She reached the door and looked back at me. “And it’s both.”
“What’s both?”
“The reason I’m buzzing around like a worker bee building the world’s biggest hive. I’m working for a better life and, at the same time, I’m trying to erase a horrible mistake.” With that she walked out the door.
I stared at the shut door and heard her always hurried footsteps as she raced out to her shabby little car. It took her several ignition turns to get the thing started. Seconds later, it sputtered down the driveway
.
I looked down at the plate of spaghetti. It no longer looked appetizing. I picked up the pile of cards. I’d had plenty of notecards pass through my hands while I earned my degree in the army. But these particular flashcards left a tight knot in the pit of my stomach.
I got up from the stool, and as I headed to the couch, someone knocked on the door. I tossed the cards on the table and walked enthusiastically to answer it. “What’d you forget?” I asked as I swung it open. My shoulders sank in disappointment when Eliot’s pretty smile didn’t greet me on the other side. It was Doug, the director.
“Rafe, can I come in?”
“Of course.” I opened the door wider.
Doug glanced back over his shoulder at the driveway before turning back to me. The sun was close to setting, but he was still wearing his opaque black sunglasses. “Why is Eliot leaving here so late?” I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the accusatory tone or if that was just the way he always sounded. Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past me and into the house.
Doug was a forty something who was lean like a runner or cyclist. He always wore a backwards cap and black t-shirt. He was also always a little too wired for my liking, as if it wouldn’t take much to send him off into orbit. I’d already witnessed a few short temper fits when things weren’t going exactly right on set. My soldier instinct told me this wasn’t just a friendly visit.
I shut the door. “My fault. I asked her to stay and give me some advice. Is there a problem?”
“No, no, not at all.” He nearly tripped all over himself as he spoke. “I mean after all it’s Eliot. No one more reliable and trustworthy. That’s why we chose her for the position when the guy who usually acts as bachelor butler was moved to set decoration.”
Something about the way he spoke about Eliot, as if she was just a movable piece of furniture, made me clench my jaw. Everyone in the studio was fucking clueless if they hadn’t noticed just how fantastic Eliot was. She had far more going for her than anyone else I’d met so far.
“So you needed advice?” There was a slight hitch in his voice as if he realized that his comments about Eliot had given me the fleeting urge to throw my fist at him. I needed to let it go. Eliot didn’t seem to care what any of them thought anyhow. It was just another thing that made her so damn likable.
I unclenched my jaw. “Yes, not completely sure what I’m doing. I’m not feeling any of this yet,” I said curtly, not really giving a damn if it angered him or not.
Doug took off his sunglasses and placed them over his hat. “We’ve noticed that.”
“We?”
“Kiley and I. Don’t get me wrong—today’s taping with the runaway horse—that was perfect. I have no doubt the ratings will soar after it airs.”
“It’s amazing how something that could have ended in disaster becomes a show highlight.” I walked into the kitchen and pulled out two beers and tossed one to Doug.
He looked taken aback at my sarcasm. “Obviously, it’s only amazing because it ended well. Thanks to you. Naturally, we don’t want anyone to get injured.” He opened the beer and chugged some of it back. Then he took a deep breath. “Look, we’re thrilled with the impact you’re having already. Our social media coordinator can’t keep up with everything that’s happening online, which is great. Sponsors are already upping the ante and begging for more spots. We’d like to keep that enthusiasm going all season.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter with my beer and waited for him to continue. He fidgeted with the label on the beer bottle and seemed to be trying to choose his words. I couldn’t tell if he was still nervous or just making sure to stay professional and within contract.
“Great. Sounds good.” I pushed off the counter to let him know he’d said his piece and could leave.
He didn’t move toward the door like I’d hoped. “Look, Rafe, we need way more sexual tension than we’re seeing through the camera lens. Other than the moments when you held Janelle on the horse, you don’t seem to be connecting with the contestants yet. And the lack of chemistry isn’t coming from their side. Most of the women are ready to run a gauntlet to win your heart.” His eyes lit up. “Shit, a gauntlet in the form of a tough obstacle course. Tiny shorts, skimpy tank tops, skin glowing with perspiration. Why didn’t I think of it earlier?” He pulled out his phone and recorded a quick message to himself. He finished the verbal memo and then seemed suddenly to remember that he’d been in the midst of lecturing me when his brilliant gauntlet plan struck. “Anyhow, that’s what we need to see from you.”
“I think if you’d stop controlling the conversations so much with scripts and cue cards, I’d have a chance to work up some of that chemistry.”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid you don’t understand show business. The scripts help keep things moving, even on a reality show.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Then why don’t you script in some chemistry and sexual tension.”
His mouth pulled tight in anger, but it was obvious I made him nervous. “Look, we’ll keep those cameras rolling until we get what we want. No matter how long it takes. So just make sure things start moving faster.” He put his sunglasses back on and headed toward the door. “You know there are a few guys on the set who might be better as a bachelor’s assistant. I mean I can’t imagine what kind of advice you could get from someone like Eliot.”
My fingers clamped into fists, and I realized it wasn’t just the way he talked about her but the way he said her name that made me want to hit him.
I stepped forward. It shocked him enough to send him back a few steps.
“Eliot remains my assistant or you will see the sexual tension and drama on the show dry up like a fucking puddle in the desert.”
His eyes were masked by the sunglasses, but the twitch in his jaw said it all. “Listen, Rockclyffe, you’ve got a signed contract with this show, and if you don’t fulfill the requirements listed on that legal document, you can be sure this network will come after you with their hungriest lawyers. You need to start acting like the bachelor. I don’t care how. You look like the kind of badass who has fucked women from one end of the country to the other. That’s who we need to see in front of the camera. Not the polite, smiling pretty boy we’ve been watching. Got it?”
“Eliot stays?”
A nervous laugh shot from his mouth. “That’s your biggest worry? That the flustered little bookworm with her tangled nest of hair and man-sized t-shirts stays on as assistant? Fine. Eliot stays . . .” He pointed his finger at me, and I held my hands straight down to my sides to keep from breaking it off. “As long as you start spicing things up on camera.” He walked out.
I swung the door shut sharply behind him.
Chapter 11
Eliot
Considering that Sparky’s was located on some of the most expensive commercial real estate in town, it was a bit of a dive. But the locals loved the place, wobbly wooden tables, broken floor tiles, industrial bathroom fixtures and all. It was a place I’d grown used to and a place that I never minded coming to. Ursula, the owner, had inherited the place from her dad, Charles, better known as Sparky. And she was a great boss to work for. She never got angry about a broken glass or spilled drink, and she was the first to defend her servers if a customer was rude or whiny. About the only thing that could earn you a severe scowl from Ursula’s finely penciled eyebrows was tardiness.
Tonight, the traffic lights had been on my side, and I scooted in the back door with a few minutes to spare. Ruthie, one of the servers, met me as I stepped into the break room to grab my apron. Ruthie was one of those women who was perpetually happy. Even when things were going badly, like with her recent messy breakup, she still wore a smile and whistled show tunes as she hauled drinks around the barroom. She’d only been working at Sparky’s for a few months, but her cheery personality had already earned her a leagu
e of loyal customers.
“Eli, glad you’re here. There’s a party of twenty in the back room. A group of women celebrating a divorce, apparently. Ursula gave it to me, but I’ll gladly share it with you.” She rubbed her back. “I’ve still got that pinched nerve. I’m going to the chiropractor tomorrow. I took some aspirin, but it’s not doing much.”
I finished tying on my apron. “I’ll be glad to share it with you. I don’t mind doing the heavy lifting.”
“Thanks, you’re a doll. Evan is filling up their first round right now.”
“Great. I’ll be right there.”
I pulled out a chair to sit and double knot the laces in my shoes. When things got busy and hectic in the bar, it was easy to lose track of something like an untied shoe, especially when a round tray made it impossible to notice a loose lace. I hadn’t looked up, but since I hadn’t heard the familiar squeak of the break room door, I could only surmise that Ruthie hadn’t left.
I finished my laces and stood up. Ruthie’s usual smile seemed to be holding back a burning question.
“Anything else you need?” I asked.
She took that as an opening and scurried toward me. “I know you’re sworn to secrecy, but just tell me one thing—is he as dreamy in real life as he is on my television screen?”
“Ruthie, you know I can’t say anything. But I suppose I can answer that question without compromising my position or the secrecy contract I’ve signed. He’s as dreamy as he looks.”
The other girls were always big on trying to get information out of me, even though they knew it was useless, but it seemed with this particular bachelor, even Ruthie was curious.
