by Lizzie Shane
Caitlyn snorted. “He was begging forgiveness, actually.”
“A little early for that, isn’t it? The episode doesn’t air until tomorrow night.”
Caitlyn snapped to attention. “What’s on tomorrow’s episode?”
“Oh.” Miranda groaned. “I am really off my game today. Look, sweetie, just remember what I said. It’s never as bad as it looks.”
“What does it look like?”
“Flirtation, mostly. He was a little bit of a kissing slut, but that’s part of the show and you knew that going in.”
“Oh.” She tried to feel jealous, but mostly just felt tired. So her fiancé was going to make out with the world tomorrow. How delightful.
“What was he apologizing for?”
“He leaked the fire story to TMZ.”
Miranda cursed. “I really am going to have to kick his ass.”
“I thought you’d appreciate the publicity.”
“We have a team of people who very carefully handle releasing stories like that. Daniel knows better than to run around leaking material to any old gossip rag. Or at least he should. His job is to be perfect. Our job is to control his image and the image of the show and all the girls on it. Including you. Don’t talk to the press without talking to me first, Caitlyn.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good girl. I’ll tear Daniel a new one. You just keep on being lovely. And maybe consider not watching tomorrow night.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Miranda stared down at her phone after she hung up with Caitlyn, wondering when, exactly, she’d become so shitty at her job. Mister Perfect was leaking stories. His fiancé sounded like she was inches away from calling off the wedding. The wedding planner was driving Miranda up the wall with constant questions about how strict the budget for the Wedding of the Year really was. And she couldn’t seem to focus.
And it was only week three.
Tomorrow’s episode would be explosive. It was supposed to be. They were still in the scandalous and scintillating part of the show when cat fights and teary breakdowns kept the audience’s attention while America slowly but surely fell in love with the favorites. The romantic portion of the show came later. The first few weeks were all cheap entertainment.
She usually loved this part. Miranda was an expert at giving the crazy girls their fifteen minutes of fame while showing the sweet and lovely sides of the girls who would make it to the end.
The problem was Daniel. If she wasn’t careful the audience was going to start rooting against him, and as soon as they did, Miranda had a feeling Caitlyn would too.
So much for happy endings.
“Miranda, Bennett Lang for you.”
“Take a message,” she snapped.
“Um…” Todd, usually so self-assured, hesitated over the intercom. “He’s here.”
Her heart rate tripled from one beat to the next.
Shit. If he was there, he’d just heard her crack assistant tell her he was there. Which mean she couldn’t hide underneath her desk and pretend she was out.
Maybe he’s here to apologize.
“And demons are ice-skating in Hell,” she muttered to herself. Then depressed the intercom. “Send him in.”
She stood, smoothing her pencil skirt, wishing stupidly that she’d worn a pant suit, as if that would somehow be better armor against him. She didn’t want to look feminine. Not when he made her feel so damn girly.
The great Bennett Lang walked into the room like he owned it, but then when you’d been King of Reality Television for as long as he had, you pretty much entered every room that way. Tall, handsome, and lean—with the body of a marathon runner, which he was. His full head of dark hair was showing more and more silver these days, but it worked for him. He looked like he could have been a newscaster, with that same sort of distinguished gravitas.
She’d been awed by him from the second she met him, back when she was green and eager.
Now she just wanted to kick him. Preferably in the balls.
“Miranda, you’re looking well.”
She glowered at him as the door clicked shut behind him. “Really? That’s what you’re going to open with? Pleasantries? Then by all means.” She waved him to the chair opposite her desk and sank back into her own. “You look to be in good health also. Did you run a satisfactory time in the New York Marathon?”
He frowned, seating himself in the chair she’d indicated and adjusting his cuffs, carefully ignoring her sarcasm. “You won’t take my calls.”
“You won’t leave a message.”
“Still angry, I see.”
“Still patronizing, I see.”
“Miranda.”
She fisted her hands in her lap, where he couldn’t see them. “Don’t scold me, Bennett. You don’t get to come to my office and scold me.”
He cursed under his breath. “This isn’t how I envisioned this meeting.”
“Funny, this is pretty much exactly how I figured it would go down.”
She’d been head over heels for him, declared her freaking love for him and he was still trying to mold her into what he wanted her to be—like he was still her mentor rather than her lover. That wasn’t what she wanted from him. Not anymore. But wanting him to actually engage his heart was an unwinnable war. There was probably a picture of thrice-divorced Bennett Lang next to “Emotionally Unavailable” in the dictionary.
“This is ridiculous.” Bennett stood abruptly, rounding her desk.
“What are you doing?” She ignored the way her heart leapt as she jumped to her feet and retreated—hating to give up ground, but needing the distance.
“I miss you.” He continued to stalk her.
“Deal with it.” She continued to retreat.
“I’m trying to.”
“Good. I know a good therapist if you—”
“I have a job for you.”
Her feet stopped moving as all of her lust coalesced into anger. God damn it. This again. The man could not learn. “I have a job, dickhead.”
“A better job.”
“Screw you.”
He was close enough for her to snarl the words in his face. Then he was closer still, his hands hard, gripping the back of her skull, the small of her back, hauling her forward, holding her in place, his mouth slamming down on hers with unmistakable possession and a need that had been denied too long.
She bit him.
He jerked back, lifting one hand to his bleeding lower lip, even as his other stayed tight around her waist. “Fuck, Miranda.”
“No, thank you,” she said sweetly, twisting out of his grip. “That ride is closed.”
He raked a hand through his silvering hair, his usual debonair calm deteriorating as she strode back to her desk. “At least tell me what I did.”
“What you did?” She drew up short, tempted to throw everything not nailed to her desk at him—which was everything on her desk. She’d start with the sharp things. “What do you think you did? I adored you.” She would not say the L word again. “And you seemed to feel the same way, though God forbid you actually say how you feel, and for about two seconds I actually convinced myself that you saw me as an equal, but then you made it very clear what you really thought of me. What was it you called me? A parasite?”
“You knew what I meant,” he growled. “The kind of television you produce—”
“You aren’t my mentor anymore. And you sure as hell aren’t my father. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His face pulled into a grimace of distaste. “I never wanted to be your daddy.”
“You could have fooled me,” she snapped. “You miss me? Fine. I miss you too, but I’m not going to be your pet or your adoring disciple. I’m not wired that way. I’ll be your equal and a woman you respect or I won’t be in your life at all. Now get out. I have a job to do. A job I am fucking good at.”
“Miranda. I’m serious about the job—”
“I’ll ca
ll security if you make me. Then maybe I’ll call TMZ. What do you think of the headline American Dance Star’s Executive Producer Bodily Ejected from Marrying Mister Perfect Offices? Catchy enough?”
“Fine,” he growled. “I’m leaving. Call me when you come to your senses.”
When Hell freezes solid, buddy.
Bennett left Miranda’s office swearing a blue streak, for once not caring if he looked unprofessional as he stalked past her stunned assistant and the rest of her staff.
She was his equal. She was better than he deserved. But she was also too good for the work she insisted on doing. Pandering to the lowest common denominator of entertainment. It was cheap and degrading and she was capable of so much more. Why couldn’t she see that he just wanted the best for her?
He slammed the already-illuminated button to the elevator, all but growling to himself. An intern had been there before him and now scuttled frantically toward the stairs. Fine. He wasn’t fit for company right now anyway.
Two months. Two hellish months she’d been holding this grudge.
He’d thought he would give her until the end of the shooting season to get over it. They were both frantically busy during the fall anyway. He’d forced himself not to contact her again until the first of the year, telling himself over and over again that she would have calmed down by then.
He should have known. Miranda was the only person he’d ever met who was more stubborn than he was. They were too damn similar.
And he’d never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted her.
“Goddamn it.”
“Mr. Lang, sir?”
He whipped around, all but snarling until he saw it was Miranda’s assistant. Had she changed her mind?
“You forgot your…” The assistant held up his laptop bag and Bennett barely stopped himself from growling.
“Thank you.” He took the bag as the elevator dinged and then stepped inside.
She thought he didn’t respect her. Hell, couldn’t she see that it was because he respected her that he couldn’t give ground on this? Shows like hers were destroying modern culture. Miranda could do anything. She could run a network someday if she wanted to, but what she wanted to do was exploit the emotional damage of talentless reality television personalities. He refused to call them stars.
And he refused to lose her over this.
It was an excuse to push him away because she was scared. She’d been pushing him away from day one, but she’d admitted that she missed him, as good as telling him she still cared.
Bennett Lang didn’t give up. And he wasn’t going to start with the love of his freaking life.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh, Daniel. Oh… oh yes… oh Daniel.”
The slurping and moaning sounds continued on the television as the cameras took on a soft focus to avoid FCC violations. Mimi and Caitlyn just stared.
“I… uh…” Mimi coughed. “Oh crap. Is that her top floating there?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn gritted out.
“God, this is so uncomfortable,” Mimi muttered, flicking a neon purple thatch of hair out of her eyes. “I feel like I’m watching private investigator peeping Tom footage of a guy cheating on his girlfriend.”
You aren’t far off the mark.
Another moan—this one definitely masculine—sounded from the slightly fuzzed out screen and Caitlyn’s stomach turned.
“Did you know…?” Mimi choked off the question.
“That Daniel got to third base with Elena in the Jacuzzi on their second date? Not a clue.” And the bastard really should have warned her. Miranda had warned her, sort of, but she still hadn’t been prepared for this.
It had started as a group date—the girls jello wrestling on a beach in string bikinis with all of their assets bouncing around—and then Elena had been declared the winner through some very fishy scoring, and received the very intimate personal time with Daniel that they were now watching.
The camera swung away from the moaning couple, zooming in and focusing tight on the hot pink postage stamp of a bikini floating amid the bubbles. The music amped up and there was a slow fade to black, followed by the cheerful strains of a diaper commercial.
Oddly fitting. Straight from procreation to the ultimate result.
Mimi groaned with relief. “Thank God. That was painful. You okay?”
“I’m…” Caitlyn scanned her emotions, trying to figure out what she felt about what she’d just seen. “Fine.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
There was a low simmer of anger in her blood, but it wasn’t about the startling level of physicality he’d already achieved with Elena.
It was about what Daniel had said about Caitlyn during the one time she’d made an appearance on screen so far this episode. This had been the one week Caitlyn hadn’t received a date, twiddling her thumbs at the Suitorette Mansion all week. She’d known that going into tonight’s episode. She just hadn’t known why.
The two solo dates had been given to Sidney, who’d come home unimpressed, but hadn’t left for another week, and Amanda, who’d let a little too much of her crazy show, talking about how they were soulmates within five minutes of meeting, and earned herself a ticket home.
And then there’d been the jello wrestling.
Daniel hadn’t wanted Caitlyn on the date because she was a lady and he didn’t want her to demean herself. Of course he’d had no problem watching eight other girls demean the hell out of themselves for the shot at more time alone with him.
Caitlyn hadn’t wanted to put on a bikini and tackle another slippery Suitorette, but as she’d listened to Daniel go on and on about how she was a precious treasure and he didn’t want her to sully herself, she’d started thinking about the other dates he’d taken her on—and those she’d heard about from the other girls that he’d excluded her from.
He never asked her to do anything embarrassing or awkward, but he also never took her for anything fun or adventurous. Strolling hand-in-hand through a cute town square? Yes. Zip lining through the Costa Rican rainforest? Hell, no. Dressing up for an elegant picnic on a floating platform in a lagoon? You bet. Swimming with sharks? Never.
He’d all but admitted on national television that he thought she was made of porcelain. And maybe she wasn’t as tough and strong as some of the other girls, but she wanted a chance to prove she could take a risk too.
It was like Daniel had built her a pedestal on week one and then just kept raising it higher and higher, never once asking her if she wanted to be up there, if she wanted to be treated like a treasure, or if maybe she wouldn’t rather be seen as a woman—one who could get a little dirty and still be a lady.
Daniel would never throw brownie bites at her. He would only hand feed her caviar as they were sitting rigidly upright at a gorgeous antique table.
Coarse, sexual behavior was for Elena.
“Do you think he’s attracted to me?”
Mimi’s head snapped around, classic deer-in-headlights. “What?”
Sure, he kissed her over the weeks and it was lovely and romantic, but it was never hot. He never looked at her like he would die if he couldn’t get into her pants that very instant. Even on the overnight date, right before the finale, Caitlyn had told him she wasn’t ready to sleep with him and he’d instantly acquiesced, swearing that he wouldn’t respect her so much if she had said anything else.
But she didn’t know what had happened on his overnight with Elena. She had a feeling it hadn’t been chaste, if the Jacuzzi was an indication.
The one night they’d spent together when Caitlyn had his ring on her finger they had finally gone the distance, but it had been… sort of anticlimactic.
He’d been so respectful. Not that sex couldn’t be worshipful and satisfying, but there was nothing raw or hungry about it. She’d never had raw and hungry in her less-than-impressive history of sexual experiences and she wanted it. She wanted to be the woman who inspired it. She wanted a man who looked at her with barely s
uppressed heat.
The way Will looks at me.
“Caitlyn?” Mimi prompted, but luckily the show came back on at that moment, forestalling her explanation. Elena was arriving back at the Suitorette Mansion—without her bikini top underneath her sundress—and proceeding to gloat to every Suitorette who had stayed up waiting for her.
Caitlyn sighed, letting her attention drift away from the screen.
She remembered the tension of the next few days and weeks. All of the girls ganging up on Elena, calling her trashy and manipulative behind her back. And sometimes to her face. Whining to Daniel that she wasn’t there for the right reasons. Throwing themselves at him to prove that Elena wasn’t the only one with sexual wiles.
It hadn’t been fun the first time and Caitlyn didn’t particularly want to relive it. Thank God for the piano. If she hadn’t been able to escape and play, she would have gone crazy listening to the cattiness in the house.
That cattiness was probably what Will had thought of when he’d learned she went on Marrying Mister Perfect. No wonder he’d reacted the way he had.
“Awww…” Mimi sighed and Caitlyn focused back in on the screen. It was the night of the Elimination Ceremony and two dozen red roses had been delivered to the Suitorette Mansion while they were all getting dressed. Roses for Caitlyn.
She’d forgotten about that. The roses. The card—Thinking of you even when we’re apart. Your Daniel.
She’d melted at the time, smiling like she had a secret and pressing the card against her heart. It had seemed so romantic, so thoughtful.
Now she thought of the roses wilting where she’d hidden them up in the loft. Same old Daniel, using the same old playbook. Screw up? Send flowers! Instant fix!
Come to think of it, she seemed to remember him showering Marcy with roses during the previous season as well.
They watched the Elimination Ceremony and the preview for the following week, then Caitlyn subtly ushered Mimi out the door as quickly as possible. She wasn’t surprised when Daniel didn’t pick up the phone. He was a master at avoiding things he didn’t want to face. The message she left was simple.
