by Jen Greyson
I took another swallow and I leaned back as the wine’s warmth pooled outward from my belly. This thing couldn’t be over soon enough.
“Take your places!” Bodies and attention shifted as floor directors yelled over the chaos and amped up the drunken, emotional audience. “Is everybody ready to send Undertow to sea?”
Applause deafened me. I flinched and covered my ears. Hopefully I was far enough from the cameras—Shit! I yanked my hands into my lap as a big, black eye swung over me. Apparently nowhere was too far from the cameras. Plastic grin in place, I clapped along.
The director yelled, “Action!” Taping started and I braced myself as the host of the show introduced the contestants, setting off every feminist bone in my body. What were these girls thinking?
They stepped into view, little lambs ready for slaughter. Rolling biographies popped up on the screen and I added snippets of conversations and body language from my intensive background checks and interviews.
A pro volleyball player, a southern belle, an environmentalist, an interior design student, but the two who actually intrigued me I’d nicknamed The Darkness and The Light.
The Darkness, Kat Not-Short-For-Anything Devone, walked out while the emcee read her bio. To me, she was the darkness not because of her looks—fair, fake, and flawless—but because of her attitude and complete lack of depth.
Taller than any other contestant by a good three inches, tonight Wardrobe had fitted her with thigh-high boots, adding another five. An elegant black gown clung to a sensuous body molded not by gods, but by some of the best surgeons in the industry. Plastic pieces aside, Kat emanated grace, style, and allure in practiced gestures that she’d probably spent years perfecting. Blond hair tumbled down her back in waves, clipped off to one side with a diamond butterfly. Matching diamonds twinkled at her throat and wrist.
My hand twitched. I wanted to read Kat’s file again, find the hidden agenda that made me so nervous, but this was neither the time nor the place. And I shouldn’t care. After tonight, Kat was no one’s problem but Mateo’s. I had an office full of signed docs in case she got out of line.
Mateo’s reaction to her was no surprise. His eyes widened, nostrils flared, and his chest puffed out. What a peacock.
I rolled my eyes and sipped my wine, grateful that it was finally having the desired effect easing my anxiety. Twenty-six minutes to go.
The contrast to Kat was Mandy, a striking Italian beauty illuminated by inner goodness. Dark short hair shimmered beneath the bright lights and her features were gentle and ultra-feminine. She reminded me of a statue of Venus with a curvy hourglass figure that made me wish for less than my own DDs.
But would Mateo’s reaction be the same? Intrigued, I leaned forward, attention riveted on Mateo as Mandy glided across the stage. His body language shifted. No longer the strutting cock, his movements turned slow and sinuous. I shivered in response despite my attempt to stay unaffected. He extended both hands and as she settled her palms against his, he leaned in until barely a sliver remained between their bodies. His lips pressed against her ear and he whispered something that made Mandy smile, tip her chin, and return a comment, earning an honest grin from him.
Good.
After my own personal horror on the wrong side of a woman’s shelter, I wanted Mandy to win this silliness.
The last girl to complete the six-pack was Talia. Wardrobe’s choice of a frothy rainbow of colors seemed odd, but the colors suited her. The skirt swirled and spun as she walked, bare toes peeking from under the hem. I winced. Who does that on national television? She had a lot more courage than I ever would.
Thick, dark locks flowed to the middle of her back, perfectly suiting her large, heart-shaped face. As she bounded toward him, a huge grin spread across her face. Halfway to Mateo, she dropped a curtsy, catching him off guard and making him laugh. She responded with an infectious giggle that spread through the room.
Mateo picked up where she left off. He grabbed her hand and twirled her once, making the gown wind colors around his legs. She put her hands on his shoulders and tipped her face playfully. He finished with a flourish, spreading his hand across the small of her back and dipping until her dark curls pooled on the floor. The room exploded with applause and when he straightened, the two grinned like they’d won a mirror ball trophy.
I didn’t watch enough of these bachelor shows to know whether that was immature or an expected display for this kind of show. One more reason I’d chosen the subdued life of a lawyer... Attention hound I was not.
Mateo straightened and escorted Talia to a leather chair by the other girls. The set of his body claimed them and I rolled my eyes again. As much as I hated to admit it, he was good for TV. Good TV made for happy clients and happy clients made job offers for lowly interns.
In the center of the stage, Mateo lifted the lid of the wooden box, revealing six identical diamond pendants. The audience oohed and ahhed. I smirked. Bet no one realized they were bugged with a hidden microphone behind the sparkling center jewel. I hoped that was the biggest lesson these girls learned—jewelry always came with a cost. A hard lump formed in my stomach.
Always.
Mateo presented one to each girl and their reactions didn’t surprise me. Not a lot of women wouldn’t enjoy some new bling. He took his aching time, good grief. The long-haired girls lifted their locks, and Mateo’s strong fingers settled the dazzling piece against their throat, then gently buckled the clasp. Fingertips brushed their collarbones and napes, making mine buzz. I shivered and rubbed my own necklace—a simple pewter square.
Floor directors whipped the audience into another clapping, screaming frenzy until the director said, “Cut.” Applause died and the room erupted in conversation. Stepping back, Mateo’s gaze wandered once more over his harem, then across the room, snagging on me.
I raised my drink and a moment of accordance crossed between us, the earlier dissension evaporating. He was about to be out of my life until our next auction collision, which was hopefully never.
Mateo smiled. Behind him, a crew member ushered the girls off stage and to their “holding pens” until the next taping tomorrow morning. Mateo jogged down the steps and toward my bar.
I wasn’t sure who he was coming to talk to over here, but apparently it was urgent based on his pace and ability to avoid everyone trying to get a word in. He smiled and nodded to each inquiry, but never slowed.
I needed to get out of there before he made it up the steps and I got trapped. He moved fast, but I hopped down and stepped outside through the nearby balcony doors, barely escaping. A refreshing ocean breeze caressed my face and I breathed it in. Some days I wished my office came with a view or at least a window to enjoy this salty smell.
Though I’d made it out of the room, I hadn’t left myself with a very easy route back to the main entrance and my valet ticket. I could either go back in and try to make it to the exit, or take the short steps that led to a boardwalk where I could wait it out. I hesitated and wished a refill for my empty glass. I wasn’t ready to relinquish it just yet, my last hold on tonight’s weirdness.
I headed down the stairs and along the boardwalk, pulling up short at the end where the pier met the water. I sighed and set my glass off to the side then rested my forearms against the top rail. Only then did I chide myself for coming out here instead of leaving. Tons of work waited. I could have slipped out the emergency exit into the parking lot. Mateo had a way of making me panic and I never thought through my choices. I hated that about him—hated my knee-jerk reactions to him.
I snorted. I’d show him a knee-jerk. But the fresh air did melt the stress from my shoulders and that would make me work better when I finally did make it back to my office.
I sighed. Who was I kidding? Seeing Mateo again made me think about Dad and how heavy my heart felt during the last auction. Clearly it had been too early and I’d been foolish to think being in that atmosphere wouldn’t affect me. I twisted my fingers and picked at my thumbnai
l.
The pier shook in a pounding rhythm and I groaned. No chance I was lucky enough for it to be anyone other than Mateo. My fingers trembled and I squeezed them into fists. It had been a mistake to think about Dad with Mateo so nearby and reminding me about the auction.
I worked so hard to keep my emotions stowed, but today had been a giant mess of them and they’d gotten the best of me. I battled the anger of what he’d taken away from me. I couldn’t breathe.
With each step, the air around me compressed, like he was a wall squeezing my space to nothing. I had nowhere to go. I drew on my debate techniques from class and readied myself for battle, turning the anger inside-out.
His manicured nails set a glass of whiskey beside me but I stayed facing the ocean until I got myself reined in. A hundred responses swarmed me and I battled for the correct one. It would have helped if I knew what he wanted and whether he was here to talk to the law intern or the fellow car connoisseur. The silence grew heavy while he waited. I turned slightly, passive lawyerly face in place.
He smiled and raised his own glass. “Mind if I join you?”
“Public dock.” I did a terrible job of keeping the nastiness out of my voice. Why wasn’t he flirting up the girls, or the executives... or anyone else? Aside from Stuart, he was the last person I wanted to talk to. I wanted solace with my memories.
“Sangria.” His voice held warmth and no trace of anything other than quiet companionship. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“Thanks for the drink.” I reached for the glass, but Mateo’s hand encircled my wrist before I could lift it to my lips. A jolt of electricity handcuffed me beneath his fingers. My gaze flew to his, clashing with the intense scrutiny framed by his dark curved lashes.
His jaw bulged. “It’s been a year, you can’t still be upset about the car. I’ve only seen you for six minutes tonight. While I’m pretty good at screwing stuff up, that would be a personal best—even for me.” He had the nerve to sound perplexed.
Red tinted my vision and knocked my careful demeanor askew. There hadn’t been enough time to stow the emotion. His nearness and manhandling wasn’t helping. My heart pounded and I wanted to kick him in the shin for being such a steamroller and too charming for his own good. I hated my body’s reaction to him and wasn’t sure which part was pissing me off more.
“Upset?” My mouth opened and closed. “You stole that Mustang out from underneath me!” I scowled and jerked at his grip. He was nothing but a businessman, cars were nothing but an asset to him. Memories bombarded me until I fought my way to the surface and focused on the issue standing way too close.
I jerked away hard enough to make the alcohol slosh over the rim, but he held fast and tugged gently. “Will you please let me explain? I didn’t think it was a big deal then and yet here you are, still making it stand between us. Besides, it was my car so I didn’t have a choice. They wouldn’t let me pull it or no-sale it because it was televised. My only option was to outbid everyone. I’ll sell it to you if you want it that bad.”
I tried to hear snobbery in his voice, but couldn’t. Confusion etched lines around his eyes and straightened the smile from his lips. Was he telling the truth? My heart ached—I’d wanted that car so badly—even now I had trouble admitting I’d been way too emotional to be bidding.
Not to mention a good ten grand over my limit.
My hand trembled and the alcohol rippled. But that was in the past and he was not part of my future. Surely he hadn’t come looking for me to talk about that night—the fifteen minutes that we’d faced off in front of the auction block. I huffed and rested my arms on the railing. I wanted him to go away. I didn’t care about any of his reasons for bidding on those specific cars that night. I liked the stories I’d created and he didn’t owe me explanations. None of it mattered now anyway. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night. You took the Roadmaster to spite me.” Now I hoped the murderous tone came across.
“Took? Try paid. One point four to be exact.” A hard edge crept into his voice. Because of the money, or the car?
I spun and pointed my glass at his chest. “Howard Hughes owned it, so it was worth every penny. You know—“ I paused, and tried to control my breathing. Time to go. I was a hot mess reminiscing about Dad and I didn’t need Mateo thinking he was the reason for my distress. He was too thick to get it anyway.
No one would ever understand. Cars were meant to be cherished. And we weren’t talking about Accords, these were classics. One-of-a-kind legends.
Like Dad’s. I choked back the sob threatening to close my throat.
I slammed the glass down, sloshing the amber liquid over my fingers. “Never mind. To you they’ll always be just cars, nothing more than possessions.”
Spinning, I marched toward freedom and away from this eccentric, overbearing jerk.
“Sangria! I need—“
I clamped my hands over my ears and hurried. The pier quivered beneath my stomping. Again, I felt Mateo’s stare followed me the entire way, and I was sure a stupid smile creased his stupid lips when I stuck one heel through a knothole halfway back.
Most of the people had dissipated throughout the hotel bars and beach lounge, making it easy to march my way toward the exit.
Stopping at the cloakroom, I dug in my clutch for my claim ticket.
“Sangria!”
My head snapped up. Damn.
McComb, the Senior Partner of my firm sped across the ballroom. He paused long enough to snake a hand around my elbow. I grabbed my coat from the attendant and jogged to keep up. As he directed me to a little room, my gaze drifted longingly toward the main doors and my fleeting glimpse at freedom.
“What’s wrong?” Maybe now I’d find out what the commotion had been right before taping. I searched the room for some clue, but it was barren save a small table and chairs.
Releasing my arm, he shut the door and paced while I settled into a chair. “Thanks for coming tonight.” His tone conveyed anything but gratitude. I’d had all of three interactions with any of the Partners, and struggled to think of a single one with him. I’d only recognized him through the company newsletter.
“You’re...welcome?” My boss had reviewed the docs, so they weren’t the problem, but Mateo had been pissed. He was a big fish and the studio was looking forward to the giant reveal about his identity at the conclusion of the show.
“Your appearance caused quite a disturbance.”
Shit. I’d been off the pier for minutes. News couldn’t have traveled that fast.
He glowered down at me. “They’ve asked you to be on the show.”
I blinked. “What show?”
He flailed his arms in the most un-partnerish fashion. “What show? This show!”
I frowned. What the hell was he talking about? “I don’t understand. What do you mean, on it? Like for risk management because of the pre-nup? Do you think there are going to be complications?”
His lips pressed together, clearly pissed that I wasn’t following along like a bright almost-out-of school intern should be. “Not exactly. Mateo wants you as a contestant.”
I laughed. Clearly they’d been hitting the whisky tonight. “You must be joking. Beyond the obvious that I have commitments—no way.” Especially not after the charming encounter we’d just had. He may have wanted me five minutes ago, but not now. Not after the illogical fit I’d just thrown.
McComb didn’t budge and didn’t retract the statement. Wiry gray eyebrows drew together and he crossed his arms.
My stomach lurched. Swallowing my emotions, I surged back into debate mode. “It’s a reality show. Do you really want one of your interns—and your firm—laid bare before millions of viewers on the worst television out there?”
He nodded slowly, but not in acquiescence. This was the body language of a chess master. Intern might as well be spelled P-A-W-N.
“That production company of the worst television out there is also one of our biggest clients.” His scowl deepened.
“Their success is our success. They have a lot riding on this show and they’ve pushed a lot of limits. If it costs me one intern, I think that’s a small sacrifice.”
I surged upright, knocking my chair over. “So you’re canning me over some madman’s request?” So much for debate mode. I barely restrained my voice. I wanted to scream.
This was beyond unfair. He was being ridiculous. If I had any sort of backup plan, I’d quit. Out of my friends, I was the only one to land an internship this summer. Hiring was tight, and even with this internship, I knew the odds of getting hired on as a lawyer didn’t exist like they did back in his day. But that didn’t mean I was going to let him hold it over my head and use my job to blackmail me onto this show. I could work at the deli if I needed money.
I glared at the McComb of McComb, Walters, and Richert. He was an old-school, power-hungry, can-do-what-I-please kind of Partner. Not someone open to negotiation or plea-bargaining and he had a lifetime of court stats as proof.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m merely hoping you understand the gravity of the situation.”
If he took this one inch further, I was going to tell him where to stick his gravity.
And then I’d file a big fat lawsuit.
“I’m not canning you. I assumed you’d quit when I passed on this information. You’re a good intern. You’d make a great lawyer.”
My stomach soured and I pressed my palms into the small table for support. Hopefully it made me look aggressive. “A great lawyer doesn’t abandon her work to prance around on TV.”
“I’m willing to offer you compensation.”
“You’re going to pay me to do this?” This surpassed ludicrous thirty seconds ago. I’d clawed my way to lead intern because I worked my ass off. I wasn’t about to have that ass displayed for national television.
