by Lizzie Shane
Could those comments about being brave enough to take a risk with her heart have been meant for her? Could it have been a hint to wake her up and get her to tell him how she really felt?
“Great, Jack, that’s just perfect!” Miranda’s voice intruded on Lou’s fantasy world and reality smacked down on her.
Jack wasn’t giving her a hint. He didn’t even know she was hiding there.
“We’ll stop there for the day and pick up tomorrow with some action footage.”
“Action?” Jack asked.
“Jogging, working out, saving lives at the hospital. Just some shots to give people an idea of your day-to-day life. Is there a beach near here we can shoot you jogging on? Do you have swim trunks you can wear? Have you ever waxed your chest?”
Lou decided the time was ideal to sneak away before the crew dismantled her hiding place. She didn’t want to listen to Miranda’s plans to get Jack shirtless for the cameras. She slipped out of the room and up the stairs before anyone saw her, retreating to one of the few parts of the house that hadn’t been taken over—her room.
The guest room was tiny, the double bed and armoire crammed together in the narrow room. Lou had never minded the lack of space before, but now it was just another reminder that she’d never been a permanent part of the household. This wasn’t her home. She was the guest, not the mommy. And definitely not the wife.
Lou sank down onto the bed and put her head in her hands.
She had to tell him. She would regret it for the rest of her life if she let him fly off to Los Angeles without telling him what she wanted. How badly she wanted him.
She’d do it tonight. Before she lost her nerve.
Just as soon as the TV crew cleared out.
“Crazy day, huh?” Jack stood at his bathroom sink, grimacing as he wiped TV make-up off his face.
Lou leaned against the doorjamb, watching the play of muscles across his arms and shoulders as he scrubbed. “Get used to it. You’re going to have a lot more like this if you go to LA.”
“When,” Jack muttered into the washcloth.
“What?”
He dropped the cloth and turned his head to meet her eyes. “When I go to LA. Three days, Lou. It’s not an if anymore.”
She cast her gaze down to study the tiles on the floor. “No. I guess not.”
The press release announcing him as the next Mister Perfect would go out the following morning. It was about to be very official. Last chance, Lou.
The last crew member had finally left. The kids were still at Kelly’s, having begged to stay over for chicken taco night. Lou wasn’t going to have a better chance to talk to him than this.
She gathered up her courage. She could do this. Now or never.
Jack spoke before she could. “I knew before I agreed to this that some days were going to be bizarre.” He shrugged out of the shirt he’d splashed water on while cleaning off the make-up. “You take the bad with the good. That’s just part of the process.” He grinned at her, wadding up the shirt and tossing it in the general direction of the laundry hamper.
It hit the side of the hamper and the cotton caught on the wicker for a second before it slithered down to join the pile of clothes heaped in a sloppy mound at the foot of the hamper. The man couldn’t pick up after himself to save his life.
Lou tried not to overtly drool over his shirtless chest. She’d seen it before, too many times to count, but the sight never failed to hit her where it counted. “You don’t have to take the bad. You don’t have to go at all. There are simpler ways to date. You don’t have to go a thousand miles away to find a girl.”
He didn’t have to leave his own house.
Jack grabbed a worn grey T-shirt hanging over the rim of the hamper. “You’ve seen what happens when I try to date here.” He sniffed the shirt once before tugging it over his head. “Our life is too comfortable. I’m too happy in our routine. Work, the kids, you. I never have any reason to go out and meet someone. And neither do you. I have to go away or that will never change.”
Lou knew exactly what she needed to say. I don’t want it to change. She loved their routine. She wanted him to be happy with their life. All she had to do was say I love you. Don’t go. She just had to open her mouth and let the words out. Easy.
“Maybe you’re just dating the wrong women here,” she argued softly. Maybe if you went out with me…
“Well, the women on the show will certainly be different. It’s like Miranda said. This show is just the wake-up call we need.”
Spit it out, Lou. “I heard some of the producers worrying that the women would think that you and I were more than just friends,” she croaked.
“I guess it is hard for most people to accept that a man and a woman can be friends with absolutely no sexual feelings between them. They’ll see as soon as they see us together.” His eyes met her reflection in the mirror, glinting with amusement. “Can you imagine anyone who knows us thinking we were a couple?”
And Lou’s heart curled up and died.
She could imagine. That was the problem. She had always been able to imagine. But he never had.
She’d been playing at happily-ever-after and he’d been completely oblivious. If she told him she wanted him now, Christ, the embarrassment!
She couldn’t play pretend anymore. She needed a real life. And she wasn’t going to get it with Mister Perfect living in the bedroom down the hall, feeding her fantasies.
“I’m glad you’re going,” she said softly, frustration and hopelessness making the words the absolute truth.
Maybe the show was all about ratings, but not all the women would be there for their fifteen minutes of fame. Maybe some of them would be looking for Mr. Perfect. Maybe one of them would be perfect for him.
And she would finally be able to let go of the dream of him.
Chapter Six
“Miranda Pierce. Are you using your powers for good?”
Miranda had answered her cell phone on autopilot without looking at the caller-ID and now an entirely inappropriate shiver of excitement worked its way down her spine. She set aside her tablet and stood from the desk in her room at the Evanston hotel that the production crew had been using as a base of operations, wanting to be on her feet for this conversation. “Bennett Lang. I haven’t heard your voice in a while.”
An omission that had been entirely intentional. Her former mentor was too domineering and overpowering a presence—everyone around him couldn’t help but live in his shade and Miranda was bound and determined to find her own place in the sun.
He was also too old for her and entirely too married for the way she felt about him—at least he had been until recently.
Miranda had zero desire to be the other woman and even less interest in being that woman who slept her way to the top, so when her feelings toward the illustrious Bennett Lang had begun to veer in a less-than-platonic direction, she’d put as much distance between her and the King of Reality Television as possible.
“I saw that Forbes article on you. The Ten Most Influential Men in Television. Very impressive.” It had also mentioned his divorce, but there was no way in hell Miranda was opening that can of worms.
“It sounds like it might not be too long before you’re on a list like that of your own. But that’s no surprise. I always knew you were going to rise straight to the top,” he replied smoothly. “I hear there may be a promotion coming your way.”
“You always did have good sources,” she purred. Damn, it was heady stuff, hearing him say he knew about her success. Not that she’d done it to impress him, but she still found her back arching like a cat who’d been stroked.
“Is that really what you want to do?” he asked. “Run that show?”
“It’s a stepping stone.” A successful run as executive producer of Marrying Mister Perfect would open doors for her, giving her the opportunity to create her own shows like Bennett did and oversee them from on high rather than getting in the dirt with the day-to-day produc
tion duties.
“Are you in town now? We should have a drink. Discuss your career.”
Another delicious shiver worked over her nerves. “We’re just starting another season. You know what shooting schedules are like. I’ll be living at work for the next two months.” Literally. Reality television didn’t have regular home-by-dinner hours. Most nights she’d be crashing in a spare room at the Marrying Mister Perfect mansion.
“Are you sure you can’t make time for me?”
There was something in his voice. Some lingering trace of the last time she’d seen him, before she’d left American Dance Star to take a field producer position on Marrying Mister Perfect. She’d been working late in one of the editing bays, going over the rehearsal footage, when he’d come down to see how she was getting along. It wasn’t the first time she’d realized she was attracted to him, but they’d never been alone, just the two of them, in a small editing bay that suddenly seemed much, much smaller.
She hadn’t been certain he felt it, the sizzling chemistry that made it hard for her to breathe.
He hadn’t been inappropriate with her, but she’d been hyper aware of his presence, of the scent of his aftershave as he’d leaned over her shoulder to point out a moment she’d missed.
She’d also been acutely aware of the fact that they wouldn’t have been the first people to use the editing bays for something other than editing. The hours in reality television could be hell on relationships and more than a few workplace affairs sprang up during the late nights.
Bennett had absently tapped his wedding ring on the back of her chair as he leaned over her toward the screen—and she’d known she had to get away from American Dance Star. She loved the show, but she’d known that if she stayed, she would end up lunging at her boss one night.
It would be a nightmare if he rejected her in favor of his wife and even worse if he didn’t. She would always be his protégé, never his equal. And everyone in Tinseltown would look at her differently. Bennett’s little pet.
So she’d left. Promising herself that she would keep her distance. Even when she’d read about his divorce she hadn’t contacted him, wanting to come to him as an equal or nothing.
She wasn’t quite there yet.
“I’m sorry. You know how it is.”
She could feel the force of his personality pressing through the phone, see him raking a single long-fingered hand through his brown-beginning-to-silver hair. “I do. Take care, Miranda.”
“And you, Bennett. I appreciate the call.”
She hung up before her willpower evaporated. Tossing her phone onto the hotel bed so she wouldn’t have to look at it, she went back to the desk and pulled her tablet toward her, trying to focus on the notes she’d been making regarding Jack’s initial interviews.
She needed to stay focused. Glen was officially out and Miranda was sending reports directly to the show’s uber-executive producer, Wallace. Wallace who wouldn’t hesitate to fire her rather than promote her if everything didn’t go off perfectly this season. Marrying Mister Perfect’s creator and head honcho, he was notoriously risk averse—hating the unexpected, which was why most of his shows were thinly veiled knock-offs of other successful shows. But Miranda was determined that Marrying Mister Perfect was not going to be just another dating show.
This season was going to be different.
Things were going well. The camera loved Jack to a disgusting degree. The Suitorettes were going to be delirious with joy when they laid eyes on him.
And Lou…
A little twinge of guilt threatened to rise.
She’d had a feeling Lou still had feelings for Jack. She thought if she dangled Marrying Mister Perfect in front of them, perhaps it would serve as a catalyst to push their relationship in a new direction, but it was rapidly becoming apparent that while Lou had never gotten over her crush as thoroughly as she claimed, Jack was profoundly oblivious to her feelings for him.
Miranda told herself she was doing a good thing. Lingering in romantic limbo for years on end wasn’t good for anyone. She was doing Lou a favor. At least this would be quick. Like ripping off a band-aid.
She’d known that Lou was eavesdropping today. Nothing happened on her set that she wasn’t aware of. She hadn’t censored her words, perhaps because part of her still hoped Lou would be driven to some action or declaration… which she could then get on camera.
She’d instructed the roving behind-the-scenes camera crew to get extra footage of Lou, making sure she caught her gazing at Jack. It might become useful to the storyline later in the season.
The Suitorettes hadn’t even arrived yet and already she had jealousy and heartbreak in the making.
Miranda scrolled through her notes, Bennett’s words rising up in her mind. Was she using her powers for good?
Chapter Seven
Lou leaned against Kelly’s sliding glass door, staring out at the back deck where Jack stood guard over the steaks, his chest puffed out with the masculine pride of manning a grill. Peter lazed on a deck chair with a cold beer and Lou kept Kelly company as she puttered in the kitchen. The kids pelted around the backyard in an inexplicably complicated version of tag while the sound from the pregame show they were all ignoring filtered in from the living room.
Their Sunday afternoon ritual. The last one before Jack flew off to California. The last one ever?
The TV crews had finally packed up and left and Jack himself was scheduled to leave on Tuesday. Less than forty-eight hours. The countdown had taken on an ominous edge. This is the end.
“Marrying Mister Perfect. I still can’t believe he agreed to it,” Kelly said behind her.
Lou forced herself to stop staring at Jack like he was going into a warzone—minefields of silicone and spandex—and took a chair at the breakfast bar as Kelly popped an apple streusel pie into the oven and set the timer.
“You know how he is. Straightest path from point A to point B. It seemed like the most direct way to fix the problem.”
“What problem? I had no idea you guys were having trouble.”
“Not trouble, just our rut. The codependent pseudo-marriage thing. Typical Jack he was completely oblivious to it—if it isn’t the thing he’s focused on right this second, it’s like it doesn’t even exist for him—but as soon as he noticed it, he had to fix it. The TV show thing sort of fell in his lap at around the same time, and he thought it was a great way to force us to move on with our lives.”
“Is he wrong?” Kelly reached for the “Mommy’s Special Lemonade” pitcher and poured two tall glasses of her modified lemon drop martinis.
Lou accepted her glass from Kelly and took a long drink, tasting the tang of the lemons even as the vodka burned its way down her esophagus.
She wanted him to be wrong. She wanted everything to stay just as it had been before… with one or two romantic changes that were never going to happen. “He’s not wrong.”
She hated this feeling. Like this entire mess with the reality show was somehow her fault because she hadn’t been able to just be happy with the life she had. And now she wasn’t going to have it anymore, courtesy of Marrying Mister Perfect and their team of internationally renowned matchmakers.
Kelly took the place Lou had occupied at the glass door, watching the action in the backyard. “You know, with his single-mindedness, Marrying Mister Perfect might be perfect for him. When he’s with one of the Suitorettes, he’ll be totally focused on her and not distracted by the other girls.”
Lou sipped at her lemon drop, not wanting to admit he was sort of amazing at it so far.
“What do your families think?”
“His parents are…I guess guardedly supportive would be the best way to put it.” The Doctors Doyle had a complicated relationship. Doctor Doyle Senior had been openly disdainful of the idea of going on reality television until Jack had explained how he could use the exposure to benefit the hospital. Then he’d seemed almost grudgingly admiring of the balls it took to go on the show.
Lou’s mother had been more direct. “My mom said, and I quote, ‘Thank God, Louisa. Now you can finally get on with your life.”
“Tactful. What will you do? Go back to…” Kelly had been looking out the window, her eyes absently tracking the kids, but now she twisted to frown at Lou. “I don’t know what your job was. That makes me a terrible friend, doesn’t it? All I remember about the time you moved in was that the twins were starting to walk and refused to sleep at the same time so I’d become this zombie-mommy monster who never had enough hands—”
“But still managed to make me insanely delicious deserts and stop by three times a week just to make sure we were doing okay.” Kelly had probably saved her sanity in those early months.
Kelly blinked. “I did that? Huh.” Then her lips curled in her usual crooked smile. “When you put it that way, I sound pretty fabulous. You’re lucky to have me, you slacker.”
Lou grinned. “Amen.”
“So what did you do, pre-kids?”
“I studied languages. I wanted to be a simultaneous translator—mostly because I wanted someone to pay me to fly to exotic locales. I was working as a French tutor and teaching English as a second language when Emma was born.” And Gillian had passed away and suddenly Jack had needed her. “I took a couple weeks off to help, just to get Jack through the funeral and help him find someone permanent.”
“Long couple weeks.” Kelly’s bright eyes were unusually serious.
“That was the year of the teacher strike.”
Kelly shook her head, not comprehending. “But TJ and Emma would have been too young for school.”
“They were. But all the kids who normally would have been in school were home. There was a run on qualified childcare. Daycare waiting lists were a hundred names long and a good nanny could name her price. I hadn’t been making that much at my teaching jobs and so I offered to play nanny for Jack for a while. It was never supposed to be permanent, but I fell completely in love with those kids. TJ was such a charmer and Emma was growing so fast.” And she’d been hopelessly in love with their father.
