Finding Mr. Wrong

by A. m Madden

  My heart was beating so hard, I was ready for it to burst out of my ribcage, and my skin became clammy as I continued my fevered steps, the anxiety feeling like a living force inside me. Nausea washed over me and I ran to the bathroom, getting there just in time.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” Desiree pulled my hair back and handed me a cool washcloth.

  “You’ll be there for me, right? Will you handle things for me?” I wiped my mouth and stood. The more I thought about what I signed on for, the more bile churned in the pit of my stomach.

  “Of course I will. We all will be. I’m sure even Vanessa will think this is insane, but you signed the contract. It says here if you break it without just cause, you could be sued.” I bet the original contestant was happy she had a death in the family. I was beginning to think she lied.

  Back in my living room, we assumed our places on the couch. “Like I said before, I’ll just pick the man who sounds like he wouldn’t be good at having a committed relationship.” I nodded, reassuring myself of my words. “When we get to the island, we’ll make a pact to separate after we leave. Easy-peasy.” At this point, I was convinced my decision was brilliant, until I saw Desiree’s face.

  She looked up, with sympathy etched in the lines of her forehead. “Sweetie, it says you need to live as husband and wife for a year. Living in separate places is not the norm for married couples.”

  “Oh. Fuck.” I was screwed.

  Chapter 2

  Jude

  The setting was straight out of one of those horrid awards shows Americans went gaga over. Velvet ropes corralled the hordes of crazed overdressed New York socialites hoping to get in. Two intimidating men whose physiques looked more like refrigerators than humans stood guard at the door. What the hell was happening, and why the fuck was I here?

  Kyle.

  Dammit. The fucker said it was a work function he needed to attend, and once he made an appearance, we could take off. I’d bet my last dollar this wasn’t a work thing at all. Knowing my friend, that chick he was banging was going to be here tonight and he lied to get me here.

  I strutted up to the two kitchen appliances with eyes and gave my name. One quirked a brow at my accent. It happened every time. People assumed I was a Swedish model without a brain in my head, and most of the time I let them assume.

  I waited, feigning boredom as they scanned their clipboard. Without a word, one of the ogre twins moved the velvet rope, granting me access.

  With each person allowed entry, the crowd became more irate, and my passing through was no exception. Here these poor saps were dying to get in, and I wanted no part of this night. At least Luca would be coming as well. Lucky for Kyle, Luca often stopped me from beating the crap out of him.

  When the three of us attended Yale University, Kyle’s antics would often get us into all sorts of trouble. Most of the time with chicks; once with the disciplinary committee. Each time, it was Luca who convinced me to let him live another day. What happened when a Swede, an Italian, and a Canadian walked into a frat house? Chaos.

  Thrust together because we were foreigners, no one could have predicted the friendship that culminated between us. Even though Luca and I spoke impeccable English when we arrived at Yale, we often depended on Kyle to talk our way out of situations—which proved to be a mistake on many occasions.

  Once inside, I forced my eyes to focus in the dimly lit room. It was massive, loud, and jammed with people. My phone buzzed in my pocket. When I fished it out, a text from Kyle announced they were sitting at the bar.

  The first thing I said when I reached them was, “I want a Belvedere with a twist . . . on you.” He dragged me here. The least he could do was buy me the most expensive drink I could order.

  Kyle smirked. “Fine.”

  He repeated my drink choice, telling the bartender to add it to his tab.

  Only after I took a long sip did I speak. “You. Owe. Me. Big.” Another smirk meant he knew it. “Seriously, what the fuck are we doing here? And be honest. I don’t buy your crap that this has to do with work.”

  His eyes cut to Luca before landing back on my scowl. “It is work. Just drink your ridiculously expensive vodka and relax. Where else do you have to be?”

  He had a point. After a long, stressful week, I needed to relax a bit. I wouldn’t admit that out loud, though. It would serve me well to have him thinking he owed me one.

  I scanned the scene. Round cocktail tables and club chairs all pointing toward a curtained stage filled the dance floor and my initial thought was Karaoke. I despised Karaoke.

  “What’s happening here tonight?”

  Kyle glanced over his shoulder at the stage. “Some trivia thing.”

  This didn’t look like a trivia crowd. This crowd was here for very specific reasons. The girls were dressed to the nines and the guys may as well have had stylists for the occasion. My untucked white button-down and dark denim jeans would have to suffice.

  Photographers lined the perimeter, snapping pictures of the guests, and a camera crew was setting up at the back of the room facing the stage.

  The closer I looked, the more I realized the female to male ratio was a bit skewed. “Why are there so many dudes here?”

  “Ask him.” With a palm up, Luca deflected to Kyle, sporting his typical Italian what the fuck do I know tilt of the head.

  “You have thirty seconds to start talking,” I said without humor, lifting my vodka while my gaze remained steady on Kyle’s face.

  Just as I opened my mouth to start my countdown, a spotlight lit a perfect circle against the black velvet curtain stretching across the stage. Applause drowned out the music and a man and woman emerged, smiling wide while waving to the crowd.

  The man wore a tuxedo and looked like he could be the host for Wheel of Fortune, and his booming announcer voice supported that theory. His partner was a busty blonde who squeezed herself into a red sequined gown two sizes too small.

  “Hello, ladies and gentlemen! I’m Chip, and this here is my lovely wife, Barbi.”

  Chip? Barbi? More like Dipstick and Busty.

  “Welcome to Ignite Your Spark, sponsored by Flame Relationship Services. We believe true love sometimes needs more than that initial spark. It’s not just about striking the match, it’s also about stoking the flames. Via Ignite Your Spark, we bring two people together who are a perfect fit on paper. Once that spark catches, we provide all the necessary tools to keep the embers of romance from flickering out before they can become a blazing fire.”

  The busty blonde smiled wide at what her co-host had just said. I heard the words, but they weren’t registering in my brain. All I kept thinking was, again, why the fuck are we here?

  “Chip and I founded Ignite Your Spark ten years ago, and are proud to say we are responsible for over three hundred marriages to date. After our own romance sparked to life . . .” While she continued to ramble on about how they met and came to be, I turned back around on my bar stool and drained my Belvedere.

  “So, tonight,” Busty continued, “we are proud to announce one of our best social experiments of all time. We stand behind our theory that love often needs help to flourish, but what would happen if you didn’t see the person you are emotionally connecting with? What if all you have is that emotional connection to work from? Tonight, our female contestant will blindly interview three males selected at random from our twenty finalists. Once her questions have been answered, she will then choose one to escape to paradise with for forty-two days. If they find love, they will be rewarded financially, and by the most divine gift the universe can offer—finding their soulmate and eternal flame.”

  Dipstick nodded at his wife like a big toothy bobble head. “Our female Spark is currently backstage waiting to meet her Mr. Right. We had an overwhelming response from over ten thousand applicants vying for the opportunity to find their Mrs. Right. We will now announce who the three lucky Sparks are.” He pulled out a notecard and grinned at the crowd. “Spark number one. Will Chad
Heathrow please come on up?” The spotlight swung to the crowd, searching and landing on a Ken doll wearing a navy blazer and khaki slacks. I had enough nieces to know Ken dolls were dickless. He high-fived his friends before jogging up to the stage.

  “When are we leaving?” I whisper-shouted to Luca, and got shushed by the woman beside me.

  Kyle leaned closer, and answered, “Just relax. Order another drink, eh?”

  With each word out of my friends’ mouths, and Kyle adamant that we stay, I came to the conclusion that Kyle must have signed himself up for this ridiculousness. What an idiot. “Did you sign yourself up for this shit?” I asked Kyle. “Does this have to do with that chick you’re banging?” He waved a dismissive hand, and I leaned closer, saying, “I’m outta here.”

  “You can’t!” Kyle gripped my arm in panic. “I, um . . . you need to be here.”

  “Why?” The hosts began chatting with the Ken doll, and all the pieces seemed to snap into place. The way Luca and Kyle ignored me, I knew . . .”What the fuck did you do?” My voice increased in volume as the noise in the room lulled. Glares from surrounding tables did little to deter me. Kyle’s eyes grew wide as Luca laughed his ass off. “Are you fucking kidding me? You signed me up for this?” I looked to Luca, who was now facing the opposite direction, his shoulder shaking in a way that meant he was still laughing. “Hey,” I said with a snap of my fingers, “did you know about this?”

  “Maybe,” Luca said on a shrug.

  “Motherfuckers!”

  “Relax, you won’t be picked.” Kyle leaned closer when more people around us glared in our direction. “Your odds are one in twenty.”

  “And if I am?”

  A chick turned around and pointed a finger at us. “Shhh!”

  “Oh, well, then, it’ll be fun to watch you squirm for a few minutes. Remember a couple months ago when you hooked me up on that blind date for my birthday? Let’s see, what was her name? Randi? Randi with an i.” Luca and I both started laughing. “Yeah, real funny. Especially when she excused herself from the table and I ended up using the urinal next to her. I mean, him.” Luca bent over, grabbing his stomach. “Assholes.”

  “You were just jealous your date’s dick was bigger than yours,” I said on a chuckle.

  “Fuck you. Now, I hope you do get picked.” He smacked me on the back. “Payback, my brother. And if you get picked, so what? I could be doing you a favor. You get to be on a tropical island with a hot chick, or at least I’ve been told she’s not a chick with a dick.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Well, no. But the original female was hot. When she backed out, I’m sure they picked an even hotter one.”

  “Backed out? What if she’s a cougar looking for my blood?”

  Luca laughed, and mumbled, “Well, that would be fantastico,” while smacking his knee at his own little joke.

  “Shut up.”

  Kyle glanced at him and fought to hide his grin. “We could hope.”

  “Cocksucker!”

  “Relax. She’s not a cougar, although that would be awesome. The age bracket is between twenty-five and thirty-five. These are just details. The point is, it would be a nice getaway with a gorgeous stranger for six weeks. Compared to what you did to me, this is a fucking gift. Think of all the sex. How hot is that?” He lifted his beer and winked. “You’re welcome.”

  “I can have sex whenever I want, and I don’t have to leave Manhattan.” I dragged a hand through my hair to keep it from gripping his neck. “Have you lost your ever-fucking-mind?” I asked, incredulous. “Who the fuck is going to run my company for six weeks? What I did was hilarious. What you did is a felony. You forged my name!”

  “Oh please. I perfected your signature years ago. It’s your word against mine in a court of law.” He pointed to Luca. “He knows nothing, so don’t think he’s a witness. And as far as your business, you have an international army. The finance world wouldn’t even miss you.”

  The crowd went wild when the Ken doll waved before taking his seat on stage.

  “Okay, we’re looking for Spark number two. Will George Kroft please come on up?”

  I sighed in relief at the sound of a name other than mine. The same deal with dude number two occurred. He stood on the stage blushing through his introduction. His round face, protruding ears, and neck were all as red as a tomato. The man stood no taller than five-feet, and his beer belly deserved its own introduction.

  Luca let out a short, loud laugh. “Oh boy, do I hope you get picked.”

  Just as he said that, I heard, “Spark number three. Can Jude Soren please join us?”

  All three of our jaws dropped as the spotlight searched the crowd for their last victim. Kyle stood and clapped my back, bringing attention to whom they were waiting for. The beam of light swung to where we were sitting, landing on me.

  “I guess I lost my bet,” Kyle shouted above the crowd. “What are the chances?”

  “Yes, Kyle owes me a hundred,” Luca bragged.

  “You fucking bet on this?” I scrubbed both hands through my hair and was surprised none came out at the roots. “What. If. She. Picks. Me?”

  Luca leaned forward and raised his drink. “Just be your charming self, I’m sure she’ll want nothing to do with you.”

  I was going to kill him—them. First him, then the other one. Dismember their bodies piece by piece. I began cursing everyone and everything in my native tongue, the Swedish words flying out like bullets.

  “Dude! I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  I leaned in, getting right into his face. “I never signed anything,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Kyle snickered, “Oh yes you did. And if you don’t get up there, you’ll get sued.”

  “I’ll get sued? You mean, you’ll get sued.”

  “Potato, potahto.” He whipped out a folded packet of papers and thrust them in my hand. “I swear, I combed through it. You’re good.”

  Before I could strangle him, the host brought the crowd’s attention straight to me with a wave of his hand. “Jude, come on up!” This chaos unfolded like a slow-motion picture. The spotlight captured the entire chain of events, with me yelling at Kyle and threatening his life.

  And all this occurred while the host insisted, “Hello, we’re waiting. Do you already have a case of cold feet? The wedding isn’t for forty-two days.”

  “Wedding?” I bared my teeth to Kyle like a Doberman about to attack. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “There’s a prenup clause that states you each take away what you brought in. She can’t get your money—unless you want her to, that is.”

  Did he just say prenup? “I’m not doing this!” I threw my hands up, no longer giving a shit who heard me.

  “Too late! Go!” He pushed me forward and I almost passed out as I walked through the crowd, up the stage, and beside the two hosts. I think I answered questions; I couldn’t be sure. Every set of eyes focused on me—the men leering and women hooting and hollering like I was a male stripper.

  Busty eye-fucked me while placing a red clawed hand on my arm, and said in a breathy voice, “Are you ready to turn your spark into a raging flame?” Channeling a porn star, she added, “Jude.”

  What the fuck was happening?

  I searched the bar to where my asshole friends sat watching. Kyle and Luca were cracking up at my expense. A question forced my focus away from them and I fumbled through my answer. When I looked back, they were gone.

  The only thought running through my head was, once this is over, I am going to jail for murder.

  The two other victims sat in director’s chairs beside a large white screen that split the stage in half. A single chair on the other side of the divider waited for its occupant. The three of us wouldn’t be able to see her, nor could she see us, but the crowd had an open view of the entire stage.

  Busty took my hand in hers, led me to my seat, and snatched the now damp and wilted papers from my grip.

  D
ipstick asked for the audience’s attention as he read through the rules one by one. I listened to bits and pieces, but words like true love, soulmates, marriage, happily ever after, and forty-two days were the only ones I heard in a long monotonous drawl.

  “Okay, Sparks. Here we go. The only responses allowed must answer the question you are asked. At the end, you will each have the chance to ask one question of your own. It cannot pertain to any personal information, physical appearance, occupation, religion, politics, or finances. Please answer all questions honestly, and be sure to be your own charming selves.”

  A loud guffaw echoed from the crowd, and when I looked up, I saw Luca losing his shit while sitting beside Kyle at one of the round tables centered in front. Kyle kept reprimanding him, which seemed to fuel Luca’s hysterics.

  Fuckers.

  Chapter 3

  Brae

  “Stay still, for Christ’s sake!” Cassie scolded. Every part of my body trembled. My nerves controlled each of my shaky movements. “Your lips look like Angelina Jolie’s on steroids.”

  Vanessa spit into a tissue and swiped at my lips. “I’ll fix it.”

  “Oh my God! Did you just use your spit on my lips?” My nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Shhh, you’re making it worse.” Vanessa continued dabbing away, and when I spun to look in the mirror, I was horrified at the woman staring back at me. Heat shot through me and I began to sweat, my skin turning clammy.

  “My face is all red. It looks like I contracted a disease. Why am I so splotchy?” Holy shit. Was I breaking out into hives? Pointing at my chest, I said, “Are these hives?” I was going to have a panic attack.

  Shelly appeared, smiling, “Ten minutes.”

  “Crap.” In a flurry, Vanessa powdered my cheeks, Cassie blotted my lips, and Desiree leaned against the wall, tsking.