“My own studio? For the kinds of films I want to make?”
She smiled. “I don’t know why you want to make them, but yes. If that’s what you want to do with your studio, the choice is all yours.”
“I’ll need it in writing,” Colt had said, knowing his mother too well to believe that he would actually get what he wanted without a legal and binding contract. Too many times through the years he had seen her wiggle her way out of promises.
So now he was here. Waiting backstage to pick the top fifteen girls who would be competing for his heart on Billionaire Love Match. The thought of it made him want to vomit.
He hated dating and he hated cameras. He had only been on a dozen or so dates since his dad died. All of them were ruined by either the paparazzi’s flashing cameras or finding out his date just wanted his money and the fame that came with being entrenched in the Hollywood scene. His last actual girlfriend had been in high school, an embarrassing fact that only he and a few close friends knew.
Being on a dating show would put him in the center of everything he hated. But would get him what he loved most: the freedom to help make films that truly would leave a lasting legacy. Films, not just movies. The kind that won festival awards and acclaim, not box office numbers. Though if he could do both, that was the real dream.
And without his mother’s backing, it would be years before he got the chance. Though on paper he was a billionaire, everything was tied up in BeaconWood, or tied into his mother’s accounts. He knew that if he said no, not only would he not get his studio, but he would suddenly find more doors closing, more connections disappearing, and more financial backers drying up. There was a reason his mother had taken BeaconWood to a meteoric rise. His father would have hated it, but she was extremely good at what she did.
The thought made his stomach turn. He groaned.
“Your face, darling? Do you need some pain relievers?” she asked.
He nodded. The pain in his face was nothing compared to the twisting of his insides when he thought about what he was giving up for this chance. Colt hoped the sacrifice was worth it.
The pain in his face certainly was.
He replayed again in his mind the beautiful girl in the men’s restroom and the kiss that had sent adrenaline rushing through him before her psycho ex even walked through the door. She was definitely worth chasing down. Though her ex seemed genuinely scary.
“Hey, Mike,” he said quietly to the bodyguard who was standing beside the couch. With few people he could really trust, Mike was the one Colt often turned to when he needed something. His mother was talking to one of the production assistants and out of earshot. “Can you make sure that we press charges against that guy? Keep it on the down low if at all possible. I don’t want it in the papers, but I’d love to talk to legal about making sure he gets jail time. Or something to keep him away from…her. Speaking of—can you also try to find her? Her name?”
Mike nodded and left the room quietly, sending the other bodyguard, Hector, in his place.
It was just a kiss. Not that he did a lot of kissing. His relationships were basically limited to first dates with women he hoped never to see again and one long-term relationship in high school. Lame.
Maybe it was for lack of comparison that the kiss was so…incredible. But no—he knew it was more. There was something about her. Even before she had grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in, he had been drawn to her. Her blond hair had been pulled up at the back of her neck, but she had one piece that hung over her eye that she kept pushing back with her hand. He wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear himself. She was petite—probably a foot shorter than he was even in her boots. Boots. He smiled just thinking about the nickname, which he hadn’t meant to give her. But it was perfect. He’d never had a thing for cowgirls or country, but she looked amazing in a dress with boots. Different. Beautiful.
Maybe it was all the differences that drew him in. She didn’t seem to have a clue who he was. She looked nothing like the other girls in LA. And then there was the whole shock of finding her in the men’s bathroom and the kiss. It was forward, but somehow not at all aggressive. Not the way so many women he’d dated had tried to make a first, desperate move.
What if she was here for the show?
His mother had given him the list of girls he was to choose. She had just handed him a paper with photos and names of the women she had chosen for him. He scanned it again, but the girl from the bathroom was not on there. He was both disappointed and relieved.
If she had been on the list, he wouldn’t have called her name, whether his mother said to or not. The last thing he wanted was a woman he actually had feelings for to be caught in his mother’s web. Even though the moment in the bathroom had been brief, he did have feelings. Something real. Hopefully Mike could track her down.
And if she was one of the contestants—or Potential Love Matches—what did that say about her? Who actually went on those shows by choice?
She must be money-hungry or fame-hungry, though the fact that she didn’t recognize him meant that was unlikely. Unless she was an actress, which was also highly feasible. He wouldn’t put it past his mother to hire actresses so she could control the narrative even more. Hopefully he wouldn’t see her in the group of thirty that he would meet momentarily. Though his heart sped up at the thought of seeing her again.
“Colt,” his mother said. “It’s time.” She held out her hand.
All the happy thoughts of the mystery girl disappeared. He felt like he was walking to a sentencing rather than to a stage where he would be picking the top fifteen women from a group of qualified—which he assumed meant attractive—Potential Love Matches. Everything from the name of the show to the terms it used sickened him. He didn’t have a lot of faith in love, but he hated seeing it cheapened like this: made into a spectacle that had more to do with ratings than anything else.
He had seen these kinds of shows from behind the scenes and how they could wreck a person’s whole life. If you were lucky, it would only be fifteen minutes. But sometimes it seemed that these kinds of shows stuck with people like a dark fog they couldn’t escape. He had a few actor friends who had been involved in some scandal—real or not—that tanked their careers.
Colt felt guilty thinking of the women he would be choosing. He had the benefit of money and Hollywood royalty to hide behind. And he was used to seeing lies plastered about himself all over the tabloids, who chose to think of him as a bad boy or playboy or both, though he was much more of a nerd when it came down to it. Often he wondered if his mother fed the vultures stories about him because it worked better for BeaconWood to have him in the press, even if it was bad press. He was used to it and didn’t care anymore what people thought about him.
Hair and makeup gave him a last once-over. He winced when they got near his eye and chin. When they were done with touch-ups, he followed his mother and several production assistants with headphones down the hall toward the stage. He could hear the voice of the host Chris Haversham and faint cheers from the room as they neared the side of the stage.
“We’re spinning your face as a protective thing,” his mother whispered to him before he left the darkness for the lights of the stage. “Just go along with Chris.”
Colt nodded. He was used to going along with his mother, even if he hated himself for it. But he hoped all of that would change as soon as he could escape this blasted show. Maybe he could escape with his movie studio, then track down the girl and have it all, none of his mother’s strings attached.
Chapter 3
This is a huge mistake. Casey had known it in her gut and should have run out the door, especially after the altercation in the bathroom with Lucas. Instead, she was stuffed with a group of women in evening wear in a small, airless room behind the stage, waiting to take their places. This was going to be a disaster. She could feel it.
It didn’t matter about the money and if anything, she knew now that nothing would stop Lucas from co
ming after her. Except maybe a restraining order. Or a bodyguard.
Her heart thumped remembering the way that the bodyguards had dragged Lucas from the bathroom. It beat harder when she thought about Mr. Casual and the way his lips moved against hers. Everything from the way he smelled close-up to the way her body registered every inch of his—that wasn’t the kind of thing you’d find on a dating show. Now if she was chosen, he would probably see her on television on this stupid show and think she was even crazier than he already did.
But she wished that he had at least asked for her number before she ran out of the bathroom. He seemed to feel the same intensity that surprised her when she put her lips to his, but maybe she was just remembering it all wrong. Probably. Like with Lucas—she was terrible at reading people.
“Let’s go, ladies!” A man with a headset clapped his hands and began ushering the women like cattle out onto the stage.
Casey fell in step behind a woman in a gorgeous purple chiffon dress. Her skin was rich and dark against the bright color. “I love your dress,” Casey whispered, leaning forward as the producer halted the group.
The woman half-turned and gave her a brilliant smile that seemed genuine. “Thanks,” she whispered back. “I’m having massive second thoughts about all of this.”
“Me too. Is it too late to quit?”
“Probably,” the woman said. “I’m sure in all those contracts we signed there was something about an escape clause.”
Casey giggled. “Well, if we both make it on, want to stick together? A misery loves company kind of thing?”
The woman laughed—a rich melodic sound—and another producer type in a headset shushed them. Now Casey was giggling too. She knew so much of it was nerves. “You got a deal,” the woman whispered as they began to move forward again.
The curtain was open on the stage, which meant that the whole crowd could watch as the various set crew arranged the girls in a semi-circle on the right side. On the left there was a small table that had a group of unlit candles on it. An older man in a tux stood at the center of the stage, getting his makeup freshened.
Casey felt her gut wrenching with nerves as one of the crew practically yanked her by the shoulders and arranged her next to the girl in the purple dress. She knew Amanda was out there in the crowd somewhere, her personal cheerleader, but with the stage lights, she couldn’t make out anything other than a lot of bodies packed into the room. There was a constant murmur in the crowd of people as the setup dragged out over what felt like half an hour.
Casey’s legs were shaking slightly. She should have eaten a sandwich or something before she left the apartment hours ago with her luggage. But then, she assumed they would have fed them or at least done something by now. She made a mental note to stop thinking optimistically. Instead, she should prepare for the worst.
The host in the tux spoke into the mic. “Helloooo, everyone! And welcome!”
Cheers broke out in the room and Casey joined the other girls in evening gowns in clapping politely. Where were all the guys that were the Potential Love Matches? She suddenly had a sinking feeling that something was fishy with this show.
“I’m Chris Haversham and I’ve got a few instructions for you before the cameras get rolling and we officially start. You’ll see people up in front holding up signs reminding you to applaud or gasp or have a reaction—the louder the better on those. This is going to be a live show, so we won’t be doing second takes and there are no commercial breaks. Once we start, it’s on. We have security throughout the building to remove you if needed, but I’m sure we’re not going to have a problem with this crowd tonight, are we?”
Again the crowd cheered and Casey snorted, seeing people up front holding signs that must have instructed them to applaud. This was every bit as contrived as she should have expected, but still somehow Casey was surprised.
He went through more instructions and Casey’s stomach growled loudly. When was the last time she ate? It might have been the day before. She normally never forgot a meal, but the whole day had been spent getting ready for this event, which had probably been going on for a few hours now. Casey really hoped this wouldn’t take forever. If it was live, it should be faster. She desperately needed something to eat.
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, they finally got all the cameras situated and the lights set up and everything just right. A producer or someone over the speakers told everyone to be quiet and then counted down: “Five…four…three…”
The last two numbers were silent and Casey felt herself counting down in her head. Here it goes, she thought. My whole life like a ticking time bomb. Ugh. Too dramatic, she told herself right as Chris Haversham boomed into the mic.
“Hellooooooo to our live studio audience and our live audience watching at home!” He paused for clapping and cheers, pacing at the front of the stage and waving at the crowd and cameras. “Welcome to the first event of its kind: Billionaire Love Match!”
The crowd went crazy and a ripple went through the group of ladies. Casey felt like she’d been punched. Billionaire? She immediately pictured a gray-haired man in a suit working in a corner office. This was not what she signed up for—but why was she surprised?
“I’ll explain more about how the show will work in just a few moments, but first—who wants to meet our bachelor?”
More cheers. Casey felt a mixture of hungry and nervous and nauseated. Not a good combo. She tried to stand still without locking her knees. That was a tip she had learned from her father, who had told the story countless times of all the guys who passed out in basic training because they locked their knees.
“Always give yourself a little bounce,” he always told her. She made sure to relax just slightly.
The lights went down and a single spotlight turned toward the other side of the stage as dramatic music played. “Ladies,” Chris Haversham said, waving an arm to the women on the stage. “May I introduce our bachelor…billionaire bad boy, Colt Woods!”
The whole room seemed to explode. The people in the audience were going crazy. Casey scanned the room for Amanda, but then the lights came up, presumably so the camera that swept by could film the women. All the women around Casey were screaming. A few jumped up and down in their heels—a dangerous idea—and one or two were actually crying. Obviously they had planned ahead with waterproof mascara, as their tears ran clear. Only Casey stood still, which meant that she had a clear view when he bounded onto the stage.
Her heart dropped. Mr. Casual was Colt Woods.
Of course he was.
He had changed out of his bloody T-shirt and into a suit, but his eye looked even worse, puffy and starting to bruise. He grinned and waved to the audience, then blew kisses to the women, who shrieked even more. As his eyes passed over the group, Casey caught a flicker of something when he saw her. His smile dimmed and his eyes seemed to darken. Or was she imagining it? Because the next moment he was back to being Mr. Casual—flashing that easy and gorgeous smile.
Casey felt her stomach turn and was hit with a wave of dizziness. She had to make it through this. It couldn’t be harder than the Army. She tried to channel her dad, who was her hero. Injured in the Vietnam war, he had walked with a limp ever since, but never complained. He was simply glad to have served his country, even if he didn’t particularly support that war. Whenever she was struggling with something that was physically or emotionally exhausting, she tried to think about him making it through basic training. Which was a ridiculous comparison, since this was a dating show, not service for her country. Still, channeling her dad made her feel stronger and more sure of herself.
She realized suddenly that she had hardly given a thought to what her parents would say about this. They already thought she was crazy for moving to LA to be a writer, working in coffee shops for barely enough to cover her expenses. They gave her lots of encouragement and support, but also hinted that she could come home to Houston anytime she wanted. What would they say about her b
eing on this show?
Maybe she still wouldn’t be. Only an hour or so before, she had gotten the billionaire bachelor clocked in the men’s bathroom. No way he’d pick her. Then again, that kiss…
Casey felt all melty and starry-eyed just thinking about it. She didn’t have to worry about locking her knees when she thought about that kiss. They practically went slack.
“So, tell us Colton—can I call you Colt?”
Mr. Casual ran a hand through his hair. “I prefer Colt,” he said, flashing a sexy grin. A few of the girls whistled.
“Tell us how you got that wicked shiner. Save any lives lately?”
Colt ducked his head, looking almost shy for a moment. When he looked up, it was right at Casey. “I’ll just say that I was in the right place at the right time. This—” He pointed to his face. “—was totally worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Again he seemed to look right at Casey, whose heart felt like it was going to explode right out of her chest. But was he looking at her? The other women seemed excited any time he looked over, so maybe he was just looking at the whole group. Only one way to find out.
I’m sorry, she mouthed to him, grinning. His eyebrows shot up, then he regained his Mr. Casual composure and looked away.
He was thinking about her. Getting punched by Lucas was worth it to him. He would do it again. Casey felt positively giddy. Suddenly she realized with shock exactly how much she wanted him to pick her. But what if he didn’t? Casey knew without hesitation that if he did not, she would break the one rule she had made for herself—she would not be able to hold back the tears.
Right on cue, Chris Haversham was going over the way the show would work. Tonight, Colt would pick fifteen of the thirty girls just based on a mix of their profiles and their looks. Until tonight, he only had access to the spreadsheets that did all the matchmaking, picking compatibility and rating each girl. He could use those scores or their looks or a mix of both. Either way, half the women would be sent home. If he called your name, he would light a candle (with a match, of course) and hand it to you.
Maid for the Billionaire Page 10
