Finding Mr. Right Now

by Meg Benjamin

  He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed off to look for Donovan, but he found Sid and Brendan instead.

  “He’s in the conference room in the main building,” Sid explained. “He wanted you two to meet him there to set up the finale.”

  Brendan was looking nervous again, but Paul didn’t feel up to reassuring him. Maybe he could figure out a way to convince Donovan to streamline the final two episodes and let him loose this afternoon. Maybe they could shoot his farewell episode when he got back.

  After all, it was a given that Ronnie wasn’t going to choose him, right? And she can’t choose me if I’m not around.

  Monica was sitting beside Donovan when they entered the room. She had her clipboard in front of her, industriously scribbling notes as Donovan barked orders in her general direction.

  Paul looked at her and felt like sighing. Too good for them, Monica.

  Donovan beckoned impatiently. “Come on, sit down. I’ve got stuff to do. Each of you’ll have one more date with Ronnie, tonight and tomorrow night. Then the big finale where she’ll make her choice.”

  “Where’s Ronnie now?” Brendan ventured.

  “We’ve already gotten all the information we need from her. Now we need to get the same shit from you.” Donovan waved at the table again. “Sit down, I said.”

  Brendan sank into a chair as far from Donovan as he could get while staying in the same room. Paul stayed on his feet. “I need to talk to you,” he began.

  Donovan headed toward the door, motioning for Sid to follow him. “Talk to Monica. I’ve got to call Artie. We’ll do the toss to decide who goes for the first date later on.” He stalked out of the room, pulling Sid along behind him like a rowboat in the wake of an ocean liner.

  Monica blew out a long breath, then flipped a new page on her clipboard. “What’s the problem?”

  Paul rubbed his eyes, dropping into a chair. It’s make or break time, kid. If you don’t show up, chances are they’ll pass. “I need to go back to L.A. for a day or so. Today. It’s an emergency.”

  Monica blinked. “I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’ll ask. Let me just run through this with you.”

  He managed not to grit his teeth. “Monica, this is important. It’s about my deal with El Capitan. I need to go. Now.”

  “I said I’d ask,” she snapped. “But there’s no point in my talking to Glenn until I get this information from you. He won’t pay any attention to me until I do.”

  He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “What do you need?”

  She gave him a guarded smile that slipped quickly into a grimace, then glanced at Brendan, including him in the conversation. “I need the same information from both of you. Your parents’ names, addresses and phone numbers. If you’ve got more than one set of parents, you’ll need to decide who you want on the show. Glenn says they won’t bring in multiples.”

  “My parents. On the show. On Finding Mr. Right.” Paul stared at her.

  She looked away. “We do it all the time on Finding Miss Right,” she said quickly. “The parents and the contestants. Your parents will meet Ronnie and you’ll meet Ronnie’s parents and then we’ll film all the reactions. It won’t take long.”

  “My folks are down in Denton,” Brendan said. “That’s north of Fort Worth. This time of year they’ll probably be real glad to come up to Colorado for a couple of days.”

  “Do they usually fly out of the Dallas-Fort Worth airport?” she asked.

  Brendan nodded. “Sure. They haven’t flown too much, though. This’ll be kind of an adventure for them.”

  “We’ll have to figure a way to get them up here, then. Maybe I’ll drive down and pick them up in Denver.” She grimaced again, probably remembering what that drive to Denver was like. She turned back to Paul. “Your folks are already in Denver, right?”

  “No,” he said quietly.

  She frowned. “No? Where are they?”

  “I mean, no, my folks won’t be coming.” He blew out a breath, trying to ignore the tiny prickling of guilt along his conscience. You’re making things tougher for her, asshole.

  She stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her pen to the table. “Why not?”

  “My parents aren’t going to be involved in this. Any of this. That wasn’t part of the deal. I’m not letting you drag them up here under false pretenses. Fairstein doesn’t get to parade them around for the country’s amusement.” He let his jaw go hard as he stared her down.

  She stared back for another moment, then shrugged. “They might not mind, Paul. You could explain that it’s not for real. It’s just a couple of days.”

  He balled his fists on the table in front of him, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t make her life even more difficult and coming up dry. He remembered all the snide comments about contestants’ parents on Finding Miss Right, the sneers in the tabloids. He wasn’t putting his folks through that just because Ronnie had decided to cut Billy Joe instead of him. “No, Monica. I won’t ask them. And I won’t let you ask them. They’re not part of this.”

  Brendan turned toward them, his eyes widening. “What do you mean it’s not for real? The hell it’s not!”

  Paul sighed. Time to explain the facts of life, although it felt sort of like stomping on a buttercup. “It’s real for you. It’s not for me. I’m a writer on Finding Miss Right. They pulled me in when somebody else dropped out of the show at the last minute.”

  Brendan’s jaw dropped almost to his chest. “You mean you’re not one of the bachelors?”

  Paul shook his head. “I was just supposed to be a fill-in. I don’t know why Ronnie didn’t cut me early on, but she didn’t.”

  He glanced at Monica, but her gaze was locked on her clipboard again.

  “Well, that wasn’t fair now, was it?” Brendan sounded outraged. “I mean you got to the finals and you weren’t even supposed to be here. And now guys like Billy Joe and Lex, guys who really wanted to be with Ronnie, got cut.”

  Paul shrugged. “I guess in that sense it wasn’t fair. But Ronnie’s the one who made the choices. She knew all about me before we started.”

  Monica sighed. “If we could get back to the subject of how we’re going to handle the whole parents thing.”

  Paul pushed himself up. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Monica. I won’t let Fairstein bring my parents up here. I know that’s going to get you in shit with Donovan, and I’m sorry. But I can’t help that. It’s not negotiable.” He turned toward the door, then paused. “He may want to fire me anyway. Like I said, I’ve really got to go back to L.A. today. Right now, in fact. I’ll fly in and out of the regional airport, and I’ll get back as soon as I can, but I’ve got to go.” His conscience was screaming at him. He ignored it.

  She closed her eyes. “You’re leaving now?”

  He nodded, watching her face. “As soon as I can rent a car and drive to the airport in Hayden.” He flexed his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I wouldn’t do this to you if I didn’t have to.” Please, please, please understand, babe.

  “You can’t do that,” Brendan squawked. “We got contracts. Mr. Donovan won’t let you go.”

  Paul shook his head. “You’ve got a contract. I’ve got a contract to write Finding Miss Right. Nobody ever had me sign anything for this one.”

  Monica’s jaw clenched. Something else Glenn was probably going to take out of her hide.

  “Well shit,” Brendan blurted. “This is one prime fuck-up, ain’t it?”

  They both stared. Paul wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Brendan use any word stronger than damn before.

  Monica’s lips inched up into a sour smile. “Yeah, Brendan, I’d say that pretty much sums it up. This is one prime, grade-A fuck-up.”

  She grabbed her clipboard and pushed past Paul, heading out the door and down the hall, probably in search of Donovan.

  As she rounded the corner, she didn’t bother to look back.

  Paul closed his e
yes. Grade-A fuck-up is right. He only hoped he could discover a way out of it when he got back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Monica was fairly sure the day that followed was the worst of her life. It was unquestionably the worst day of her life at Fairstein Productions. By the time Glenn had finished yelling at her, it was too late for them to catch Paul, who must have taken the shuttle downtown immediately after their meeting.

  The rest of the day was taken up with Glenn’s rants about everything from her error in not throwing herself bodily in front of the shuttle bus to her idiocy in not signing Paul to an ironclad contract that would have given them grounds to sue him. In fact, she hadn’t signed Paul to a contract because he already had one with Fairstein and because Glenn had told her not to bother stirring up the legal department over the complications. But Glenn’s memory was notoriously selective, and he’d chosen to forget that bit.

  They rescheduled the shoot to set up an evening picnic for Ronnie and Brendan, rather than the kayaking class they’d planned for Ronnie and Paul, but then afternoon rainstorms had rolled in and drenched the mountainside, so the picnic had had to be postponed.

  She’d tried scheduling a flight for Ronnie’s parents, only to have another set of storms ground all the planes in Atlanta.

  Glenn snarled, Ronnie pouted, and Brendan gave her the kind of disillusioned puppy look that made her want to go back to her room and hide.

  She tried very hard not to think about Paul. But the ache in her chest and the occasional throbbing in her temples were reminder enough. He’d walked out. He’d left her to flounder around in the midst of the chaos he’d created. And the best he could say was “Sorry, Monica.”

  So much for having somebody to come home to. Clearly, she had once again chosen a winner. Yay, me.

  She ignored the rational part of her mind, which pointed out that he’d told her it was about the El Capitan deal, and that deal was the most important one of his career. She hated it when her rational side tried to undercut good solid rage.

  Because Glenn demanded it, she tried to call Paul several times, but all she got was his voice mail. Since Glenn and Sid were both standing at her elbow for most of the calls, she couldn’t say what she really wanted to say, which was something like Help!

  “Paul, this is Monica McKellar, from Fairstein,” she said stiffly. “We need to know exactly when you’ll be back here in Colorado. There are schedules to set up. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

  You jerk, you bastard, you…writer!

  Eventually, they scrapped the idea of bringing in the bachelors’ parents, an episode that had always been one of the most popular on Finding Miss Right since the parents invariably hated their children’s choices. Instead, she made reservations for Ronnie’s parents to fly in whenever the airways opened up again to meet with whichever bachelors were the finalists.

  Sid had been dispatched to find Billy Joe in case it turned out they needed him. He’d finally been located in the most disreputable bar in town, with a day’s worth of beard and a developing black eye. At least Sid had been the one charged with sobering him up and explaining that he was being held in reserve as an alternate in case Paul didn’t make it back in time.

  Ronnie hadn’t been happy, but then Ronnie hadn’t been happy about anything for most of the day, not that she was alone in that reaction. “I already cut Billy Joe,” she grumbled. “I don’t want him here. I want Paul.”

  Don’t we all? “Paul’s not here,” Monica explained as a real beauty of a headache throbbed at her temples. “We don’t know when he’ll be back. We’re not even sure if he’ll be back. We may have to go ahead with Billy Joe after all if we can’t find him.” Assuming, of course, Billy Joe could be sobered up and cleaned up enough to appear on camera.

  Ronnie’s lower lip extended mutinously. “I’m tired. I need a day off. Tell Mr. Donovan I’m going shopping. And Fairstein had better be ready to pay.”

  Monica sighed. Yet another cheery message to pass on to Glenn.

  As it turned out, however, Glenn had already decided to close down production for two days while Fairstein checked with legal, Ronnie’s parents checked with the airline, and Sid checked with the weather service.

  “Get out of my sight,” Glenn told her morosely. “Go somewhere and think. See if you can figure a way out of this disaster. Did I mention your future with Fairstein’s on the line here?”

  “Yes sir, I think you did,” she mumbled. Only about two dozen times. But who’s counting?

  Her future with Fairstein being on the line raised a whole set of interesting questions, of course. Did she have a future with Fairstein? Did she want a future with Fairstein? For a while she’d thought about leaving, but that was when she’d had Paul at her elbow, telling her she was too good for them. See how well that turned out?

  She headed back to her room, wondering where she could go to hide for a couple of days.

  There was really only one answer.

  She packed her things and headed toward the SUV. She was fairly certain she’d come back to Elkhorn Run after the weekend, but it never hurt to take everything along just in case she was barred from her room. Fifteen minutes later, she was driving up Main Street in Salt Box.

  The Lincoln Town Car was still parked in front of the Praeger House in the same spot it had been in the last time she’d seen it. Clark Denham was rubbing a cloth across the hood. He glanced up and broke into a grin as she pulled the SUV into the nearest parking spot.

  “Hey, Monica, all by yourself this time?”

  Oh yes, very definitely all by myself. “I’ve got a couple of days off. Any chance you guys have a room?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. We had a couple of cancellations yesterday. Go talk to Colleen.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.” She managed a half-hearted smile.

  Denham leaned against the Lincoln. “Anything wrong?”

  “Not exactly. Just tired,” she lied. “Maybe I’ll see you later at the Blarney Stone.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll buy you a beer.” But he still watched her doubtfully as she walked up the stairs to the lobby.

  Fortunately, Colleen managed to find her a room. Even more fortunately, it wasn’t the one she’d shared with Ronnie the last time she’d stayed at the Praeger House. Instead she was tucked away in a tiny garret in one of the gables, with a single window looking out at the valley. She sank down on the window seat and stared at the peaks.

  She had a full array of issues she could brood about—Fairstein, Ronnie, Paul. Mostly, of course, Paul.

  She really wanted to hold everything against him—to be furious that he’d run out on her and left her to cope with this disaster on her own. But if she’d had a deal pending with El Capitan Productions, she’d probably have run away too.

  Of course, in that case she might have taken him with her. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Even if he’d asked her to come with him, she couldn’t have gone. Even if he’d asked…which he didn’t.

  The view was spectacular. It should have raised her spirits, made her own problems seem insignificant. It didn’t. Coming back to the Praeger House had obviously not been the great idea she’d thought it was at first.

  Around six, she trudged over to the Blarney Stone. One of the jukeboxes was blaring the Dropkick Murphys, which was about as close to Celtic music as she’d ever heard in the place. Ted Saltzman, the owner, was rubbing down the bar as she walked in. He glanced her way, then grinned. “Hey, Monica, how are things in TV land?”

  She managed a slightly flat smile. “Oh, you know, one crisis after another. I had some time off, so I thought I’d come down here for a couple of days.”

  “Good. Always glad to have you.” Ted glanced around the room. Most of the tables were already full, with the usual selection of kayakers, hikers and faintly bewildered tourists. He gestured toward the side. “There’s a spot over there. At Dick’s table.”

  Dick. Great. She tried to think of an excuse for not
joining Dick the dick and the other people at his table, but nothing occurred to her, particularly when the man himself directed an icy blue gaze in her direction that looked like a clear challenge. She slid into a chair at the side, wishing she’d brought along her cloak of invisibility.

  “Ah, a visitor from the dream factory. How’s the mating game coming along?” Dick’s lips slid into a singularly nasty smile.

  Well, crap.

  “Oh shut up, you old fart,” Nona Monteith said easily. “She’s a nice girl and you’re not.” She gave him a quick grin that seemed to make his smile transform into something closer to genuine.

  Dick raised an eyebrow. “I’m definitely not a girl, Nona. Glad you noticed.”

  “You’re also not nice. And believe me, I noticed that about the same time I noticed you had a dipstick.” Nona took a deep swallow from her beer stein.

  Dick looked like he was readying his next nasty crack. Monica decided a change of subject was in order.

  “How’s Al?” she said quickly.

  “Fine. Busy. Boring. Tell us about the TV show.” Nona gave her a much warmer smile than she’d given Dick.

  Ted dropped a beer in front of her, then leaned next to Nona’s chair for a moment, listening.

  Monica took a grateful sip. “Oh, you know, ups and downs. We’ve had some setbacks, but things are pretty much okay.”

  “Almost trampled your star, of course. Just a minor problem, I assume.” Dick’s smile was still nasty.

  “That was one of the setbacks,” Monica admitted. “But she’s okay. Fortunately. She dislocated her finger and sprained her wrist, but everything healed up.”

  Nona snorted. “Hell, I’ve done worse than that in a rodeo. Looked like she just forgot to let go of that rope. No big deal.”

  “Yeah, Nona, but you’re local. Ronnie’s from…wherever the hell she’s from.” Ted shrugged.

  “Florida,” Monica supplied.

  “So?” Nona shrugged. “They got rodeos in Florida. Same stuff probably happens there. I still say it wasn’t anything to get upset about.”