How To Lose A Bachelor (5 page)

“Cut, cut, cut!” Chris had his hand on Grant’s shoulder, but Grant wouldn’t turn his eyes away from Rochelle. Her expression read
Challenge Accepted
.

Did she really just insult his mother’s…need for variety in life? He couldn’t let that low blow go unpunished. “Let’s
do
talk about gene pools and how we both know that cleavage of
that
particular magnitude doesn’t run in your family.”

Taken aback, Rochelle clutched at her shirt. Grant felt a win on the horizon, if hurling mother insults could, in fact, be considered winning at anything. “It’s a halter top, moron. It’s
designed
for cleavage. Besides, you didn’t seem to be complaining when I walked in!” she added.

His mouth fell ajar.
She noticed me noticing. Did the crew? Will America?
“It doesn’t suit you,” he blurted. A complete lie. It enhanced an already irresistible figure—so much so that he might have been willing to change his general opinion on how much cleavage a woman should expose in public. In fact, he suspected he’d change his view on world peace if Rochelle sat on his lap and asked him to.

“Really? Everything underneath suited the hell out of you before!”

“For God’s sake,” Chris said, standing in front of Grant to block his view of Rochelle. “Are we speaking the same language?”

But they just glared at each other.

“Hello? Anybody home?” Chris snapped in front of his face, once, twice. The third time Grant caught his wrist and applied enough pressure for the show’s host to grimace. “Okay, okay,” Chris said, snatching his arm away. “You realize we can’t air any of that conversation, right? And that these little do-overs are costing the studio money?”

“So sorry, Christopher Schnartz-
Legend
,” Rochelle said behind him. “Did you pick that name yourself? Because let me tell you something: You wish.”

Chris turned to face her, and she flashed him a magnificent smile. “I was wondering when you were going to say something,” he said. “As I recall, ‘charming’ was never something you could add to your college applications.”

“And ‘legend’ was never a title you could claim in the bedroom, I hear. But good for you; you made it into Hollywood. As a reality TV show host, but still.”

Chris’s nostrils flared.

She smiled again. “Grant and I were just kidding with all the back and forth, weren’t we, Grant? Just warming up to each other.” She had the audacity to give Grant an encouraging look. A look that clearly implied he was the child in this incident.

Some things never changed.

“Warming up like a bomb, you mean,” Chris muttered. There had been a time when Chris liked Rochelle, years ago. Grant wondered if that was going to change over the course of the show. “Fine.” He looked at the crew, most of whom were stunned to silence. “Everything is fine. We’re going to start over, okay everyone? From the beginning. In fact, Rochelle, could you just go back and make another entrance? I feel this scene is tainted somehow. Let’s clear the air, shall we?” If Chris was still feeling bitter about his exchange with Rochelle, he certainly didn’t show it. He was all business as usual. Maybe this was the right job for him after all.

“Of course, Chris,” Rochelle said. “Anything you want. No more do-overs.” Her voice was light and bubbly, devoid of the teeming venom she’d displayed not minutes before. A tigress transformed into a kitten, she stood demurely, and then strolled to the door in what Grant would call a woman-swagger.

And she never came back.

Chapter Seven

E
ven as the plane began its glide down the runway, Rochelle’s stomach tied itself into about eighteen different knots of hysteria. The inside of the plane was hollow, with nylon straps tucked along each wall, and from it, an outreaching cord clamped to each person—a cord that each beautiful contestant would eventually discard in favor of jumping from the safety of this rickety flying metal heap someone, somehow, had deemed capable of flight.

The ride down the runway was bumpy and uncomfortable, and they sped along long enough for Rochelle to nurture a small hope that maybe the plane couldn’t take off for some reason and they’d just have to cancel this idiotic group date. Oh, but no. When they finally lifted off the ground, Rochelle’s knees visibly shook—something her instructor didn’t miss, since he was strapped to her very intimately at the moment.

“You don’t have to do this,” he yelled in her ear. “Skydiving is not for everyone.”

Like hell I don’t. I’m not going to be the only contestant to chicken out. Never in a handful of millennium would I give Grant Drake the satisfaction of seeing me fail.

Skydiving shouldn’t be for
anyone
, she wanted to inform the muscle-bound instructor, but he was definitely ex-military-drill-sergeant-ready to argue, and she wasn’t in the mood for a dispute with a bull. Plus, she didn’t want to start a conversation with him at all, given that his breath smelled like pickled toe fungus. Taking several breaths away from him—breaths that teetered on the verge of gulps—she felt herself calm down. Sort of.

Oh, wait. That’s not calming down, that’s just me attempting to voluntarily pass out.

She stared vehemently at the back of Stephanie’s head, the twin who’d won the Garden Maze competition and got them all in this situation in the first place. She was the only one with no instructor strapped onto to her. She was also the only one who had done this countless times.
She’s the one I’ll strangle slowly with the chord of her own parachute once this is all over
. Even steel-nerved Maya looked apprehensive as she peered out of her window, down at the glorious land they had been walking around on just minutes before. Still, Maya tried to manage good-natured chitchat with her instructor, who seemed more than taken with her. And why wouldn’t he be? Maya was dazzling, even in this hideous skydiving gear. The goggles actually looked cute on her.

At the back of the plane, Rochelle caught a glimpse of Grant a few victims down; he’d volunteered to be the first to jump, generous soul that he was. It was the sort of kindness he’d inherited from his mother. Rochelle nearly winced, just as she almost had earlier when she’d insulted his mother, Sharon, in front of the cameras during the Cozy Couch session.

The truth was, that woman had been a Godsend to Rochelle in her younger years. It was just that Grant Drake knew what buttons to push. Even now, he was listening over his shoulder to what his instructor had to say, all the while giving Rochelle a look she knew well. He’d given her that look at college parties and at scary movies. It was the
Are you going to barf?
look. After their confrontation yesterday during the couch session, she wondered why he even cared.
Probably so he can stay upwind while I upchuck
.

She shrugged back at him in answer, even as her mouth watered.

Grant turned to his instructor and while Rochelle could hear them speaking, she couldn’t make out the words. Grant’s instructor unstrapped himself from him and made his way through the middle of jumpers, until he reached Rochelle. He put a hand behind her, presumably on her own instructor’s shoulder. “We’re calling this one,” he said, nodding at Rochelle. “She’s not up for it.”

“What?” she shrieked. “No! I’m doing this. Period.”
Oh my God
.

Grant’s instructor gave her a doubtful look. “Some people can’t handle heights. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Honey, your face is gray.”

“Maybe I’m not a fan of heights, but I’m certainly not
afraid
of them,” she said, turning her nose up with the lie. She suddenly remembered what it had felt like to fall head first from her rickety tree house when she’d been seven years old.
Who wouldn’t be afraid of heights after head-butting the ground?

Grant had made his way up to them. “Maybe you should go first,” he said happily. “It’s all the anticipation that’s making you so nervous, I bet. Better to just get it over with.”

“Excellent idea!” her instructor chimed in behind her.

Wait, what?

This seemed to interest Grant’s instructor—whose name she thought was Harold. Harold gave her an admiring look. “Yes, let’s do that then.”

Oh. My. God.

“Tell you what,” said Harold. “Make your way to the back of the plane now. We’ve reached optimal height.

When she opened her mouth to protest, Harold cut her off. “Don’t worry, Grant won’t mind. He was just going first as a courtesy anyhow.”

Before she could think to fight, her instructor was using his hips to jar her forward, closer to the jump door.
Omigod, omigod, omigod
. On her way she got dirty looks from the other contestants.
They think I’m doing this for brownie points!

But do I really care what they think? I’m jumping off a freaking plane!

“We’re almost to the drop point,” the guy attached at her hip said. With that, he opened the door separating life and death. The world below them appeared as clouds, the lakes as mere mud puddles, and the houses as specks, all separated by intersecting stretches of what Rochelle assumed were roads.

No, no, no
.

The tree-house incident had broken her arm, given her a concussion and her whole body had been sore for days on end. The tree house had towered about six whole feet off the ground. How many thousands of feet away from precious earth were they now?

Surely, it would be a painless death. Maybe she could even find a way to land head first, so she’d be brained instantly.

“This is really brave of you to do,” said the drill sergeant in her ear. “Now, on the count of three. One…Two…”

“Wait, wait! I—”

“Three!”

As they tilted out of the plane, she clutched the threshold of the door.

Rochelle opened her mouth to scream.

And vomited instead.

The sound of chunks making contact with the jumpers behind them was the last thing she remembered.

Chapter Eight

G
rant waited in the lavish courtyard outside the mansion. The contestants were due any minute to arrive for the Friendship Ceremony. He’d have to decide which one would be the first to be voted off of
Luring Love
. That’s when he’d hand the exiting woman a monstrous bouquet of fragrant sweet peas—a symbol of friendship.

And he knew exactly what he had to do.

Chelle didn’t want to be here. She’d made that abundantly clear. Was it still the right choice to keep her here? Yes, yes it was. It was just too fun to get under her skin, the way he had on the plane. The way her face had grown pale, then a shade of green he’d never seen before. Maybe next time she’d think about wearing a smelly sweatshirt to dinner.

And there would be a next time. Voting Rochelle off now, just when things were starting to get entertaining, was out of the question. Richie had been right. He could play the game, too.

When the contestants began to appear, all sumptuously dressed and smiling, he adorned a serious face—per Richie’s instructions—and waited for them to line up in front of him. Some appeared excited, some confident, and others nervous. Grant felt overwhelming relief when Rochelle showed up dressed for the occasion, wearing a long blue evening gown that enveloped her figure in all the appetizing places. She appeared neither excited nor confident nor nervous. If he had to pinpoint her mood, he’d guess it was somewhere in the vicinity of queasy.
At least she bothered to bathe tonight.
After their first dinner on air, he wouldn’t have put it past her to show up in her flight gear, complete with barely-digested lunch still in her hair.

All the contestants who’d been subjected to Rochelle’s puke bath in the plane had recovered quite nicely. Most of them had even helped move her limp body to the front of the plane when she’d passed out before jumping.

On Chris Legend’s cue, Grant cleared his throat. He knew his cheesy lines well. He kicked off the evening with, “I hope you all enjoyed today’s group date as much as I did—including the little surprises along the way.” This earned him a few giggles from the entourage. Grant couldn’t help but notice that Chelle stiffened. She didn’t meet his eyes.

He arranged a grin on his face. “Today you all showed great courage in agreeing to go skydiving. I looked up the statistics, and less than one percent of the world’s population is brave enough to do so. Bravo for you.”
He would never in a million years say the word “bravo”. Scripts were so forced sometimes.

He walked down the line, continuing what he felt was a condescending speech.
Suspense, suspense, suspense,
he could hear Richie say. He was supposed to drag out the Friendship Ceremony for as long as possible. He was supposed to pause often, in case they edited that point for a commercial break. He was supposed to be enjoying himself. “I didn’t realize how difficult the Friendship Ceremony was going to be for me. I mean, I’ve just met you all, and now I have to send one of you away. It feels so unfair.” He paused and looked at Sakiya long enough for the camera to focus on her now apprehensive expression. This look meant nothing to him—it was just another cliff-hanging tactic, but the beautiful Asian woman seemed genuinely perplexed.

He hated himself for toying with her, but it had to be done in the name of tension. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she looked past him, tears welling in her eyes.
She was
the artist
, he remembered.
The deep thinker. Who knew what she was thinking now?

Grant moved on then, taking the hand of the next woman, who happened to be Jacquelyn, the blonde chef. She showed none of the anxiety Sakiya had. She greeted him with a toothy smile and even went so far as to plant a friendly kiss on his cheek. “I assure you,” she said, with a small country twang, “None of us want to leave your side.”

She acted sweet as molasses now, but Grant remembered when he’d been trying to maneuver Chelle to the front of the plane, Jacquelyn had refused to be anywhere near them, not wanting to get her hands dirty.
Strike one
, he thought, even as he smiled back at her. Selfishness had always been a turn-off for him.

Next in line was Ellie, the shy school teacher. She wore colored contacts to match her turquoise dress tonight, instead of her normal chic glasses. During the Cozy Couch episode, she’d admitted that she wanted lots of children—as long as it was with the right person. She also headed up the local cancer support chapter, which organized fundraising walks and drives to raise money for research. Sometimes though, it seemed like she spaced out during the conversation. She was definitely paying attention now, though.

Grant walked away from the line of assembled beauties, to the stone pedestal that held the massive bouquet of sweet peas. He picked them up slowly, giving the camera time to soak up the act, and to scan the faces of each contestant as he did so. He turned to face them again.

“I know every man in America is jealous of me at this moment,” he said, walking toward the ladies again. “I know every man in America envies the fact that I get this rare choice. It’s like choosing between fine gems. A task that’s almost impossible.” He stopped, smelling the bouquet. The group of women seemed to collectively shift from one high heel to the other. Grant felt the camera crew getting antsy behind him.
He
was even tired of hearing himself talk.

“Jacquelyn, step forward, please,” he said finally. This time her smile wavered. “Jacquelyn, one thing I love is a generous spirit. I didn’t see that with you today on the plane. To me, you acted like you were above helping one of the other contestants. I hope that’s not the real you.”

“I’m…I’m sorry…” she stuttered. He felt like stable dirt for pointing out a woman’s flaw on national television. Why, why, why did he agree to do this stupid show?

“I hope to see a nicer side of you as the show progresses. You can step back now.”

Relief washed over her features as she realized she wasn’t the recipient of the bouquet. A few of the contestants around her proceeded to offer her congratulatory hugs.

After everyone settled down, Grant said, “Maya, step forward please?”

She did so, with the grace of a ballerina, but she kept biting her lip ever so slightly.

“Maya, you handled yourself well today. I appreciate the kindness and compassion you showed for your fellow contestants. This is a competition, true. But you let it go when it counted. For that, and many other reasons, I want you to stay on the show with me.”

She gave him a brilliant smile, throwing her arms around him. “You scared me for a minute there,” she whispered in his ear. She smelled nice, like an exotic flower on a humid southern day.

When she released him and strolled back to the line, Grant became instantly aware of Rochelle’s eyes on him. With a quick glance, he ascertained that her brow was raised, the one she used to accidentally arch when she was flustered.
Is she jealous of Maya?

If she was, that meant she had some sort of feeling for him, right? Should he take advantage of her envy and drive her crazy with it? The thought pleased him more than a little.

Still he needed more strategizing for this game they were playing, and it wasn’t something he could do in the middle of the Friendship Ceremony. He needed to end this. It wasn’t fair to the other women here, to keep them hanging on his every word and action. Screw the ratings. “Stephanie, please step forward.”

As she did, a glowing smile spread across her face. “Yes, Grant?” she said prettily.

“Stephanie,” he said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. “I admire your sense of adventure. That was the first time I’ve been skydiving, and I assure you, it won’t be my last.”

“Isn’t it exhilarating?” she breathed.

“It is,” he agreed. “But for a group date, I’m not sure it was the right choice. It seemed to me that your motives were to put the others at a disadvantage, and while I know there will be game playing involved here on the show, I didn’t appreciate how much your activity choice tested the other women. The goal is to stand out, of course. I’m just not sure you did that in the best way.”

Stephanie’s face fell dramatically. “Oh. I see.”

“For that reason,” he said, slowly handing her the sweet peas, “I’m saying goodbye to you tonight. I hope we can still be friends.”

Chris Legend broke the awkward silence that followed by stepping into camera view and putting forth his best host voice. Grant wondered where he learned to talk with such a pleasant and endearing tone. Certainly not while he was talking trash on the football field back in the day. “All right, ladies,” Chris said. “So we’ve gotten a glimpse at how our bachelor thinks now. For those who are staying, I would certainly take note. For Stephanie, this is farewell. You have one hour to collect your belongings and leave the mansion.”

Stephanie’s twin sister Cassandra threw her arms around her in a fierce embrace while the other women began to file back into the mansion in varying degrees of shock and elation. Only Chelle stayed behind.

Their eyes locked. Her glower was unmistakable. She had expected to be the one voted off. Rage emanated off her as she slowly made her way toward him, past the hugging twins. She didn’t stop until her nose almost touched Grant’s chin. Chris, who was standing nearby, instructed the crew to stop filming.

“This won’t ever make it to air anyway,” he muttered. Obviously Richie’d had a chat with him about their unique circumstances. Especially after the Cozy Couch session.

“You’ve made a wrong choice,” Rochelle said in a low voice.

“Are you feeling better?” he whispered.

She turned on her heel and strode away, shoulders square. The twins gave her an evil look as she passed, and she casually flipped them the bird. He watched as she disappeared into the house, his decision made.

I’m coming for you, Rochelle Ransom
.