Paradise By The Rifle Sights (Greatest Hits romantic mysteries book #5) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) (4 page)

The guy relaxed.
"Ted. Ted Rockland." He launched into a litany of non-speaking roles and appearances such as "hobo number five" in
Vampire Zombies, IV
. I couldn't really tell you what he said, because I was too busy dragging the bodies of three dead men over to the far wall. The room had no exits, windows, or other helpful escape routes. Basically, I was trapped until all the interviews were over.

"
Um," I said as I interrupted Ted, "thanks. We'll be in touch." The sooner I got these clowns out of here, the better.

Ted nodded as if he was used
to this kind of abrupt blow off (And he probably really was.), and left the room. I was just wondering if I could slip out when the next one came in and sat down.

I gave him the same question and listened vaguely as I tried to focus on a plan.
My cell phone was vibrating. It was Liv. I really didn't have time for this, so I ignored her.

There was no sound coming through the speaker.
Apparently, this candidate didn't have much to talk about. He stared expectantly at the window, waiting for me to say something else. My cell started vibrating again. Knowing Liv, she'd keep this up until I answered her.

I hit the red button again.
"What are your thoughts on women?" I asked, hoping he'd go deep and give me some random philosophy.

"
I love women." he said, and stopped to wait for the next question. For some reason, Cindee's face popped into my head. She didn't deserve to have a loser like this asshole, treating her like a plaything he could toss away. I remembered what Teri had said in the car about me being vapid. That's just how I treated Cindee. I felt a little bad about that.

"
Could you expand on that, please?" I asked with my low voice. I ignored the buzzing in my pocket. It was like I could feel my sister seething with rage because I wasn't answering.

The jerk flashed a toothy grin, making me think of a shark.
"What more is there to say? I love the idea of being spoiled by a bunch of hot chicks."

My blood began to boil.
"You can go," I snarled, "and you should think about how you treat women."

The dude shrugged and left.
My cell was actually vibrating harder and louder. I wondered how Liv was able to do that.

"
What?!" I shouted into the phone.

Liv really was pissed.
"What's going on there? Dak says I have to leave town and keep a low profile?"

The third candidate came in and sat down.
I froze as he ran his hands through his hair and then smiled at the window.

"
Look, Liv, I don't have time for this right now," I whispered. Without depressing the red button, this guy couldn't hear me, but I still felt the need to keep my voice low.

"
I'm not hanging up without answers," Liv said steadily.

"
Please give me your name, age and acting experience," I said quickly into the speaker, forgetting to lower my voice.

"
My name is Ted Rockmand."

My antenna went up.
"Weren't you just in here?" I asked before thinking about it.

Ted the
Second looked confused. "No, this is my first time in here." He cocked his head to one side as if he needed to do that to think.

"
Paris! Who are you talking to?" Liv hissed in my ear.

I shook my head.
There was no way Ted could see me, but it felt necessary. "No, you were just here! Ted Rock…something." It irritated me that he thought he could come in here again. Maybe that was his thing—a sort of do-over. Hell, in this town, maybe no one's ever noticed before. Well, not on my watch, baby.

"
Dammit Paris! Pay attention to me!" Liv screamed this time.

Ted
's eyes rolled up to the right hand corner. "I don't get it. People say that to me all the time. But this is my first time in here! I swear!" He looked confused and upset.

I pushed the button,
"The second guy in here had the same name. Are you telling me you're not him?" Did he really think I'd fall for that?

"
PARIS BOMBAY ANSWER ME!" Liv shouted.

"
Dammit Liv! I'm in the middle of the hit!" I snarled into the cell, then hit the red button. "Honestly, do you think I was born yesterday?"

Ted looked stunned.
It was hard to imagine anyone being more confused than he looked at that moment. Maybe he was right?

"
THAT'S IT!" Liv barked, "I'M GONNA…"

I hung up on her and turned the cell off, wondering why I hadn
't thought of that earlier. Multitasking was not my thing.

"
Okay," I said into the speaker, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Maybe I was just too mixed up to know how many Teds had been through here. I gave him the same question I'd given the others. Once he answered them, I told him "we'd" be in touch.

No one else came in
, and after fifteen minutes passed, I thought I'd make my break for it. Slipping into the waiting room, I was surprised and relieved that no one was there. Turning left into the hallway would mean the possibility of running into Teri, so I went right. After finding an exit into another generic parking lot, I relaxed and tried to find my way out of the studios.

Hailing a cab a few blocks away, I was back at my hotel in no time.
It was only one o'clock in the afternoon, and my flight didn't leave until morning. I changed out of my clothes and wiped down the gun and silencer.

This job sucked.
And once I was brave enough to turn my cell on again, I'd tell my sister that.

"
Hollywood is like Picasso's bathroom."

~
Candice Bergen

I was having this dream.
Teri was driving Cindee and me to dinner at an Ethiopian Fusion restaurant in Wisconsin. Halfway there, Teri pulled over to the side of the road, and she and Cin got out of the limo and went off together, leaving me alone. I guess I kind of deserved that. I'd treated Cindee like a bimbo and had completely abandoned Teri in the studio lot.

A phone was ringing nearby.
I must've turned my cell back on at some point. Sitting up, I shook off the haze of sleep and realized it was, in fact, my in-room hotel phone.

"
Yes?" I answered. Not a man of many words in the morning.

"
Paris Bombay?" a familiar, squeaky voice asked.

"
That's right." Was it the kid from the show? Why in the hell was he calling me? Oh, right. The producer was found dead…by me. He's probably calling to say the show has been dropped. I guess I expected that.

"
You have been selected to be our bachelor on
The Bachelor: Bachelor No More—Ever,"
t
he kid's voice squeaked again. "Congratulations."

"
Wait, what?" I asked in shock. The show should be cancelled! Why would the network continue with it with Plimpton dead?

"
A packet will be delivered to your hotel today." The kid ignored my question—or possibly never heard it. "A car will pick you up this evening to take you to the house we're using."

I shook my head.
This wasn't happening! "No, that's impossible!" Was all I said into the receiver.

"
Bye," the kid said, and the line went dead.

What the hell?
I called the front desk, and sure enough they had the packet and agreed to send it up with some very strong, black coffee. I answered the door in boxer shorts. I was so distracted. The woman from the front desk looked me up and down, smiled suggestively, and started to say something before I shut the door on her. There was no time for that.

The packet was a box full of itineraries, information about the show, and a questionnaire about what I liked to eat, wear, etc.
I found the number for the director and dialed.

"
This is Mel Abernathy…" the Director said.

I started before he could finish,
"Paris Bombay. I think there's been some sort of mistake."

"
Ah, Mr. Bombay! Congratulations and welcome to the show!"

"
About that," I said, then paused. I couldn't very well ask how the show could go on since Plimpton was dead. I assumed it was all over the media, but I didn't know for sure.

"
Mr. Bombay?"

"
Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. What I mean is, I haven't confirmed anything. I didn't agree to this or sign a contract." There you go—I'd get off on a technicality!

"
But you did sign a contract!" Abernathy insisted.

"
No, no I didn't. I just came in for the audition."

"
Mr. Bombay," the director sounded weary. "When you submitted your application online, you agreed that if you passed the audition, you would be on the show." He paused for a moment to let it sink in. "It's an ironclad contract."

I sat there, on the bed, in my boxers, staring into the receiver as if the news would change somehow if I held it long enough.
I can't be on that stupid show! I don't want to be on it!

"
If that's all Mr. Bombay, the car will pick you up at six tonight. Don't worry about checking out—we'll do that for you." Abernathy hung up.

I was on my laptop in seconds.
Once I found the online application, I scoured it for any chance that what the director said might be true. My heart sank as I read the line, in tiny print, at the bottom of the fifty-two page agreement that I was stupid not to have read.
By submitting this application, you are agreeing that if you pass the audition, you will commit to Bachelor: Bachelor No More—Ever for the two-weeks necessary for production.

Shit.
Reaching for my cell, I hesitated before turning it on. That would open the door to Liv chewing me a new one. I depressed the power button and waited. It couldn't be helped. The Bombays kept some of the best attorneys in the world on retainer. One of them could get me out of this mess.

There were thirty-eight voicemails
—all from my sister. I deleted all of them without listening. I had more important things to do. Vincent Vincenza, the nearest attorney available told me he'd look into it and get right back to me.

Meanwhile, I turned on the
TV to see if the news had anything on the demise of the show's producer. I scrolled through every news channel available, but there was no mention of the murder of a prominent producer and his bodyguards.

I checked the internet next, hitting everything from
Entertainment Tonight
to
TMZ
. Nothing.

This day wasn
't working out for me. I took a shower, hoping it would give the media time to report the story. I even ironed my shirt and pants and shined my shoes before checking again. Nothing.

What was going on?
By now I knew it wasn't a dream. No one has a nightmare this bad. Right? At least, not without forcing themselves to wake up.

The cell ran
, and I checked to make sure it wasn't Liv before answering.

"
Mr. Bombay?" Vincent's voice asked. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the contract is legit. I'm not sure we could fight it without drawing a lot of publicity, and I know your family likes to avoid that."

I sunk down on the bed.
He was right. It was far more dangerous to pull out of the show. Even though the show would be watched by millions of viewers, it would draw a lot more attention to the Bombays if I broke the contract. And the Bombays do NOT like drawing attention to themselves—especially when they just killed the show's executive producer. In their minds, two weeks of my public humiliation was nothing compared to years of a drawn-out lawsuit. I thanked Vincent and hung up. Damn.

Like it or not, I, Paris Bombay, was the new Bachelor.

And apparently, the death of their producer wasn't going to stand in their way of making me go through it. Why was that? And why wasn't it on the news yet? And what about Luther Coswald—the dead waiter? And was there really, in Hollywood, two Ted Rock…whatevers?

My head was buzzing
, and I wanted a drink. Briefly, I toyed with the idea that when the car showed up for me, I could be wasted and obnoxious. Maybe if I was a total ass, they'd fire me?

The idea had merit.
I bet I could get myself fired within a day. Scooping up the packet from the bed, I turned the news back on and sat at the table with the paperwork. Eventually, they'd have to tell us Plimpton was dead. Right?

Let
's see, favorite food…I turned my Mont Blanc pen in my fingers. My guess was they wanted to plan the menus at the house and make the reservations at restaurants for the "dates." I'd have to pick something difficult for them to get. Ah, how about Mongolian goat meat—must be flown in daily? My needs also included a very specific diet regimen of pureed tulips, Swiss cheese without the holes, and seafood only found off the shores of North Korea. I indicated that I was deathly allergic to all alcohol except that which came from a still in the foothills of West Virginia.

I must have a private yoga master from
India living in the house—and he must only be able to speak Hindi. By the time I was done with the list of personal preferences, I'd insisted that all dates be at county fairs in Iowa and that the TV had to be on in the background constantly showing episodes of
F-Troop
. Let's see them have fun with this one! I sent the packet via messenger back to the director and made my way to the revolving restaurant at the top of the hotel for lunch.