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

"
A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water."

~
Carl Reiner

"
Where did you say this house was?" I asked as I stared out the window of the limo. We'd gone up a winding road in what I assumed was the Hollywood Hills, but I wasn't sure. It really didn't matter, because I didn't want to go to the house, be on the show, or even talk to this kid.

"
Not much farther," squeaked the kid. He was going through my questionnaire. "You know, this might be hard to get…"

I cut him off,
"according to the contract I signed—you have to make me happy." I pointed to the clause where I demanded a mud bath every day. "And that's what will make me happy."

He looked like he wanted to say something more but closed his mouth.
I watched his pronounced Adam's apple bobbing as he read the rest. Besides, why argue with him? He didn't make any decisions.

The car pulled into a long driveway leading to a Spanish mission-style house.
It was huge and very tacky—like the builder wanted to incorporate every single detail he'd ever read about this style. I scowled. I despised bad architecture.

The door opened
, and with a start I realized my driver had been Teri! How had I missed that? I guess I'd been too distracted when I left the hotel. I think I just marched up and climbed in before waiting for the chauffeur.

"
Teri, um, hi," I said while running my hands through my hair.

"
Nice to see you again, Mr. Bombay." Her frown held more than a hint of contempt—and I didn't like it. "Congratulations on making the show."

"
Oh. Thanks." She was pissed. I'd left the audition through the back door of the studio and found my own ride back. She'd probably been waiting a long time for me. I'm such a jerk.

"
Look," I started, "I'm sorry I didn't come back out to the car after my audition."

Teri cut me off,
"It's no problem. I got paid for a round trip whether you were in the car or not."

"
Well, okay then…" Why was I trying so hard? What did I care what she thought of me?

"
Have a nice day," she said as she made her way back to the driver's seat. I struggled to come up with an apology or something, but she drove off before I could say anything.

"
Mr. Bombay?" The kid stood in front of me, trying to guide me toward the house.

I followed him, feeling like a first-class jackass.

The entryway was ridiculously elaborate. Who built this house anyway? I cringed at the overdose of gilt frames and fresh flowers. The coral tile floor clashed with the garish, flowered wallpaper. Knockoff paintings by Grand Masters covered the walls next to brass sconces filled with scented candles. I shuddered.

"
Can I redecorate?" I asked.

The kid did a double-take.
"I don't know. I'd have to ask…"

"
It's just that this place has some potential. And I think I'd commit suicide if I had to spend more than ten minutes in this foyer." That wasn't a lie. It was awful. Stupid Hollywood types. I'd yet to see a house out here that had any elegance or class. The word "garish" was a grotesque understatement.

A thought occurred to me.
"Why don't you ask Mr. Plimpton?" I literally held my breath, waiting for him to say that the producer was dead.

Instead, he shook his head.
"Mr. Plimpton's not available right now." He turned away and started up the stairs.

I sighed and followed him.
So they weren't admitting he was dead yet. Or the word hadn't gotten this far down the chain. Either way, I'd actually have to carry through with this. I didn't really pay attention as Kid showed me around. My heart wasn't in it. Not only did I not want anything to do with this show, I'd pissed off Teri—a woman who might be worth knowing. Now I was sentenced to this absurd excuse for a house.

"
And this is where you will propose to whomever you pick." Kid's words startled me back to reality. We were on a deck overlooking the woods.

"
Wait," I held out my hands. "Did you say 'propose'?"

He nodded, looking a little exasperated with me.
"Yes. Propose. This is The Bachelor. What did you think you were auditioning for?" Apparently, I'd pushed his limits.

His cell rang before I could explode.
"This is Kevin." He listened for a while, then said, "Okay," and hung up. "Mr. Abernathy will be here soon. I'll show you to your room."

My brain was swimming as I followed him.
Propose? I forgot all about that part! I'd gone through this whole process thinking my involvement with this program would be miniscule. But the point of The Bachelor was to find a woman from the batch pre-selected for me and propose to marry her.

This is NOT what I wanted.
I never wanted to meet a woman this way. The only reason I did this was to kill Liv's Vic. I would NEVER do a job for her again.

The door closed
, and I realized I was alone in what appeared to be my bedroom, with my luggage. The room was hideous. Some sort of pseudo-manly theme with wood paneling, sailboats, and equestrian paraphernalia. In moderation, it might have been nice. But every bit of wall space was covered with pristine oars, polo mallets, and saddles. This did not include the framed paintings of horses and boats.

I couldn
't do anything about being on this show, about having to propose to a woman I didn't want to marry, but I could do something about this. Carefully, I took off my jacket and hung it up in the closet. After making sure there were no cameras or hidden mics (We Bombays are nothing if not paranoid.), I moved around the room taking crap off the walls and stashing it in the same closet.

I
'd never redecorated a room in anger before. It seemed to suit me. After an hour, I paused to survey my efforts. The room had a little charm now. I'd left a set of crossed polo mallets and one sailboat model on the walls. Everything else was stashed. I'd removed the ridiculously dark drapes, leaving only the blinds. That added some light to a room darkened by paneling. The whole thing made me feel slightly better, so I unpacked my luggage.

There wasn
't much. I'd only planned to be in town a couple of days at most. I would need more clothes to make it two weeks.

Two weeks.
With a fiancée at the end.

Dak answered on the first ring.
"Where are you?" he asked. "Liv's driving us all nuts trying to get hold of you."

"
I happen to be on the veranda of a huge and ugly mansion. And in two weeks, I have to propose to some bimbo hand-picked by the studio."

There was no comment on the other end.

"I'm on the damned show, Dak. I'm the Bachelor."

Laughter burst from the receiver.
"What? Are you serious? Quit bullshitting me!"

I took a deep breath.
"I'm serious. I'm not happy, but I'm serious." Dak listened quietly as I told the whole story. I didn't come right out and admit to taking out Plimpton. We Bombays have secure lines—maybe the safest in the world. But we never, ever took chances. So we spoke in code.

"
So you took out the garbage, then?" Dak asked. Okay, so it wasn't a great code, but it served our purposes.

"
Yes. And I haven't heard ANYTHING from waste management." More code.

"
Well then, what are you worried about? You're in a Hollywood bach pad with a bevy of beauties! Enjoy it, Man!" Dak said.

"
Except that I have to ask one to marry me when it's over." I was really counting on my anger coming through on that one. "This is NOT the way I wanted to woo a woman."

Dak laughed,
"Would you just listen to yourself? Who says 'woo' anymore?"

"
That is beside the point," I said through clenched teeth. "I don't want to meet a woman this way. What kind of women try out for something like this anyway?"

"
Hey, you can't judge them like that. I'm sure there are a couple nice girls in there," Dak chastised.

My thoughts turned to Cin.
I'd liked her up until she told me about being on this show. Was he right?

"
Besides, these engagements never turn into actual marriages. The couple always breaks up once the cameras are off."

Okay, he had a point.
"It isn't like I have a choice anyway."

"
Dude, you really should read things more carefully," Dak said, knowing he was the only person in the world who could get away with calling me on that. "Just relax and enjoy it. Think of it as a vacation."

We hung up
, and I thought about what he'd said. I may have been legally bound to do the show, but I wasn't necessarily legally bound to go through with a wedding once the cameras were off. I'd definitely have to check the contract again.

"
Mr. Bombay?" a voice asked at the door after a short knock. It sounded like Abernathy, the director.

"
Come in."

A short, intense man with curly, brown hair and a slight limp burst into the room.
He crossed it with his hand out. "Mel Abernathy, Director." Mel shook my hand vigorously before stopping and checking me out.

"
We are happy to have you join us," Mel said as he walked in a circle around me. "You are a handsome man! Yes, very attractive." He seemed pleased with his assessment and motioned for me to sit at a small table near the bed. Abernathy took the other seat.

"
I got your survey, and we are trying to fulfill it to your satisfaction." Mel's eyes actually twinkled. I'd heard of that before but had never seen it. This man loved his job. "We will spend the rest of the day shopping for your clothes, toiletries, whatever you need. And tonight, the girls will arrive."

"
Tonight?" I thought I'd have more time than that.

"
Oh yes. You see, we are on a tight schedule. We usually get a month to shoot, but this time we only have two weeks."

I seized the opportunity.
"Oh, is Mr. Plimpton busy with something else? I was really hoping I could actually meet him…face-to-face."

Mel shook his head.
"He's left the country for a brief trip. You'll have to meet him in a few days." There was no evidence that he thought otherwise. Clearly, no one had told him yet that his boss was dead.

"
I see." I didn't really. How could they keep this quiet?

"
He never really comes to the house for these things until the end, you see." Mel nodded, and I got the distinct impression he was waiting for me to nod too.

"
In the meantime," Mel hit a button on his cell phone and spoke into it. "Send him in, please."

Before I could ask what was happening, the door opened
, and a young man with curly, red hair and dark, brown eyes entered. He smiled at me. I think our Armani suits matched.

"
This is Roberto, and he will be your personal valet for the next two weeks." The director introduced us.

"
My valet?" My interest piqued. I'd always wanted a valet. I rose to shake hands with the man. Roberto walked around me the same way Mel had. I was beginning to feel like a side of beef.

"
Not a lot to work with…" Roberto mused. "He's already almost perfect." He reached up and cupped my chin. "I can do some manscaping, but he's yummy as is."

"
Excuse me?" I didn't need manscaping.

Roberto pulled out his iPhone and dialed.
"I'm calling Omar at Nordstrom's. You're what, a size 46?"

"
How did you know my size?"

"
I'd suck at this if I didn't." He turned away. "Omar, Darling! Here's what I need." Roberto listed off a litany of designers in machine gun style.

"
Mr. Bombay," Mel started.

"
Paris, please." My head was spinning. This was really happening. I heard snippets of Roberto's order and for a second, wondered if they'd let me keep the Bruno Magli loafers he was ordering.

"
Paris," Mel smiled. "The girls arrive this evening. We'd like you to meet them at the door as each one emerges from her limo."

I stopped him.
"Women."

"
What?" Mel looked confused.

"
If I'm doing this, we're doing it right. They aren't girls. They're women. I'm not treating them like trash, and I don't want them showing up in slut-wear. I'd like this season to have a little dignity and elegance."

Mel froze as if I
'd asked him to cut off his own arm and eat it. "But the ratings…Mr. Bombay…"