Romancing Miss Right (10 page)

“That was fabulous! You’re amazing at the fun
date stuff. It’s letting loose with the sappy emotional stuff that
seems to be more of a challenge for you.”

“I’m not allowed to tell any of them how I
feel about them,” she protested.

“That’s true, but you can imply more. And if
you’re feeling overwhelmed, just let it fly, you know?”

Let it fly on national television. Her mother
would be appalled. “I’m from the Midwest. We don’t broadcast our
feelings.”

“Yeah, well. You’re not in Ohio anymore,
Dorothy. This is Hollywood. And out here people feel
all
the
feels. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to open up to getting hurt.
If you don’t risk your heart, no one can win it.”

Marcy finally managed to swallow the blockage
in her throat. “I’ll try.”

#

Miranda slipped out of the confessional and
waved Linus and the camera guys back inside to finish up Marcy’s
post-date recap. She didn’t know what Craig had said to her on the
date—she hadn’t seen that footage yet, but it had certainly done a
number on Marcy.

Hopefully she’d managed to patch up the holes
in Marcy’s leaking confidence—or punch more holes in her
walls—hell, who knew? It was late and she was too tired to think of
a decent metaphor. It was a miracle she’d been so coherent with
Miss Right.

She’d been beyond coherent, if she did say so
herself. She’d been so fucking profound she’d amazed herself.

“Miranda.”

Miranda stumbled, nearly dropping her tablet.
“Jesus.” She saved the tablet from death-by-tile-floor but her
heart rate stayed elevated as Bennett seemed to appear out of
nowhere in the hallway in front of her. Or from the kitchen
doorway, to be accurate, but it seemed like thin air to her.

“What are you doing here? How did you get
past security?”

One eyebrow arched toward his salt-and-pepper
hairline. “I’m Bennett Lang. Your minions are terrified I will
destroy their careers if they deny me anything.”

“They should be more worried about me
destroying their careers. Come with me.” She grabbed his sleeve,
towing him quickly through the halls and down the basement stairs
into the crew area of the house where she kept a small room to
crash in. It wasn’t any larger than her first dorm room at USC, but
it served its purpose.

She’d never noticed how small it was until
she was enclosed inside the narrow space with Bennett Lang. She
flung her tablet down on top of the daybed where a blanket was
wadded up from her most recent three hour power nap, in lieu of a
proper night’s sleep.

Bennett frowned at the bed. “I thought you
were speaking metaphorically when you said you moved into the
mansion during filming.”

“What are you doing here, Bennett?”

“I haven’t seen you since before you started
filming. Have you even left this building?”

Irritation spiked. Would he ever stop trying
to
teach
her things and see her as an equal? “This is the
job Bennett. You know that.”

“It was the job when you were supervising
producer. Now you’re EP. You don’t need to be involved in
everything all the time. You’re big picture.”

“The devil is in the details.”

“Which is why you hire people to look over
every detail so nothing gets missed. Those are their jobs. Stop
micromanaging and come have dinner with me.”

She glanced at her watch. Just past midnight.
“It’s too late for dinner.”

“Then just come away with me for a few
minutes and get a break from this place.”

“I don’t want to leave my baby in anyone
else’s hands. I thought you of all people would understand
that.”

Bennett’s jaw worked and he raked a hand
through his hair. “I’m suddenly realizing why both of my wives left
me.”

Miranda folded her arms tight around her
stomach, glaring at him. “You want to break up?”

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “After the
years it took me to get past your defenses, you think I’m going to
give up the ground I’ve gained?”

“You make me sound like a siege.”

“Am I wrong?”

She looked away, studying an irregular spot
in the paint on the wall—like someone had patched the paint with a
color that didn’t quite match.

“You have a strange profession,” Bennett
grumbled. “Pushing everyone else toward happily-ever-afters when
you have an aversion to letting yourself have one.”

“I don’t have an aversion,” she protested,
still fixated on the paint mismatch. “I’m busy.”

“Learn to delegate,” he growled.

Something about his tone of voice hit her
wrong and her gaze swung back to sear him. “Your show is on break
right now. Stop pretending you’d still be here if your show were in
the middle of filming, You’d be just as work-obsessed as I am.”

“I can be like that, you’re right. I
understand what you’re doing, so I can be patient, but this is your
life, Miranda. Do you want to spend it at work? Perfecting other
people’s Happily Ever Afters? Or do you want one of your own?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Because you won’t let me be your partner.
From the second this show started filming, you’ve cut me out. I
could tell the second I walked in today that you’re stressed about
something, but instead of using me, relying on me, and talking to
me, you immediately start a fight about how I got past your
security.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I’m right here!” He raked a hand through his
hair. “I’m offering. I’m not implying you
need
me, because
God forbid I be anything other than a convenient body for you to
use when you’re horny—”

“I didn’t mean that.” She looked to the paint
splash again.

“So prove it. Talk to me. Let me be your
goddamn partner.” He stepped forward, hands reaching to cup her
face and from the second he touched her, her resistance
unraveled.

The tension leaked out of her spine and she
pressed her cheek against his hand.

“One of the Suitors is trying to manipulate
the show. Sabotaging the other guys, getting inside Miss Right’s
head. He’s making me nuts and I need to figure out how to get him
on a leash.”

Bennett’s hands slid from her cheeks down her
throat and around to the back of her neck. He began to gently
knead. “What does he want?”

“Hmm?” she asked, leaning into his hands.

“You need to control every aspect of your
world. What does he need and why? Find that and you have him.”

Miranda felt her eyes growing heavy. Her
brain was thick with exhaustion and the words were slow to
penetrate. What did Craig want?

She frowned, opening her eyes. What
did
Craig want?

“I have to go.”

Bennett groaned. “Miranda…”

“I won’t be long. Stay here if you want. I’ll
come back and thank you for your help.” She went up on her toes and
kissed him, quick and hard, then bent to grab her tablet, already
halfway out the door.

“You’re welcome!” Bennett called after her
and she grinned at his cranky tone.

“I’ll thank you when I get back.”

Striding quickly down the hall, she tapped a
button on the tablet, bringing up the voice message function and
calling up the number of the producer who was running the circus
over at the Suitors’ Mansion tonight.

“Get me a twenty on Craig.”

Chapter Twelve

“Well?” Aidan and Darius
pounced on Craig as soon he opened the front door to the Suitors’
Mansion.

“What did you do?” Aidan asked. “How was
it?”

“Why are you so late getting back?” Darius
demanded.

More of the remaining sixteen guys seemed to
come out of the woodwork, popping out of nearby rooms and hallways
to study him for any trace of how his date with Marcy had gone.

Craig plastered on his cockiest grin for the
benefit of his audience and held out his hands. “Guys, please, a
gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“She wouldn’t have kissed you,” Daniel
declared, arms folded in the kitchen doorway. “I’m surprised she
didn’t see through your bullshit and send you home.”

Craig ignored the second half of that—at the
moment he was a little surprised too, like he was getting away with
something. “You sure she wouldn’t kiss me?” he challenged, still
grinning.

“Fuck,” John from Baltimore groaned, “I
haven’t even held her hand yet.”

“Neither has he,” Daniel insisted. “He’s
messing with us.”

“Am I?” Craig asked. “We’re all dating her.
Dating
. You have to expect anyone who’s been alone with her
has laid one on her at least once.”

“Some of us respect her,” Daniel snapped.

“And some of us think her desire to
test-drive the goods is smart rather than slutty. Or were you
calling Marcy a slut, Danny Boy?”

Daniel unfolded his arms, cracking his
knuckles and the camera men who had been calmly filming the
conversation all came alert with the fight-radar that all men
possessed. They shifted to get better angles, but Darius—the only
one of the remaining Suitors who could probably put Daniel in a
half-Nelson without breaking a sweat—put his big body between
them.

Darius glowered at Craig. “What do you mean
her
desire? Are you saying she initiated it?”

“Guys, you’re just gonna have to wait until
the episode airs. I’m not talking.” Then he shrugged. “But if I
were Marcy, I’d want to sample the merchandise. And I wouldn’t be
keeping around any guys who weren’t displaying an interest in me in
that way. Chemistry is crucial. And initiative is sexy. At least
that’s what I’ve heard.”

He scanned the crowded foyer, easily picking
out the guys who had kissed Marcy already based on who looked smug
rather than nervous. Only about four real threats so far then.
Danny Boy—no surprise, the fucking goodie goodie. Darius—who seemed
most possessive toward Marcy of all the men. Mark L.—now the only
Mark since Mark J. left and a bit of a surprise since he had a sort
of bumbling professor vibe. And James who’d had the other private
date so far—putting proof to Craig’s theory that anyone who had her
alone was getting a little lip action.

Shy Paul, who hadn’t had a date yet, looked
distinctly uneasy, while John from Baltimore looked almost queasy,
but Drunk Aidan looked determined, as did several of the other
guys.

A dry female voice spoke from the open
doorway behind him. “If you’re done stirring up trouble for now,
I’d like a word, Mr. Corrow.”

He turned to find Miranda watching him with
narrowed eyes and tightly pursed lips.

The Suitors hadn’t had much contact with the
executive producer so far, as they were typically wrangled by one
of several teams of segment producers, and he couldn’t imagine
being sought out by her was a good thing at this stage in the
show.

Had Marcy decided he was too much trouble
after all? Was he being sent home?

“My pleasure.” Craig swept a mocking bow,
concealing his nerves behind his usual bullshit, and followed
Miranda out the front door and onto the cobblestone driveway.

He wasn’t sure whether he should feel
comforted or concerned that no camera crews followed them. “What’s
up?”

She turned to face him, holding a tablet
loosely at her waist as she studied him. “What were you doing in
there?”

He looked back over his shoulder at the
house. “With the guys? Just being honest. I’m an honest guy.”

“Especially when you know honesty will piss
people off, I think,” Miranda observed, her sharp eyes assessing
him.

“What can I say? I’m a straight shooter.”

“Somehow I don’t think that phrase means the
same thing to you that it does to most people,” she said dryly.
“But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

This was it. The moment when he learned Marcy
was giving him the boot. Craig felt his muscles tensing, bracing
for the impact of the words.

“What’s your endgame, Craig?”

It took him a moment to recognize the
unexpected words. “What?”

“Don’t be cute. You’re trying to manipulate
my Miss Right and we both know that’s my job. I could make life
very difficult for you, if I chose, but instead I’m asking, what do
you hope to gain from this? We both know you aren’t here to fall in
love with Marcy, so why are you here? What do you want?”

His brain finally caught up with the
conversation. “A job,” he said bluntly. “A big, juicy network
television contract. Or HBO or Comedy Central. I’m not picky. Hell,
I’d even host E! Entertainment Television if that’s where I have to
start.”

By the second sentence, Miranda was slowly
beginning to smile. “You want to be a star.”

“Damn right, I do.”

#

Miranda didn’t realize until she felt the
wave of relief exactly how nervous she’d been about not being able
to control Craig. But Bennett had reminded her of something she’d
long known. Control was all about knowing what people wanted and
knowing how to dangle it in front of them. She had him now.

She’d glanced over Craig’s background
information on the walk over to the Suitor Mansion. He’d grown up
starving poor with a single mother who had provided for him the
best she could through every curveball fate through at them. That
sort of thing marked a person. It all made sense now. Craig would
never feel secure and always want money. It was the fortune as much
as the fame that drove him.

So all she had to do was offer him a golden
ticket.

She could play him along, let him get as far
as was good for the show, and then put a Love or Money choice in
front of him and he’d choose Money, walking away from Marcy and
giving Miranda a gorgeous, juicy television moment that audiences
would be talking about all week. America would hate him, but Craig
didn’t seem bothered by that. He would be notorious. Marcy would be
disappointed, but she wouldn’t invest her emotions enough to
actually have her heart broken. It really was the perfect
solution.