Romancing Miss Right (4 page)

“My dad was a teacher before he retired.”

He didn’t react like he’d heard her, but she
wrote it off as nerves as he segued into the next portion of his
gimmick. “My students actually, well, they made something for you.”
He turned toward the mailbox prop and opened it to reveal a bulging
envelope. “It’s a petition. And the, uh, hand-kissing thing was
their idea too. I promised them I’d do it.”

Marcy could practically hear the sound of two
million American women swooning in front of their television sets
when this aired. She tugged out the envelope. “Should I open it
now?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Daniel shifted
nervously from foot to foot.

It wasn’t sealed, just folded over, so it
only took her a moment to pull out the stack of loose-leaf paper
with the large, careful writing of eight-year-olds scrawled across
the top.
Petition for Miss Right to Give Mr. P a
Kiss
Chance.
Chance was the only
word written in adult handwriting.

“Mr. P?”

“Pierzynski. It’s Polish. None of them can
spell it. They asked for help from the sixth graders on the
playground to spell petition.”

“I see something has been crossed out
here.”

He shrugged. “They were lobbying for a kiss,
but what I really want is a chance to get to know you.”

And the collective ovaries of America just
exploded.

Marcy wanted her knees to go weak. She urged
her heart to race. This man was exactly what she’d said she wanted.
Handsome. Wholesome Midwestern values. Even a teacher, like her
dad. So why couldn’t she let go of her cynical side? Why did his
Petition of Ridiculous Cuteness feel exactly like being lassoed by
a cowboy in a tuxedo? Just another cheap stunt.

But America would love him, and Marcy knew
how to play to an audience.

“I can’t disappoint the youth of
America.”

She caught him by his crooked tie and tugged
him forward, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek, just off
the corner of his mouth—let the producers edit that how they
would.

When she leaned back he was blushing.
Actually blushing. She really ought to find that adorable.

“We’ll talk about the chance inside.”

“I look forward to it.”

Chapter Four

Craig leaned against the edge of the Jacuzzi
and watched Miss Right lean in and plant one on the White Bread
Beefcake. His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected Captain America
over there to be legitimate competition.

The Suitors weren’t supposed to be able to
see one another or catch a glimpse of Miss Right before the first
meet, but whoever had set up these two had been more concerned
about camera lines-of-sight than about his. If he leaned back and
angled his head just right, he had a clear view.

He’d watched Tall, Blond and Innocent
directing the placement of the mailbox prop and figured him for one
of the gimmick guys who wouldn’t last past the first night.

Craig had studied the show. He’d seen the
first impression gimmicks—and knew they backfired just as often as
they paid off. He didn’t have one—he wanted her to remember
him
, not the stupid tricks he played to try to be
memorable—but now he was wondering if that strategy was
short-sighted. Captain America had handed Miss Right an envelope
and gotten a kiss. Maybe she ate cheesy gimmick shit up.

Too late to change his game plan now.

Something fluttered in his stomach. Those
familiar pre-show nerves. Audition jitters. And this was an
audition.
Now reading for the role of the love of your life,
Craig Corrow.

From the terrace above, he could just make
out the sound of the other Suitors talking basketball and getting a
jump on their bromances. They didn’t have the angle to see where
the woman they were already calling “our girl”—the plural of which
was slightly disturbing—was already giving some sugar to Captain
America.

Craig watched as Miss Right pulled away, said
her goodbyes and walked out of the pool of light surrounding the
blond. She handed the envelope to a nearby production assistant and
nodded at something the producers said before a pillar blocked his
view.

The crew manning his set up had been lazing
around, but they all came to attention together and Craig knew what
was coming before a producer appeared out of the shadows and raised
a hand in a
places please
gesture.

“Okay, Craig. You’re up.”

Craig straightened to his full height and
smoothed his suit jacket down, collecting himself. He’d considered
going for leather, but decided on a more subtle route. He was glad
he had now. The suit was light enough not to be suffocating in the
warm humidity of the California night. A leather jacket—though
badass—would have drenched him in sweat. And while he was the bad
boy, he didn’t want to overdo that image. This was not just the
moment when he would meet Marcy, but also the moment when America
would see him for the first time. His future audience.

The hair at the back of his neck prickled and
he rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles there.

Showtime.

Marcy made quite the picture when she stepped
into the perfectly lit area around the Jacuzzi, her full-length
evening gown sparkling like starry sky. Brown curls tumbled over
her shoulders and her ready-for-camera smile gleamed.

His mother might be disappointed it was her,
but there had been something about the petite brunette when he’d
watched the previous season for research and he had to admit he
wasn’t disappointed for a second. She wasn’t as overtly hot as
Katya had been, but he had a feeling there was a layer of lava
underneath her composed exterior and he was looking forward to
tapping into it.

He’d gotten the Jacuzzi location after joking
with the producers that he could talk her into skinny-dipping on
night one and looking at her, it was definitely tempting to try.
But he had a bigger agenda.

Craig shot her his best bad boy grin and
began his campaign to be unforgettable to America. “So I’m curious.
What did Captain America do to score a kiss?” He was close enough
to see the slight flush that rose to her cheeks. “I’m guessing it
wasn’t some cheesy
I’ve been waiting for this moment for my
whole life
bullshit. You’re too smart for that.”

Her eyes darkened, but her ready-for-camera
smile didn’t falter. He had to respect that. “Thank you. I
think.”

“You’re welcome. So what was it? His ailing
grandma watches the show and sent you a sappy letter of
recommendation, begging for a kiss for her little prince?” Those
grass green eyes narrowed—he wasn’t far off the mark. Craig didn’t
quite manage to bite back his triumphant smile. “I’m close, aren’t
I?”

“Why don’t you worry about your own first
impression?”

A warning flashed in her eyes and Craig’s
smile died a quick and bitter death.
Shit
. Thirty seconds in
and he’d already violated Rule Number One of winning these damn
shows: Don’t trash talk the competition. In fact, the best strategy
was usually to pretend the competition didn’t even exist—and here
he was making his first impression all about another guy.
Real
smooth, jackass.

He needed to make up ground fast if he wasn’t
going to be one of the losers going home tonight. Leaving now would
be worse than not coming on the show at all. He’d figured he needed
to make it to at least the final six to get the exposure to really
launch his career.

Time to turn on the charm. He smiled
apologetically. “Sorry. I’m just not used to seeing a girl I’m
about to go on a blind date with kiss someone else right in front
of me. It threw me for a second, but give me a second chance and I
guarantee you won’t regret it. I’m Craig Corrow, K-Rock in San
Diego’s Favorite Bad Influence. At your service.”

“A shock jock, huh? I should have guessed.
I’m Marcy.”

“I know. And can I just tell you how very
glad I am that it’s you?” He let his eyes roam down over the
delectable curves showcased by the evening gown. “You look
exquisite. Though my mom will be disappointed. She was hoping for
Natalie.”

Marcy’s eyebrows flew up, eyes widening. “Is
that your line? Telling me your mother won’t approve?”

“Just a fact. Sorry, I don’t have a line for
you. No gimmicks planned out to make me stand out in your mind. I’m
not gonna be the guy who jumps through hoops—literal or
otherwise—but I think we can skip the formalities, don’t you? We
both know you’re going to ask me to stay.”

His words startled a laugh out of her—she may
be appalled by him, but he already had her laughing. “Do we? You’re
awfully sure of yourself.”

He shrugged. “I’m hot.”

Another short startled laugh popped out of
her mouth. “And modest too.”

“Sweetheart, there isn’t a guy here who
doesn’t think he’s hot shit. The ones who are playing at being
modest are just the biggest liars.”

“So this is supposed to be what? A refreshing
display of honesty?” She crossed her arms and cocked her head to
one side, rocking back on her heels. Her posture was deliberately
casual, but her eyes were intent and
very
interested. Much
more interested than she was probably willing to admit.

Just try to resist me, sweetheart.
“I’ve never had to lie to get a girl.”

“Are you saying I’m not worth lying for?”
Challenge sparkled in her eyes.

Well, I’ll be damned. Miss Right wants to
play
. He felt himself smiling. She was quicker than he’d
expected. “Lying for, maybe. But lying to? You’re too good for
that.”

“Smooth.” She shook her head ruefully, eyes
gleaming.

Then her gaze flicked to something over his
shoulder and he glanced back, catching sight of the producer waving
a hand in a
wrap it up
gesture. He abruptly realized he’d
been standing there flirting with her for far longer than his
allotted sixty seconds.

“Time’s up,” she said, and he detected a note
of reluctance that gave him hope. “Any last words? Unique skills
you’d like to awe me with before I send you home?”

“Like I said, we both know I’m not going home
tonight. As for my skills… there are only three things I’m good at:
looking pretty and talking fast. Looking pretty gets me the girl
and talking fast keeps her smiling after I’m gone.”

“Charming. But that’s only two things.”

He just smiled until Marcy rolled her
eyes.

“That’s an old joke,” she complained.

“Old as Adam.”

“Juvenile, too.” She arched a brow in
challenge. “I expected better from a fast-talker.”

“Find me later. I’ll show you better.”

“We’ll see.” She tried to fight it, but there
was a smile trying to break through the stern set of her mouth.

Craig watched her walk away, a smug smile
spreading across his face. He wasn’t going home any time soon.

#

Marcy resisted the urge to look back over her
shoulder at Craig Corrow as the producers ushered her to the next
set up. She had a feeling she knew what she’d see if she looked.
Cocky smile. Lazing against the edge of the Jacuzzi like he hadn’t
a care in the world.

She was pretty certain he was an unredeemable
asshole underneath all that bluster and confidence, but she
couldn’t help but realize that for the first time all night she was
fighting a smile rather than forcing one.

There was something about him. His tall frame
was covered in a dark suit with a charcoal grey shirt underneath,
open at the collar with no tie—perfectly acceptable attire for the
first night, but the way he wore it, he exuded bad boy vibes. His
jet black hair was intentionally messy—making her fingers itch to
fix it… or mess it up some more. Black eyes glittered wickedly and
his skin was a bit too dark to be strictly Caucasian, but she
couldn’t pin down the ethnicity that had given him that bronze
glow. All in all, he was one fine package of masculinity.

And he knew it.

Marcy knew she shouldn’t be intrigued by him.
She could already tell he would be all about games and power
plays—which would make the show more interesting but could make her
life hell for the next eight weeks. Still, she couldn’t help but
wonder what he would come up with if she sought him out later. A
moth to the freaking flame.

What was it about the bad boys?

She ducked into the sitting room at the
producer’s direction to meet the next prime piece of manflesh. He
whipped a giant papier-mâché bouquet from behind his back and she
slapped on a smile as he launched into a series of magic tricks.
She tried to pay attention to him, tried to engage, but her
thoughts drifted back to Craig. Was he stirring up trouble on the
terrace?

On a lark, Marcy had gone speed-dating with
Dinah once in Columbus. It had felt a lot like this. An endless
series of awkward, forced conversations—and the few moments when
there was an actual spark of chemistry, it was whisked away before
it had time to fan into a flame.

Once she went inside it would be a different
matter. The guys would face the First Night Challenge which tended
to become a free-for-all of epic proportions. And after that was
the pre-Elimination cocktail party where anything could happen—and
with guys like Craig stirring things up, anything might.

Marcy smiled. It was going to be quite a
season.

Chapter Five

“To Marcy!”

Craig echoed the toast and saluted with his
glass, taking a moderate sip of beer—the last thing he wanted was
to be the guy at the cocktail party who was falling on his ass
drunk. He’d leave that to his two companions.

Stefan and Aidan threw back their shots with
gusto and a helpful PA refilled their glasses in preparation for
another toast to their absent hostess. Marcy was with the
producers, watching the secret camera footage and reviewing their
responses to the First Night Challenge. Since she was a romance
writer, they’d all been asked to write—in one sentence or less—what
their love story with Marcy would be.