Finding Mr. Right Now Read online

  “Now we’ll go back to the applications and the interviews that we did when we first called for contestants and see if we overlooked someone,” she said brightly. “I’m sure we’ll find somebody interesting, Ronnie. No problem. We had lots of applications.” Of course, many of those applications came from guys who seemed to spend a lot of time pumping iron and popping steroids, but surely they had a few who weren’t totally bonkers.

  Monica glanced back toward the other side of the room. Sid was standing in the doorway. He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

  Crap. “You just concentrate on your magazine interviews today,” she continued, pushing her lips into an even more insincere smile. “We’ll take care of everything. It’ll all work out just fine.”

  Fortunately, one of the public relations people arrived at that moment to lead Ronnie back to her next interview, bringing the conversation to an end. Monica headed for Sid with a sinking heart. “So?”

  “So nothing. Chuck Forrester is trying out for Survivor, which means he’s not interested in us anymore. The other two who were acceptable are both ‘unavailable,’ meaning they probably had some major second thoughts, not that any of us blame them. Plus they may have had other offers by now. All the other guys were like Foley. Remember Foley?”

  Monica rubbed her eyes again. “Oh yeah, I remember Foley. The muscles and the ’roid rage. So not what we’re looking for. What about the applications? Anybody we didn’t pull in?”

  Sid shook his head. “We brought in everybody who was even minimally acceptable. Some of the other applicants had trouble spelling their own names.”

  “We won’t be asking them to take a written exam,” she snapped, then shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. Not your fault. Who knew it would be so damned hard to find someone to take Ronnie off our hands?”

  Sid shrugged. “Her parents, probably. My guess is they’ve probably been looking for a guy to do that for years.”

  Monica fought back a grin. This was no laughing matter. “Maybe we can go with nine bachelors rather than ten.”

  Glenn Donovan, the producer/director, peeked around the door, raising his eyebrows. “Did you tell her?”

  Monica sighed. “Yes, Mr. Donovan, sir, I told her. She’s not happy.”

  He glanced toward the hall where Ronnie had just disappeared. “Tears and sobbing unhappy or snarling unhappy?”

  “More like snarling.”

  Glenn’s expression relaxed. “So offer her a new outfit or something. Buy her some shoes. No problem.”

  Monica closed her eyes for a moment. Glenn wasn’t exactly a monument to sensitivity. “We’ve also got problems finding a replacement. All the acceptable guys who were left have moved on to other stuff.”

  He shrugged. “Put out another call.”

  “Yes Glenn, we can do that.” She took a quick breath. “Of course, if we put out another call, the news might make it into the tabloids. People might wonder what’s wrong with Ronnie that she can’t attract ten guys.”

  “Well, deal with it,” he snapped. “We start shooting in another week. Get somebody on board.” Along with his shaky sensitivity, Glenn also had definite problems with patience.

  “Mr. Donovan?”

  Monica half turned to see one of the writers standing in the hall. She sort of knew him in the way she sort of knew most of the people on the crew. His dark brown hair was a little long by corporate standards, brushing the tops of his ears. His eyes were the color of melted chocolate. He always looked very…yummy. Yummy? Good grief, Monica, get a grip.

  Glenn glanced at him. “Where’s Harriet? I told her to meet me here.”

  The writer shrugged. “She sent me over. I’m supposed to get started on figuring out the stunts. Can somebody fill me in on the locations?”

  Glenn checked his Rolex. “Talk to Monica. She’ll take care of it.”

  Monica blinked. “Me? What about the, you know, crisis?”

  “What about it? Sid can take care of that. You talk to what’s his name here.”

  The writer looked like he was gritting his teeth. “Paul Dewitt.”

  Paul. Right. She should have remembered. Now at least she wouldn’t have to call him Mr. Yummy. “Okay, hang on. I’ll get you the promotional stuff the resort sent us.”

  The writer, Paul, walked beside her as she headed for her cubicle. His shoulders seemed a little broad for a writer. She wondered vaguely if he worked out—beneath the fine knit of his sweater, she could see the outline of what looked like well-developed pecs. What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like a sex-crazed teenager.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What crisis?”

  She grimaced. “We’re down by a bachelor. One of them took off without notice. Now we have to come up with a replacement.”

  “That’s a crisis?”

  “Sure it is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because these guys all seem sort of interchangeable. I mean you could just pick another one off the rack. Like the bachelorettes.”

  Monica’s jaw tightened. She hated it when somebody dissed the show. Maybe especially when it was true since she hated to admit that. “You know they’re not interchangeable. You write the stunts.”

  He shrugged. “Well, the stunts are always pretty generic. We usually don’t write for anyone in particular since they might be gone in a couple of weeks. I mean, other than the lead and one or two bachelorettes who look interesting.”

  Her jaw stayed tight. Yummy is as yummy does. She grabbed a file folder from her desktop, handing it to him. “This is the information we’ve got on the resort. We’ll start off here in town as usual and then move there for the episodes when we get down to the final five or six bachelors.”

  Paul’s forehead furrowed as he looked at the glossy brochure cover. “Where is it?”

  “The resort? Colorado. A place called Elkhorn Run.”

  His eyebrows went up again. “Colorado?”

  “Yeah, it’s a ski resort. Except they’re trying to attract more tourists in the summer.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’m from Colorado. I grew up northwest of Denver.”

  “Oh.” She tried to think of some comment she could make about that. Maybe that explained the muscles she could see under the sweater. Maybe he spent a lot of time outdoors. “Well, so you’ll have a head start, I guess.”

  Fail! Geez could she be any more lame? No wonder she had no social life anymore. Of course she didn’t exactly have a life, period.

  The corners of his mouth quirked up into a slow smile, adding several degrees of hotness. “I guess.”

  Monica managed not to snarl at him. It wasn’t his fault she was having the Day From Hell, or that something about his smile seemed to have fried a few of her synapses. “That’s all I’ve got for now.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll go check these over. See if there’s anything obvious I can come up with.”

  “You do that,” she murmured, following him back toward the break room.

  “Monica?” Ronnie trilled from the other end of the hall.

  Paul took one look and ducked in the nearest door.

  Monica closed her eyes for a moment. Patience. “Hi Ronnie, what’s up? How was the interview?”

  Ronnie wobbled up the hall toward her on her platform sandals. “I haven’t done it yet. The reporter’s late. Did you find anyone?”

  Given that it had only been a few minutes since their last conversation, that seemed like a sort of ridiculous question. On the other hand, this was Ronnie. “No, sweetheart. We haven’t had time.”

  “Oh.” Ronnie chewed on her lip for a moment. “Well, I mean, we’re supposed to start next week, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be getting somebody set up by now?”

  Right. Maybe they should just head for Bachelors R Us. “We’re working on it, Ronnie. Really.”

  Ronnie glanced back up the hall again. “What about him?”

  Monica stared at her. “Who?”

  “You know. Him
. He’s kind of good looking.”

  Monica turned to follow her look. Paul the Writer was standing in the doorway of the break room talking to Sid. She took a quick breath. He did look good. Very, very good.

  “Oh…that’s one of the writers.” She shook her head. “He couldn’t be a bachelor on the show too.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he has to write the show.” Monica slowed her words down a bit. Maybe Ronnie just needed time to assimilate everything.

  “But we’ve got other writers, don’t we?” Ronnie was getting that baby seal look again. “I mean how many writers do we need? Couldn’t we spare one?”

  “We’re doing two shows now, Miss Right and Mr. Right,” Monica hedged. “That’s more work. This wouldn’t be a good time to take one of the writers away from his job.”

  Ronnie’s lower lip began to tremble. “But it’s really important to find somebody, isn’t it? I mean I have to have another guy. I can’t just go with nine.”

  Monica nodded. “We do. Of course, we do. And we’ll find one. I promise we will.”

  Ronnie’s trembling lower lip began to slide back into a pout. Then suddenly she focused on something over Monica’s shoulder. She waved frantically. “Hi, Mr. Fairstein, could I talk to you a minute?”

  Monica closed her eyes. Crap, crap, crap.

  Artie Fairstein stepped beside Ronnie, giving her one of those smiles that demonstrated what a really good dentist he used. “Hi there, sweetheart. How’s my Miss Right today?”

  To Monica, he sounded like he was using a line he’d perfected several years ago, but that might have been because he was studying something on the other side of the room while he talked. By now, she’d gotten used to the fact that Artie never looked directly at you when he spoke. One of the perks of owning the production company—you didn’t need to talk to the serfs who labored in your salt mine.

  Ronnie didn’t seem to notice. “Mr. Fairstein, about the missing guy…”

  “Missing guy?” Artie’s forehead furrowed slightly as he turned toward Monica. “What missing guy?”

  She took a breath. “Glenn was going to tell you…”

  “What missing guy?” Artie’s eyes were suddenly sharp. For once he was paying complete attention.

  “One of the bachelors for Finding Mr. Right has gone back home. We’re working on finding a replacement now.”

  Artie frowned. “Gone back home? How could he go back home without clearing it with us? Didn’t we have a contract?”

  “He hadn’t signed it yet.” Monica’s mouth ached from keeping a faint smile in place.

  “What are you doing about finding a replacement?”

  “We’re going back over the other applicants to see if any of them—”

  “Why not him? He’d be okay.” Ronnie pointed at Paul again.

  Paul glanced her way, looking slightly puzzled. Monica tried to ramp up her smile, but it wasn’t happening.

  “Who’s that?” Artie was still frowning.

  “That’s Paul, one of the writers.”

  Artie’s black eyebrows arched toward his receding hairline. “Have you asked him?”

  “Well, no,” she said, a little desperately. “I mean, he’s a writer on the show.”

  Artie shrugged. “Right now we need a bachelor more than a writer. Is he a bachelor?”

  “I don’t know, Artie,” Monica said through gritted teeth. “I’ve never talked to him.”

  “Well, talk now.” Artie nodded toward the small knot of people surrounding Paul. “She’s right. He’d work. And he’s here. Go.”

  “Yes sir,” Monica muttered. She didn’t bother smiling at Ronnie again. This was totally not a smiling situation.

  Paul watched the associate producer heading his way again. Long shapely legs, with a sweet curve at the calf. Honey brown hair, brown eyes that looked like they had flecks of gold. He wondered what she’d look like in something other than that dark power suit, maybe something like that outfit Ronnie had on, or possibly something with a lot less coverage in vital areas. She was way too hot for Fairstein, but that was typical in a business where you had a hundred applicants for any job. Of course, right now she looked like she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.

  “Monica,” the assistant director called, “what’s up?”

  Paul pushed his expression to bland. Whatever she had to say probably came from Artie Fairstein. In his experience, ideas that Fairstein came up with were rarely good.

  “Hi Sid. And…Paul, isn’t it?” She gave him a very polite smile. It looked about as real as his own bland expression.

  He nodded. “Paul Dewitt.”

  “Of course, we just met a minute ago, didn’t we?” She gave a breathy chuckle that sounded like it came off a sound effects tape.

  Whoa. Something is seriously not right.

  “I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute, Paul. Maybe in my office?” She was still smiling that totally artificial smile, and Paul’s internal alarm bells were clanging at full volume.

  “What the hell, Monica?” The assistant director, Sid, looked at her as if she’d just dropped in from planet Xyphon. “What’s going on?”

  McKellar’s smile disappeared, and she ran a hand through her hair. The color reminded him of something, but he couldn’t think what at the moment, mainly because he was too concerned about the possibility he was being fired. He licked his lips. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Artie.” She sighed. “And Ronnie. Look, it would really be better if we didn’t have this conversation in the middle of the hall.”

  “Why don’t we use Glenn’s office?” Sid nodded at a nearby door. “At least it’s closer than your cubie.”

  Paul followed the two of them into Glenn Donovan’s office. He sank into a metal and leatherette chair at the side. “What’s going on?”

  McKellar pushed her hair out of her face again. Butterscotch. Her hair was the color of butterscotch. It made her skin look like cream, very lickable. Lickable? Jesus.

  She took a breath. “Okay, I told you we were missing a bachelor, right? One of them took off for Ohio yesterday.”

  Paul nodded. “Right. But you said you were going to find somebody else.”

  “Yes.” McKellar grimaced. “Well, Ronnie had an idea. And apparently Artie thinks it’s a good idea.”

  Sid narrowed his eyes. “Artie likes something Ronnie came up with? That’s like one of the signs of the Apocalypse.”

  “Be that as it may.” McKellar sounded like she was gritting her teeth. “They both think Paul here would be a good substitute for Bachelor Number Ten.”

  Paul stared at her blankly. “Me? One of the bachelors? But I’m supposed to write the damn thing.”

  “Right, well, we’d be down a writer for this show. They’d have to transfer somebody over from Finding Miss Right or one of the other shows. But look at the bright side—it would give you some really good insights into what the bachelors and bachelorettes go through when they’re doing the challenges. It might help you with the writing.” She gave him a very bright smile that didn’t go any further than her lips.

  His stomach felt as if he’d swallowed a dozen ice cubes. “And if I say no?”

  McKellar pushed her hair back again. “Look, I don’t know what would happen if you didn’t take the gig, but knowing Artie it wouldn’t be good.”

  Sid nodded. “If you don’t do it, I think you could probably kiss off your chances of getting another contract with Fairstein. But look at it this way—if you do go through with it, Artie will owe you, big time. That could be a good thing.”

  Paul tried to pull his tumbling thoughts back into some kind of order. “But the thing is, I don’t even like Ronnie Valero.”

  One of McKellar’s butterscotch eyebrows arched up. “You don’t think the other bachelors are interested in a real, long-term relationship, do you? I mean, you’ve been with Finding Miss Right for a while.”

  His jaw tightened. “No, of cou
rse not. But—”

  “The bachelors and bachelorettes are all in it for something other than a great romance. A lot of them want the screen time. Some of them want the money. Some just want a paid vacation. You’d be in it to keep your job. It’s not that different—maybe even a little more honest. Everybody in the production crew would be on your side.” Those pink lips edged up into another faint smile.

  Paul’s stomach twisted again. “But I…”

  McKellar gave a little huff of exasperation. “Look, let’s be blunt here. You’d be Meat. That’s all. One of those people who fill out the list. After a couple of weeks, you’d probably be gone, particularly if you didn’t want to stick around. If you don’t come across as interested, Ronnie will probably reject you. Then you could go back to working on Finding Miss Right. No harm, no foul.”

  Paul’s chest clenched tight. Meat. Well, at least she was up front about it, which was more than they probably were with the other guys. Still, the thought gave his ego a solid kick. “I see.”

  “Right.” Sid nodded encouragingly. “Probably wouldn’t take more than a month of your time, tops. And you could get a trip to Colorado out of it, assuming you get through the L.A. challenges.”

  Colorado. Paul’s gut twisted again. His folks would find out. His hyper-romantic mother would probably see the show and start planning for a wedding. Hell. “Seems like I don’t have much of a choice here.”

  McKellar leaned back against the side of the desk, extending one shapely leg. “It won’t be that bad. And like Sid said, Artie will owe you. He’s pretty good about paying his debts too. You’d probably have a chance for a long-term commitment from the production company.”

  Paul considered his possible options, all of them lousy. He rubbed his eyes, then sighed. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Bachelor Number Ten.” Sid gave him a relieved grin. “Welcome aboard.”

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, Monica had broken the news to Harriet Korngold that she’d be down one writer and given her the information on the resort. Monica still had to work out the schedule and logistics for moving the production to Colorado.