Finding Mr. Right Now Read online

  Obviously, it was time to put Sid on Ronnie duty. There was no way she was getting stuck taking care of the bachelorette’s needs full time. In fact, right now she was so annoyed with Ronnie that she didn’t even want to talk to her. It was bad enough that she’d grabbed one of the writers to be her tenth bachelor, but then to go over Monica’s head directly to Artie was just tacky. She had no idea who they’d use to write Finding Mr. Right, but she had a feeling whoever it was wouldn’t be as good as Paul Dewitt.

  However, given the way her luck was going, it didn’t surprise her when she heard Ronnie’s voice from somewhere up ahead. Briefly, she considered heading back the other way, but who knew what other train wrecks might be hiding elsewhere around the building? At least the voice didn’t sound like Tearful Ronnie or Petulant Ronnie or Sulking Ronnie. In fact, it sounded more like Ronnie the Last Romantic.

  Monica took a deep breath and stepped into what passed for a reception area in the office wing. Ronnie was sitting in one of the leatherette chairs that made the place look a little like a doctor’s office. The woman across from her had a pen and notebook in her hand and a digital recorder on the coffee table in front of her. Another woman sat at the other side of the room, checking her phone, probably the Fairstein publicist.

  Monica wondered just how many more interviews Ronnie had to do today at almost the same time she wondered who was going to be stuck taking her back to her hotel. She had a feeling she already knew the answer to that last question.

  “It’s just a dream come true.” Ronnie’s face was shining with excitement. “I mean after Finding Miss Right, I thought I’d never have another chance like that. But here I am.”

  She gave that wide grin that had made the audience fall in love with her. If she’d been an actress who could smile like that on command, she’d have made a mint by now. But she wasn’t acting.

  Monica managed not to sigh. When she’d told Paul that nobody on the shows was looking for their true love, she hadn’t been thinking about Ronnie. She was pretty sure Ronnie really was looking for Mr. Right. And she really believed she could find him in front of several million people. Even after her experiences on Finding Miss Right, Ronnie was still the same hopeless romantic she’d always been.

  The reporter didn’t look like a hopeless romantic herself. In fact, she didn’t look like the kind of writer who usually got stuck interviewing people from basic cable reality shows. Her hair hung around her face in a perfect cut, like a dark curtain. The dress was designer, and Monica recognized her bag, a two-thousand-dollar Bottega Veneta. Terrific. This particular article would probably be a hatchet job.

  The reporter gave Ronnie a sly look. “I’d have thought after your experiences on Finding Miss Right, you wouldn’t have wanted to risk doing this again in front of everybody.”

  Ronnie’s forehead furrowed. “Doing what?”

  “Looking for a boyfriend on television.” The writer smiled, her bright red lipstick making her look a little like a hungry vampire. “Didn’t Finding Miss Right give you some doubts about how well that worked?”

  Ronnie stared at her, her expression suddenly wary. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  The writer was smirking now. “But you were rejected by your Mr. Right. In front of several thousand people. That’s got to hurt. And now you’re doing it all over again. Aren’t you worried about what might happen?”

  Ronnie’s eyes widened. Any minute now her lower lip would begin to tremble. Monica glanced across the room. The girl she assumed was the publicist was staring out the window, paying no attention to the conversation.

  Monica cleared her throat. “It will be a completely different show this time around. Ronnie will have lots more opportunities to get to know the bachelors, and they’ll go on some wonderful dates. I’m sure everybody will be rooting for her. Just like they were at the end of Finding Miss Right. She got more fan mail than any bachelorette in the show’s history.”

  She gave the publicist a flat look. That’s how you’re supposed to handle this bitch.

  “Who are you?” The writer arched an eyebrow in her direction.

  “Monica McKellar. I’m the associate producer of Finding Mr. Right.”

  The writer rolled her eyes and glanced back down at her notes.

  Ronnie gave her another one of those dimpling smiles. All was right with the world again, apparently.

  “I think it’s time we wrapped things up. Are there any other questions?” The publicist sounded faintly bored, but the writer took the hint.

  “No, I’ve got enough here. I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

  “You do that.” Ms. PR checked her watch, glancing at Ronnie. “Did you want to take a bathroom break?”

  Ronnie’s brow furrowed, as if she really had to think about that one. “Sure. I guess.”

  Monica watched Ronnie totter away as the publicist walked the reporter to the door. The publicist turned back once the writer was safely gone, her eyes flashing. “What the hell did you think you were doing, cutting in like that? You’re not the publicist here.”

  Monica narrowed her eyes. “Apparently, neither are you. Aren’t you supposed to protect Ronnie from that kind of crap?”

  She shrugged. “She’s a big girl. She should be able to take care of herself.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s your job to look after her, and you weren’t doing it.”

  “Where the fuck do you get off, telling me what my job is?” The publicist was so angry she actually got her Botoxed forehead to move. “That was Cathe Marx. She’s the associate editor at Celebrity News. This could be a big break for Ronnie and the show.”

  “If she’s from Celebrity News, she’ll probably sneer at Ronnie and everybody else associated with the show, including you and me. You should have deflected that question. It made Ronnie look pathetic.” Monica had almost said more pathetic, but fortunately she’d been able to stop herself in time.

  The blonde shrugged again. “She’s going to get that question a lot. She needs to answer it.”

  “Then you need to work with her so that she knows how to answer it.”

  The blonde grimaced. “She knows. She just forgets. You try working with her.”

  “I have. And I will. So should you. It’s your job.”

  The blonde huffed out a quick breath, then flounced out the door after the disappearing writer, Cathe Marx.

  Monica sank down on the couch where Marx had been sitting, massaging her pounding forehead. Maybe with luck she’d be able to go home in another couple of hours.

  “Monica?” Ronnie hovered in the doorway, smoothing down her turquoise top. “Where’s Dawn?”

  Monica blew out a breath. “Is Dawn the publicist? I’m not sure where she is. She stepped out. Do you have any more interviews today?”

  Ronnie shook her head. “I think I’m done. Dawn said they’d be through with me after that interview.”

  “I guess you can go on home then.” Monica managed to force her lips into something like a smile. “Let me see about finding somebody to drive you.” She started to push herself to her feet again.

  “Are you mad at me?” Ronnie chewed on her lower lip, her eyes suddenly anxious.

  Monica stared. “Mad at you?”

  “Because…you know, I went to Mr. Fairstein and all. About getting that guy to be a bachelor.” Ronnie’s forehead furrowed.

  Why yes, now that you mention it. Monica sighed. “No, sweetie, I’m not mad. I’m just tired.”

  “Oh good.” Ronnie’s smile was tentative but still sweet. “I don’t want you to be mad, Monica. You’re like my only friend around here. I mean, look how you made that nasty writer stop picking on me.”

  Monica felt a prickling of unease along the back of her neck. Do not make me your BFF. “Thanks, Ronnie, but I’m not your only friend. Everyone around here is on your side.”

  “Dawn isn’t,” she murmured.

  For a moment, Monica thought about agreeing with her, but that wou
ldn’t help anybody. “I’m sure she’s a very good publicist. She’ll do a great job for you.”

  “Maybe.” Ronnie stared down at her toes, reminding Monica of a slightly sulky six-year-old.

  “Let me go find you a driver so you can go back to your hotel and rest,” she said quickly, heading toward the production offices. She really needed to get Sid more involved in Ronnie’s care and feeding.

  She glanced out the window as she walked down the hall toward Sid’s cubicle. Paul Dewitt was headed toward the parking lot. A faint breeze ruffled the dark curls across his forehead. He’d pushed the sleeves of his sweater up, so she could see the slight shadow of hair across his forearms. She’d always been a sucker for forearms. Also hands with long, strong fingers. Like his.

  He looked tired. He also looked yummy. Still.

  Not a good way to start the show, Monica. Not a good way at all.

  The best thing about this thoroughly shitty day, as far as Paul was concerned, was that it was almost over. Harriet had confirmed what he’d already figured out—as long as he was one of Ronnie Valero’s chosen bachelors, he wouldn’t be writing anything for Fairstein, not even Finding Miss Right.

  “So who’s going to be writing Mr. Right?” He’d managed to keep his voice deceptively calm as he said it, although his stomach was already clenched into a couple of knots.

  Harriet sighed. Hell.

  “You can’t give it to Darryl,” Paul pleaded. “Darryl only functions under close supervision. You can’t turn him loose on something like this.”

  She sighed again. “I’ve got no choice. No one else is available, and Darryl’s got experience from Miss Right.”

  “Experience?” Bungee jumping. Custard pie throwing. Hiking through reeking swamps. His mind reeled.

  Harriet gave him a half-hearted smile. “I’ll try to keep track of him, at least until you leave for Colorado. And I’ll give him strict guidelines to follow. How much damage can he do in the wilds of the Rockies, after all?”

  Right. Having grown up near those particular wilds, Paul wasn’t anxious to see what Darryl came up with. He only hoped Darryl didn’t find out about that alligator farm over near Alamosa.

  Now he headed for the parking lot and his car. At least he could grab a couple of In-N-Out burgers on the way home. His cell phone chirped as he stepped outside. He checked the number, mentally groaning. But if he didn’t pick up, Cathe would only call back.

  “Hi Cathe.” He kept his voice studiously neutral.

  “Oh come on, lover. You can do better than that. You don’t sound glad I called.” Cathe always managed to make him feel vaguely guilty about not wanting to talk to her. On the other hand, he was definitely not feeling guilty enough to go out with her again. Ever.

  “Sorry, I’m just tired. Long day. What’s up?”

  “Have any plans for dinner? I’m buying. On the expense account no less.”

  Paul grimaced. No way was he giving up his In-N-Out burger so that he could be grilled instead. “I wouldn’t be good company, Cathe. I’m really beat.”

  Her voice hardened. “I don’t want company, Paul. I want dirt. Need it, actually. My editor’s breathing down my neck.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated this conversation, although he should be used to it by now since Cathe called with the same request every couple of weeks. “What kind of dirt are we talking about?”

  “Who’s got the inside track on Miss Right.” Her voice sounded faintly robotic as she ticked things off. “And why Ethan doesn’t seem to be going after Kayla.”

  “Jesus, Cathe, I don’t keep track of that stuff. I’m not around the contestants on any of the shows enough to tell you what they’re thinking.” And, of course, he’d never really wanted to know.

  “Come on, Paul. You’re the guy who could recite Martin Scorsese’s filmography by heart. I know you’ve got a better memory than that.”

  He rubbed his eyes again. Somehow he always ended up giving Cathe information just to get her to hang up. Yes they’d had a quick affair and yes Cathe had been instrumental in getting him the job with Fairstein, but she seemed to be racking up a hell of a lot of mileage out of what little there’d been between them. Plus, of course, he now suspected she’d gotten him the job so she’d have a handy source of information at Fairstein.

  “Why does Celebrity News want to know anything about basic cable reality shows?” he snapped. “Why aren’t you off trying to hit up somebody at the big guys?”

  “Come on, Paulie.” Cathe’s voice shifted into wheedle mode. “Just a little dirt. I won’t even ask you who Ethan’s going to choose.”

  “Just as well since first of all, I don’t know, and second of all, I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” He did a quick mental survey. Did he know anything that would get her off the phone? “Okay, I can tell you something about Finding Mr. Right.”

  “Mr. Right?” Cathe snorted. “You mean the one with Ronnie the Reject? I already talked to her this afternoon. She’s still as dumb as ever.”

  Paul winced. He might not be all that fond of Ronnie, but he didn’t like the idea of Cathe bullying her. “She’s not that bad.”

  “Whatever you say. So what’s the dirt?”

  Paul took a breath. “We lost a bachelor.” The production company might not be delighted to have that news get out, but it wasn’t like it could stay a secret forever.

  “How do you mean lost? You misplaced him someplace?”

  “No, he skipped. Decided he didn’t want to be on the show after all.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know his name. The personal trainer.”

  “Pres Jackson. Not many opportunities to train the clueless. Was this before or after he met Miss Reject?” Cathe’s voice took on that slightly snide tone she used when she was channeling Celebrity News. It always made Paul feel faintly grubby.

  “Before. He hadn’t come to the studio at all, so far as I know.”

  “Well, it’s not much of a story, then.” She sounded impatient. “If he’d left because he couldn’t stand hooking up with Ronnie, you might have something. They hire anybody else?”

  Paul’s chest clenched tight again. No way was he going to tell Cathe about his new job. “They’re working on it.”

  “Okay, get me a name when you’ve got it,” she snapped.

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not your personal assistant, Cathe. This is all the news I’ve got and all I’m passing on. You need to find another source at Fairstein.”

  “C’mon Paulie.” Cathe went back to wheedling again. “Just keep me in the loop. Say, you want to try out that new club in Venice Beach tomorrow night? I’m on their list.”

  He could think of few things he wanted to do less than spend an evening with Cathe at an over-crowded dance club. In fact, he’d like to peel her off permanently if he could just figure out a way to do it that didn’t leave him feeling like a rat bastard. “Not this week. I’ve got a ton of work.”

  “All right, just remember you’re my prize source, baby. Whatever you’ve got, just pass it along.”

  Paul’s conscience pinched him slightly as he headed on to the parking lot again. He paused, digging his keys out of his pocket. Hearing from Cathe was the capper to an already sucky day. But he might be able to shake himself loose from her clutches if he ended up spending a few weeks in Colorado. In fact, he should probably work on that, the sooner the better. He owed Cathe for his start, but by now he had more important things to do with his life than to serve as Celebrity News’s snitch.

  For a moment an image of Monica McKellar floated through his brain. Butterscotch hair, lips like maraschino cherries, skin like cream. An ice cream sundae kind of a girl. Just right for licking.

  Just right for licking? You’re losing it, Paulie.

  Time to go grab those burgers. Obviously, he needed to eat.

  Chapter Four

  Three weeks after they’d started filming Finding Mr. Right, Monica sat in the Great Hall of
Denver International Airport, waiting for Ronnie to come out of the bathroom. During the three weeks the show had been in production, they’d managed to cram in an insane number of dates for Ronnie and her bachelors, both group and single. Ronnie herself had managed to cut four of the original ten guys since Glenn had decided he didn’t want to pay for more than six bachelors to fly to Colorado. Now everyone had arrived in Denver, ready to be transported to the ski resort and the final rounds of Finding Mr. Right, which would hopefully be a lot calmer. Although Monica wouldn’t have bet serious money on that.

  During the last week her energy level had been running on empty. Every time she thought she was finished, Glenn or Sid had dropped another chore in her lap that had to be done within the next five minutes. That’s what an associate producer does. This is what you wanted. Show biz, Monica, your big break.

  Right.

  Her cell phone chirped and she looked at the screen. Harriet. She’d promised the head writer an update since Harriet had missed seeing the last two shows.

  “Okay,” Harriet said when Monica picked up, “who’s left in the running?”

  Monica pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache was looming. “We’ve got six, but only three seem interesting. First, there’s Billy Joe Mapes, aspiring actor and full-time lizard.”

  “I remember him,” Harriet mused. “He’s the one who looks a little like Colin Farrell after a really rough night, right?”

  “Right. He’s a sleaze, but he’ll make a great villain. Number two is Brendan Delaney, who’s our obvious hero—six two, bright blue eyes, smile that warms you right down to your socks. Plus he’s got a Texas accent. Most women in the audience will love him five minutes after he walks into the room.”

  “So he’s Ronnie’s choice?”

  Monica sighed again. “He could be if he would stop looking at her so worshipfully. Right now he’s just making her nervous. He’s sort of obsessive about her.”

  “Okay, so who’s number three?” Harriet sounded like she was taking notes.