the letter telling him he was a contestant had arrived and David had left his real name at home to find out the true story of these shows and blare it on the front page of the Lawford Sun. He had little worry about being recognized on camera. The one beauty of his job as a reporter was the visual anonymity. So he’d taken the monumental risk and gone on the show.
He needed to do something, especially after his byline had been attached to that toilet of a story about the mayor’s campaign contributions. His main source had turned out to be a pathological liar who thought he was the long-lost conjoined twin of Michael Jackson. That particular episode had been hard to live down at the paper. In fact, David was pretty damned sure they were still yukking it up at his expense over the Krispy Kremes in the break room.
So he’d taken on another man’s name and filled out the application with enough dating buzzwords to convince the producers he was a lovelorn bachelor.
Albeit, after getting a look at Mattie earlier today, he would have to say this was one of the most attractive assignments he’d ever had. That in and of itself added a complication David hadn’t counted on…but could handle.
With both hands tied behind his back.
“Hey, think she’ll be hot?” One of the other bachelors, Kenny Wilson, said to David, elbowing him. “They always say they’re throwing average girls on these shows, but come on, that doesn’t make for good TV. Who wants to see an ugly girl fall in love?”
“Aren’t we here to be matched with a girl for her personality, not her looks?” David said, repeating the show’s tag line. He was acutely aware of the wireless microphone attached to his lapel, the battery pack clipped to his belt.
Kenny snorted. “Yeah, right. Since when did personality matter? I want someone so hot she’s going to make me forget she even has a personality.”
He couldn’t stay here with a bunch of men like this—no, not men, Neanderthals—and last seven days. Plus, in order to make it to the end, he had to convince Mattie Grant he was the one for her.
It would be easier to convince his editor the Michael Jackson pseudo twin wasn’t a complete fruitcake.
Larry Herman, another man who looked as if he was auditioning for Cosmo’s bachelor of the month, sidled up to them. “You’re a hound, Kenny. Don’t be drooling on her.”
“I don’t drool.”
“You do, too. I saw you watching the beach volleyball competitions on MTV earlier and you were definitely drooling. I’m sure she’s here looking for substance, not cream filling.”
“Oh, and I suppose you have that?”
Larry puffed out his chest. “Sure I do. And a lot of it.” He gave the other two men a wink.
“Gentlemen.” Larissa, the hostess, glided onto the back patio in her second fancy dress of the day, her auburn hair back in a gold clip. She got their attention with a clap of her hands. “It’s time.”
“Man, I’m so nervous. I hope my deodorant works,” said one of the guys on the far end.
“I’m sure she’ll like all of you. This is your first meeting, so try not to be too nervous. This is a simple, getting-to-know-you cocktail hour. Mattie will be nervous, too, so be easy on her.” Larissa gifted them with a smile.
“What are the odds she’s free?” Kenny whispered in David’s ear, motioning toward Larissa. “Maybe I could get a two-for-one here. Add in the fifty grand and I’m set for quite the par-tay.”
“Don’t forget you’re miked, Kenny,” David said. He bit back the urge to slug the insensitive clod.
“And now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce your lovely Average Jill, Mattie.” Larissa took a step back, then waved her arm toward the wide French doors on the patio.
Mattie Grant stepped through them and onto the patio. She didn’t glide in like Larissa had. She walked across the hard stone surface with care and a little bit of a wobble. In fact, the shoes didn’t seem like they fit her feet or her personality. And yet, despite her obvious discomfort, she looked—
Transformed.
The staff had put her in a long green gown with black sparkles running along the sides, which accented her figure and redefined her hourglass. She had her hair curled and swept up into some kind of fancy style David knew the French had a word for. Soft gold tendrils curled around her ears, dancing at her chin. Red-painted toenails peeked out of strappy black heels, teasing from beneath the long gown.
They’d done her makeup. Her lips. Her eyes. She’d been gorgeous before, but now she was—
“Incredible,” David let out on a breath.
“I’ve seen better,” Kenny said. “But she ain’t bad. Not exactly average. I told you so.”
“She’s stunning,” Larry said, adjusting the mike on his collar. “You’re just being a jerk, Kenny.”
Mattie took several steps forward, each one less tentative than the last. When she reached the top of the stairs, she smiled at the group awaiting her below.
That’s when David knew he was in trouble.
Mattie’s smile, coupled with her eyes, held a power over him nothing else about her had. Together they had a way of drawing him in and holding him there, as if she were clasping his hand.
This wasn’t going to be an ordinary story. He was fooling himself if he thought anything different. Reporter’s distance be damned.
Her eyes scanned the fifteen men, finally settling on him, the one friendly face she knew. “Hi,” she mouthed.
“Hi,” he returned.
Kenny elbowed him. “Hey, don’t horn in already. Give the rest of us a chance.” He hustled past the topiary of green balls and around to the front of the group.
The three cameramen—their triangulated and choreographed approach as good as any SEAL team’s—started moving in, filming Mattie’s progress as she made her way down the steps to the sloped lawn. On the third step, her heel caught in the stone and she tripped, teetering for a few seconds before gracefully regaining her balance and continuing on, as if nothing had ever happened.
“Think she’s a klutz? Man, I can’t stand a woman who bumps into things,” Kenny said.
“And what are you, Mr. Perfect?” Larry said. “You don’t have any faults?”
“Women love me. Faults and all.” Kenny gave them his thousand-watt smile.
David could see why women might like a man like Kenny at first, assuming the man kept his mouth shut. He had cover model looks and probably acted charming in front of a female. But behind their backs, he became the Neanderthal he really was.
Mattie, David hoped, was smart enough to see through that.
Wait a minute, what was he doing? Thinking of her romantic future? He needed to plot a strategy for himself, not think about Mattie and whether she might fall in love with anyone here. It was a foregone conclusion. Mattie Grant was going to fall in love—or think she had—with him. She had to.
There was no other ending to this. It was the ending he’d already written in his mind for his story, the one his editor assured him would produce the biggest headlines. And thus save his career from being sucked down the sewer like a belly-up goldfish.
But as he watched her approach, her smile wide and open, he felt a twinge of conscience. A flicker of doubt. For a moment David wanted to chuck the whole thing and go back to writing obits.
Before he could envision the headline John Doe Leaves Two Grieving Dogs and Extensive Taxidermy Collection, Mattie was there. Her emerald eyes met his and his feet staged a mutiny against his best intentions, moving him toward her.
“Miss Grant, meet your bachelors,” Larissa said, coming up beside