true, Brooke, and I’m not saying we’re all perfect. I’m saying that it doesn’t hurt to introduce the men to some of our...imperfections.’
Alissa smiled, but Brooke didn’t. She turned back to smug Jack Douglas and realised her mistake immediately. He was rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. Satisfied. Triumphant.
‘And, cut!’
Horrified, Brooke turned to face the camera now on her face. Jack sauntered towards her and came in closer than he ever had before, the heat of his skin making her cheeks burn.
‘Ratings gold.’
That deep, calm voice didn’t calm her this time. But it did make her whole body break out in a rash.
‘Good Job, Ms Wright.’
Then he moved back, smiled wide, turned and walked away—while eleven girls stood silently behind her and a lone camera beeped to indicate that it was back on and recording.
Jack’s head was beating incessantly. Over and over. It had started with a throbbing in the back of his head and had now moved to right behind his temple. He resisted the urge to rub at it. All eyes were on him. Now wasn’t the time to show any weakness.
‘Keep rolling.’
‘But, Jack...’
‘Keep rolling.’
Jack’s calm was slipping. As a matter of fact it was now sliding right out of him and creeping into the ocean, where Contestant Number Three was being hauled up into a lifeboat by three lifeguards. She couldn’t swim. A fact she’d failed to mention when they’d told the women they’d be surfing today. So desperate to find her ‘perfect match’, the crazy woman would rather drown than lose the opportunity to go on a date with a man she’d never met.
Jack tried to relax. The lifeguards had this. But his shoulders stayed tense. He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious. Maybe it was the fact that these twelve women were his responsibility. All of them. For the entire six weeks of taping. No matter how much he wanted to stay out of it, the truth was he had to make sure they were safe, make sure they were happy, and make sure they all stayed right where he needed them—in front of the cameras.
Most of them were proving to be easy to manage—except Stephanie Rice, out there, and Ms Wright. The petite blonde. The fiery woman with the sparkling eyes. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind and he suspected the reason his shoulders remained tight even as the lifeguard pulled the flailing contestant out of the water.
Her rousing speech kept going through his mind. Her pink cheeks, her clenched fists. She hadn’t just been spouting words back there—she’d felt it. ‘When you’re attracted to someone you just are. You can’t help it.’
He didn’t want her to be right about that. She couldn’t be right about that. It was his responsibility to find perfect matches for these women. But what if she was right?
Attraction didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical. A questionnaire could tell you about likes and dislikes, but it couldn’t predict that physical blow right in your chest when you met someone and they blew you away. Not just because of their body or their looks, but because of something else. Something you couldn’t explain. Something he was becoming very afraid he felt when he looked at Brooke Wright.
She was a beautiful woman, that was obvious—but it wasn’t her beauty that made his heart beat faster when she was around. It was something else. A look she gave him when she was standing up for what she believed in. Attraction was purely physical, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t he just think about one of the other women? They were beautiful. And they all looked magnificent in a bikini.
But every time he tried to think of another woman his thoughts wandered back to Brooke. To her body in that tiny red bikini. To the way she’d tried to rouse the girls. To the way her eyes had glowed brighter and her hair had moved as she’d bounced around, encouraging the girls to fight. Holding her sword aloft against the fire-breathing dragon to protect her people. She was brave and strong and smart and perfect.
But of course she wasn’t perfect. She was argumentative and difficult—and if he was honest her mouth was too wide for her face. But somehow that just made him want to look at her even more. He wanted to stare at her and he had to force himself to look away. He was sure he was becoming obvious.
Sex. Lust. That was all it was. Physical attraction. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t felt it before. He just had to push the feeling down. Easy. He did it all the time. It was just a stupid crush. But somehow it felt different, and that irritated him. She wasn’t different. She’d be like all the others—after something. His money, his influence, his name. He’d not met anyone yet who liked him for him. It was what his father had always warned him about and unfortunately the old man had been right. Every damn time.
He couldn’t trust anyone—he knew that. And he definitely couldn’t trust Brooke Wright. And not just because he hadn’t figured her angle out yet—because she was beginning to occupy his mind a little more than he was comfortable with. And right now he needed to focus on the show. On his father’s threats and the executive producer his father was pushing him to take on. And on the contestant they were now struggling to get on an inflatable rescue boat.
He needed to concentrate on how he was going to introduce more twists and turns to keep viewers tuned in. But every time he thought of something he also thought of Brooke’s reaction and what she would say. And he wasn’t sure why. Why did it even matter what she said or did? He barely knew her. She was just another contestant. But the way she’d spoken about the way the show was representing women stuck in his chest. It forced him to think of his mother and the way his father treated her. How he lied to her, cheated on her, threatened her, bullied her. He hated it. He hated seeing the look in her eyes when his father said something cruel or thoughtless or failed to turn up again.
This was nothing like that. This was just a game—just a TV show—surely she could see that? It wasn’t real.
But Brooke had no idea. She was too sincere. Too ethical.
Jack ran a hand through his hair. Nothing came easy. Between ensuring this show became a hit, protecting his mother from the truth about his father and trying to earn enough money to buy himself out of his contact, he was wondering when it would let up. When he’d get a break. And now Brooke Wright had come along and embedded herself under his skin. Questioned him. Argued with him. He didn’t need that, and he definitely didn’t need to feel attracted to her.
He wondered for a minute how someone so small could be so much trouble. And why was she so much trouble? The woman seemed constantly angry. Why?
He’d thought he knew all about her. Just as he’d had all the other contestants researched, he’d had her researched. Marketing Manager of a family-owned company, one of five sisters. Seemed to have had a comfortable upbringing. Seemed to get along with everyone. No enemies anyone could find. No psycho ex-boyfriends. Currently single. Financially stable.
She had every reason to be perfectly happy, yet clearly she wasn’t. At least she wasn’t when he was around. Maybe something about him made her mad? Maybe he reminded her of an ex-boyfriend or someone else who had annoyed her?
From experience he knew that the way people reacted to each other almost never reflected how they felt about that person—it was more about what was happening in their head. The story they’d made up or the conclusion they’d come to almost never had any bearing on reality. Women were experts at it.
He made a conscious effort to work with facts. Not to read too far into things, to take each moment for what it was. Don’t look forward and don’t look back. So far that approach was working for him, and every time he found himself reflecting or looking forward to something he pushed those feelings right back down where they belonged. Out of sight and out of mind.
Some people called him cold. Distant.