She’d thought the same thing, driving out here. If he acted the way the world thought he acted, he wouldn’t win over any new fans. Or they’d love him and watch him out of a morbid fascination with celebrities doing stupid things. Watch him to make themselves feel better, if nothing else. Why the world got such a perverse pleasure out of watching others have public meltdowns was beyond her. Victoria valued her own privacy, which made her job tough sometimes. Filming someone in a bad light had not been her dream after college. But a girl had to earn a paycheck. She’d get through this. Right now she needed Clint Griffin to help her.
“I won’t lie to you,” she said, hoping to convince him. “This could work in your favor or it could go very bad. But I think people will be fascinated by your lifestyle, no matter how we slant it.”
“Oh, yeah.” He turned to grab his coffee then stared out over the sunshine playing across the pasture. “Everybody wants a piece of Clint Griffin. Why is it that people like to watch other people suffer?”
Wondering how much he was truly suffering, Victoria watched him, saw the pulse throbbing against the muscles of his jawline. Hadn’t she just thought the same thing—why people liked to watch others suffering and behaving badly?
She ignored the little twinge of guilt nudging at her brain and launched back into trying to persuade him to cooperate.
“I think people like reality television because they get to be voyeurs on what should be very private lives and they see that celebrities are humans, too.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes smoky and shuttered. “They like to watch people hurting and trying to hide that hurt. They like to see someone who’s been given everything fail at it anyway. That’s why they watch.”
“I suppose so,” she conceded. “It’s a sad fact, but today’s reality television makes for great entertainment. And I do believe you’d make a great subject for our show.”
“In spite of your better judgment?”
“Yes.” Victoria believed in being honest. But she couldn’t help but notice the shard of hurt moving through his eyes. “You’d be compensated for your time, of course.”
“At what price?”
The look he gave her told her he wasn’t talking about money. Did this shiny, bright good ol’ boy have a conscience?
“You’ve heard the offer already but you could probably name your price.”
He stared at her then named a figure. She tried not to flinch. No surprise that he was holding out for more. “I’ll talk to Samuel. But I think we can come to an agreement. I can’t speak for the network and the army of lawyers we have, but I can report back and have someone call you or meet with you and your handlers.”
He laughed, shook his head then offered her a hand. “No dice, darlin’. I don’t have a lot of handlers these days except for my manager, who also acts as my agent. But I’ve already informed him and your army of lawyers, as you called them, that I’m really not interested in your show.”
“What?” Victoria didn’t know how to respond. She would have bet a week’s pay that this ham of a man would have jumped at the chance to preen around on a hit television show.
But he didn’t seem the least bit interested or impressed. He actually looked aggravated.
Victoria’s head started spinning with ways to sway him. Should she stroke his big ego and make him see what he’d be missing—a captive audience, loyal female followers and his name back in the bright lights?
She couldn’t go back to Samuel without at least a promise that Clint Griffin was interested. “Look, you’d be in the spotlight again. You could write your own ticket, sing some of your songs. All we want to do is follow you around on a daily basis and see how the great Clint Griffin lives his life. And you’d make a hefty salary doing it. What’s not to like about this?”
“You said it yourself,” he replied, obviously done with this conversation. “People like to get inside other people’s private affairs and...I might be dumb but I’m not stupid. I’ve been on the wrong side of a camera before—both the tabloid kind and the jailhouse kind. That’s a can of worms I don’t intend to open.” His chuckle cut through the air. “Heck, if I want attention I’ll just get into another brawl. That always gets me airtime.”
Victoria could tell she was losing him. “But I thought you’d jump at this chance. The pay is more than fair.”
He whirled and she watched, fascinated as his expression changed from soft and full of a grin, to hard and full of anger. Her heart actually skipped a couple of thumps and beats. Even if she didn’t like him, she could see the star potential all over his good-looking face.
“I’m not worried about the pay, darlin’. I know everyone and his brother thinks this ranch is about to bite the dust, but this isn’t some I’m-desperate-and-I-have-to-save-the-ranch type story. The Sunset Star will always be solid. My daddy made sure of that. It’s just that—” He stopped, stared at her, shook his head, stomped her toward the open doors into the house. “It’s just that I need to take care of a few things before I settle down and get back to keeping this place the way my daddy expected it to be kept. And I don’t need some reality show to help me do that.”
“But—”
He held her by the arm and marched her and her equipment toward the front of the house. “But even though you’re as cute as a newborn lamb and you seem like a good person, I’m not ready to take on the world in such an intimate way.”
Victoria’s panic tipped the scale when he opened the front door. “What if you just give me a week? One week to follow you around. Just me. No crew? I’ll edit the footage and let you have the final say.”
“No.”
“What if I double the offer?”
He stopped, one hand on the open door and one hand on her elbow. “Can you do that or are you just messing with me?”
“I can do that,” she said, praying Samuel would do that. “We really want you for this show.”
Clint glared down at her, his nostrils flaring in the same way as the black stallion in his favorite piece of artwork. “I don’t know. Maybe Clint Griffin is worth even more than that. You must want me pretty bad if you’re willing to give me millions of dollars just so you can follow me around.”
She blushed at the heated way he’d said that. But she was willing to play along. “I do. I mean, we do. I can’t go back without a yes from you. I might get fired.”
“And that’d be so horrible?”
“Yes. I’m a single, working girl. I have bills to pay. I have a life, too.”
“Then film your own self.”
“I can’t do that. I was sent out here to film you, to get you to become a part of our highly successful television series. You’d be a ratings bonanza.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard all that.” He leaned close, so close she could smell the scents of pine and cedar. “And yes, I would.” He let her go, leaving a warm imprint on her arm to tease at her and tickle her awareness. This was so not going her way.
Victoria gave up and took in a breath. She’d failed and now she had to tell Samuel. He would not be pleased. She started down the steps with the feeling that she was walking to her own execution.
“Hey,” Clint called. “C’mere a minute.”
Victoria whirled so fast, she almost dropped her camera. “Yes?”
“Would this contract include anything I wanted in there? Would I have a say over what goes in and what stays out?”
She swallowed and tried not to get too eager. “Uh, sure. We can put whatever you want into your contract—within reason, of course.”