Dark Aubrey -The Billionaire Dating Game (ang)

The Billionaire Dating Game A Romance Novel By Aubrey Dark

Copy right © 2016 Aubrey Dark All rights reserved. First Edition: January 2016 ISBN: TBD

Chapter One I couldn’t take it anymore. I would tell Jessica I’d tried. But I just couldn’t take it. “Is this going to last much longer?” I whispered to Daniel. “Shhh,” he hissed. I had never been shushed by a date before. All of my words dried up on my tongue. I turned back in astonishment to the show in front of us. The woman on the small coffee shop stage put her hands on her stomach and started ripping apart her flesh-colored bodysuit with her nails. The fabric tore into scraps hanging from her pelvis. She was making a gurgling sound like a drowning rabbit. Was I being unreasonable here? I didn’t think so. “It’s just that this isn’t really… well, romantic,” I whispered. Daniel turned and looked down at me from under his glasses. “It’s a metaphor for infertility,” he said, condescension oozing off of his tongue. “She is redefining womanhood.” “And here I thought she was just recreating a scene from Alien,” I muttered, as the woman on stage grabbed at her abdomen and moaned. “Lisa, if you don’t appreciate this—” “I appreciate it! I appreciate it very much. I—look, I have to go to the bathroom.” I clutched my purse to my chest and stood. Daniel stood up with me. “Uh, what are you doing?” “Escorting you to the facilities.” “I—uh—I don’t need an escort. Thanks, though.” “But—” “Down in front!” someone called from a cafe table behind us. New York art people weren’t very patient. I pushed Daniel back down into the chair. “You have to stay,” I whispered. “So you can fill me in on what womanhood means when I get back.” He pressed his lips together and nodded, all seriousness. “I shall,” he said. The woman groaned and thrust her pelvis at the audience as I scrambled to the back of the coffee shop. Thankfully, there was a line for the ladies’ restroom in the hallway. I pulled out my cell and called Jessica. “Lisa? Tell me the date isn’t over yet.” “I wish,” I said, leaning back against a poster for a band called GENDRRRFUCK. “Jess, this is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.” “Good weird or bad weird?” “The last performer smeared peanut butter all over himself in complete silence for ten minutes, wearing only a Speedo,” I said. “How many minutes do you think you could watch someone smear their naked body with handfuls of peanut butter?” “Depends,” Jessica said. “If it was Chris Pratt, I could probably watch him for a full day, maybe two—” “And before that, there were two women singing what I think was the last State of the Union address, at the top of their lungs, while they wrestled each other to the floor.”

“Sounds sexy.” “They were wearing Obama masks. Trust me, it wasn’t sexy.” There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a woman with an offended look on her face. “You know,” she said, “that performance was a commentary on election punditry in American society.” “I didn’t know that,” I said, feigning surprise. “Did you know that this phone conversation is a commentary on the lack of privacy in American society?” She frowned as I turned my back squarely to her. “Who are you talking to?” Jessica asked. “Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “Thank you for setting me up with Daniel. I tried. I really did.” “You wanted someone more mature,” Jess reminded me. “Someone more intellectual. That’s what you told me.” I sighed and peeked back around the corner. Daniel was leaning forward in his chair, stroking his chin with one hand. On stage, the woman was punching her own boobs and screaming “MAN!” with every punch. “You’re right. I did say that. Turns out I didn’t mean it.” “Daniel is the most intellectual person I know.” “It’s just—I thought meeting at a coffee shop would be a nice normal date. I had no idea there was going to be—” I looked at my watch, “—two hours of performance art. We haven’t even talked to each other!” “I’m sorry, Lisa. I really thought he could be Mr. Right.” “I don’t think Mr. Right exists,” I said. “Of course he does. He’s out there.” I slumped back against the wall. The overwhelming futility of my dating life was spreading over me like a handful of peanut butter spread over the front of a too-tight Speedo. “What if true love doesn’t exist?” I moaned. “What if it does, and you’re just being too picky?” “Ugh. I’m not sure which is worse.” “Take a chance. Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.” “You’re the one who set me up on this date!” “I wanted you to get out there.” “Well, I’m out there,” I sighed. “I’m wayyyy out there.” “Give it another ten minutes. Then I’ll call you and pretend to be your sister saying Arlen is sick, okay?” “Sure,” I said. It wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. My niece had been getting sick a lot lately. “Thanks for trying, Jess.” “You’ll find the one,” she insisted. “You just have to keep at it.” “Yeah, right.” As I made my way back to our table, the woman on stage was taking a bow. I sat down next to Daniel. “What’d I miss?” I asked. “It was utterly enlightening,” he said. “The last third of the dance was replete with feminine symbolism…” He droned on, but my attention was already focused back on the small stage. A man wearing a black suit and a black mask was stepping up to a piano. You couldn’t see his face very well, but his eyes were a piercing light blue behind the mask. He was tall, well-built, and, apart from the mask, looked utterly normal. He stood at the piano and adjusted the microphone up to his face.

I wondered what came next. Would he pull out a milk carton and start pouring half-and-half onto the audience? Would he rip off the suit to show a superhero outfit underneath and start square dancing? Or was he going to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star while pretending to masturbate onto the piano keys? After what I’d seen, nothing would have surprised me. But instead of any of that, he began to play a slow melody. The coffee shop fell silent, and Daniel sat back in his chair to listen. It was a simple tune, nothing fancy, and as he played, the man began to speak in a low voice that was half-singing, half-talking.

Tell me what happened to you. Tell me what happened. The world keeps on turning And you can’t keep up.

The melody he played shifted slightly, turning discordant. His voice was mesmerizing, a deep bass that seemed to pulse the air in the small coffee shop. He had a slight accent—I didn’t know if he was faking it or not. I could hear it in a few of the words he spoke, but I couldn’t place it exactly. Irish, maybe? As he sang on, his voice turned harsher, angrier. His jaw clenched into a hard line that I could see from our seats.

I watch you watching me, There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I can’t hide, and so I’ll stay. An empty heart, Yeah, an empty bottle. That’s all I’ll ever be.

My cell buzzed in my purse. Jessica. Right. But I realized that I didn’t want to go, not in the middle of this. I turned off the phone and looked back up at the stage. The man was looking straight at me. I blushed and stuffed my phone back into my purse. His face softened, but he never stopped looking at me. I brushed my hair away from my face and shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Did I have mascara smudged on my face or something? Why was he looking at me so intently?

I watch you watching me, There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I turned my eyes down, staring intently at his fingers as he played the piano. He had hands that spanned an octave, his strong fingers setting down the unadorned notes easily. His body was still, the only motion in his hands. The lines of his suit were stark, as though he was a store mannequin instead of a person. But his fingertips— His fingertips caressed the keys. When I looked back up, he was still staring straight at me. He finished the song the same way, his

light blue eyes fixed on mine from behind his black mask. There was a smattering of applause, but he didn’t seem to hear it. He stepped away from the piano, finally wresting his eyes away from me, and headed back to the coffee bar. I watched him slide through the crowd and up to the barista. He pulled out a flask from his suit pocket and tipped it into his coffee. Irish coffee. Maybe he was Irish after all. “Well, that was interesting!” Daniel’s voice brought me back to reality. “Somewhat pedestrian compared to the other acts, but you can never tell with a show like this. I think I need a breath of air. Shall we?” Yes, air. I could use some fresh air. I felt like the room was closing in on me. I stood up and Daniel pulled the chair out from behind me quickly, waving me toward the door. I glanced back, but the man in the suit and mask was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Two “So, my place is just around the corner,” Daniel said, outside the coffee shop. He put one arm around me awkwardly. On the sidewalk, a group of hipsters were smoking clove cigarettes. One of them turned to glance at us. “Right,” I said, extricating myself from his arm. “Um, I should really get home. I have a lot of work to do for tomorrow.” “Jessica told me you were a workaholic.” His glasses slipped down and he pushed them back up onto his nose, his eyes glinting. “She said I should make sure you have some fun tonight.” “Did she really?” I was going to kill her. Daniel smiled, tilting his head. He took my arms and bent to kiss me, and I ducked away. One hand stayed clamped on my arm, though. “Sorry,” I said. “I—uh—I’m not really feeling it.” He frowned. His fingers were clammy against my skin. “Not feeling what?” “You. You and me. Us. Not feeling it.” The frown lines grew deeper. “I took you here because I thought you would appreciate a deeper kind of art,” he said, irritation in his voice. “The art was great,” I said. “Loved the show. I just don’t think—” “That’s the problem with women today! They don’t think!” He scowled at me. “How can you rebuff me like this after such a wonderful and stimulating evening?” I stared at him, agog. Was this his way of trying to get into my pants? “Look, I don’t know what your definition of wonderful is,” I said, “but if it involves that much peanut butter on a naked man, then I think we have different concepts of wonderful.” He scoffed. “You are devoid of any subtler understanding of romance.” “Yes,” I said, tugging my arm out of his grip. “You’re exactly right. I don’t understand romance. That’s the problem.” “Well, I’m trying to fix that!” he said, exasperated. He bent to kiss me again, and again I ducked away. “Stop it!” I said, holding up my hands in front of me. “I don’t understand!” he shouted. “What don’t you understand?!” I shouted back, feeling utterly silly. All of the clove-smoking hipsters were now looking at us while pretending not to be interested. “Jessica said you were desperate! And if you don’t think I’m up to par—” “Wait, what? What did she say?” He blew a breath out between his teeth. “She said you were desperate to find a good guy. And I am a good guy. More than good! One: I’m sensitive. Two: I’m smart. Three: I have a stable job—” He was ticking off the bullet points on his fingers. “No. Daniel. Stop.” He stopped. “I think you’d better go home now,” I said carefully. “And you don’t want to come with me?”

I was too speechless to even answer him. I shook my head. No. No way. “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll remember this. I have a nearly-perfect memory, you know!” With that, he spun on his heel and strode away. Before he had taken two steps, he turned back. “I left my coat in there,” he said angrily. He blustered back into the coffee shop and then out again, huffing past me with his coat tails flapping behind him. I leaned back against the window of the cafe and closed my eyes wearily, breathing in and out. At least I’d survived a date. That was a first step towards finding a guy I could stand to date. But I was never letting Jessica set me up again. “Nickel for your thoughts.” I opened my eyes. The man who’d sung the last song was standing next to me, leaning casually against the wall. He was still wearing his mask. I realized that his eyes were more of a blue-green than pure blue. They sparkled as he looked at me, only a couple of feet away. “You’re overpaying,” I said, recomposing myself. “Most thoughts are only worth a penny, I’ve heard.” “Inflation’s a bitch,” he said. There was an accent, hidden only shallowly underneath his words. “But I think you’re worth it.” Blood rose to my face, and even though it was a cool spring evening, I felt hot. Who was this guy? He was keeping his distance between us, but that was somehow worse, as though the tension between us snapped through the air. “I don’t know,” I said. “My thoughts are pretty dark right now.” “I understand that. It’s desperately hard to find a good guy.” “You heard all that?” I put my hand on my forehead and shook my head. “Oh, God.” “Let me give you my credentials,” the man said. He was grinning behind his mask. I couldn’t stop looking into his eyes. They crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “One: I’m an insensitive boor. Two: I’m probably dumber than you. Three, I have a superficial, unsatisfying career—” “Wow, sounds great already.” “But I do have a near-perfect memory,” he teased. I didn’t remember him stepping closer to me, but it seemed like his body was nearer to mine somehow. I swallowed to get rid of the dryness in my mouth. “My. You’re quite the catch. Remind me why I want a dumb, insensitive man?” “You’ll look so much better by comparison.” A smile crept to the edge of my lips. “So I should date the worst man I can find?” “Exactly.” I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry I sent that guy packing, then.” “Oh, don’t worry. I’m much worse than him.” The hipsters had all gone back inside, and we were left alone on the sidewalk. The coffee shop was in an out-of-the way neighborhood just outside of Midtown, and right now the street was quiet. For a moment, I felt like New York had emptied out, and we were the only two people left in the city. “So what do you say?” “To what?” “How about a kiss?” He reached out and caressed my arm as he asked me. It was the first time he had touched me, and my muscles tensed as his hand cupped my elbow. His thumb stroked the back of my upper arm lightly, sending flashes of sensation through my body. He wasn’t pulling me at all, but I felt like his entire body was a magnet drawing me toward him. The distance between us seemed to crackle with energy.

“I don’t even know what you look like,” I said, stalling. For some reason, I felt like I was playing with fire. The way his hand cradled my arm showed his strength—but he was holding back. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” “Are you hideous?” “No.” He smiled for only an instant, and then the smile disappeared into seriousness. “There’s another reason.” “I can’t give my heart away to a guy who doesn’t show me his face,” I said, although if he had bent to kiss me right then I don’t think I could have pulled away. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your heart. I’m only asking for a kiss.” “Just a kiss.” “Just a kiss,” he echoed. “What does that mean?” “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” “Why do you want to kiss me?” Why was I pushing back so hard? I didn’t know what I was scared of. “Because of how you looked at me during my song.” His voice was soft and low, and his thumb never stopped stroking the back of my arm. I felt like I was being hypnotized. “How did I look?” “Like you knew what it was like to have an empty heart.” My throat closed up. All of my air had gone from my lungs, and I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. When this man touched me, every part of me yearned to throw myself forward into his arms. And when he spoke, I wanted to drown myself in his words. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, speaking each word carefully. Again, I noticed the accent flickering in and out of his words. I could have stopped him. I could have pulled away. I could have said no. But I wanted him to kiss me so badly that I couldn’t breathe. He was right. I had an empty heart, and I needed something to fill it. Even if it was only a kiss. Even if it was a stranger, someone I had never met before. Even if I didn’t know what he looked like. His other hand came up to my chin and his fingertips ran lightly along my cheek, back behind my ear. He threaded his fingers through my hair as he cupped the back of my head. Then his mouth was on mine, and his other hand was clasping the small of my back. Every part of me burned as he arched me against his body. His lips were hard and urgent, but he wasn’t only kissing me with his lips. He was kissing me with every part of himself—his hands, his arms, his chest. As he deepened the kiss, I felt him press against my thigh, hard and wanting. I gasped at the intimacy of the touch, but the gasp was swallowed by his kiss. The electricity that had crackled in the air between us had met, the connection points arching energy through my nerves. It was late, but I suddenly felt more awake than I had in a long time. Each touch of his awakened a new part of my body. Every bit of my mind was sent whirling away, and all that was left was pure sensation. His hand, strong and kneading at the small of my back. His arms like iron vises keeping me from falling. His chest, broad and muscled, turning me against the wall. I was vaguely aware of a small, greedy noise in my throat and then I realized that it was me, whimpering, pushing up against him, needing more. He cupped my ass, squeezing, and I fell apart inside. I was wet, melting from the heat he was sending through my body. This—this was what I wanted. Someone who could take me in his arms and make me forget that the world existed. Forget maturity. Forget intellect. This was pure, physical need, and his kiss promised me complete satisfaction.

I don’t know how long he kissed me. It might have been a few seconds or a few minutes. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. And I realized what I had been scared of, why I hadn’t wanted to give him permission to kiss me. I was scared of the desire that he awakened with the press of his hot lips. I was scared of the need that coursed through my veins, insistent and wanting. I was scared that I needed more. When he finally lifted his lips from mine, my knees were trembling. I leaned against the wall, unwilling to show how weak I was. From his smile, though, I could tell he knew what he had done to me. I tried to catch my breath as he loosened his grip from around me. His hands still rested on my waist, one on each hip. The touch of his fingers seemed to burn through the thin fabric of my dress. I stared up into his eyes. The irises sparkled green-blue, like a stormy sky reflected off of a skyscraper. And I was struck with an intense desire. I reached up to his mask. He caught me by the wrist. “Please,” I said, my voice suddenly small and uncertain. “Show me your face.” His mouth twisted, and he looked from side to side. The only people on the street now were the hipsters, who had come out and were walking away from the coffee shop. Finally, he nodded. He slipped his hand under the mask and tipped it up, revealing his face. His features were dark and defined. His eyebrows slanted down on his smooth forehead, and his nose and cheekbones were all strong lines. I don’t know what I’d expected, but I hadn’t expected this. He was attractive enough to be a magazine model. His light eyes searched mine. “Well?” He seemed to be expecting something. “Well what?” His brows arched quizzically and a strand of his dark hair fell forward onto his face. “Is that all you have to say?” I laughed nervously. “I don’t know what you were worried about,” I said. “You’re definitely not the ugliest man in existence.” His words stopped on his tongue and he shook his head, like I had given the wrong answer. “Is it the freckle on your left cheek?” I asked, letting a teasing note come into my voice. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about it. I mean, everybody has a freckle or two. Not me, of course, but then again, you did want me to look better by comparison—” The man let the mask snap back on his face as two girls came laughing out of the coffee shop. He watched them go, then turned back to me. “What’s your name?” he asked. There was an urgency in his voice that hadn’t been there before. His nervousness was contagious. I hitched my purse up higher on my shoulder. What was I doing here, kissing a complete stranger? It was insane. “What’s yours? Zorro?” “I’m not telling you,” he said flatly. “Fine,” I said. “Then you can hardly expect me to tell you—” “What’s your name?” His mouth was a hard line on his face and his hand pressed against my hip. “Look, I have to go. Really. Thank—thank you for the kiss.” My whole body was hot and flushing, and I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I pushed lightly at his arm. He seemed to realize that he was still holding me and let go abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just—never mind.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Have a good night, okay?” I stepped away from him. The air was suddenly cold on my skin. Crazy. This whole night had been crazy. I needed to get home. I turned to leave. Where was the

nearest metro station? “This was just a kiss,” he called out after me. I turned to see him standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching me walk away. Black suit, black mask, black hair. And eyes like the sky. “Right,” I said, and a strange feeling went through my chest, pressing down on my heart. “Just a kiss.” Just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.

Chapter Three I trudged back up the stairs to the apartment and pushed the door open. Mac darted across the room and wound himself around my ankles, purring. I reached down to pet him and only touched the tip of his bushy gray tail before he darted away again. “Thanks, Mac,” I muttered. “Guess I can’t keep any guy interested in me.” I bit my lip as my thoughts drifted back to the guy in the mask. I hadn’t stopped thinking about that kiss the whole way back. “Lah!” Arlen cried, waving a fist in the air. “Good to see you, too, Princess Arlen,” I said, smiling as she toppled backwards into Emma’s lap in a fit of coughing. “Hey, lamebutt,” Emma said, kicking me lightly in the ass as I walked by the reclined couch. She had a jar of applesauce open, and half of it was already on her blouse. “Hey, dorkface. What are you two doing up?” “Arlen woke me up and insisted that we watch a Project Runway marathon. Didn’t you, baby?” “LAH!” The TV blared about dresses and models and which super gorgeous woman looked best in their super gorgeous outfits. I wondered idly if I could ever judge a fashion show without going on a murder spree. “There’s mac and cheese in the microwave for you.” Emma lay back on the cushions and tried to interest Arlen in a spoonful of applesauce. Arlen swatted it away. “You are a blessing in a world filled of cruelty, my dear sister,” I said, heading over to punch a minute into the microwave. I dumped a can of catfood into Mac’s dish and he came running. “Bad date?” my sister asked. I sank back onto the countertop that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. “It was… rough.” “Not Mr. Right?” Instantly I pictured his face in my head. Not Daniel’s. The man in the mask. When he’d pulled up the mask, I’d seen his eyes searching mine for something. An answer to a question he hadn’t asked. I wondered what he was looking for. “Hello? Lisa?” “Lah!” Arlen’s voice snapped me back to reality. “Huh? Yeah. I mean no, he wasn’t Mr. Right. He was Mr. Very, Very Wrong.” “Then why were you twirling your hair just now?” “What?” “Whenever you’re thinking about a guy you like, you futz with your hair.” I flushed. My fingers flew back down to the countertop and gripped the fork for my mac and cheese. “I just need to trim my bangs, that’s all.” “Oh my gosh! You did like that guy!” Emma sat up, suddenly alert. “Tell me about it! What happened?” “No, no, no. It wasn’t my date,” I said, embarrassed to talk about it. “Then who?” “There was this guy performing, and I saw him after the show…”

The memory of the man’s hot kiss burned on my lips. The way his hands had come around my waist, drawing me close. Like he wanted to pull us together completely. Like he needed the same thing I did. I shook my head, getting rid of the thought. “It was nothing,” I said. “Don’t you lie to me,” she said, and waved the applesauce spoon in my direction. “Little sisters know when you’re lying. Who is this guy?” “He’s a nut,” I said. “A handsome nut, but definitely a nut.” “And why are you blushing?” I stuck a fork of mac and cheese into my mouth so that I wouldn’t have to answer, but Emma was already hot on the trail. “He kissed me.” “He what?!” “It was just a kiss,” I said, echoing the guy’s last words to me. “He was attractive and that was it.” “Lisa, you haven’t kissed a guy in forever!” “It hasn’t been forever!” I protested. “It’s been like, six months.” “That’s not forever.” “It’s almost forever,” she amended. “Okay, so spill. What did he look like?” I thought of how he’d stepped up on stage. So perfectly confident in front of a roomful of people. The way his strong arms had strained his suit when he leaned against the wall. How could I describe the way he’d made me feel when he looked down at me from the stage? “Um, he was tall. And, like, muscle-y.” “Muscle-y?” My sister raised her eyebrows. “And he had really nice eyes,” I said. “Light blue-green eyes.” “What about his hair?” “Uh, dark hair. Dark brown, almost black.” I thought of the dark stubble on his chin and how it had rasped against my skin when he kissed me harder. Heat pulsed through my body. I knew exactly who I would be thinking about tonight when I touched myself in the bathtub. It was harmless, I told myself. Just a mini-crush on a guy I’d never meet again in my life. One kiss, that was all. One unforgettable kiss. Emma snapped her fingers at me. “Yeah? What?” “I said, what does he do for work? What’s his name?” I blushed even harder. Emma dropped the applesauce spoon into her lap. “Oh my GOD! You don’t even know his name? Lisa, you slut!” She burst into laughter. “It was just a kiss!” I said. “That is amazing!” “Amazing? Really?” I put my hands on my hips. “This is so totally unlike you!” She was nearly hysterical with laughter, and I couldn’t help smiling a bit. “Oh man, Lisa, you just made my day!” “I’m glad that having a kiss-slut for a sister is all it takes to make your day,” I said, suppressing my grin. “Are you going to see him again?” I shook my head. “I don’t really have time to date right now, anyway. With how busy I am at work…” I trailed off.

Emma had heard all my excuses before. Tonight, though, she didn’t push me. “Well, hurray for breaking the no-kiss streak, anyway!” she said. “Good for you, big sister!” Arlen, wanting to join in the celebration, grabbed up the spoon and waved it around, conducting an invisible, applesauce-covered orchestra. A lump of applesauce flew across the room and splatted on the TV screen. Emma took the spoon away from her, and she started bawling. “Aww,” Emma said, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the mess. “Need me to clean her up?” I asked. I was somewhat grateful that Arlen had provided a distraction from the conversation. I really didn’t want to talk about kissing a perfect stranger anymore. I couldn’t explain what had made me do it. Even worse, I couldn’t explain what made me like it. “Sure,” Emma said. “I think she’s coming down with another cold.” “Another one?” “I don’t know. She’s been cranky all day, and she started coughing again.” As though on cue, Arlen coughed once, then buried her face in Emma’s chest, still wailing. I picked her up and hoisted her up onto my hip. She protested weakly, swatting her tiny fists against my arm. “Bathtime for you, princess pie,” I said. Then, to Emma: “She’s getting heavy.” “She’ll be a year old… what, next month?” “A year old! Almost a grownup.” “Almost to the terrible twos.” “This princess will never be terrible. Will you, baby?” Arlen was the sweetest baby, always had been. It was only when she got sick that she started crying. I kissed her on the top of her head. Her silky light-brown hair was already starting to grow out longer. “Careful,” Emma said. “I don’t want you coming down with what she’s got.” “I’ll take my chances,” I said. “I can’t imagine I haven’t already been exposed to those germs a hundred times over.” “Thanks, sis.” Emma plopped back on the couch and rubbed her eyes. She looked utterly exhausted. Normally I took over taking care of the baby in the evenings, but today she’d been on duty all day. Reason number seventeen why I shouldn’t be spending my free time dating. Which reminded me… “Did Joey’s check come today?” I asked casually. “Ugh. No.” “You should—” “I should call him, I know, I know,” Emma said. “Look, I didn’t have time to call him today. Maybe tomorrow, if it doesn’t come then. Okay?” “Okay,” I said, not pushing the issue. I knew she hated talking to her ex. But rent was due in four days, and his check was already a week overdue. She saw the worry on my face. “I promise, Lisa,” she said. “Tomorrow.” “Great!” I said, forcing a brightness into my voice. “No problem!” I could tell that she didn’t want to talk about it. Emma blamed herself for getting knocked up by a guy who ran away. It was the same thing that had happened to Mom, she said. She had made the same mistake all over again. She won’t have two parents, Emma had complained. She doesn’t even have grandparents. She only has me. Who am I, chopped liver? I’d told her. We’ll be her parents. Together. I tried to live up to my end of the bargain, but holding down a full time job at the same time was

tricky. I had no idea how my mom had managed it for so long. By the time I finished with Arlen’s bath, Emma was passed out cold on the couch. I set Arlen down next to her and she instinctively drew her arm around the little girl, pulling her into a snuggle. I tucked a blanket over both of them and lay down on the reclined couch next to them. Our apartment didn’t have room for both a bed and a couch, so this was the most comfortable solution we had found. And Arlen loved sleeping between the two of us. “Lah!” Arlen said softly. “Yeah, you and me both, baby,” I said, chucking the little girl under the chin and readjusting the blanket around her. “Sorry your date sucked,” Emma said. “Yeah. You know what?” “What?” Emma mumbled sleepily. “Between you guys and a blind date, I’d rather be here with you.” “Honestly?” “Honestly.” Emma smirked, her eyes still closed. “That’s so lame.” “Yeah. I know.” “You’re so lame.” “Yeah.” I sighed. “I know.” “Love you, lamebutt,” she said. “Love you too, dorkface,” I said. I propped my pillow behind my head and opened my laptop. Hopefully I could get this article finished before I went to sleep. I made the mistake of checking my email. There were three messages from my boss in my inbox, and two of them were labeled URGENT. Neither one of them was really urgent, but I plodded through everything he wanted me to do. By the time midnight rolled around, I hadn’t even written a single word for the new article. Mac leapt up onto the couch and sat right on top of my laptop keyboard, purring loudly. If that wasn’t a sign to stop working, I didn’t know what was. I put my laptop away on the floor, and the fat gray cat curled into my lap, kneading his paws on my thigh. “Just like a guy,” I murmured, stroking his soft gray fur. “All you want to do is jump straight into bed. No foreplay, huh, buddy?” He purred in satisfied agreement. And I thought of the man in the mask, the one whose voice had turned me to Jello on the inside. The one who had kissed me. I let out a small contented sigh. A good kiss was worth it. Even if he was a crazy nut wearing a mask, it was worth it. Emma was asleep, her body curled protectively around Arlen. Both of them were snoring softly, and Arlen had her mouth slightly open, her rosebud lips pinker than normal. I let myself drift into slumber alongside them, my thoughts finding again the reflective gaze of two green-blue eyes behind a black mask and the heat of two strong hands pressing against my hips. In the darkness, under the ever-present rumblings of the city, you could almost hear the sound of three girls sleeping.

Chapter Four “Why haven’t I found Mr. Right yet?” I asked. My pen tapped idly against my knee and I ate another gummi bear. Normally the little sugar rushes would propel me through an article, but this one was proving difficult. I leaned backward in my chair and called out the door. “Help me out with this, Jessica!” “Um, maybe it’s because Mr. Right is out drinking at the Tavern and you’re still here at work,” Jessica said. She leaned against the door frame, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. “And before you say anything, Robert is on a double shift today, so we’re both working late. I have an excuse for being a boring workaholic.” “I didn’t say anything.” She handed me one of the coffees, and I took a sip. Caffeine and sugar. If that didn’t get me writing, nothing would. “Daniel told me you didn’t give him a chance,” Jessica said. “I gave him plenty of chance. And you told him that I was desperate!” “You are desperate! You’re wondering why you haven’t found Mr. Right yet? We’ve been over this.” I sighed and pressed my fingers to my temples. “No, I mean, that’s the article I have to write,” I said. ‘Five Reasons You Haven’t Found Mr. Right Yet.’” “Oh.” She grimaced. “That’s an awful title.” “Tell that to Clarence.” “I will.” “He’ll take it from you better,” I said. “I don’t even think it’s grammatically correct. ‘Five Reasons You Haven’t Yet Found Mr. Right?’ Does that sound British?” “Did he come up with this idea for you?” “More like he shoved the idea in my face and told me I needed to get ‘relevant.’” “He really ought to do a better job being a manager,” Jessica said. “It’s getting ridiculous how much he pep-talks me.” “I think he’s trying to pep-talk your pants off,” I grumbled, popping another gummi bear. “Did he tell you he was just trying to give you a helpful suggestion to make Moi Magazine better’? I love all of his helpful suggestions. They’re so… helpful, you know? Except for when they’re not. Every single time.” “How is a clickbait article supposed to make me relevant?” I asked. This wasn’t a new rant, but Jessica listened like it was. I loved her for that. “I want to write something important for women. This… this…” “It’s crap,” Jessica said, taking another sip. “It’s worse than crap!” I cried out, throwing my pen against the wall. It left a little mark on the wall next to all the other pen marks created from all of my boss’s helpful suggestions. “It’s sexist.” “It’s demeaning. How can people even read this?” “Lisa. Look,” Jessica said. I knew she was about to start in with one of her oh-so-reasonable explanations. “It’s Clarence’s job to sell magazines. Of course he’s going to lean towards article titles that are… sensationalist.” “Sensationally dumb.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to write the whole article that way.” “This is impossible,” I moaned, my head falling onto the pile of papers on my desk. “Come on,” she said. “Nothing’s impossible. Let’s brainstorm. Why haven’t you found a boyfriend yet? Be honest.” “Because all men are immature assholes.” “That’s… okay, that’s probably too honest.” “Sorry for the brutal truth.” My mind flickered to the man in the mask. What he’d been saying— wasn’t that exactly what I’d been feeling all this time? Empty? No. He wasn’t a real guy. He was a weirdo, someone I’d only met for a few minutes. No matter how much his words had resonated with me, that didn’t mean that he was mature, or intelligent, or anything at all. He was a good kisser, and that’s all I could say with certainty. “What’s another reason?” Jessica asked. She was ticking them off on her fingers. “Because my standards are too high,” I said. “And I’m a perfectionist. Well, that’s what Emma says.” “Your sister isn’t allowed to give you dating advice,” Jessica said, wagging her finger over the rim of the coffee cup. “Not after Joey.” “She doesn’t have the best taste in guys,” I allowed. “But she knows me better than I know myself.” “You’re so lucky to have a good sister. And an adorable niece.” I looked up at Jessica. Her eyes were focused far away, as though imagining the sister she never had. She was all sexiness, wearing an eggplant-colored pantsuit with a cream turtleneck sweater underneath. Her chunky turquoise necklace matched her teal pumps and her belt had brass and turquoise accents on the buckle. Her perfectly curled hair hung over her shoulders. I stared down at my own outfit: a black jacket over a white blouse and black pants. My hair was up in a frizzed-out half-ponytail; I hadn’t even bothered to brush it today before coming in. Of course she would be the one with the sexy boyfriend. I was dressed like an FBI agent from the eighties. Jessica was the fashion editor, the one with her column inside the front every week. She had a quarter-page spread whenever she went to a new fashion event. She was perfect. And yet, Jessica sighed with jealousy whenever I talked about Emma and Arlen. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, I thought. I wasn’t in front of the cameras like Jessica was. On our website, she was ‘the face of Moi’, and her videos brought in a ton of ad revenue. My own job at the magazine was a lot less exciting. I just made sure everything was running and filled in the gaps whenever somebody forgot to do their job. Apart from getting Clarence’s lattes, I wrote articles when we needed filler, made up surveys, and put together graphics most days when Tony was too hungover to finish his work. I didn’t have a degree, so I got stuck doing all the work nobody else wanted to do. If Jess was the face of Moi, I was the spandex that kept all the bumps from showing. “You’re so goddamn stylish,” I said. “That’s reason number two I haven’t found Mr. Right. I’m a hot mess.” “You have too much work to do to worry about fashion,” Jessica said. “Weren’t we supposed to go shopping for me? I seem to remember some New Year’s resolution about revamping my wardrobe.” “You said you had too much work. And then you needed to lose twenty pounds first,” she reminded me. “Reason number three I haven’t found Mr. Right: I need to lose twenty pounds.” I plopped the bag of gummi bears down on my desk with a glum pout. “Oh! Which reminds me, did you get my email about making the graphic for Who Wore It Best?” “It’s already in your inbox,” I said.

“You are a lifesaver.” “Reason number four I haven’t found Mr. Right: I’m too busy saving lives.” “You are a super hero in this office. Even if Clarence doesn’t respect that.” “What’s to respect? I make stupid graphics about fashion trends and write articles that make women feel bad about themselves,” I complained. I felt like slumping to the floor and giving up my super hero duties right then. It was an hour after I was supposed to be home, and I wasn’t a single word closer to finishing this article. “Your stupid graphics are so much better than anybody else’s stupid graphics,” she said, with a look of sincere optimism that made me want to cry. “Tell me why I work here again?” “Because,” Jessica said, turning away from the doorway, “if I didn’t have you to bitch to, I would have killed myself a long time ago.” “Ah,” I said. I blinked hard. “Right.” My phone rang. I looked at it and then wished I hadn’t. “It’s Clarence,” I said. “Don’t answer it. You’re busy writing an article, and he’s going to call you in to sharpen all of his pencils. Or reorganize the magazine awards on his wall. Or something.” “I have to answer it!” “Reason number five you haven’t found Mr. Right,” Jess said, as I picked up the phone. “You pretend to be independent, and then you let guys step all over you.” “I don’t—hello? Yes?” I gritted my teeth. “Yes, I’ll be right there.” “Told you,” Jessica mouthed to me. I threw a gummi bear at her head, and she caught it expertly in her mouth. “Thanks for the candy.” “Take them all!” I called back to her, as I headed down the hall to Clarence’s office and certain doom.

“But I hate reality TV!” “Doesn’t matter.” Clarence clicked his pen shut, a sure sign that the conversation was done. “We need a replacement column and there’s nobody else who can write, edit, and proof within the day. This one is yours, Lisa.” “Okay, okay,” I said. I put my clipboard on my knee and balanced my coffee cup on top of it. “Does it have to be an interview with some reality TV host?” “It’s not just some reality TV host, Lisa. It’s Piers Letocci.” “Who the hell is Piers Letocci?” “Oh my gosh!” Jessica exclaimed, poking her head through the door of Clarence’s office. “Are you meeting with Piers Letocci?” “No,” I said, at the same time Clarence said “Yes.” “Why don’t you give Jessica the interview?” I asked Clarence. Jessica perked up her ears, but he was already shaking his head. “No. Jessica’s on the fashion show in Midtown tomorrow.” “Sorry, Jess,” I said, leaning back over my chair. “I tried.” “Ooh, you’ll have so much fun!” she said. “Get me his autograph, will you?” “Sure,” I said. When she stepped away, I turned back to Clarence. “No, I won’t. Because I’m not doing this interview.” “What else do you want me to put in the entertainment section?” “Thanks for asking. I have a great idea, actually,” I said, flipping through my clipboard. “A couple

of great ideas.” Clarence leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Why did I ask?” “There’s a girl who’s been fighting in Syria for—” “No.” “No what? You haven’t even heard the pitch.” “Syria? Lisa, really? It’s an entertainment column.” “Okay,” I said, flipping another two pages. “Okay. How’s this? Ellen Degeneres is hosting a charity concert in Central Park to help prevent teen suicide—” “No.” “—even if the band playing is Talismen?” Clarence squinted at me suspiciously. “Can you get an interview with them?” I took a sip of coffee and realized that I couldn’t get away with a lie. “Well, no,” I admitted. “But the head of the charity—” “No. No, no, no. Why am I even listening to you? We’re running with this. It’s a new reality TV show and we finally got Piers Letocci to agree to an interview with Moi.” “Finally!” I let the sarcasm drip off my tongue. “I’ve been waiting for eons for an opportunity like this.” “Don’t fuck this up, Lisa. Piers Letocci is the face of America.” “Isn’t he British?” I frowned, tapping my pen on the clipboard. “That’s why Americans love him. America loves British guys.” I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of this. One interview wouldn’t kill me, even it was with some airhead reality TV host. I lifted the coffee mug to my lips and pretended to deliberate. “Fine. You owe me,” I said to Clarence, for what seemed like the millionth time. “Didn’t you hear what Jessica said? You’re going to have so much fun.” “Kill me now.” Clarence ignored me. “Here’s the address. He’ll be ready for you at three o’clock.” “Three o’clock tomorrow? That gives me, what? An hour to write the dang article before we go to press? Maybe an hour and a half?!” “I know it’s short notice. That’s why I chose you. You can think quickly. And you write well under pressure.” “Don’t try to flatter me, Clarence,” I grumbled. “Okay. You should probably wear a different outfit when you head downtown tomorrow.” “Why? What’s wrong with this outfit?” I looked down at my black pants suit, which was my only clean suit for the week. Well, kind of clean. My white blouse had a little bit of a Pop Tart stain on it. I licked my thumb and rubbed at it fiercely. Mmm, strawberry. “See? All good.” Clarence raised both hands in the air in surrender. “Just get me the column by five,” he said. I sighed. “Photographer?” “We’ll pull a stock photo of him from our files.” “Oh? We have photos of him?” “We have several thousand photos of him, yes, Lisa. He’s kind of a big deal. Can you treat this assignment seriously?”

I rolled my eyes. “What’s the name of the show?” “The Billionaire Dating Game.” I didn’t spit out my coffee, but I came close. “You’re not serious.” “Get down there, Lisa. Get me a great interview with Piers Letocci. And maybe I’ll be able to fit your Syria thing in next month if we have the room.” “Sure,” I said, pressing my lips together. “Great. Will do.” The Billionaire Dating Game, I muttered under my breath as I walked away from Clarence’s office. This is what ten years of working in journalism gets me. The Freaking Billionaire Dating Game.

Chapter Five The next day, I headed downtown to the building where they were having the first round of auditions for The Billionaire Dating Game. I’d spent the whole morning writing up my article about finding Mr. Right, so I hadn’t had time to do much research on Piers Letocci. I clutched Clarence’s list of mandatory questions in one hand and a large double mocha latte in the other. Twisting sideways on the subway, I tried to adjust Emma’s pencil skirt that fit a bit too tightly around my waist. I was already going to be five minutes late, and the interview slot was only a half hour long. Clarence had wolf whistled at my borrowed outfit when I arrived that morning, so at least I had that going for me. If I never found my Mr. Right, I could always date my skeevy, controlling boss. Unless he fired me for being late for this opportunity-of-a-lifetime interview. Then I’d be out on the streets in my too-tight skirt. Slutty Lisa Forrester, I thought grimly. I stared down at the question list but all of the words blurred together. I’d been up too late last night with Arlen screaming her head off. I sipped my latte and willed the caffeine into my veins. I’d done plenty of interviews with celebrities before. Nothing to worry about. There was a format that these sorts of things tended to follow, and I wasn’t going to stress over it. At least, I wasn’t until I got there. I was most of the way down the hall to the room where I thought the auditions were being held. As I turned the corner, though, a door opened in front of me. I held up my hands to stop the door from smacking me in the face, and— “Ahh!” I shrieked as the double mocha latte splashed all down the front of my white blouse. “Ow!” I cried, dropping the cup on the ground and plucking the hot fabric away from my skin. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” “Are you alright?” I turned my attention away from my quickly cooling blouse and glared up at the man who was making me even later to my interview. “No thanks to y—” My words stopped in my mouth when I saw who it was who was responsible for my shirt being doused in coffee. The man standing over me was wearing expensive leather shoes that shone like ebony. The cufflinks on his wrists sparkled gold. He smelled like expensive cologne, the kind we advertise in the pages of Moi. And the lines of his crisp dark suit led straight up to his eyes. His piercing, blue-green eyes. “I—you—you!” I stammered. “Me. Indeed.” I stared at his eyes. He was wearing something weird—eyeliner, maybe? It made his eyes pop even more. But that wasn’t the craziest part of all this. “You work here?” I asked in astonishment. The coincidence was unbelievable. “Something like that,” the man said. He reached out quickly, calmly. “Come here. We’ll get you cleaned up.” He took me by the arm and led me down the hallway. I couldn’t resist, even if I had wanted to. His touch was so sure, so possessive, that it made my muscles obey him like a trained automaton. He pulled me sharply into a break room and locked the door behind us. When he whirled around, there was anger in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. “I’m working! What are you doing here?” “Me? I work here!” he said, like I was ridiculous for even asking the question. “Did you follow me here?” To my surprise, he had a heavy British accent. Much heavier than when I’d met him. But his question threw me for an even bigger loop. “Follow you? What do you think I am, a stalker?” “Maybe.” He crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows suspiciously. God, he looked even sexier than he had at the coffeeshop. Coffee. I looked down at my blouse. “You spilled my latte all over me!” I said. “I was minding my own business—” “—not watching where you were going—” “It doesn’t even matter!” I cried, knowing that he was right about that. “You opened the door too fast! And now look at me!” He looked down at my blouse for the first time, and a wicked smile spread across his face. “You’re a bit more see-through than the first time I saw you.” I snapped my head down. My drenched white blouse was sticking to my skin and black bra, showing every curve and mole on my belly. “Don’t look at me!” “You’re a bit of a contradiction, aren’t you?” he said, his smile spreading even wider. “Look at me, don’t look at me! Kiss me—” “Don’t kiss me!” “Exactly.” “I never once told you to kiss me!” I hissed. “No, that’s true,” he said. “But you were thinking it.” My God, this guy was cocky as hell. I breathed in, then out, gathering my nerves. “Forget that. What are we going to do about this?” I asked, pulling my coffee-soaked shirt away from my skin. It was starting to get cold, and goosebumps rose up on my arms. He put his hand on his chin and stroked. Although he must have been freshly shaved from this morning, a bit of shadow was already starting to show on his chin. And his strong fingers looked the same as they had before, caressing his strong jaw. It made my body flush hotly and remember the way those fingers had kneaded the small of my back. How they had threaded through my hair— “I have a plan,” he said. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, what?” He unlocked the door and ducked his head out into the hallway, looking back and forth. “First, give me your blouse,” he said. “What? No!” “Come on. It’s not like it’s covering anything right now.” I frowned, but he had a point. I unbuttoned the front of my shirt and shucked it off. As I looked up, I saw him staring at me. I flushed as I handed over my shirt. He tossed it out into the hallway and closed the door again. “Now,” he said, “hand me your bra.” “What?!” “Damn,” he said, grinning. “Thought I had you there.” “Wha—what was your plan?” “To get you completely undressed, for one,” he said. “Then I’d probably get undressed myself,

and then—” “Stop!” I cried out. “Give me back my blouse!” “No,” he said firmly. “You’ll catch a cold in wet clothes, and I won’t be responsible for that.” “Fine! I’ll get it myself!” I said. He didn’t move aside for me, and when I reached for the doorknob, he caught my wrist. I stopped in my tracks, my protests catching in my throat. His hand was hot against my skin, and firm, and it sent my entire body into the memory of two nights ago. I felt my insides loosening as his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist, just below my palm. The air in the break room turned stuffy, and shivers of desire ran through me. His kiss—the way his lips had seized mine—the way his hands had gripped me the same way— His face was only a few inches from mine, and I could feel his heat radiating against my bare skin. The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, and I felt myself growing dizzy. “Please—” I managed to choke out. “Are you sure you don’t want to go through with my plan?” he asked. His thumb rubbed insistently, sending a spasm through my core. How could a man do this to me? A single touch of his hands was enough to melt me, and I felt as though if he let go of my wrist I would fall plain over. I had always laughed at how easily ladies in Victorian novels fainted, but now I felt as though I could faint at any moment. There wasn’t enough air, and his thumb was stroking, stroking… Yes, I wanted to say. Take off all my clothes, lay me down on the break room table, and fuck me until I forget why I came here in the first place— I blinked. The interview. I was late for the interview. So late. The time slot was probably almost over by now. “I’m sure,” I said, yanking my hand away from his quickly. “Please—please let me get dressed.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled it off. “Wait,” I said. “No. Not your plan—” “Like I said,” the man said, smiling as he swung the jacket around my shoulders, “I don’t want you to catch a cold.” His gaze burned my face red hot as he buttoned up the front. Embarrassed, I clutched the jacket together to cover my cleavage. Not like he hadn’t seen it all anyway, I told myself. “Thanks,” I said. “Anytime,” he said, grinning. “I mean that. And if you—” A knock on the door cut his sentence short. He bit back his words and opened the door. A woman wearing a wire earpiece seemed relieved to see him. She held a clipboard out to him expectantly. “We’re ready to start the auditions now, Mr. Letocci.”

“You’re— you’re Piers Letocci?” My jaw dropped as I turned to the man with light blue-green eyes. The pieces clicked together in my head like a puzzle I should have figured out long ago. The accent. How gorgeous he looked. Why he’d looked at me like that when he raised his mask—he must have expected me to recognize him. “I take it you’re the interviewer who never showed up?” the woman asked. She dropped her eyes to my chest and I pulled the jacket even tighter. “Well, I hope you made the most of your interview time.” “I didn’t—We weren’t—” I turned to Piers for backup, but he started to laugh. “You’re supposed to interview me?” he said, when he finally stopped chuckling. “Oh, my. What a bloody mess.”

“And you’re British!” I said incredulously. “He’s British!” “Of course he’s British.” The woman looked at me like I was nuts. “Of course,” I said weakly. “Of course he is.” “We need you on set in five, Mr. Letocci.” “I’m on my way.” She turned on her heel and murmured into the wire mouthpiece. Piers began to follow her down the hall. “Wait!” I cried. They both turned to look at me. “What about my interview?” Piers grinned. “I should think you have enough of a story in all this to write up for your magazine. What was it again?” “Moi.” “Right. Moi. Trust me. It’ll go over great.” “I can’t write about this! Are you crazy?” Piers raised his eyebrow. The woman gave an exaggerated glance at her watch. “Why don’t you come in for the auditions?” he asked. “And if I have some free time afterward, we can do the interview.” “Mr. Letocci—” “It’s fine,” he said. He waved to me. “Mrs…ah…” “Forrester,” I finished for him. “Miss Forrester.” “Miss Forrester here adheres to a strict journalistic code. You agree not to leak any news about our contestants, yes?” “Yes. Absolutely no leaking of any sort.” “Except coffee.” His eyes sparkled. “Right,” I said, clenching my jaw. “I just want to get this interview done with.” “Then follow me, Miss Forrester.”

The set was more sparse than I could have imagined. In the middle of a low black platform, two red backdrops were propped behind a white leather couch. A potted fern stood at one end of the couch. Around the set, though, there was a lot going on. Three stationary cameras were set up in different angles to the stage. Each one had multiple people working behind it, all dressed in black. Another camera was being wheeled across the stage in back. Two large microphones hung from black stands over the couch. Wires ran everywhere on the floor, with colored duct tape keeping them in place. At a small table in the back of the room, there were two men and a woman sitting with clipboards in front of them. I edged their way. Were those the producers? Or were they— “Stay here,” the woman ordered me. I stood in the spot she pointed to, which was unfortunately distant from the table of producers. On the other side of the set from me, there were twenty young women sitting in folding chairs. They looked like they were dressed for a fashion shoot. One of them, a really young blonde woman, twisted her fingers between her knees nervously. I realized that they were the potential candidates for the show. And every single one of them was staring, transfixed, at Piers Letocci. Piers skipped onto the stage and clapped his hands together once. “Alright, people, are we ready to go?”

A bevy of black-suited crew members were around him in an instant. One of them touched up his makeup. Another one combed back his hair and fixed what looked like a tiny wire under his shirt buttons. I realized it was a microphone when his voice came booming through a speaker near me. “Check levels,” he said, and immediately the speaker lowered in volume. “Check, check. Rubber baby buggy bumpers.” “Sounds good, Mr. Letocci!” a voice called out. Someone appeared with another suit jacket for him, identical to the one I was currently wearing, and he slipped it on easily, adjusting his cuff links. “Ready, Dave?” A man holding one of those clicky chalkboard things stepped in front of the foremost camera. “Billionaire Dating Game, Episode One,” he said in a bored tone. “Auditions. Take one. Action.” The cameras started rolling. “Welcome back!” Piers said, standing with both hands out to what I realized must be the main camera. “It’s time to find out who has what it takes to be a contestant on… The Billionaire Dating Game!” He turned sideways, and I saw that a crew member was leading one of the girls up to the stage. She shook hands with Piers meekly and they both sat down on the couch. The camera on wheels adjusted a foot to the left. “What’s your name?” Piers asked. “Melinda,” the girl said. “Let’s do that again,” Piers said, not unkindly. “First and last name, please.” “Oh—oh, okay,” the girl stammered. “What’s your name?” Piers asked, with exactly the same rhythm and intonation as before. “Melinda Reed.” “And why do you want to date a billionaire, Melinda?” “I just want to find a man who’s responsible,” she said, swinging back into what sounded like a memorized answer. “I don’t care if he’s a billionaire, but if he’s good at business, I think he would be more mature than most guys. And I’m an independent woman, so I need a mature man!” “Not sure if you have the logic quite right there,” I muttered. The woman with the earpiece turned to look at me and I pretended like I hadn’t said anything. I edged back as the interviews went on. The producers were taking copious notes of all of the contestants. I glanced over and saw that one of them had a clipboard with the contestant’s picture on it. Underneath was written Southern Bitch. So that was how they were judging the contestants? I bet they chose the girls with the maximum potential for drama. The woman with the earpiece noticed me looking over at the producers and ushered me away, explaining that I needed to stay well away from the judges’ table. One of the producers, the woman in the middle, eyed me with a suspicious glance. The interviews went on in the same vein. I was surprised at how young most of the contestants seemed to be. Some of them could have been seniors in high school. For each one, Piers asked the same questions. Why do you want to date a billionaire? Where are you from? What do you do? What’s the most important thing you look for in a man? Do you think you’ll win The Billionaire Dating Game?” Occasionally he would ask a follow up question, but they went through all twenty contestants pretty quickly. After a girl was done, a crew member would lead her out the back of the set. After the last chair had emptied out, Piers waved me up. It was already past four. I did the mental calculations in my head. If I ran back home, I would have fifteen or twenty minutes to type up the interview answers. It wouldn’t be my best work, but Clarence should know not to expect great work in such a time crunch. “So, ready for the interview?” I asked, plopping down on the set couch. I pulled out Jessica’s list

of questions. It was hard to see anything past the glare of the set lights. I hadn’t realized how bright they would be on this side of the cameras. “First, the audition,” Piers said. What? I blinked into the bright lights. “Audition? Are you kidding me?” “Not at all,” Piers said, and I made the mistake of looking up into his charming smile. I knew now why every woman in America was in love with him—that smile, those eyes, with that accent? He was unbelievably charming. “What’s your name?” “I don’t want to audition for your show.” “Play along, love.” Love. God, the way he said that word made a shiver go through me, and it wasn’t just the cold coffee still damp on my skin. I stared intently down at the question sheet. “If I play along, will you answer my questions after?” “Of course, love.” My head snapped back up. Those blue-green irises twinkled with pleasure. He knew exactly what that word, in that accent, was doing to me. Well, I wasn’t going to play along. Not the way he had in mind. I beamed my best Broadway-quality dazzling smile and tossed my hair, ignoring the fact that I was wearing only a suit jacket over my bra. I wasn’t the kind of girl who ever got in front of cameras. That was Jessica. But if he was going to force me, I was going to act my little introverted heart out. “My name,” I chirped, “is Lisa Forrester!” “Lisa,” he said. It was the first time he had said my name. I didn’t know which was worse, him saying love or him saying Lisa. Both words made the skin on the back of my neck tighten up. “That’s right!” I said, glancing down at my watch. Four fifteen. Not too bad. “Next question?” “What do you do, Lisa?” “I’m a journalist. I interview very important celebrities.” “Important celebrities?” “Well, maybe not very important celebrities. Very sexy celebrities. Some of them are more arrogant than important.” Piers was suppressing a smile. “Where are you from?” “Right here in New York City.” “And why do you want to date a billionaire?” Piers leaned forward, and again the scent of his cologne floated across the air. I swallowed hard. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked brightly. “I’m totally in it for the jet ski vacations and sunset sails in the Caribbean.” Piers bit his lip. He was trying so hard not to let me get to him, but my ditz impression was spot on after years of working next to Jessica, a true California valley girl if ever there was one. And it was starting to work. “Nothing else?” “Oh, and rides in his red Ferrari. He has to have a Ferrari. A red one. If he doesn’t have one, I’d ask him to buy one. Not for me to drive, of course. I don’t like driving.” “You don’t like driving?” “What New York girl does?” I laughed like an airhead and tossed my hair again. “Anyway, we’d only be driving upstate to our private ski cabin.” “Sounds lovely. What’s the most important thing you look for in a man? Whether or not he has a Ferrari?” He was joking, but there was a serious note in the question that I couldn’t miss. He was asking me

what I wanted. And I wasn’t going to pull any punches. “I want a man who’s real. Someone who won’t lie to me. Someone who doesn’t wear any masks.” Piers narrowed his eyes and leaned forward even farther. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the camera wheel a bit to the side. “And that’s why you want to date a billionaire?” “Every guy wants something,” I said. “Every guy out there is working an angle. But if I’m dating a guy who already has everything he wants? He’s not going to play games with me. He’s not going to pretend to be someone he’s not.” I crossed my arms over my chest, dropping the ditziness for a moment. “You see, I’m not going to sit here and lie and say I just want a nice guy. There are a million nice guys out there. I want someone who’s already figured themselves out. Someone who doesn’t want anything from me… except me.” “And you really think a billionaire is the best kind of man for that?” “Well, all of the non-billionaires I’ve dated haven’t worked. So I’m open to trying new things.” Piers suddenly leaned back, like he realized how far off-track we were going with the audition questions. “Great!” he said, back to his normal charming self. “Last question. Do you think you’ll win The Billionaire Dating Game?” “If I make it onto this show,” I said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the idea, “I’ll be the worst sore loser you’ve ever seen.” Piers chuckled. His fingers, I noticed, were stroking the arm of the couch idly. They mesmerized me. “Is that a wrap?” The voice came from off set. “Good over here.” Piers nodded off stage. I saw a red light blink off. “Wait,” I said. “Were you actually taping that?” “Don’t worry,” Piers said, his fingers still moving idly. “You did fine. That was a great audition.” “Hah. Great audition,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” The cameramen and other crew members began breaking down the set as we sat. The bright light snapped off, and for a moment I saw nothing but white spots in the darkness. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. The lights had been giving off a lot of warmth, too, and with them gone, it was chilly. I shivered a bit as I clutched the list of Jessica’s questions. “Are you cold?” Piers asked. “I’m fine.” “You can have my jacket, love. You can put it on top of my other one.” “Stop calling me love,” I said, my insides twisting at the word. “You got it, darling.” “Ugh, fine. First question,” I said, blowing back my bangs. “When did you pick up a British accent?” Piers squinted at me. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” “I was just curious why sometimes you have an accent, and sometimes—” He leaned forward all the way, so that his face was nearly touching mine. Startled, I drew back. “I get recognized everywhere I go,” he said. “That’s the only reason I lose the accent when I go out. I didn’t mean to lie to you, or whatever you think that was.” My lips dropped open in surprise. He actually sounded sincere, and his features were drawn in hard lines.

“I didn’t mean—” “Do you know how hard it is, to not be able to do anything without a thousand cameras descending on you?” “Right,” I said, blustering into sarcasm. “It must be terrible to be a famous celebrity.” “Yes,” he said, in complete seriousness. “Sometimes it is.” “Alright,” I said, giving up the fight and moving onto the next question. “What kind of contestant are you looking for on your new show, The Billionaire Dating Game?” “Thanks for getting that plug in,” Piers said. “What kind of girls are we looking for? Girls who are enthusiastic, beautiful, and entertaining. If you’re going to get with a billionaire, you can’t just lay back and relax. After all, he already has everything he wants.” He smirked and leaned back. I realized that I had been holding my breath, and I let it out. He was just a guy. Just a normal guy. My eyes flickered to the next question. “And the billionaire bachelor on your show? What’s he like?” “Oh, he’s a real catch,” Piers said. “He’s got at least two Ferraris.” Now he was really pressing me back. This wasn’t going to go in the interview article. I moved to the next question on Jessica’s list. “What do you have to say about your recent breakup with celebrity singer Sasha Tiernan?” The question was out of my mouth before I had even parsed it. As I looked up at Piers, his face froze. It was like looking at a marble statue. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t—” “You’re just like the rest of them,” Piers said. “This is supposed to be an interview to promote the new show—” “—I’m not—” “And you come in here and drag my personal life into it—” “Forget it,” I said quickly, but he was already standing up from the couch. “Piers—” “Mr. Letocci?” It was the woman from before. “Is everything alright?” “We’re done here,” Piers said, brushing his suit pants with both hands. His eyes were dark, his lips pressed together. “Escort Miss Forrester out.” “Wait—” But he was already halfway across the stage, his stride long and fast. He didn’t look back. And after the question I’d just asked, I didn’t expect him to.

Chapter Six “One more day.” “Why? Why can’t you write up what you have right now?” Even over the phone, I could hear Clarence scowling with his whole face. I shivered. The sun had gone down over an hour ago, and I was starting to get cold with only Piers’ jacket on. The coffee-stained blouse was still sticky and wet. My cell battery was quickly running out, and I had nothing to do but stare at the door where I hoped Piers would exit. “Mr. Letocci didn’t have time right then,” I told him, crossing my fingers he wouldn’t check in with the studio. “He said he’d answer my questions later.” “Lisa, we need this column for press tonight—” “I sent you another article,” I said. “Ten Ways to Tone Your Tummy? That one?” I cringed. It was one of the dumbest articles I’d ever written, and I’d shelved it in my backup folder for emergencies. Glancing up at the skyscraper where Piers Letocci was still holed up, I bit my lip. This was definitely an emergency. “I know it’s not the best replacement—” “We had an interview with Piers Letocci, and you give me a list of ab exercises?!” “We still have the interview,” I lied. “Just give me until tomorrow. I promise you’ll get a great article.” “Lisa—” “I know, I know,” I said. “I’m on your shit list until I come through with this. I—” Just then, the door of the building swung open. A tall man in a business suit came out. He was wearing dark glasses, although it was night, and he had on a huge scarf. It had to be Piers. He walked with the same determined stride as before. “Gotta go,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” “Make it good!” That was the last thing I heard before I stuffed my phone back into my purse. I darted across the street toward Piers. He already had his back to me, and when a dark gray Mercedes Benz pulled up to the curb, the valet hopped out quickly. This was my only chance. “Wait! Piers!” I cried out, running as fast as I could to intercept him. He was handing a tip to the valet when he heard me, and instinctively ducked his head. “No photos—oh. It’s you,” he said, doing a double take as I came up to him, breathless. I’d hoped for a smile, or at least a look of recognition. But he only glanced away, annoyance hardening his mouth. “Shall I call security, Mr. Letocci?” the valet asked. I held my breath, but Piers glanced back at me and seemed to decide that I wasn’t as much of a threat as he’d thought. “That won’t be necessary. What do you want, Miss Forrester?” He turned to me, standing up to his full height. I inhaled, a lump forming in my throat. I’d forgotten how tall he was. “To—to apologize,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Apology accepted. Anything else?” He had his hand on the car door handle. “Please—” I said, desperation coming into my voice. “I’m sorry.” “You already apologized. I don’t need to hear it twice.” “I wanted to explain.” “No explanation is necessary.” He opened the door and got into the driver’s seat.

Frantic at the thought of losing him, I opened the passenger’s side door and jumped in. He turned to me, shock and irritation written on his features. He whipped off his dark glasses, and his aquamarine eyes tore the air out of my lungs once more. Even angry, he was so beautiful it hurt. “What are you doing in my car, Miss Forrester?” The words hissed across his taut lips. “I— I need to give you back your jacket!” “Fine. Give it back.” He extended his hand. I stared at it, speechless. “I—uh—I—” “No? Then kindly get out, before I reconsider calling security.” “No!” I said, finally finding my breath. I grabbed his hand with both of mine. “Piers, please just listen to me!” When I touched his skin, it was like a shock went through both of us. His eyes widened slightly, but he made no move to pull away. I could feel his pulse beating through my fingertips. “I’m so sorry about before,” I sputtered, rushing through the words I’d practiced in my head. “It wasn’t my question sheet for the interview; my boss wrote them up. I didn’t know that one was on there, and I would never have asked it if I hadn’t been so late, and flustered from running into you in the hallway, and losing my shirt, and—and—” Everything I had to say fell away as his hand turned and his fingers wrapped around mine. His thumb traced a slow circle on the flesh of my palm. His features softened. I swallowed back my embarrassment. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. “Anyway, I was hoping that you would—” “Buckle up,” he said. His eyes were fixed in the rearview mirror. “What?” I hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. “I mean—” He let go of my hand and shoved the gear shift into first gear. Before I could even turn to grab the seat belt, he was roaring away from the curb. The force threw me back against the leather seat, and I squealed as much as the tires. He swerved expertly around a delivery guy riding a bicycle through a red light and dodged a jaywalker before zooming out again into an open bus lane. “What the hell are you doing?” I cried out, my hand fumbling for the seat belt. “Driving,” he said calmly, as he jerked the wheel and careened around a Lexus who was double parked on the curb. The tires squealed again as he sped through a yellow light. I finally got hold of the seatbelt, but then he jammed down on the brakes. My shoulder slammed into the dashboard and my breath went out of my lungs in one whoosh. I looked up to see a mom with a stroller coming out from a car right in front of us. She took her time crossing the street, and Piers swore, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. As he accelerated around her, he leaned out the window and swatted the phone out of her grip. I could hear her yelling at us as the phone clattered to the asphalt. “What the—” “I’m all for the Darwin award when it comes to idiots,” Piers snapped. “But I don’t appreciate parents using their children as human shields.” He sped through another intersection. I gulped and finally grabbed hold of the seat belt. Moving quickly, I buckled it in before he could do any more stunts out of The Fast and the Furious. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, swinging into an alleyway and coming out the other side. I had no idea what he was doing, but when he took another detour through a parking garage, I started to get weirded out. “Are you kidnapping me?” I asked finally. “And I’m the one who’s arrogant? Ha! Ha!” The next turn he made tossed me sideways toward the driver’s seat, and I braced myself

instinctively. “Ahem,” Piers said, straightening the wheel. I looked down and realized I was gripping his upper thigh, right next to his— “Sorry!” I said, pulling my hand back into my lap. “Are you sure you’re not a stalker?” Piers asked, making another sharp turn. “I’m not—what the hell are you doing? Where are we going?” “You would make an awful celebrity,” Piers said, glancing into the rearview mirror. “Thanks, I kind of already knew that,” I said. “That’s why I’m a writer and not a famous TV host. But that doesn’t answer—” “What I am doing,” Piers interrupted, “is getting us away from the paparazzi who were waiting for me. If those turn out to be your people, I’m going to be quite upset.” “They’re not my people,” I spat. “I didn’t even know they were there!” “And as for where we’re going, well, I know this nice Italian place uptown.” “I—Italian?” “Do you not like Italian?” His head swiveled toward me, and I nodded quickly, anxious to have him look away from the streets for even a split second. “I—uh—you— sure. Sure. Italian’s great.” “Brilliant.”

“Wait here,” he said, pulling up to a curb. He was out of the car before I could even ask him what was going on. What in the hell was going on? I had just wanted to ask him a few questions, but here I was, waiting for him to come back to take me to a nice Italian place. It was only when I reflected on this that I realized he might be taking me to a discreet mafia location where I could be executed and disposed of. I pulled out my phone. Ten percent battery left. I texted Jessica. “Going to dinner with Piers Letocci,” I wrote. There. That served two purposes. The first was, of course, bragging rights, even if I hadn’t known who the hell Piers Letocci was before yesterday. The second was that, if Piers was trying to pull off a mob hit on me, there would be a clear trail. I didn’t know why that thought made me feel any better. I’d still be dead. A knock on my window made me jump in my seat. I stuffed my phone back in my purse and rolled down the window. “Here,” Piers said, shoving a bag through the window. “Take this.” I took the bag and he walked around to the driver’s seat. What was in there? Was it drugs? Booze? A gun? I bet it was drugs. High-level celebrities always had designer drug addictions, if the articles in Moi were to be trusted. “Well?” he asked, settling in behind the steering wheel. “Aren’t you going to open it?” I pursed my lips in confusion. “Open it?” “It’s for you.” I peeked into the top of the bag, expecting to see bottles of prescription painkillers or baggies of uncut opiates. Instead, I pulled it out— “A shirt?” Now I was really confused. And Piers was confused at my confusion. “Maybe where you go to dinner, the standards are lower. For the rest of us, a shirt and shoes aren’t optional.” “Oh!” I said, pulling out a brand new blouse. It was a soft pink-orange, and flowy, and completely

not my style at all. “Um, thanks. Thank you.” “Put it on,” he ordered. I stared at him. “What? Don’t get all prudish on me. I’ve already seen you in your bra.” The reminder made my skin turn hot. “But we’re on a public street—” “In a car with tinted windows. In New York City, where at any time of day you can find women dressed only in bodypaint and thongs parading down the sidewalk.” “Okay, okay.” He had me there. I started pulling off his jacket, then stopped. “Do you have to look at me like that?” I asked. “Like what?” A wolfish grin spread across his face. “Like you’re enjoying it.” “Oh, I am.” I clenched his jacket back over my chest. “Cover your eyes,” I said. “What?” “I’m not changing until you cover your eyes.” “You are the most ridiculous—alright. Alright.” He put his hands over his eyes. “Let me know when you’re done.” I was already out of his jacket and pulling the top over my head. I struggled to find the right armholes. In my hurry, my head accidentally went through one of the armholes. I tugged off the top to reevaluate, twisting it on my neck. Was this on backwards? “Are you finished yet?” “No!” I said. “This top is confusing.” “I was under the impression that you were an intelligent woman.” “Whatever gave you that idea?” I asked, trying again with a different opening. Was I putting this on upside down? Where had the tag gone? “If putting on a shirt is too hard, I’d be happy to assist.” “I’m fine!” I wasn’t fine. I had it on backwards. I could see the tag now. It was— “Holy shit,” I gasped, staring at the price on the blouse. “Well, aren’t you a deliciously hot mess?” I turned my head, peeking through the tangled fabric. Piers had put his hands down and was staring at my chest openly. I blushed the same color as the soft blouse currently in a bunched up noose around my neck. “This cost over two hundred dollars!” I said, staring back down at the tag. One hundred percent cashmere. Dry clean only. That Mitch Hedberg joke flashed through my mind: This shirt is dry clean only. Which means… it’s dirty. “And?” “And?” I looked back over at Piers. “Are you kidding me? I can’t pay you back for this!” “Then don’t. But at least get it on properly.” He reached over. Before the protest could reach my lips, his fingers had slipped around my neck. All of my words dried up on my tongue. His hands were hot against the skin of my neck as he slid the shirt around to face the correct way. His touch was so possessive, so familiar. Like he touched me like this all the time. A shiver went through my whole body. “Now the arms,” he said, smiling down at me. He could tell what he was doing to me. Dammit. I struggled to get control of my raging libido. Awkwardly, I slid my hands through the proper places. I hadn’t felt this betrayed by my body since puberty, but when his hand touched my wrist to guide

me through the armhole, my whole core twisted with desire. When the shirt was over my head, he adjusted it at the waist. My heart leapt into my throat as his hand grazed my hip. That’s where he had touched me before. When he kissed me. The thought sent another barrage of electricity through my nerves. I closed my eyes and willed it to pass. I was supposed to be doing an interview. That was all this was. Then I felt Piers put one hand on the back of my neck. It was the same as before. A fierce need surged up inside of me. Despite myself, I tilted my head back and let my lips part. At any moment, his mouth would come crashing down on mine, seizing me again in another passionate kiss. At any moment… I opened my eyes. Piers was grinning at me from inches away. His hand yanked sharply at my neck, and then he dangled something in front of my face. The shirt tag. I didn’t know if spontaneous combustion was real, but if it was, I surely would have combusted right then and there. My blood pulsed in my temples as my skin turned bright red. He wasn’t going to kiss me. Of course not. I was an idiot. He turned away from me, and I could see him trying not to laugh. “So,” he said, “ready to go to dinner?”

Chapter Seven Tucked up on the top floor of a luxury highrise, the nice little Italian place was, bar none, the swankiest restaurant I’d ever been to. We walked in through a garden patio, where small waterfalls trickled over pebbled walls and women in jeweled cocktail dresses laughed softly over glasses of white wine. Marble bas-relief sculptures lined the corridor to the dining area. Shirt and shoes required? I should have listened to Clarence and changed my outfit. As we walked to the hostess stand, I noticed a few heads turning to look at me. Eyes flashed up and down my body, over my overpriced blouse and too-tight skirt. I tensed under the scrutiny and focused my attention on the restaurant decor. Wine bottles lined the shelves near the ceiling, and the lathe and plaster arches were lit with thick wax candles in iron sconces. Oil paintings hung against the plaster, showing bucolic scenes in Tuscan pastures. If it hadn’t been for all the people, I could have imagined myself back in the Italian Renaissance. My eyes fell onto the gold silk dress of a woman seated nearby. As soon as my eyes caught her gaze, she turned away and whispered something to the man she was sitting with. “Something wrong?” Piers asked. His hand came around and touched my back. Despite my previous embarrassment, my body responded instantly, twisting inside. “All of these women are wearing dresses,” I hissed. “And they’re all looking at me.” Piers smiled wryly. “They’re looking at us,” he said. A fierce emotion pierced my chest. Us. Just that one word was enough to wrench my heart from where it was attached. Just his hand on the small of my back was enough to make my pulse jump into nervous jitters. “Part and parcel of the job. Don’t worry. Nobody will be crass enough to approach us. This place has a reputation for discretion.” I gulped. That wasn’t exactly what I was worried about. As the hostess led us back through the restaurant, though, I breathed easier. We sat in the far back of the restaurant, in a small secluded booth. The back wall of the booth was lined with dusty wine bottles. “Buonasera, signor Letocci. Il solito??” our waiter asked. He had appeared out of nowhere, and the Italian rolled off of his tongue. The only word I caught was Piers’ last name. “Sì. Grazie,” Piers said. The waiter bowed and left. “What was that? Did you order me a plate of sardines?” I asked, miffed. “How does the waiter know you?” “Are we starting the interview now?” Piers teased. “So many questions.” “Do you really speak Italian?” “I guess you’ll see when the waiter comes back with your plate of sardines.” “For real, though,” I said. “When did you learn Italian?” “I’m half English, half Italian,” Piers said. “When you interview someone, do you normally make a point of it not to know anything about them?” “Hey, this is my interview,” I said archly. “I’ll ask the questions.” The waiter came back with appetizers at that moment, cutting off Piers’ reply. It wasn’t a plate of sardines after all. The dish he brought was a wood platter piled high with different meats, cheeses, and an assortment of olives and other pickled dishes. The waiter produced a bottle of red wine, and chatted in Italian with Piers for a few moments before leaving the wine on the

table. Piers picked up the bottle and poured a glass for me, twisting the bottle at the last second to avoid a spill. “Thank you,” I said, tasting the wine. “This is delicious.” It was more than delicious. I wasn’t exactly a wine connoisseur, but this one pricked my taste buds in all the right places. It was smooth, dark like blackberries, but the way it lingered on my tongue after I swallowed made me think of butter. Like a blackberry pie. I closed my eyes as I swallowed, letting the flavors play through my mouth, and when I opened them Piers was looking at me. I pressed my lips together and stared down at the wine glass as the heat moved down my throat. “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “It’s one of my favorite vintages.” “Is that so?” He grinned. I could tell he was pleased to be showing off. And it made me feel strangely proud to have someone who wanted to show off to me. It had been a while since a guy had paid so much attention to what I liked. For the next few minutes, we distracted ourselves with sampling all of the different dishes on the platter. Some of the meats were spicy, and some were subtly sweet, and I let Piers help me pair the cheeses to best advantage. One thinly sliced meat seemed to melt on my tongue. I was happily gorging myself on a bowl of olives when I noticed that Piers was staring at my lips. I licked them clean and dabbed at my mouth with a napkin, a faint blush rising to my cheeks. There was a reason I was here, after all. “Sorry I didn’t know you were half Italian,” I said. “I’m not normally so unprepared for interviews, but my boss kind of sprung it on me at the last minute.” I wanted to get back into the interview questions, but Piers broke my concentration with a teasing smile. “Here’s a riddle for you,” he said. “If you’re American when you’re in my bedroom, what are you when you’re in my bathroom?” “I know that joke,” I said, taking a sip of the wine. “You’re a-peein’.” Eur-o-pean. Hardy har. “No, actually.” “Excuse me?” “That’s not the correct answer to the riddle.” “Oh? What would I be when I’m in your bathroom?” “You’d be naked.” “What?” “Do you really think that I’d let a beautiful American girl stroll around my apartment with all of her clothes on?” His eyes started to drift downwards, as though imagining me in such a scenario. I snapped my fingers at him and his eyes jerked back up from my cleavage. “Listen to me, Senor Medici Copperfield. You and me? Not happening.” “It’s a shame you failed my riddle—” “I didn’t fail your riddle—” “But now that we’re talking about getting you naked—” “We are not talking about that!” “Really? What were we talking about?” “I was interviewing you,” I said. “Ahem. So. Interview question two. What made you come to America?” “The women,” he said, not pausing to think. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Have you seen the BBC lately?” he asked. “We can’t even find attractive women to put on TV. America is where it’s at. To put it in your slang. I love American women.” He leaned over the table, his strong fingers interlocking under his chin. I could have lost myself in those green-blue eyes if I let my gaze linger. So I didn’t. “I’m glad you like American women,” I said, struggling to remember the other questions on Jessica’s list and giving up. “So tell me more about what you do on TV.” Piers bit his lip and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “TV,” he murmured. “What do I do on TV?” A second passed, and I thought that maybe he shouldn’t have drunk two glasses of wine so quickly. Then he looked back down at me, his eyes hard. “TV is all the same,” he said. “It’s selling a fantasy to people so that they don’t think about reality too much.” “A fantasy? But you do—” “Reality TV? Sure. But it’s not real. There’s nothing real on television. Everything’s scripted. Everything’s fake.” He bit his lip again in consternation. “Don’t print that, alright? Here, I’ll give you a better answer.” “Um, okay.” His voice changed, went up a register, as he spoke. It was the same glib charm that he’d used throughout all of the auditions. I recognized it as his stage voice. “What do I do on TV? I make people’s wishes come true. Anyone on my show could become famous or rich in the snap of a finger. I’m like a genie in a lamp. Anything is possible.” “Genies are mischievous, though,” I pointed out. “Sometimes a wish comes with unintended consequences.” “That’s not my problem,” he said, shrugging as the persona slipped. “I do what people want me to do.” “That doesn’t sound like a very fulfilling job for you.” I remembered what he had told me the first night we met. “It sounds… superficial? Unsatisfying?” Piers stopped mid-sip of his wine. “Is that an interview question?” he asked. “I’m just curious,” I said. “Why do you do it if you hate it?” “I never said I hated it.” “Do you hate it?” He smiled then, but the smile never reached his eyes. “No comment.”

Our meals came, and I avoided asking Piers anything else about his work. I’d gotten the answers to all of the questions I needed already. Instead, we chatted about New York and America in general, a topic on which he had a few strong opinions. “Healthcare,” he said, waving his fork in the air for emphasis. “The American system is so unnecessarily convoluted. I went to a hospital last month for a surgery—” “Surgery? For what?” He waved away my question. “And do you know how many bills came in the mail? Twenty-six different bills. Half of them were from the hospital. Then another handful from my insurance company, one from the studio’s human resources for a premium increase, bills from every specialist that so much as looked at me as I went

through the surgery—” “But you can afford to pay them,” I said. “Of course I can! That’s not the point.” “What’s the point?” “My lawyer told me that he would go through them. After more than twenty-six phone calls, he had gotten half of the bills dropped and most of the rest reduced. It didn’t really make a difference to me, his billable rate ended up about the same. But why? Why go through all that nonsense? And what about people without lawyers? What do they do?” “They don’t go to the hospital.” “It’s insane. I’m not saying that the European way is perfect. There is no perfect system right now. But if I’m going to spend a lot of money, I want it going to the doctors and nurses giving care, not to pad the pockets of insurance executives.” “Why don’t you do a TV show about this?” I asked. “You’re obviously passionate about it—” “Ha!” Piers slumped back, and all of the energy in his body seemed to drain out in an instant. “There’s not a network in existence that would approve a show like that. Who would watch it? Who would care?” “I bet a lot of people would watch it if you wore a speedo and smeared peanut butter on yourself.” Piers gave me a half smile. “That guy shows up every week at that coffee shop,” he said. “Do you perform every week?” At that question, Piers clamped his lips shut. He had opened himself up to me, but now I could see him closing the door as clearly as day. “I don’t think I’ll go back there,” he said. “Why not?” “Honestly?” He looked at me over the rim of his glass of wine. We were on our second bottle, and while he’d drunk more than I had, he didn’t seem to be the least bit tipsy. “Honestly,” I repeated. “You’re really good at playing the piano.” He laughed softly and looked down into his glass. When he raised his eyes to mine again, they had darkened to a deep aquamarine. And I realized that he was sitting close to me in the booth, close enough that our knees brushed each other. I was transported back to the night I’d heard him play, and I thought it was that more than the wine that made my skin burn. “I can’t go back,” he said. “A journalist knows I play there.” “Me?” I put down my glass and placed my hand on his. I meant the gesture reassuringly, but he tensed under my fingers. The air between us was electric. “I would never tell anyone about that.” “Just our little secret, eh?” “Yes. I can keep a secret.” “You can keep a secret until you need the money. Until someone comes up to you and offers ten thousand for the secret. It’s such a little secret, and worth so much.” Before I could protest, Piers had turned his hand over. His fingers twined up through mine and he lifted my hand to his lips. Any sentence that was forming in my head was melted by the heat of his lips brushing against the backs of my knuckles. “Nobody can keep a secret like that,” he whispered. His lips moved against my skin. “I wouldn’t want to tempt you.” I swallowed hard. His eyes were so dark now, dark like a storming sea reflected in the sky. I thought suddenly of one time when I’d been playing in the ocean as a child, when the water was getting rough and stormy. I’d gotten sucked into the current, and gulped a mouthful of salt water. Flailing, I’d looked up just as a wave crested above me, spitting foam. The dark underbelly of a wave coming to crush

me—that was what I saw when I looked into his eyes. “You asked about Sasha before.” The name bounced around my head a few times before it registered. The singer he had been dating. Right. “I don’t… I didn’t—” “I thought I loved her,” Piers said. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. He had gone cold, blank. “And?” When he shook his head, his lips brushed against my skin once, again. And this time the storm was inside me, gathering deep inside my core. The rumblings of something dark and frightening. “Piers?” I asked. My voice had gone, and it was only a whisper of a question. “What happened?” His fingers tightened around mine, and I found that I was holding my breath as I waited for him to answer. “She took pictures of me.” “Pictures?” “When I was sleeping. When we were together. You understand? Naked photos.” My lips dropped apart. The image of Piers naked and asleep sent a hot shiver through my nerves, and that was my first instinctive response. But the emotion that swept through me after that was revulsion, pure revulsion. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. To be betrayed like that— “Why?” Piers looked at me, and heat moved through my cheeks. “I— I mean, she’s a famous singer, isn’t she?” I stammered. “Surely she didn’t need the money.” “She had addictions. It’s possible she needed cash quickly.” “You don’t think that was it?” Piers shrugged. He looked down and seemed to realize that he was still holding my hand. He let go and ran both of his hands through his hair, staring off a million miles away. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was the fame she wanted,” he said. His voice was bitter. “And she got it.” I wanted to take his hand again. I wanted to curl up against him and hold him tightly, and stroke him on the back until he let go of whatever tension had strung itself through his body with this betrayal. But I was the wrong person to comfort him. I was a journalist. I was the enemy. And at that moment, I felt as though I could never close the distance between us, no matter how much I wanted to. I would never understand the kind of position he was in. I couldn’t even come close to understanding. Instead of scrambling back to shore, I was drifting even farther out to sea. And the storm was coming closer.

Chapter Eight “I can’t publish this.” Clarence waved a copy of my interview with Piers Letocci at me. I crossed my arms and glanced out his open door at the office. Whenever Clarence punished someone, he left his door open. I’d known from the start that this was going to go badly. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” “What’s the matter with it?” “The matter? There’s nothing exciting in here! There’s nothing new.” He stared down at the page. “I’m half-English, half-Italian. Everybody knows this!” “I didn’t know it.” “I knew I shouldn’t have sent you to do this piece. This is up on the front page of our site right now, and it’s total shit.” “I thought you said you couldn’t publish it.” “I have to publish something! And all I have is this piece of trash that’s supposed to be our lead article for the day!” My nostrils flared, but I kept myself from snapping back. Clarence was always moody, but today he was all puffed up like a blowfish. Jessica walked by the open door, making eye contact with me. As she moved out of Clarence’s range of view, her face crinkled into a sympathetic pout. Sorry! she mouthed. I shrugged slightly. I’d known this was coming. It was because I’d held back in the details on the interview. Maybe I’d held back too much. After what Piers had told me, though, I was wary of putting in the kind of information I normally do with my interviews. I hesitated to include some of the more emotional comments he made, and I didn’t do my usual speculation about the real answers to some of the harder questions I’d asked. I’d spent a lot of time describing his suit jacket, mainly because I’d been wearing it for so long. “Do you know how many favors we called in to get this interview?” Clarence was asking. “Do you know how much we paid to get this kind of access? And what do you go and do with it? This! What a fucking waste of an interview. How many shares am I going to get with this? How many retweets?” “More than you deserve,” I muttered. “Do you know how much we already poured into the promotions budget for this week? You didn’t even ask him about Sasha Tiernan!” “I’m a journalist,” I snapped. “Not a gossip columnist. And if you’d let me write my article on Syria—” Clarence exploded from out of his seat, his finger in my face. “You are nothing!” he screamed. “Nothing, understand? You are off the writing staff as of today! No new assignments!” The blood drained from my face. “Wait,” I said. “Listen. I know it wasn’t a great piece, but—” “Get your ass back into the office and help Tammy audit payroll once you’re done with the support graphics.” “Wait—” “No.” Clarence’s voice was boiling with fury. “I waited an extra day for this turd of an article, and look what it got me.” “Please,” I said. I leaned forward on Clarence’s desk and picked up the article. I swallowed hard, crumpling the paper in my hand. “I’ll rewrite it. I’ll do a follow up. Please.”

Writing was all I’d ever wanted to do. Getting kicked back to support would be a huge step backwards. “Get out of my office,” he said. He stood up and gestured toward the door, where a couple of people in the office snapped their heads back to their work. I flushed and turned back to Clarence. He couldn’t do this to me. I was the hardest worker in the office. “But—” “Get out before I decide to fire you.” Clarence’s eyes flickered over to the door he was gesturing to. I was about to seal my fate with another protest when I saw his expression change. His rage turned to shock, and his clenched jaw dropped open. I turned around and saw Piers Letocci standing in the doorway. He leaned casually against the door frame, a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. “Have I come at a bad time?” he asked.

“Piers!” I froze, my back against my boss’s desk. Piers Letocci was here, at my work. Holding a bouquet of flowers. Why? For a brief moment, I knew—knew!—that he had come to rescue me. He was going to sweep me away into his arms, and kiss me in front of everyone, Clarence and Jessica and all of them. And then he’d tell me that he’d gotten me a position at the New York Times, and would I want to do some serious journalism, and I’d say Yes, Piers, yes! And then we would hop on our jet skis and ride away into the sunset. But then I saw the camera crew behind him. “Uh, what’s going on?” I asked. “Hello, Mr. Letocci!” Clarence boomed from behind me. “Please come in! Ah—would you like to sit down?” Piers didn’t even bother to reply to him. “Hi, Lisa,” he said, smiling broadly. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “What are all those cameras doing here?” “I wanted to personally congratulate you.” It wasn’t his normal voice. I recognized that in an instant. It was Piers, the performer. Piers, the TV host. He came into Clarence’s office and shoved the bouquet of pink roses into my hands. I stared down at them. “What is this, Lisa?” Clarence was asking from behind me. “I—I don’t know,” I said. The whole camera crew had followed Piers into the small office. A microphone hung over our heads. “You made it! We’d love to have you join us on the brand new show, The Billionaire Dating Game!” “Oh my God!” Jessica was jumping up and down outside of Clarence’s office. Behind her, I could see people poking their heads up to see what was going on. Piers Letocci was here, and a camera crew, and I could already see some of the writers touching up their makeup in case they got to be on TV. The thought passed through my mind that it was lucky I was wearing my only skirt today. The camera swept back to catch Jessica as she ran into the office and hugged me tightly. The bouquet of roses was between us, and I could smell the scent of crushed rose petals.

“Oh my God, Lisa, you never told me you were auditioning!” “I—I didn’t—” “You’re on the show?” Clarence was asking, in a confused voice. “Why wasn’t this in the article?” “You didn’t tell your boss about the audition?” “It wasn’t a real audition!” I glared at Piers, who only smiled back at me even brighter. “The producers loved you so much that they had to have you on the show,” Piers said. The cameras swung toward him, and I saw that he was wearing a wireless microphone on his shirt. “You’re going to be on TV!” Jessica squealed. She hugged me again, and then hugged Piers, jumping up and down. Well, I was glad at least one of us was excited about this. “No, I’m not!” The cameras swung back to me. There was a silence in the office as everyone waited for me to speak. The light on the camera blinked red at me. I felt like I was in the middle of a hurricane. “I can’t—I can’t take weeks off of work to be on a reality TV show. I have work to do here. I… Clarence…” I turned around to my boss and gestured helplessly. “Lisa,” Clarence said, “I can’t believe you would go and do something like this without telling me.” I gulped. Was I about to be fired? Would this go on national television? “Because I think that this is a great idea!” he said, his face breaking into a smile. Jessica squealed again, so high-pitched that I was sure the dog kennel across the street was going nuts. “You do?” I breathed. “Of course! What an article this will make! You have to write down everything! I expect a full report!” There was a hard glint in Clarence’s eye. I knew exactly what that look meant—don’t fuck this up. He clapped me on the back so hard that my teeth clacked together. “Congratulations, Lisa!” “This is going to be the best!” Jessica shrieked. “You’re going to date a billionaire!” She stuck her head out into the main office. “Hey, everybody! Lisa is going to be on The Billionaire Dating Game!” The noise in the office was tremendous, but it all dimmed in my ears at the realization that I wasn’t going to be writing any more articles for the next few weeks. I wasn’t going to be doing any graphics, or helping Jessica pick out the next fashion model to shoot. If Clarence had decided to pick out the worst possible punishment for me, I would never have imagined something as awful as this. I was going on reality TV… to date a billionaire. “Well, this is just terrific,” I said, staring at Piers and holding the crumpled bouquet of pink roses. He winked, and for a second there I saw the real Piers under the polished persona in the suit. “Gotcha,” he whispered, as the camera swung over the celebration in the magazine’s office.

Chapter Nine “No, please,” I said, with forced politeness in my voice. “Allow me to escort you out.” I shoved Piers into the office elevator. The cameramen started to follow us in. “Sorry,” I said, blocking their way. “This elevator has a strict weight limit, and I haven’t been following my diet.” “I’ll meet you downstairs,” Piers called out to them as the elevator doors closed. As soon as the elevator started to drop, I spun around. “What in the everloving fuck were you thinking, coming here like this?” Piers was already laughing at me, and it made me furious. He had embarrassed me in front of the whole office, and for what? I swatted him with the bouquet of roses. “Ouch! Wait one second,” he said, fumbling with his microphone. “Let me turn this off first.” “No, you wait one second!” I said, punctuating my sentences with swats of the bouquet. “You! Are! Insane!” Rose petals flew into the air and Piers warded off my blows with his hand. “Cut it out,” he said, still laughing. “You cut it out! I am not going on your stupid TV show!” “Your boss wants you to.” “And that, too! Why the hell did you ask me in front of my boss? In front of the whole office of Moi?” “Because I knew you would say no if I asked you privately.” The elevator doors opened at the next floor, and a group of people from Accounting tried to step in. I turned around, a bouquet-wielding maniac, and they paused at the threshold. Pink rose petals littered the floor of the elevator. “You’ll have to take the next one,” I said. “This is a private elevator reserved for asshole TV hosts and their unsuspecting victims.” As the doors closed again, I could hear one of the women whispering loudly: “Was that Piers Letocci?” “Great,” I said, turning back to Piers and stabbing him in the chest with the roses. “You’re going to have every floor talking about this.” “Welcome to television.” “No! Not welcome to television! I never agreed to be on television!” “You agreed to an audition.” “I never agreed! You coerced me! This—this is entrapment!” “I thought you were desperate to meet a good guy, Lisa.” His eyes twinkled. And the way he said my name—so smoothly, like it was honey dripping from his lips—made my body twist into something half between desire and rage. “Desperate?! I’ll show you desperate!” I shrieked, lifting the bouquet over my head to smash it across his shoulder one last time. What an arrogant, impossible man— His hand caught my wrist mid-air, and before I could pull away, he had shoved me back against the elevator doors, pinning my hands above my head with one hand. With the other, he hit the Emergency Stop button. The elevator jarred to a halt. “What are you—” He kissed me. Not gently, this time. There was no hesitation, no pause. Only a hard need that shocked my whole body as he pushed himself against me, pressing me back against the doors. I gasped as

his lips seized mine, and my body arched instinctively into his body with desire curling up through me, igniting my nerves like wildfire. The bouquet of roses fell to the floor. “Piers—” “Lisa.” His voice was a low groan, and I could feel him hard against me, his cock already growing hard through the fabric of his pants. He kissed me again and again. His tongue skimmed my bottom lip and my mouth parted, letting him invade me. Letting him take me. My hands were pinned against the wall of the elevator. I twisted weakly, but he only pressed his body against me harder. His free hand cupped the curve of my ass, lifting me. I cried out softly as his legs forced mine apart and he showed me the evidence of his desire. I was on tiptoe, and every move I made only served to tighten his hold on me. He let go of my hands, but before I could push him away, he had lifted me up to his waist. Kissing me again, he leaned me into the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist as though it was the hundredth time doing this, and not the first. His fingers clutched my thigh, kneading the soft flesh there, and his lips pressed hot and wanting into my neck. My skirt was shoved up mid-thigh and I didn’t even care. I tilted my head back against the wall of the elevator and moaned as he licked me from the collarbone to just behind the ear, pressing a kiss there for good measure. “Piers… Piers…” I didn’t know if I was protesting or encouraging him, but then my fingers were in his hair and I was pulling him in for another kiss. His face was smooth and smelled of aftershave. As he spun pleasure out from my lips, I nuzzled into his cheek, letting my bangs fall softly across his skin. Then he pulled back. I ached as his lips left mine, my legs trembling as he set me back down on my feet. “What was that?” I whispered. “Just a kiss,” he said. He smiled at me, and it was a real smile, not a fake TV smile. “Right,” I said, nodding as I caught my breath. “Just a kiss.” “We should get back.” He leaned forward and punched the elevator button again. Nothing happened. He frowned and punched the emergency button. Then the floor button again. The elevator stayed still. “Hmm,” he said. “Hmm?” What does that mean?” “I—hmm.” He started pressing every button on the panel. None of them did anything. “That’s interesting.” “Are we stuck here?” I asked. Panic started to rise in my throat. “Of course not,” Piers said. “Just—wait one second.” He pried at the elevator doors, but they didn’t move. “I don’t think you can open elevator doors like that,” I said. “Well, what do you suggest?” I examined the elevator panel. “There’s a button for emergency radio,” I said. It said Push to Speak. “Did you try that?” “This isn’t an emergency,” Piers said, crossing his arms in irritation. “Funny,” I said. “Because you pushed the Emergency Stop button just a minute ago.” We glared at each other. “I’m going to try it,” I said. I hit the emergency radio button. “Hello? Anybody there?” I let go of the button. After a moment, the panel crackled with static. Then a voice. “Hello, this is security.” “Hi, this is Lisa Forrester,” I said. “From Moi.” “They don’t need to know your credentials,” Piers interrupted. I ignored him, still keeping the button pressed.

“Uh, my elevator got stuck on the—looks like the eleventh floor? Could you—um—start it again?” “Oh, are you in elevator B?” the voice asked. I glanced up at the panel. “Yep, looks like it,” I said. “Okay,” the guy from security said. “I’ll be able to get you restarted.” “Great,” I said, giving Piers a satisfied look. “Should only be… oh, a half hour or so.” “What?” Both Piers and I said it at the same time. “Elevator B’s a finicky one. Has to be restarted manually. Don’t worry, it won’t be long.” “A half hour?!” “Do you need to use the restroom or something?” the security guy asked. My gut twisted. “I didn’t before you asked!” “Let me talk to him,” Piers said, pushing me aside. “By all means,” I grumbled. “Hello?” Piers said. “This is Piers Letocci.” He waited for some acknowledgment from the security guard, but there was only static. “I need to get out of here,” Piers continued. “I have a very important appointment this morning, and I have to get back to the TV studio as soon as possible.” “Huh,” the voice said. “Very important, huh?” “Yes,” Piers said firmly. “Well,” the security guard said. “In that case, I’ll be able to get you out in about… oh, a half hour or so.” I almost laughed aloud as Piers’ mouth dropped open. The static from the panel clicked off. Piers slammed his hand against the panel. Then he slumped back against the wall of the elevator, sinking down onto the floor covered in rose petals. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said. He shook his head in disbelief. “Just one kiss,” I said. “Just one kiss,” he echoed. “Hope it was worth it.” He looked up at me, and I could almost see the cogs turning in his brain. A half hour. He grinned. “Well,” he said. “Since we’re not going anywhere for a while…” “No,” I said. I put my hands up and backed away to the other side of the elevator. “I didn’t mean anything by that.” “You’re absolutely right, though,” Piers said. He didn’t make a move to stand up, but his hand went up to his shirt and he began to unbutton the top. “We’re going to be stuck here for the next half hour. And just one kiss… well, it wouldn’t really be worth the trouble if we stopped there, would it?” No. He wasn’t really thinking what I thought he was thinking. No way. “I think that kiss was absolutely worth it,” I said, blood rushing to my cheeks. Were we running out of air in the elevator already? I was starting to have trouble getting enough oxygen into my lungs. “Really?” “Really.” I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Piers Letocci was a troublemaker. He was a reckless playboy, a rogue who got any girl he wanted just because he was famous. And here I was, letting him walk all over me. Kiss all over me. Oh, God. At that thought, I imagined his mouth moving down my neck, past my shirt… “No,” I said. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear you thinking it.” I bit my lip, and Piers grinned a wickedly mischievous grin. “That means you’re thinking it, too.” “I am not thinking it. I am not thinking about anything. My brain is absolutely empty of things. Especially those kinds of things.” That was a total lie. My brain was imagining Piers stripping down naked in this elevator. Imagining his muscles gleaming with sweat as he pressed himself against me, thrusting deep, relieving the ache inside me— I clenched my eyes shut, willing away the thoughts. “You’re definitely not thinking about anything,” Piers teased. “That’s right.” “Just a silly airhead who likes red Ferraris. Not a thought in the world but mindless fun.” I opened my eyes. His hands were resting casually on his knees, and his light eyes were twinkling at me. “That’s right,” I said, my willpower cracking. “So? Let’s have some fun.” He smiled, and my arms were covered in goosebumps. “I don’t—I don’t want—” “Of course you do. There’s even a song about it. Girls just wanna have fun. Right?” He was still sitting over on the other side of the elevator. The air between us seemed to spark with the possibility of—whatever it was that he was offering. And was I really going to pass that up? Stop, Lisa. What was I thinking? Sure, he was handsome. Sure, he was famous. But that was no reason to melt inside as soon as he made a pass at me. I put my hands on my hips and stood up straight. Jessica had told me that this was a power stance, and that men would respect me more if I stood like that, not slouched over. And against Piers Letocci, I needed every bit of power I could get. “Listen to me, Piers,” I said. “I’m listening,” he said, all politeness. “I am not some silly fangirl, and I know exactly what you want from me.” “Do you?” Piers stood up slowly, his top button undone. I swallowed. My hands fell down away from my hips. I quickly put them back. Power stance. Don’t give in. “I do.” He stepped one step closer to me. The air in the elevator was redolent with the scent of crushed rose petals. “Stop right there,” I said. He stopped, his smile fading only slightly. “What do you think I want from you?” he asked softly. God, that voice. That accent. His words whispered down my spine, sliding through my limbs. I trembled, but managed to keep my hands planted on my hips. “Pleasure,” I said. It was meant to come out boldly, but as I looked up into those aquamarine eyes, my voice lost its power on my tongue. “Pleasure?” The word plucked at my nerves, sending my core into a fluttered vibration. “You… you just want to use me for your pleasure.” And as nice as that sounds… “You think you can get anything you want because you’re you.” He tilted his head. One more step, and he would be against my body. He looked me up and down, his gaze like a touch. “You’re completely wrong,” he said.

“Am I?” He put one hand up, resting it on the elevator wall over my head. He leaned toward me. I was pressed back as far as I could, glued to the wall. His mouth was at my ear, and I could feel his breath hot against my skin. “I only want to give you pleasure.” It was a whisper, but it echoed in my head as loudly as if he had screamed it. “Lisa…” My throat had closed up completely, and I ached to reach out to him. He wasn’t touching me, but it was just as bad as if he had his hands pressed to my waist. My whole body was throbbing with desire. “Yes?” “We only have twenty-five minutes left.” I swallowed. The air was hot, and the smell of his aftershave was mixing with the scent of the roses. “And?” He smiled at me, his eyes glittering blue and green. “How many orgasms do you think I can give you in twenty-five minutes?”

Chapter Ten The answer, as it turned out, was three. Okay, okay. I know that I should have pushed him away. But before I could say another word, Piers was kissing my neck. My power stance melted away as his hands circled my waist, caressing my curves. Was this actually happening? A kiss was one thing, but was I actually going to let Piers Letocci fuck me in an elevator? No. No way. I wasn’t the classiest girl, but I was classier than that. At least, I thought I was classier than that. I was beginning to doubt myself, especially when Piers squeezed my ass and all I did was squirm with pleasure. “Wait,” I managed to gasp out. “Wait. Piers.” “Lisa, I can’t wait to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw you two nights ago.” “You—you have?” “And then…” “And then?” It was a squeak. “And then I’ll make you come again. And again. And again.” His voice rumbled along my nerves. He couldn’t wait to make me come? I couldn’t wait, either. It had been so long since I’d slept with a guy. I was aching inside, hollow with need. No. Lisa. Be classy. Be— “Ohh!” I moaned as he sucked my earlobe, his tongue slick and hot on my skin. Okay. Forget classy. I splayed my fingers back against the elevator door, willing myself to stay upright. He unbuttoned my shirt quickly, ripping one button loose. “Piers!” I protested. The button clinked to the elevator floor. “Slow down! My buttons—” “We’re going for a record here,” he said. “No time to lose.” His blue-green eyes glittered with desire, and when he looked into my eyes, I blushed. I was going to do this. I was going to let Piers Letocci have his way with me in an elevator. And right then, I didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not I was classy. I just needed to satisfy the ache that was currently burning white-hot in my core. With one hand around my back, he unhooked my bra. With the other, he whipped my blouse away. It fell in a pile on the opposite corner. And then I was topless, my nipples pebbling with the chill of the air and the thought of Piers’ tongue on me. He reached for my breasts with both hands, and a thought flashed across my mind. I grabbed his wrists, stopping him just before he took me in his hands. “Wait,” I said. “Lisa, I think I’ve been remarkably patient already. What is it now?” “What if there are security cameras?” I hissed, scanning the ceiling of the elevator. “Then I imagine we’ll be on them.” He bent his head and licked my nipple. A thrill shivered my body. “But—” “Lisa, if you don’t hush already, I’ll find the video footage myself and air it tonight on national television.” I clapped my mouth shut and gave one more glance up toward the imaginary security cameras. Then Piers sucked my nipple hard, and any thought of cameras or reason vanished from my mind. His

tongue swirled around my flesh, his teeth grazing my aching nipple. “Ohhhh.” He moved to my other breast, kissing and sucking. One hand came up to my chest, and I felt his hand cupping my breast, weighing its heft. He gave it a slight squeeze and I moaned. Then his fingers seized my nipple and he twisted. “Ahh!” A shock of pain melted into pleasure as his mouth found my nipple and sucked, his tongue caressing the aching nub. My hands gripped his shoulders, but I couldn’t push him away. He pinched my nipple again, hard, and another explosive shock ripped through my nerves. I wrenched forward, but with his other hand, he pressed my hip back against the elevator door, locking me back. I was pinned, throbbing. I didn’t know what he was doing to me, but the coil inside of me was wound tighter than it’d ever been before. I needed him, but his mouth retreated into softness, kissing and suckling at my breast as though he hadn’t just pinched the poor, aching nipple. My breaths came hard and fast, and I clutched his muscles through his suit jacket, pulling him closer. “Please,” I gasped. “Please. Piers…” His thumb brushed against the front of my skirt. It was barely any pressure, and it made me quiver and arch forward. “Yes,” I moaned. “Please, more. Please—” “Are you going to come for me, Lisa?” “Yes,” I said, my eyes clenched. It was too much. I was too tight inside, and his hand had me pinned. I couldn’t do anything but beg. “Please, just please—” He bent his head. As his thumb pressed into me at the perfect spot, he sucked my nipple hard. A violent surge of sensation threw every muscle in my body into tremors. The orgasm seized me before I knew it was coming. His tongue pressed hard circles against me, and his thumb mirrored the motion between my thighs, pushing through the fabric of my skirt. “Ohh!” Ohhhhhh!” The low groan escaped my lips without warning. I arched into his hand, coming hard. My body shook against him, shook violently. I was helpless to stop it, and as the spasms rocked my body, I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back, tilting my body into his touch shamelessly, with desperate need. It had been so long since someone else had given me an orgasm, and I wanted to squeeze every last bit of pleasure from it. I shuddered, shuddered again, and kept my eyes closed even as I regained my breath. Piers continued to kiss my breast, caressing the skin with his tongue, until the last shudder ran through my body. His hand eased up from my hip and settled at my waist, holding me up. I wanted to stay like this forever. I wanted— “Hello? Miss Forrester? Mr. Letocci?” The panel crackled to life. I jerked upright, smacking the back of my head against the wall. “Ow!” I cried. Piers leaned over and pressed the radio button. His thumb still circled idly around one of my nipples. “Yes?” “We’ll have you out of there in about fifteen,” the security guard said. “Just had to turn on the backup pulley.” “Brilliant. Keep up the good work!” Piers said. He lifted his hand off of the button. I brushed my hair back with one hand, turning to the mirror on the back wall to check how disheveled I was. Very disheveled, as it turned out. My pulse was still pounding hard. Piers, on the other hand, looked as calm and collected as when he’d first walked into the office. I turned back to him. “Piers, thank you. That was—” He spun me around so quickly that I almost tripped. My hands caught my fall, pressing against the

back wall of the elevator. One arm came around my waist, holding me tight. Another hand yanked up my skirt. I could see him in the mirror, his blue-green eyes twinkling above my shoulder. “Ah!” I cried. “What are you doing?” “We have fifteen minutes left,” he said. His fingers pressed hard into my thigh under my skirt, and I could feel the length of his cock against the small of my back. My God, he was huge. In the mirror, he licked his lips. “Piers—” “I’d better stop with the subtleties. Only one orgasm would hardly be a record.” He bent to kiss my neck, and I tilted my head back as though by instinct, giving him access. The ache inside me was back, as fierce as before. His breath was hot against my ear. “Well,” I said, my words coming between breaths as he moved to kiss the back of my neck. “I would hate—to tarnish—your—ah!—reputation.” Piers let go. My eyes flashed up to him in the mirror. Had I said something wrong? “Keep your hands on the wall,” he said, in a voice used to giving orders. “Stand right there.” I watched him in the mirror as he took off his suit jacket. It joined my blouse on the floor. He unbuttoned one more button of his shirt, revealing only a glimpse of his chiseled chest. He stared down at me, and I saw myself in the mirror as he must see me. My naked breasts swinging in front of me. My skirt stretched across my hips. My cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Lisa,” he said, his mouth curving up into a smile. “You look positively delicious.” I didn’t respond. I didn’t have time. He stepped forward, his chest pressed against my back, his arm holding me tightly. When his other hand slid forward, under my panties, I gasped, twisting, but couldn’t move. His fingers slid down and under, right at the entrance of my aching slit. His hand stroked me around the edges of my entrance, teasing me. His palm cupped my clit. I was still throbbing from the first orgasm he’d given me. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. This was not like me. This wasn’t something I would ever do. And yet I wanted it oh so badly. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” he said. His cock twitched against the small of my back. “I wish I could take you for myself right now. But I promised. This is all your pleasure, Lisa.” My pleasure. I had barely registered the words before he plunged two fingers into me. A jagged breath caught in my throat. His strong fingers were inside me, deep inside me. Piers tilted his hips forward, pressing his erection into my back. His hand massaged my already swollen clit. A small, needy noise choked my throat. “Not yet,” he whispered. His mouth sucked under my ear, at the sensitive part of my neck. “Not yet, Lisa. This is all for you.” I want it. I didn’t say the words, but they echoed in my mind. I want it. Please, I want it. My teeth bit down on my bottom lip and I tried not to shatter as his fingers withdrew slowly, then thrust back upward into me. The air in the elevator was gone. There was only heat, a burning heat that seared my nerves. His fingers eased in, then out. He stroked both sides of my slit and then plunged into me again. With every thrust, I clenched harder, needing to feel him deep inside me. With my eyes shut, all I could see were the white explosions behind my eyelids as his thick fingers thrust in and out in an increasing rhythm. “Ohhh.” This was what I was reduced to. Half-moans and greedy whimpers. Primal sounds growling up through my throat. His mouth was on my neck, working from side to side. His tongue slicking my skin, his teeth nibbling my collarbone. Every breath took more and more effort, and my palms were slick with sweat against the mirror. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t dare see what I had turned into. My panties fell to my ankles, useless and wet. I tried to step out of them, stumbling sideways.

“Let me help you with that.” Piers hooked his fingers into me, lifting me up. All of my weight was putting pressure on my already swollen clit. I gasped as he bit down on my neck at the base of my spine. My panties were forgotten as the pressure sent my body into a terrible, aching need. “Piers—Piers—” With his free hand, he reached up and clasped my chin. He tilted my head and kissed me on the side of the mouth. Rough kisses, wild kisses. When he eased me back down, it wasn’t all the way. My toes scraped the floor of the elevator. Most of my weight still rested against his palm, against my aching, swollen clit. “Piers—” “Use your arms,” he said. “Push.” “Push?” My question was a gasp. “I want to feel your rhythm.” I pushed against the wall, rocking back on his hand. The pressure eased for only a second, and then I rocked back onto my tiptoes, his fingers filling me again, stretching me. I moaned, dizzy with sensation. “That’s it,” he whispered in my ear. He kissed my shoulder and his hand stroked the bottom of my chin, clasping around my neck in a soft grip. “Again.” I would have done anything he asked at that moment. His other hand held me around the neck. I felt completely possessed by his hands, completely under his control. I rocked back and forth on his fingers, letting myself fall into a rhythm. His palm cupped me, rubbing in slow hard circles over my clit. “Ohhhh!” I cried. I moved faster, rocking back against his chest, then forward into his hand. My eyes were shut tight as my body clenched around his fingers. I could hear his breath quickening in my ear as he rocked with me, faster and faster. My core coiled up into a fierce ache, tight inside of me. Faster. Faster. I had never felt such a need before. My whole body thrust itself hard onto his fingers, my palms hard against the mirror. I moaned and moaned. As I opened my mouth to moan, his fingers slid between my lips. My eyes snapped open. I froze, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was flushed bright red, and I was leaning forward. My bangs were plastered with sweat to my forehead. His fingers were thrust into my mouth. I looked utterly ridiculous. Shame burned through me, and I felt the warm air turn hot. “Look at me, Lisa.” Piers’ voice tore me away from my reflection. I saw his face in the mirror, his brows sweeping down in two dark lines. “Don’t stop,” he ordered. His palm moved, rubbing my clit and sending shocks of electric pleasure through me. The fingers in my mouth slid out, then back in. I tasted his fingertips, salty on my tongue. “Look at me and keep going,” he said. My skin was burning hot, but I nodded. He pressed his cock hard into my back, rocking me forward. That was enough to blur my embarrassment. All of my thoughts disappeared as he forced his fingers into me, thrusting hard into my swollen flesh. As he thrust, his other fingers filled my mouth, and he sucked the side of my neck. “Mmmm!” I couldn’t moan around his fingers. I felt full, so full, and as his thick fingers worked deeper into me, I let my eyes close. I imagined what it would be like if I was sucking his cock instead of his fingers. If his long, hard length was thrusting inside me. The thought made me clench tightly, rocking forward with a violent need. “Yes,” Piers was whispering in my ear. “Yes. Lisa—”

“Mmmmmm!!!” I squeezed hard, my body starting to shudder from within. The coil inside me loosened as the orgasm began to slide through me. This one was going to be much, much more intense. I could feel the pressure inside me lifting me up, up— “Open your eyes.” I opened them. Piers was staring at me in the mirror. His upper lip was beaded with sweat, and his eyes were dark with desire. “Look at me,” he said. I want to see your beautiful eyes when you come.” His fingers thrust into my mouth, and his other hand rubbed my clit. I moaned against his hand. Yes. Yes. It was too much. I couldn’t stop. I rocked hard into his palm, and every particle in my body exploded with pleasure. He held me in his grip as my body wrenched forward, then back, milking his fingers the way I wanted to milk his cock. “Look at me,” he murmured, although he didn’t have to. I couldn’t watch myself as I writhed in the clutches of the hardest orgasm that had ever ripped through me. I stared into his eyes, blue like the ocean and green like the river. I shuddered again and again as his fingers thrust into me, his thick fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them hard, instinct taking me over. Oh God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. White spots fuzzed my vision as the orgasm twisted through me. Ecstasy filled me, filled me the same way he filled me, stretching me out and making me whole. My legs were useless, but he held me tight in his arms as I shook and shivered with spasms of pleasure. And all the while he watched me, watched me watching him. Watched as I shook again and again, watched as my body went weak and limp. Breathe, Lisa. His fingers slid out from between my lips, pressing slightly against my bottom lip. His arm held my body against his chest as he withdrew his other fingers, wet with my juices. He brought them up and licked his fingertips. Tasted me. I felt faint. The last shivers of ecstasy ran through my body like ripples through a pond. My muscles were watery, limp. My eyes fell away from his and I struggled to stay upright. “I can’t…I can’t stand up.” “Good.” Without another word, he had me in his arms. He lay me down on his discarded jacket on the floor of the elevator. White spots swam in front of my eyes as I looked up at the ceiling of the elevator. It was a mirror. I don’t know if I’d ever noticed that before. Then I noticed where Piers was kneeling. His hands ran along my thighs, up past my skirt. “Piers—” I gasped, trying to catch my breath, “Piers, what are you—” CLANG! CLANG! A knocking noise came from above us, near the top of the elevator door. I wrenched my head sideways, but Piers didn’t so much as glance up. His hands shoved my knees apart. “Piers—Piers, what are you—” “Can’t stop now.” “They’re almost here!” “Exactly! We’re wasting precious moments!” Then his mouth was sealed over my clit, sucking hard. This time, the orgasm was nearly instant. His fingers were thrust into me up to the knuckle as he sucked, his tongue flicking my aching clit past what it could bear. A burst of new ecstasy tore me apart, and I writhed on the floor. “Ohhhh!” I screamed, then clapped my hand over my mouth. I bit down on my palm, trying to

stifle the moan that ripped from my lungs. This wasn’t a normal orgasm. It went on and on, the seconds spinning around dizzily. I arched against the floor of the elevator, and in the mirrored ceiling I could see my legs wrapped around Piers’ neck as he sucked, sucked and licked, one hand gripping my ass as the other thrust into my clenching body. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! My fingers scrabbled at the floor, grabbing only a handful of pink rose petals. There was nothing human left in me, only animal urges that made me thrash around as wave after wave hit me, threw me into a frenzy of pleasure. And still his mouth was sealed over me, his tongue working my clit to the last moment. “Mmmmmmm!” I closed my eyes, twisting as the last burst of electric ecstasy arced through my body. My hips spasmed wildly against his mouth, against his hot, hot tongue. Then it was over, and all that was left was a dark warm feeling in my core and small shallow breaths shivering my body. I wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for an hour. I wanted to lay there, in the middle of the rose petals, and let my nerves thread themselves back together after having been ripped apart. I needed to rest. “Come on,” Piers said. “Time to get up.” “Mmmm?” I opened one eye. He bent down and picked me up, setting me on my feet. I slumped against the side of the elevator. I couldn’t stand in heels. Not now. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Oh, shit. I opened both eyes. I was topless. I couldn’t be topless when the security guy came in. “Here, take this,” Piers said, fumbling with my blouse. “Quick, put it on!” “It’s inside out,” I said, moving as though in slow motion. “Why did you put it inside out?” “It’s confusing, okay!” “I was under the impression you were an intelligent man,” I mumbled, taking the blouse. “Just put it on,” he said. I blinked and stared into my reflection in the back wall. Dang, that was the wrong button. I started to unbutton the blouse again. “What are you—just wear this!” Piers threw his jacket on over me and tugged the front shut. He picked up the now-mangled bouquet of roses and thrust them into my hands. I was still dizzy, catching my breath. “How do I look—oh, God.” I had caught sight of my face in the mirror. My hair was a rumpled mess, my cheeks were flushed red, and my lipstick was smeared terribly. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” “Come here.” Piers spun me around to face him. His eyes were sparkling, and he looked classy as ever, his lips a bit pinker than before, his hair a bit darker at the roots. He smoothed my hair down quickly with his hands. Then he cupped my chin in his hands, his thumbs wiping off my lipstick around the edges. “Do I look okay?” I asked. Piers smiled, a slow smile that made my insides curl up. He bent his head and gave me one last quick, hard kiss. Then another swipe of his thumb on my lips. “You look perfect,” he said, dropping his hands away from me just in time for the elevator doors to open.

Chapter Eleven “You can’t tell me nothing happened.” “Nothing happened. Now help me decide what I should wear on day one.” I shoved the last hanger back into my closet. “The gray cardigan? Or the brown one?” “Neither!” Jessica crossed her arms, sitting back on my couch recliner. “Emma, did she tell you what happened with Piers?” “Nope,” Emma said, bouncing Arlen on her knee. “I still can’t believe my sister got to meet Piers Letocci.” “She didn’t just meet Piers Letocci, if you know what I mean,” Jessica said. “Even if she won’t tell me exactly what happened in that elevator.” “How do you know something happened?” “Nothing happened!” I cried. I crumpled up the gray cardigan and threw it at Jessica’s head. “Sure,” Jessica said, rolling her eyes and flipping her blonde ponytail. “Nothing happened. That’s why when you came back to the office, you had rose petals in your hair—” “—I told you. I swatted him with that bouquet—” “—and you were wearing his jacket—” “—it was cold inside the elevator!—” “—and you had his cologne all over you, and your lipstick was almost completely gone.” “No!” Emma said, her eyes wide. “Lah!” Arlen shouted. “Thank you, Arlen,” I said. “You’re right, it is an invasion of privacy.” “Great,” Jessica said, waving her hands in the air. “Be like that. Keep all the juicy details to yourself. But don’t ask me to help dress you for television if you’re not going to share things with me.” “Fine,” I said. “You want to know what happened? Piers Letocci mauled me in the elevator. He tore off my shirt and panties and licked me all over and threw me on the floor and made me orgasm three times in a row. That’s what happened.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Get real,” she said. “If you’re not willing to tell us what went on between you two, just forget it.” My mouth dropped open. “I—I—” “You don’t have anything in here to wear,” Jessica said, jumping up from the couch and throwing my cardigan back at me. “We have to go shopping.” “Yay!” Emma said. “Shopping!” “Yay!” Arlen shouted, waving her tiny fists in the air. “Yay!” Jessica tugged me to the door as Emma got Arlen’s stroller out of the closet. “You have to help me with this stroller,” Emma said. “The elevator is broken again.” I was still speechless. I’d told the truth, and neither one of them believed me. It was incredible. “Don’t worry,” Jessica said, mistaking my expression for nervousness. “We’ll find you the perfect outfit to date a billionaire.” “Look, I really don’t have money to waste on clothes,” I mumbled, realizing that she was dropping the subject of Piers Letocci. Well, fine. I wasn’t going to bring it up again. As far as I was concerned, that fiasco in the elevator was a mistake I couldn’t wait to forget. A wonderful, toe-curling mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Now that I was away from his mesmerizing influence, I could see clearly. And I was never going to do anything like that again with Piers Letocci, especially not when I was going to be on his

show. Especially since he hadn’t called or texted me since that afternoon. I wondered if he slept with all of the contestants. I couldn’t help but imagine him with the girls I’d seen in the studio. Of course he did. He could sleep with anyone he wanted to. Obviously. “Hello? Lisa?” Emma jangled the front door keys. “Let’s go.” I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and shambled out the door of the apartment. As Emma locked up, Jessica hooked her arm in mine. “Think of it as an investment,” Jessica said, patting my hand. “A hundred dollar dress now will land you a billionaire next Tuesday. Right?”

Arlen squealed happily as she scooted underneath the clothing racks in H&M. I struggled to squeeze into the tight dress Jessica had picked out for me. The billionaire-catcher, that’s what she called it. A billionaire. Right. That’s who I was going on the show to date. I didn’t have to worry about Piers at all. I wasn’t there for him. I was there for the billionaire. Whoever the hell that was. “This is the wrong size,” I called back out over the curtain. “Can we try one on that’s a size bigger than this?” “No,” Jessica called back. “You always wear clothes that are too baggy for you.” “I do not!” “Emma, back me up on this.” “Don’t you dare back her up on this, Emma!” I cried, tugging on the hem of the dress. “I’ll disown you as a sister!” “I am Switzerland-neutral,” Emma said. “I take no side in this until I’ve seen the dress.” “Thank you!” “But it’s true that clothes are more fitted now,” Emma said. “It’s definitely more fashionable.” “What happened to Switzerland?” I yelled, adjusting the fabric. No matter how I pulled it, it bunched up somewhere on my body. “Anyway, I would rather be unfashionable and comfortable than fashionable and unable to breathe.” “Breathing is overrated,” Jessica said. “Do you think the other girls are going to care about breathing?” I tried not to inhale too hard as I thought of all the other contestants. All the younger, skinnier, more beautiful contestants. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have a shot in hell at winning the love of a billionaire who could pick and choose from so many pretty girls. It didn’t matter what dress I wore. It wouldn’t matter if I paraded around naked. In fact, it might make my chances even worse. “Get out here!” Jessica called into the dressing room. “Uh, I don’t think this is going to work.” “I don’t care! Let us see!” “Argh! Fine!” I walked out timidly, smoothing the hem of the dress down. The dress was made from a super-shiny fabric, and it clung to my body super tightly from my neck down to my thighs. Arlen peeked out from a row of jackets. She looked at me and let out a high pitched squeal. “That bad, huh?” I said. “Oh, Lisa.” Emma put one hand to her mouth. “You look like…” “Like I’m being slowly strangled by an aluminum foil anaconda.” “Hmm.” Jessica tilted her head to the side, pressing her lips together. “Right,” I said. “That’s all you need to say.” I turned and went back into the dressing room. Behind

me, Arlen was still squealing at the top of her lungs, and Emma was trying to catch her as she ran under the clothing racks. “I didn’t say anything!” “You looked at me with that look that says I’m going to try not to hurt your feelings right now, but…” “I didn’t even look at you like that!” I poked my head back out of the curtains. “It’s alright,” I said. “Don’t mollycoddle me. I know I look hideous.” “I don’t even know what mollycoddle means,” Jessica said. “You and your writerly intelligent words. Is that what you and Piers were doing in the elevator? Mollycoddling?” “That’s exactly right,” I said, pulling the dress over my head. It was so tight I couldn’t breathe. I turned to try and get my arm out, but then I really couldn’t breathe. “Uh, Jessica?” “What?” I twisted to try and extricate my arm, but I heard something start to rip. I quickly put my arm back inside the dress. “Uh, I’m stuck.” “How can you be stuck?” “I don’t know,” I said. The dress was already over my head, and I was starting to panic. “Get in here? Please?” I twisted, but the dress was completely stuck on my head. Great. This was how I would die. Suffocated to death by a dress that didn’t even look good on me. It would be an open coffin, I decided. They would leave the dress on my head as a warning to every woman there: don’t ever try on a dress that’s one size too small. It could kill you. I heard the curtain swish open. “Help!” I squeaked. “Oh, honey,” Jessica said. “And here I thought you were the smart one.” “That’s what everyone thinks,” I said, my voice muffled through shiny satin. “I’ll prove them all wrong.”

Chapter Twelve I woke up at five in the morning to Arlen wailing. “Oh, baby, baby,” Emma said, patting her back as she paced back and forth in front of the couch recliners. “What’s the matter, baby?” “She wants to eat,” I said, pulling a pillow over my head. “Not everybody screams when they want to eat,” Emma said, kicking my ankle. “Just you. Can you get up?” “Today’s the first day of the show,” I moaned. “Lisa, I think she has a fever.” I tossed the pillow aside and stood up sleepily. “Let me get the thermometer. It’s alright, baby girl.” I put my hand on Arlen’s forehead. “You’re right, she does feel hot.” “If she’s sick again…” I stumbled to the bathroom and found the thermometer under a pile of Emma’s hair products. When I came out, Arlen’s wails had turned to full on shrieks. There was a knock on the door. I tossed the thermometer to Emma and cracked the door open. “Can you keep that screaming down?” the guy from next door asked. His gray eyebrows knotted together angrily. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just smother the baby with a pillow. That’ll stop it.” “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. Some of us are trying to sleep!” “And we’re not,” I snapped. “We don’t need sleep at all. We absolutely love having a screaming baby in the apartment. It’s our favorite thing.” “Who is it?” Emma called. “Some asshole who doesn’t understand how babies work,” I called back. “I’m going to complain to the landlord,” the man huffed. “This is completely unnecessary—” “I’m sure you never got sick when you were a baby. Is that right?” “He’s always sick! He’s always crying!” “She isn’t always sick,” I said. “What do you want me to do? Yell at her until she stops crying?” “What do you want me to do?” the man yelled. “I need to sleep!” Another door opened from across the hall. “Can you quit yelling?” the lady hissed at us. She was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and she had circles under her eyes. “It’s five in the morning.” “Lisa, her temperature is over a hundred.” I turned to see Emma pulling on her jacket. “And her lymph nodes feel swollen. I’m going to take her to urgent care.” “Happy now?” I asked the man. “We’re leaving.” He sniffed at me and went back to his apartment. The lady across the hall slammed her door. Arlen was still wailing when I came back inside. “You don’t have to come to urgent care,” Emma said. “I’ll take her myself.” “But—” “It was five hours of waiting last time,” she said. “You have your thing today. Go back to sleep. We’ll be fine.” “Are you sure?” I said uncertainly. “Absolutely.” “Here, I’ll get the stroller.”

“I’ll just take her in the baby wrap. The elevator’s broken, remember?” “Right, right.” There was a loud knock on the ceiling from another person who obviously hated us. I could hear a muffled Shut up! come through. “We have to move,” I grumbled. “This building is the worst.” “I’ll see you later,” Emma said. “Alright.” I bent and kissed Arlen’s feverish forehead. “Get better, princess.” Arlen sniffed once, then started crying again. “Love you, lamebutt,” Emma said. “Love you too, dorkface.” I swatted her butt as she went out the door with her crying baby.

I woke up to a loud banging. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I slouched over to the door and swung it open. “Listen, asshole—” I said, and stopped right there. It was Piers. No. It wasn’t just Piers. It was Piers and his camera crew. One of the cameramen looked winded. I gulped back my surprise. “Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” he said, beaming at me. “Love the outfit.” I looked down. I was still wearing my ninja turtle flannel pajama pants and a white tank top. With no bra. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I—I must have overslept,” I said, my brain still waking up. “Give me a minute to change.” “No time, love,” Piers said. His eyes swept down over my body again and I felt his gaze like a physical thing running over my skin. It made me shiver. “We have to go. Car is double parked downstairs.” I scowled at him for calling me love. “Great. Let me at least put on a bra.” “I will generously agree to let you put on a bra,” Piers said. “Even though it will hurt the show’s ratings.” “Thank you so much,” I said. How had I fallen for this guy? All he was concerned about was his stupid show. “Where’s your luggage?” he asked, once I’d popped back out of the bathroom. “Just this,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I shoved the dress that I was supposed to be wearing in the side pocket of the bag. It would have to wait. “Allow me,” Piers said. “I’m good,” I said, hefting the bag higher on my arm as we shuffled back down the stairs. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” Piers said, acting miffed. “Oh? Is that a first for you?” “That elevator, is it always broken?” he asked, changing the subject. “Every other Tuesday. Also when the moon is full. Also on grocery days. Always on grocery days.” “Hm.” “I have really bad luck with elevators,” I said, giving him a meaningful look. Piers hadn’t spoken to me after our little encounter at my office. I hadn’t expected him to, I guess. It would have been nice if he had at least texted, though. But I suppose you don’t text one-afternoon stands. It didn’t surprise me. But it was a bit disappointing. He seemed not to want to even mention it. His

face was blank as he responded. “So sorry to hear that.” “Whatever. It’s good exercise,” I said, gritting my teeth as we went down the last set of stairs and exited out onto the sidewalk. I didn’t look back at Piers. I knew that if I did, I would go into a full-on flush. Just thinking about what he’d done to me in that elevator— Piers stopped me with one hand on my arm. Immediately, he pulled his hand back, but it was too late for me. Heat rushed through my body. I bit my lip and steeled myself, telling myself that I shouldn’t be so sensitive. Piers didn’t seem like he’d even noticed my reaction. “What is it?” I asked. “This is us,” Piers said, gesturing. I looked down at the car. “A—a limo?” It was a white stretch limo that took up most of the block. I whistled through my teeth. I’d never ridden in a limo before. “Oh my God, is that Piers Letocci?” a woman squealed. A security guard stepped in front of her. Piers opened the door and waved me in quickly. “After you, Lisa.” “Such a gentleman,” I said. Piers stepped in after me. The camera crew was piling in on the front half of the limo. I slid into the seat. It was eggplant-colored leather, with cream trim all around the interior. In the front, the lady was banging on the window and trying to look in. “Piers! Piers! I love you!” “Sounds like you have a fan,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Let’s go,” Piers said, snapping his fingers. “Are you seriously not even going to say hi? Sign an autograph?” “It’s too early in the morning for that,” Piers said. The limo pulled away, leaving the woman on the sidewalk. I stared back after her. She had a starstruck look on her face, her cell phone out to take a picture of the limo. It seemed like a total jerk move to drive away like she was nothing. Maybe he was a total jerk. I’d been so attracted to him that I hadn’t really focused on anything else. Maybe I should have. “I can’t believe you would just leave her standing there like that,” I said. “I can’t believe you would open the door wearing those pajamas,” Piers snapped. “What’s wrong with my pajamas?” “Nothing. Are we rolling?” The camera light flicked on and the camera guy gave a thumbs up. “So Lisa, are you ready to meet your soulmate?” I stared balefully at Piers. The camera light was on, and the boom mike was snuggled up on the ceiling of the limo near my head. “Uh, sure,” I said. “You don’t sound excited,” he said. There was a hint of irritation in his voice. “I don’t really—um—believe in soulmates,” I said, settling back in my seat and looking around. “This is a cool limo. I’ve never been in a limo before.” “Why not?” “Why haven’t I been in a limo?” “Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” Piers was only half turned toward me. I realized that he was angling himself to get a better shot for the camera. Ugh. Such a self-absorbed jerk. I was starting to get angry with myself for ever having fallen

for him and his lame pickup lines. How many orgasms can I give you in a half an hour? Ugh. I crossed my arms. “I think that it’s a stupid concept. Mathematically, anyway. How many people are alive on Earth? Six, seven billion? Even if you narrow it down to men who are around my age, that’s still a few hundred million possibilities.” “And you don’t think one of them is your soulmate?” Piers frowned. “I think it’s dumb to say that only one of them could ever be my soulmate. What if my soulmate is a software engineer in India? What if he’s a Belgian grape farmer? That’s a whole lot more likely than finding true love in, oh, say, a New York elevator.” Again, he looked irritated. Good. “I don’t think anyone is saying you have to find true love in an elevator.” “Of course not. You could have some fun in an elevator,” I said. “Maybe even find a really attractive guy to hook up with in an elevator. But then it turns out to be nothing at all and the guy is a jerk anyway.” Piers glared at me. I glared right back. “If I only have one soulmate, then I would probably never meet my soulmate,” I continued. “That doesn’t mean he’s not out there.” “Yeah, but that would mean that statistically, you’re not likely to end up with your soulmate at all. Statistically, my soulmate probably married a Chinese lady two years ago, and they already have a kid.” I leaned back, raising my eyebrows. My logic was impeccable. “So. You don’t think that you’re going to meet your soulmate today?” “Apart from the whole issue of believing in souls, no. I think that’s stupid as hell. I’ll settle for any decent, intelligent, emotionally mature man who has his shit together. And for the record, I don’t think that’s settling.” “Our billionaire wants to meet his soulmate today,” Piers insisted, his dark features drawn together. “Then he’s not intelligent, and we wouldn’t be compatible anyway.” I shrugged. “No big deal.” Piers leaned over suddenly and snapped off the camera. The red light disappeared. “What are you doing, man?” the camera guy asked. “What are you doing?” Piers hissed at me. “Me? I’m telling the truth.” “Can’t you pretend to be a little bit excited about meeting a billionaire? Just for one interview?” “I don’t know. Can you pretend that I’m not a total idiot for a second and stop talking about soulmates like it’s something real?” “One of our contestants is destined to win this competition—” “Destined?” I laughed. “Please. You said yourself that reality TV was fake. Now you’re talking about destiny?” Piers huffed and threw his hands up. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this,” he said. “Why are you so upset?” I asked. “If this is about—” “No,” Piers said, cutting me off. His eyes warned me not to say any more in front of the crew members. I clamped my lips shut and stared back at him. “I’m giving you a chance here.” “Really? I thought you needed some comic relief. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” “Is that why you’re dressed like the world’s biggest slob, too? Because you think this is all a joke?” “Ouch,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my tongue. I couldn’t believe that I had ever felt attracted to this guy. He was nothing but a jerk. “Sorry for having a sick niece. I was up at five this morning dealing

with a screaming baby. That’s why I’m dressed like this.” “Fine. Fine,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, let’s just finish this before we get to the penthouse. Cameras up.” The red light flicked back on. “I can’t wait to meet this billionaire!” I said. “I hope he’s the one, I really really do!” Piers gritted his teeth into a fake smile. He pulled out a bottle of champagne from the sidebar and poured two glasses. When he held one out to me, I beamed and flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Every other girl I’ve interviewed has toasted to soulmates,” Piers said. “So what should we toast instead?” “Let’s have a toast,” I said, “to reasonable expectations.” “To reasonable expectations,” Piers said, clinking his glass to mine. “You are so romantic.” “And you are such a gentleman.” We glared at each other as we downed our champagne together in one gulp.

Chapter Thirteen Piers held open every door for me, like he was going to prove that he wasn’t an asshole by sheer force of will. He even pretended to hold the elevator door open for me. “After you, love,” he said. The camera crew had gone up ahead of us, presumably to get a shot of us walking into the penthouse. Which meant that I was stuck in an elevator with Piers, again. “As long as you don’t press the stop button,” I mumbled. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.” “Of course not. My pajamas aren’t sexy enough to compete with the rest of these girls, right?” Piers turned to me. For a very brief moment, I thought he was going to shove me against the wall and kiss me again. But his face was filled with irritation, not desire. “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “Me?” I was astonished. “What’s the matter with me?” “That’s what I’m asking.” “I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I didn’t even get a chance to take a shower this morning, and then I had a camera thrust into my face, and then some asshole is making fun of my pajamas and telling me I’m not romantic enough.” “You’re not romantic at all!” Piers said. “I’m not gullible. There’s a difference. You don’t have to believe in soulmates to be romantic.” “What was the last romantic thing you did?” I cast around in my mind for the last romantic thing I’d done. I was pretty sure that watching Ten Things I Hate About You with Emma and Arlen was the closest I’d come to romance in the past year. But I wasn’t going to admit that, of course. “I don’t have to answer that,” I said lamely. “That’s because you don’t have an answer.” “Do you think that you’re romantic?” I flung back at him. The best defense was a good offense, after all. “Maybe.” “Flinging a girl down on the floor of an elevator? Is that romantic?” “It was spontaneous.” “So is nuclear decay. That doesn’t make it romantic.” “Who’s talking about romance, anyway? I thought we were just having fun in that elevator,” Piers said. His face was turning red, and he looked completely different from how he’d looked at me in the limo. He looked… He looked awkward. Like he was unsure of himself. It was very weird to see. “Is that why you invited me onto the show?” I asked. “I didn’t invite you,” Piers hissed. “The producers said they wanted you after that little fake audition. I had nothing to do with it!” I flushed hard, swallowing back my embarrassment. “You didn’t want me to be on the show?” “I mean, at first, maybe.” Now he looked really flustered. He ran his hand through his dark hair. “You seemed like you might want… you know…” “When did I ever seem like I would want to go on your reality TV show!?” “The first time I met you!” Piers said. “You were having trouble finding a good guy to date.

Weren’t you?” My mouth dropped open. “You think I’m that desperate? That I need to go on a dating show in order to find a guy?” “What? No! I just meant—” “What? What exactly do you mean by that?” “Forget it.” “No, let’s not forget it.” “You decided to come on the show, didn’t you?” Piers asked. “After you stormed into my office and conned my boss into going along with your stupid little plan! You know why I’m here?” I asked. “I’m here so that my boss doesn’t fire me. That’s the only reason I’m here!” “That’s the only reason,” Piers echoed hollowly. “That’s right.” “It has nothing to do with the three orgasms I gave you in the elevator—” “Will you shut up about the elevator already?” I pressed my hands up to my face, trying to block out my shame. “I don’t want to hear another thing about the elevator. That was just one big embarrassing mistake!” Piers’ face turned pale. I couldn’t tell if he was mad, or shocked, or something else entirely. “Technically, it was three mistakes,” he said. “Shut up—” “Three little mistakes? Or three big mistakes? How big were those mistakes, would you say?” His gaze burned into me. I faced forward and pressed my hands tightly over my ears. “Shut! Up!” “You’re so mature,” Piers said. “I’m sure you’ll get along great with the mature, intelligent billionaire who absolutely isn’t your soulmate.” “I’m sure I will.” “Oh, here. I have something that belongs to you.” Before I could say anything else, he’d thrust a pair of panties into my hands. I stared down at them. “What—what—” “They’re yours. You forgot them on the floor of the elevator while we were being completely unromantic together.” The words came out seething with rage. Oh, God. I crumpled the panties in my hands. I didn’t know what to do with them. My pajamas didn’t have any pockets. The elevator came to a stop. I had to do something. I stuffed the panties down the front of my pants. Panties stuffed inside of panties. “Clever girl,” Piers whispered, as the elevator doors opened. “Panty-snatcher,” I whispered back. “And here’s the penthouse you’ll be living in!” Piers instantly switched back into his fake persona as he stepped out of the elevator and into the luxury apartment. I stopped in the doorway, frozen in awe. The ceilings were so high they could have had their own weather patterns. The whole apartment was white, pure white. White curtains, white furniture, white carpet. There was a white ceramic vase with white roses on a white wicker table. The entry walls were made from white marble. All of the other contestants were sitting primly on two oversized white leather sofas in the middle of all the whiteness. It was an apartment meant for people without pets or kids, I decided. Totally sterile. Modern as hell. Jessica would have loved it. “Ladies and other ladies, your tenth and final contestant—”

Piers gestured sideways, and then realized I hadn’t followed him in. “Lisa? Want to come inside?” “I’m not sure,” I said, stepping in nervously. “I feel like I’ll stain the carpet just by looking at it the wrong way.” Piers laughed, a hollow fake laugh that boomed across the room. All of the other girls tittered along with him. As I moved forward, I saw a couple of them whisper to each other, looking at me. It was then that I realized that everyone else was dressed up perfectly from head to toe. Their hair was combed, curled, and coiffed. Their fingernail polish matched their dresses. And they were all wearing heels. I suddenly felt terribly self-conscious of my tank top and ninja turtle pajamas, my un-madeup face and disheveled hair. After Emma and Jess had spent so much time getting me prepared, I was going to embarrass them like this. “Sorry I’m dressed like this,” I said boldly. “Piers told me it was pajama day for the first contest, so you’re all obviously at quite a disadvantage.” Every head swiveled to Piers in confusion. “Just a joke!” I said quickly. I sank down on the edge of the nearest couch, next to the young blonde girl I’d noticed at the auditions. She looked even more nervous than she had before. “I really just overslept.” “Oh my God,” the girl said, staring in unabashed horror at my pajama pants. “I’m so sorry!” “It’s okay,” I said. “Not the end of the world.” But she was looking at me like a global apocalypse would be preferable to the way I was dressed. I bit my lip. Maybe it was worse than I thought. “The first contest is a cooking competition!” Piers announced. I could see relief washing over some of the girls’ faces. A few of them, though, were stricken pale. “They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Piers continued. “So we’ve prepared a kitchen full of the most exotic, organic ingredients for you to make a dish that will impress a billionaire!” Now all of the girls were starting to look worried. I was worried, too. All of the cooking I did was for Emma and Arlen. And both of them liked applesauce and burgers more than caviar and coq au vin. There was no way I was going to cook something that would impress a billionaire’s palate. “There are five cooking stations set up inside the penthouse kitchen through that doorway,” Piers explained, gesturing behind him. “Two girls to a station, so you’ll have to share the workspace. You all have access to the pantry and fridge, where you will find all of the ingredients available to you. At the end of one hour, you must have a finished plate worthy to serve to a billionaire. Are you ready?” None of the girls looked ready. Hell, I wasn’t ready either. But my competitive spirit was raring up inside, and my pulse was racing. I was putting together a plan in my head when Piers yelled “GO!” I might lose this contest. In fact, I was counting on it. Even if I got kicked out in the first round, I would have a decent story for Moi. But if I was going to lose, I was going to lose my way.

Chapter Fourteen I leapt over the arm of the couch and raced through the doorway to the kitchen. I’d expected to be the first person inside, but some of the girls were surprisingly fast in heels. I bumped into a girl in a gold miniskirt as I yanked open the giant fridge door, and she shoved into me to get a good look inside. It was a huge fridge, but everything inside was labelled clearly. A basket of mussels. Kale greens. Venison and scallops, fennel and rutabaga. All kinds of herbs and fancy cheeses. By the time I’d even glanced through the shelves, there were five other girls pressing from behind to get in. I quickly grabbed a package of chicken breasts, a couple eggs, and a handful of herbs. When I made it away from the fridge door, two girls were pulling at both sides of the basket of mussels. “That was mine!” “I got them first!” “You can’t take all the caviar!” I backed away from the mob. Mussels clattered to the floor amid shrieks of panic. One girl had already spread all of her ingredients over the entire stove top, and was arguing with the girl who was supposed to be sharing with her. “I don’t have any room to cook!” “I need all these pans! You can cook in the oven!” “OH MY GOD! SHE STOLE MY POMEGRANATES!” “There were only two of them! You don’t need both pomegranates!” I spun around to find my station. The stovetop labeled with my name was right next to the pantry. Perfect. I got there and plunked all of my ingredients down onto the table next to the stove just as my partner arrived and did the same. It was the really young blonde girl from before, the one who thought I was serious about pajama day. “Hi,” I said breathlessly. “I’m Lisa.” “I’m Kate,” she said. “Truce for the next hour? I don’t want to fight you over papaya slices.” I offered my hand. She looked down, as though deliberating, and then shook it. “Truce. Let’s be partners.” “I’m going into the pantry,” I said, clutching a mixing bowl to my chest as gravely as though I was going to enter a warzone. “Do you need anything?” “Oil. And flour.” “You got it,” I said. “Don’t let anyone steal my chicken.” She nodded, already starting to chop up a persimmon. The chef’s knife flew as she worked, dicing the fruit into perfect cubes. Within a moment, it was done and she was shaking almonds into a pan to toast. My jaw dropped as I watched her flip the almonds expertly in the pan. “Hurry!” she said. “We only have an hour!” I nodded and spun away to the pantry. Shit. This was what I was competing against? I really didn’t have a chance. Oh, well. I had an idea for something that would make a good story, even if I lost. Especially if I lost. In the pantry, I grabbed oil and flour. Kneeling down, I found the rest of what I needed. A box of breadcrumbs. A few potatoes. “What dish are you planning to make?” I dropped the bowl, startled. A cloud of flour erupted into my face as the bag split open.

“Jeez, Piers,” I said, frowning as I pinched together the bag of flour and gathered up the rest of the ingredients. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” “What are you making?” “None of your beeswax,” I said. Piers grinned as I turned around and pointed to my head. “You have a little—uh—” I blew upwards onto my bangs, and a white puff of flour burst out of my hair and right into Piers’ grinning face. “Thanks, Piers,” I said. “You’re the best!” I ducked back out of the pantry before he could ask me again. I didn’t want to let him know what I was working on. Kate was already working on slicing thin strips of a vegetable I couldn’t recognize. She pulled the pan of almonds off of the stove. “Sorry,” she said. “I stole one of your burners. And do you mind if I use the oven?” “No problem,” I said, handing over the oil and flour. “I’m only using one burner anyway.” She eyed me incredulously, as though she couldn’t believe that I could make a dish with only one pan. But I’d lived with Emma in an apartment for a year where we only had a George Foreman grill to work with. A single pan was a luxury to me. We worked side by side for the next hour. As the clock ticked, I became more and more sure that Kate was going to win the first contest. She had three separate parts to her dish - a caramelized vegetable side, a butter pastry that she was filling with roasted persimmon, and a main dish of what I was pretty sure was going to be seared tuna. Both of our plates were finished at the last minute. “Is that—” “Yep,” I said, looking proudly down at my plate. “Chicken nuggets and french fries.” If I was going to lose this contest, I was going to lose doing what I knew how to do best. And so what if I had made finger food? I wasn’t going to change myself and pretend to be something I’m not. If I was going to date a billionaire, he would have to love me for who I am. At least, that was the angle I thought would make the best article for Moi. “I Got Dumped by a Snobby Billionaire.” I could see the headline now. “Your plate looks great,” I said, gesturing down to Kate’s dish. Her vegetables were julienned, her tuna was garnished, and the pastry she’d made glistened golden brown. “I think you’ll win for sure.” She twirled her hair around one finger nervously and looked around the kitchen. “Well, I don’t think I’ll lose.” Two of the girls were yelling at each other over a plate while behind them, a pan billowed out black smoke. Most of the dishes, though, looked nice, with pretty plating and sauces around the rim. My pulse was still racing from the adrenaline of the contest when Piers came into the middle of the room. “Congratulations on finishing your first contest!” he said. The camera crew circled him as he gestured back to the living room. “And now to introduce you to the man you’ve all been waiting to meet… billionaire Dylan Chase!” I had expected a suave billionaire to come sauntering through the room in a business suit and gold cufflinks. I’d pictured a Christian Grey, with perfectly styled hair and manicured nails. Someone who looked at home in a luxury yacht or a velvet smoking jacket. Someone with panache. The man who appeared in the doorway was none of that. He was dressed in ripped-up jeans and a T-shirt that said “Bacon Is My Favorite Vegetable.” He looked like an All-American quarterback, with a muss of blond hair and muscles so ripped that I could pick out the veins on his biceps from across the room. “Yo!” he said.

I nearly burst out laughing. Yo? Nobody else seemed to find it funny, and Piers glared at me when I stifled my laugh into a cough. “Oh my God,” Kate whispered under her breath. “Dylan Chase. That’s his name. Dylan Chase.” “Of course it is,” I said. I looked around. Most of the girls were standing in front of their plates, posing like runway models at the end of a catwalk. Dylan Chase, suave billionaire, rubbed his hands together, ignoring all of the pouting lips pointing his way. “Let’s eat!” he said. “I’m starving!” He plopped down at the small table that had been set up in the middle of the room and grinned expectantly. My Lord. This was the man that we were all supposed to be impressing. This was the billionaire they had chosen. I suddenly felt glad that I would be kicked off the show early. I didn’t want to have any part of Dylan Chase, jock extraordinaire. “Our first competitor,” Piers said, “is a former Miss America contestant. Her name is Mia Firenze!” “Of course it is,” I mumbled. It was the girl in the gold skirt who had been screaming at her partner about caviar. She strutted forward with her plate and bent at the waist to set it down in front of Dylan. Her long black hair flowed silkily over her shoulders, and her cleavage nearly popped out of her bra as she leaned forward. Mia Firenze, everybody! “I hope you like it,” she said, smiling seductively at the billionaire in the bacon T-shirt. “Thank you very much!” Dylan said, staring all the while at her cleavage. “Is this…” “Caviar,” Mia said, making the word sound as exotic as possible. “Oh, I’ll just scrape it off, then” Dylan said, smiling at her. “I hate caviar.” Mia’s face fell. My laugh turned into a fit of coughing. He popped the bite of whatever it was in his mouth, then made a funny face. He turned away and not-so-discreetly spit the mouthful into a napkin. Mia’s eyes were so wide I thought her eyeballs would fall out of her head. “You… you don’t like it?” He grimaced. “It’s—what was that?” “Scallops,” Mia said, twisting her fingers together. “Shouldn’t have cooked them so long.” The soft whisper came from next to me. Kate was shaking her head. “They get rubbery if you cook them too long.” Mia retreated in shame, although she made sure to wiggle her butt as she walked away from the table. One by one, the other contestants brought up their plates. Before Dylan could comment on any of them, Kate had worked out what he would like or dislike, and predicted the parts of the dish that had gone wrong. One of the contestants had burned the garlic on her pasta dish. Another one had too much raw onion in her salad. Kate pointed out the uncooked sausage before Dylan had even cut into it. “How do you know all this stuff?” I whispered at her. I hadn’t been paying attention to anything but my dish, and I didn’t know how she had managed to keep an eye on anything. She shrugged. “I work in a kitchen,” she said, still twisting her hair nervously. “I’ve always wanted to have my own cooking show and be on TV.” I looked at her with dawning realization that she was more than just an airhead. “Lisa!” My head snapped forward. “Lisa Forrester,” Piers announced.

I brought my plate forward to Dylan. He looked down at my pajamas and burst out laughing. “Ninja turtles!” he said. “I watch that cartoon all the time!” “Me too,” I said, smiling as I thought about how I only watched them with my two year old niece. Then he looked down at my plate. I wasn’t expecting to lose anymore…not with Mia Firenze’s scallops in the running. But I didn’t expect what happened next, either. “Chicken nuggets and french fries!” he cried out, digging in. “This is my favorite food ever!” “Of course it is,” was all I could say.

Chapter Fifteen “How does it feel to win the first contest?” Piers was sitting across from me on the white leather couch in the living room, staring at me like I was the most ridiculous contestant he’d ever had to interview. The bright lights of the camera crew were so warm I could feel myself growing sticky in my flannel pajamas. All of the other girls had retreated to their rooms while Piers did the winner and loser interviews. Now he was smiling at me with that stupid fake smile I had come to know as his trademark TV host expression. I hated it. I hated his persona. It made me feel even worse that I had fallen for his charm. “It feels great!” I said, smiling, as fake as he was. “I’m so glad that Dylan liked my chicken nuggets!” Piers never stopped smiling, but I could see the wince in his eyes. “Plus, he thought my ninja turtle pajamas were super cute,” I gushed, false cheerfulness oozing out of every single one of my pores. “I’m so glad you didn’t let me change into a dress.” To be fair, Dylan hadn’t spent nearly as much time looking at my pajamas as he had spent ogling Mia Firenze’s dress. I was pretty sure that the only reason I won the cooking contest was that everyone else had either fucked up or cooked something that Dylan didn’t like. And he was so excited over chicken nuggets. Who knew that the billionaire was going to be such a man child? “You have immunity for the next competition,” Piers was saying. “What’s that?” “Immunity?” Piers quirked an eyebrow. “For the next competition. So you can’t lose. Even if you lose, you can’t lose.” My mouth dropped open. “So I’m a shoo-in for the next contest? I’m going at least one more round?” “Yes—” “Whoo hoo! Take that, suckers!” I pumped my fists in the air. “Lisa Forrester is on a roll!” I hadn’t expected to last one round in this contest, let alone two. I was going to have a great article for Moi if I kept this up! “What did you think of Dylan Chase?” Piers asked. He put his chin in his hands and looked at me, all innocence and bright eyes. “Is he what you were expecting?” “No,” I said, seeing exactly where he was going with this. “He’s better than what I was expecting. Can you imagine? A billionaire who likes chicken nuggets? Maybe we are soulmates after all.” Piers pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring. “I thought you wanted a mature man,” he said in a clipped tone. His fake smile was starting to slip. “What, you can’t be mature if you enjoy fried food?” “No, but—” “I think that he’s a big sweetheart,” I said, leaning over and patting Piers on the knee for emphasis. “And I can’t wait to date him!” Piers rolled his eyes. “You got that?” he asked the camera crew, waving one finger in the air. “Wrap it up.” The crew packed up quickly and headed to the door. Piers unclipped his microphone from his shirt lapel. His face had dropped all pretense of a smile, and he looked like he’d eaten a lemon. “I bet you never expected me to win the first contest,” I said, arching my eyebrow. “The producers didn’t, that’s for sure. You kind of upended the storyline there.”

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Piers pulled out his phone and scrolled through a folder. He put the screen in my face. “This,” he said, “was the first edit of your dailies for Episode One.” It was a video of me wearing Piers’ jacket. I realized it was the day I’d stumbled into the auditions. “I’m totally in it for the jet ski vacations,” I heard myself saying. “He has to have a Ferrari.” The shots were interspersed with closeups of me scowling. Then a clip of Kate saying Let’s be partners and holding out her hand. The video cut to me turning away and rolling my eyes. “What?” I cried out, reaching out to take the phone. “I didn’t do that!” “Didn’t do what?” Piers said, turning off his phone. “Talk like an airhead throughout the audition?” “That was a joke,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “And they made me look like an asshole to Kate! I wasn’t an asshole!” “Tell that to the producers. They expected you to be kicked off the show today. Now you won, and we have to figure out another angle to work.” “Another… another angle?” “We can’t have the most awful contestant win the first competition. I mean, we could, but Dylan actually liked you, so—” “I’m not the most awful contestant!” I said. I paused. “What do you mean, Dylan liked me?” Piers’ eyelashes fluttered a bit as he looked down at me. “Nothing,” he said. “What? What did he say?” “He thought you were cute,” Piers said, letting out a short sigh. “He did?” I flushed a bit. “Don’t get too cocky,” he said. “Oh, you’re one to talk.” “I’ve got to get going,” Piers said, not meeting my eyes. Then I realized what was actually happening here. “You’re jealous!” I said. His head snapped up quickly. And I knew that I was right. A smile curled across my lips. My God, he was jealous of Dylan. I loved it. I bet no woman had ever dumped Piers Letocci for another guy. He shook his head violently from side to side, as though he could hear my thoughts. “No. Uh-uh.” “You are totally jealous. Dylan liked my chicken nuggets, and now you’re jealous—” “Wow,” Piers said. “And I thought you were cocky before...” “I am now,” I said, feeling much cheerier. “Now that I have two sexy guys who want my hot bod.” “You can’t even see your hot bod under those pajamas.” “Go ahead and insult me,” I said. “I know it’s just because you’re jealous as hell. Of me and my awesome pajamas and my billionaire boyfriend-to-be.” “Do you really like him?” Piers was looking down at me, and for a moment I saw him. The real him. Not the suave TV host, but the guy I’d met outside of the coffeeshop, all passion and desire. I realized how close we were standing to each other. His face was only inches away from mine. I took a deep breath. Of course I didn’t like Dylan, but I wasn’t going to admit that out loud. I peered around to see if he had the camera crew around the corner, waiting to trap me in a confession. “Why do you want to know?” His eyes narrowed.

“If you don’t want to answer a simple yes-or-no question—” “I just don’t want to give you an answer that’ll be cut out of context and used against me later.” “Do you see any cameras around?” “They said there were cameras in this whole apartment.” “Not in the entryway. So answer the question.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Seriously, do you like him?” “Seriously, why are you asking?” “You know why I’m asking!” he hissed. “No, I don’t. Remind me.” He leaned forward and kissed me, his arm encircling my waist. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting my chin up for better access. It felt so good, so right, that I almost forgot my promise to myself. Sparks ran down my nerves as his lips seized mine, melting me inside. God, he was a good kisser. Then I remembered what he’d done before. I shoved him back, breaking the kiss. “Piers, stop. What the hell are you trying to do here?” “You said to remind you—” “Listen, mister,” I said, poking him in his chest. His hard, muscled chest. Oh, God. No, Lisa. Think. “You didn’t even so much as call me after we had our little…whatever it was in the elevator.” “You called it a mistake.” “That’s what it was! You never called, you never texted, you didn’t email. You didn’t care until I happened to start thinking about another guy. That’s how I know it was a mistake! And if you think you’re going to lure me away from Dylan Chase to soothe your bruised ego, you are sorely mistaken!” “It’s not like that—” “Hey there, are you done with the interview?” We both looked up to see that dark-haired woman in the hallway entrance. I hadn’t even heard her coming; she wasn’t wearing her heels anymore. “Mia,” Piers said. Right. That was her name. Mia Firenze. Mia BoobsInYourFace Firenze. “Yep!” I said, trying not to let my skin ignite with blushing. “All done here!” I shoved myself past Piers and walked down the hallway toward my room. He could work out his ego problem with little miss titties in the elevator if he wanted to. I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all. I slammed the door behind me. Kate looked up from her phone. Her eyes were rimmed red. She gave me a weak smile. “How’d it go?” she asked. “Oh, just about as well as any interview with a megalomaniac idiot would go,” I huffed, plopping down on my bed across from her. We’d all been assigned rooms with our cooking partners. I imagined it was to stir up maximum drama, since half of the teams had ended the competition screaming at each other. “That’s nice,” she said softly. “What’s up with you?” “Nothing,” she sniffed. I contemplated leaving her alone to deal with whatever it was that was eating at her. But she looked so sad that I couldn’t. “Come on. What is it?” Kate’s face crumpled and she burst into tears. “He didn’t like my tuna!” she sobbed. I came over to her side and pulled her into a half hug. “It’s alright,” I said, trying to comfort her. “I thought your dish was the best out of all of them.”

“It’s not alright! He hated it! How am I supposed to impress him now?” “I—I’m sure you’ll do fine in the next competition—” She looked up at me with a face splotched with tears. “This was my contest! Cooking is all I can do! I don’t have any other talents! I’m going to lose the next contest and I won’t have a chance at all, and they won’t want me to have a cooking show after this, and… and…” She burst into a fresh set of sobs. I rubbed her on the back and handed her a tissue. “Oh, baby,” I said. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.” I didn’t know what to say. It took me back to high school, when Emma had broken up with her first boyfriend. I tried to be comforting, but I had no idea how to go about it. I wasn’t really the nurturing type. Not to mention, I hadn’t yet had a boyfriend of my own. I was just as unprepared to deal with this kind of crisis. “I thought your tuna was awesome,” I insisted. “Really?” “Really. I ate it all, didn’t I?” She nodded, blowing her nose into another tissue. It was true. After Dylan had blanched at the semi-raw fish, I’d snuck a fork onto Kate’s plate and finished it for him. “It was delicious. Super delicious.” “Then why didn’t he like it?” she sobbed. “Because he has juvenile taste buds,” I said. “His palate is nonexistent.” “He liked your dish!” “Exactly. A completely fried, fatty, oversalted monstrosity. If one of us had served him a Happy Meal, he would have picked that.” Kate hiccuped back a laugh through her tears. “Don’t feel bad. You did great, and I’m sure you’ll do fine in the next contest. Come on. Let’s go murder one of those bottles of wine I saw in the kitchen pantry and play some Mario Kart.” “Mario Kart?” “Yeah, they have a Nintendo out in the living room. Wine and Mario Kart. That’ll make you feel better.” She nodded, blotting her eyes with a fresh tissue. We walked out of the room with my arm around her. “Thanks, Lisa.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I bet you’ll win the whole thing.” “What about you?” “Me?” “Her?” I looked up. Mia was already in the kitchen, a sour expression on her face. I guessed that Piers hadn’t taken her for a ride in the elevator, unless he had really broken a time record. For some reason, relief washed over me. “You’re not going to win,” Mia said, staring at me with obvious hatred. “Neither one of you.” “Really?” I asked. “How do you know? Did Piers tell you that you were Dylan’s top choice?” From the anger that flashed across Mia’s face, Piers had told her nothing of the sort. But she turned up her nose. “You really don’t belong here,” she said, her gaze floating haughtily down my pajama pants. “You’re not the right kind of girl for a billionaire.” “No,” I agreed sarcastically. “You’re right. Most billionaires love princess bitches with silicone implants.”

Her mouth dropped open. “We should just give up now and go home!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “But before I surrender, I’ve got a date with a glass of Merlot.” I pushed my way past her. Kate followed me into the kitchen meekly. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “You can’t say stuff like that to her!” “Sure I can,” I said, pouring out two glasses of wine. “I mean, I’m not one hundred percent sure those are fake, but they sure don’t bounce like normal boobs—” “Shhh!” Kate said, looking furtively behind her to where Mia had been standing. “What? I thought half the fun of reality TV was infighting and drama.” “You don’t want to get on Mia’s bad side,” Kate warned, her eyes growing wide. “Oh? Why not?” “Did you hear what she did to Lucy?” I squinted, trying to remember who Lucy was. “The one who lost, remember?” “Oh, right,” I said. “The one with the burned garlic.” “It was Mia who did it,” Kate whispered. “I saw her turning up the burner.” “What?! Why didn’t you say anything?” “I don’t want to be her next target! She tried to sabotage a lot of people. Remember, she was the one who took all the caviar. And she switched the cilantro with the basil—that’s why Julie’s pesto came out weird. Although I don’t know why Julie didn’t realize they’d been switched; I mean, cilantro looks nothing like basil—” “Why didn’t Mia get kicked off the show for that!? Surely the cameras must have picked it up!” Kate shook her head sadly. “You said it yourself,” she said. “They love infighting and drama. They won’t kick her off. Anyway, I heard that she has some sort of connection to the producers.” “Connection?” I bet she was sleeping with one of the producers. That would make sense. She seemed like the kind of girl who would do anything to win. Including sticking her tits in the face of some rich TV guy. “I’m just saying… be careful around her.” Kate’s eyes locked onto mine. “You can’t trust anyone on this show.” “Trust no one,” I echoed, lifting my glass. She was too young to get the X-Files reference, but she toasted to it anyway. Our glasses clinked, sloshing the red wine. “Trust no one.”

Chapter Sixteen “You can’t wear that to the party!” I looked at my outfit. I was wearing the slinky green dress that Emma and Jessica had agreed made me look mature and elegant. The silken fabric pooled around my ankles. I thought I looked great. But Kate was shaking her head. “What’s the matter with this dress?” I asked. I frowned. “Are you trying to sabotage me? I’m not wearing pajamas to this contest.” “I’m not sabotaging!” Kate exclaimed, pink rising to her cheeks. “But it’s a cocktail party.” “So?” “So you need to wear a cocktail dress.” “This isn’t a cocktail dress?” “No,” Kate said, crossing her arms in disapproval. “It’s way too long. That dress is like something you would wear to the opera.” “I don’t have any short dresses,” I said. “This will be fine.” “It won’t—Julie! Julie, come here!” Julie popped her head into our room. She was a beautiful slim redhead, with freckles sprinkled along her nose and cheeks. And she, like Kate, was wearing a knee-length dress. “What’s up—whoa!” she said, looking at me. “Are you going to a red carpet event?” “Exactly,” Kate said. “Tell her she can’t wear this dress to the party.” “Of course not,” Julie said, shaking her head so that her wavy red locks glimmered in the light. “It’s not a cocktail dress.” “Of course it isn’t,” I grumbled. “What on earth was I thinking?” “Thank you,” Kate said. Julie disappeared back out of the room. “Now will you listen to me?” “Sure. But that doesn’t solve my problem. I don’t have a cocktail dress.” “No problem! You can wear one of mine!” Kate dug through the closet. I was impressed at how many clothes she’d managed to bring with her. I’d only brought a couple of dresses and my pant suit ensemble. I’d expected to fail out of the competition on the first contest, after all. Now that I was heading to a cocktail party, I was woefully unprepared. “I don’t think I’ll fit into your size,” I said. “I have one that’s super baggy,” Kate said, with no hint of insult in her voice. “Let me just— here it is!” She pulled out a green satin sheath that was embroidered with gold. “See!” she chirped. “It’s even the same color!” I pulled on the dress reluctantly. It was definitely still one size too small for me, but I managed to wriggle into it without suffocating myself. Getting out of it would be another story. I tugged the hem down, and stared at myself in the mirror. “Well, it’s definitely shorter,” I said. Kate was petite, and her dress hit me mid-thigh. The sheath hugged my curves tightly. “You don’t think it’s too sexy?” “Maybe. It’s definitely not as baggy as I remember.” I clapped my hand over my face, trying not to laugh. She really was clueless, wasn’t she? “I think it’s fine, though. And, that will make up for wearing pajamas on the first day,” she continued. “Hey, Dylan liked my pajamas!” But she was right and I knew it. Before I knew it, she had taken over picking out my accessories—

a dozen gold bangles on each wrist, jade earrings set in gold pendants— and moved on to doing my makeup. I threw my hands up and let her apply what seemed like pounds of eyeshadow to my face. When I finally looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize the person who looked back. My eyes had a smoky gray around them and she’d lined my lids out to a point, making them seem catlike. A gold shimmer dusted my eyelids. “I think that’s enough,” I said, as Kate poofed me with gold everywhere. She hit my cheeks, my hair, my neck all the way down into my cleavage. Gold everywhere. “I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie.” “That’s right!” Kate said. “You are way sexy! Dylan is going to love this!” “Thanks!” I said, smoothing down the hem in front. That thought honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was wondering what Piers would think. No. It didn’t matter what Piers thought. I wasn’t here for him. I was here for a billionaire. No. I was here for a story. And so far, I had a lot of good material. Backstabbing bitches with fake boobs. A very nice but very ditzy airhead roommate. Plenty to write about. That was really why I was here. Right? “Time to go, ladies!” Piers’ voice came from the front room, and a shiver went down my back.

To my dismay, Piers didn’t even notice me in my new cocktail dress. He glanced at me exactly once, and then made a point of not looking at me again until we arrived at the party. It was irritating as hell. I wanted to be the one ignoring him, not the other way around. And worse than that, I couldn’t ignore him. He was jaw-droppingly beautiful in a suit, and this one was a doozy. Expensive fabric that made me want to rub my hands up his back, sharp lines that showed his tall, strong figure off to best advantage. He was a man born to wear a suit, and he walked like he knew it. That sort of confidence was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Ugh. It should have been appalling. Rationally, I thought it was. But whenever he caught my eye, I found myself melting inside at the thought of those hands wrapping around my waist, those lips taking mine again. He was like a decadent chocolate mousse cheesecake. Dark and rich and utterly bad for me. Still, I couldn’t help but lick my lips as I followed him out of the limo. “Welcome to the party!” Piers said, as we traipsed up to the top of a set of concrete steps and stood there, shivering. “This is a library,” someone said from the back of the group. I squinted up at the building in front of us. New York City Public Library. “Not tonight,” Piers said. “The Chase family is throwing a cocktail reception here tonight in your honor. They want to get to know you better, to see if you have what it takes to be part of their society of friends. You’re not just wowing a billionaire tonight, you’re here to wow his family, too.” “Oh, I can’t wait to meet his family,” Kate whispered to me. “I bet they’re as nice and wonderful as him!” I didn’t know what she meant. Dylan hadn’t seemed particularly nice or wonderful, at least from what I’d seen in the first contest. He’d seemed… hungry. And that was it. But Kate seemed smitten. “So without further ado,” Piers said, gesturing into the library, “let’s join the party!” Inside the library was warm and bright. The high marble ceilings were lit with faux candelabras and strung with garlands of white orchids. Already there were dozens of people inside. All of the men were dressed in suits and ties, and all of the women were decked out in gobs of diamond jewelry.

A murmur went through our group, and I scanned the room. I saw him. Dylan Chase. “Wow,” Julie said from behind me. Wow was right. Dylan wasn’t that impressive in ripped jeans and a T-shirt, but he cleaned up nice. He was wearing a light gray suit that stood out among the dark suits of the older men. His blond hair was parted nicely to the side, and he’d shaved off his scruff. The lines of the suit edged his muscles, making his broad physique more subtly imposing. He looked like the All-American golden boy that I imagined he had been raised as. “Try to behave yourselves,” Piers said, acknowledging our reaction. “Don’t mob him. Remember, you’re here to make a good impression on everyone at the party, not just him. Now, please enjoy yourselves and have a good—” Before he could even finish, Dylan had waved over at the group. And despite Piers’ warning, half of the girls went stampeding across the room toward him. “Shall we get a cocktail, Kate?” I asked. Her eyes lifted away from Dylan’s figure and her blonde eyelashes fluttered. “Sure,” she said. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” We wandered over to the table where waiters were handing out drinks. I ordered a martini and Kate ordered a screwdriver. “Orange juice is my favorite,” she said, looking down at my cocktail. “But you look so much fancier with that. Should I get a martini, too?” “Drink what you like,” I said, shrugging. “Are you two girls with the television show?” We turned around to see a tall middle-aged blonde woman wearing a cream dress that sparkled with diamonds. The man attached at her arm had gray hair, and he looked utterly bored. “Yes,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Lisa.” The woman’s gaze swept down my dress, lingering at my hemline. I itched to pull the dress down, but I couldn’t do it now without seeming weird. “I’m Kate,” Kate said, shaking hands limply with the blonde woman. “We’re Dylan’s parents,” the woman said. “I’m Marjorie and this is my husband Joseph.” “So good to meet you!” Kate exclaimed. “What do you ladies do for a living?” Marjorie asked, her eyes narrowing. “I’m a writer for Moi magazine,” I said. “And you?” Her head swiveled toward Kate. I guess it was interrogation time. “I—uh—I work at a restaurant. It’s—um, it’s a French restaurant.” Kate was stumbling over her words. I didn’t know why she was so nervous. “You’re a waitress?” I could almost see Marjorie’s nose lifting in the air. “No, I’m an assistant chef,” Kate said. “Ah. Very well. We should go meet the other girls.” Again, she looked down at my dress with a pointed look. She shook her head slightly as she moved off, her husband in tow, to go bother the two contestants April and Heidi at the cocktail bar. “What a total bitch,” I said. “Imagine having that for a mother in law. Almost makes me want to lose on purpose.” “I don’t think she liked me,” Kate said mournfully. “She liked you just fine.” “Hey! You met my mom!” Dylan, coming out of nowhere behind us, clapped one hand on Kate’s shoulder and one hand on mine. “Hi Dylan,” Kate said nervously. I just sipped my martini.

“You’re both looking awesome. Love that dress, Lisa. It looks awesome!” He leaned back and ogled my butt until I turned sideways. “Thanks,” I said. “Kate let me borrow it for tonight.” “Wow, yeah, looks great. And your hair is awesome.” He petted Kate’s long blonde hair, and I caught the scent of alcohol on his breath. “So pretty and soft.” “How many drinks have you had already, Dylan?” I asked. “Like, a million! Open bars are so awesome. You know, family get togethers.” “Can’t be sober for that!” I said, raising my martini in a toast. “For reals! What did you talk about with my mom?” “Oh, she was just asking us about our jobs. I’m a writer and Kate here is a chef.” “Assistant chef,” Kate added. “Wow,” Dylan said, bobbing his head. “That’s…that’s…” “Awesome?” I helped finish his sentence. “Yeah! Exactly!” “What restaurant do you work at, anyway, Kate?” I asked. Kate’s jaw tensed. “I—well, I’ve worked at a few different places since moving to New York. Excuse me,” she said suddenly. “I think I need to use the bathroom.” She hurried off down the library hallway and Dylan walked away, presumably to tell all of the other girls how awesome they looked. I frowned as I thought about how Kate had abandoned the conversation. What on earth was wrong with her tonight? She had seemed fine until Dylan’s mom had started probing us with questions. And I had hoped to turn the conversation with Dylan more towards her and her work, since she was obviously so passionate about cooking. But— A tap on my shoulder made me lose my train of thought. I turned around to see Piers standing right behind me. His eyes were a sharp, piercing green-blue, and he looked amazing in his charcoal suit. If Dylan looked like a golden angel tonight, Piers looked like the devil who would tempt me into sin. “Care to dance?” “No, thanks.” “Actually, you’re not allowed to say no.” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not? And here I thought we were well into the third wave of feminism—” “A dance with me is part of the competition,” Piers explained. “One of Dylan’s aunts is a professional ballroom dancer, and she wants to see a demonstration from each of you.” “Where is she?” I asked, scanning the crowd. “I’ll give her a demonstration of my middle finger.” “It’s just one dance,” Piers said, taking my elbow and leading me out onto the dance floor right next to the five-piece orchestra. “It won’t kill you.” “I’m not worried about me,” I said. “Your toes, on the other hand…” To his credit, Piers looked only slightly worried as he took my empty martini glass and set it on the tray of a passing waiter. Then he swept me up into his arms, clutching me tightly against his body. He lifted me up by the waist, crushing me against his chest. “What are you doing?” I hissed, as he spun slowly. The scent of his cologne mixed with the starchy aroma of his pressed shirt. “Not letting you step on my toes.” He was right—lifting me up so high meant that I couldn’t step on anything. I tensed in his arms as he guided me around in what I imagined was a waltz-like dance. His body was pressed up against mine, and it was having a predictable reaction on me.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the sharp pangs of desire ratcheting through my body. He had one of my hands clasped in his, and as we danced I felt his palm cup against mine possessively. That palm had cupped me elsewhere, I remembered, my mouth going dry at the thought. The music lilted along, and I let Piers spin us around on the dance floor. “I’m getting dizzy with all this spinning,” I said. “Don’t look out at the crowd.” “Where am I supposed to look?” “Close your eyes if you have to.” I closed my eyes. It didn’t help. Being pressed against Piers made every particle inside me spin. I gave up and relaxed against his shoulder, staring at the side of his neck. His cheek was perfectly shaved, with not a single nick. I wondered if he had an assistant who shaved him every day. “You look wonderful,” Piers said. He sounded sincere, but I couldn’t look at his face to be sure. “Thank you.” “And that dress makes your ass look fabulous.” “That’s what Dylan thought, from his ogling.” “His mom seemed to disapprove, though.” “I’m sure she’s just jealous of my fabulous ass,” I said. “That’s my girl,” Piers said, squeezing my hand slightly. A lump rose in my throat at his words. My girl. It was stupid. I shouldn’t be encouraging his advances. Even if his body felt hard under me. His arms, hard against my side. His groin, hard against my hips. “How are you enjoying the party?” Piers murmured. His mouth was next to my ear, and the warmth of his breath made me shudder. I stifled the feeling. We were in the middle of the room, I told myself. In front of everyone. Keep it together. “It kind of sucks,” I said. “Besides the open bar, that is. Everybody looks so judgmental.” “Get used to it,” Piers said. “That’s what high society is like all the time.” “Then call me low-class, I guess,” I said. “I’d rather have a family backyard barbecue than an elegant affair like this.” Piers eased me back in his arms and smiled softly. I realized that the music had stopped, and the orchestra had moved onto another song. “If you decide to date a billionaire, you’ll have to go to parties like this all the time,” he said. “If I date a billionaire, I’ll convert him to frugality,” I said. “I’ll make him go to dive bars and take me on dates to bowling alleys.” “I doubt that’ll happen.” “Not all of us are complete sell-outs,” I said, poking Piers in the chest. “Just because you gave up all of your humanity—” He clasped my wrist and brought my hand down. All he had to do was touch me, and my words failed me. I clamped my lips together. “Pointing is rude,” Piers said. “So is leaving your next dance waiting.” I gestured over to where Kate was standing by one of the library stacks. “I’m sure she’ll impress Dylan’s aunt more than I have.” “There is no aunt,” Piers said, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter. He handed one to me. “I just wanted to dance with you.” With that, he turned away with a smile, leaving me gaping after him on the dance floor.

Chapter Seventeen “I can’t believe I lost again!” Mia’s screeching voice filled the limo. I peered into the side bar and wondered if it was too early in the morning to start drinking scotch. Mia had been complaining since the end of the competition last night, and I didn’t know if I could handle a whole car ride with her. I needed earplugs. Or whiskey. Or both. “You didn’t lose,” Julie pointed out. “Jen lost.” “Jen didn’t lose,” Mia said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Lisa lost.” “Yup. Thank God for immunity!” I said, eyeing the scotch bottle with longing. I’d lost the cocktail party contest by a long shot. At the judge’s table, Dylan’s mom had called me a hussy in a stripper’s outfit. They’d been astonished when Piers told them that I’d won immunity in the first contest and thus couldn’t be sent home packing. At least Dylan had the courtesy to look ashamed while his mom berated me over the dress that he’d told me looked awesome. I’d stood there, smiling sweetly and gritting my teeth until they picked another girl as the loser. “Poor Jen,” Mia said, without an inch of compassion in her voice. “She really didn’t deserve to go home.” I wasn’t going to take the bait. I gripped my knees and inhaled deeply. “Well, I deserved to win,” Tanya said, to nobody in particular. “Dylan’s mom just liked your nail polish,” Rosalita grumbled. “That’s the only reason you won.” “I spent, like, two hours doing my nails,” Tanya exclaimed. I slumped back in my seat. Today was supposed to be a day to relax. Piers had sent us to the spa for a morning full of pampering. Me? I never went to a spa. My version of pampering was letting Emma paint my fingernails during a Star Trek marathon. Today, though, I was looking forward to some real relaxation. When we all piled out of the limo, Mia circled back around and walked next to me. She hooked her arm through mine and tugged me aside. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s what? I thought we could be a little more friendly,” Mia said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “After all, we did both lose the last contest. Even if you lost more than me. We’re in the same boat.” “Sure.” “And I thought, after what Kate did to you…” Mia trailed off, looking at me meaningfully. Her dark eyes swam with fake compassion. “What exactly do you think Kate did to me?” “I mean, she totally sabotaged you!” Mia said, batting her long dark eyelashes. “With that dress!” I rolled my eyes. “She didn’t—” “I saw you two before the party. She looked so jealous of you in that evening gown.” “I couldn’t wear that,” I said. “It wasn’t good for the party.” “And that awful slutty dress was better? That dress was the reason Dylan’s parents hate you.” “It was a cocktail party. I needed a cocktail dress,” I said, echoing Kate’s words hollowly. “Your dress would totally have been fine. There were lots of women at the party dressed like that.” I frowned, thinking back. Dylan’s mom had been wearing a shorter dress, but I couldn’t remember

what anyone else was wearing. I was pretty fashion-blind, and I hadn’t even noticed that kind of thing. Kate wouldn’t have done something like that to me, though. Would she? “It was an honest mistake,” I said slowly. “She didn’t think my dress would work. And even Julie said—” “Both of them, ugh! I heard them whispering together in the corner at the party,” Mia said. “I didn’t hear exactly what they were talking about, but I think they were laughing at you.” “Okay.” I stopped walking. “Listen, Kate’s a nice girl—” “That’s what she wants you to think,” Mia hissed. “I’m just looking out for you. I know nobody here likes me, but at least I’m honest about playing the game!” “Is that what you call burning Lucy’s garlic?” I raised my eyebrows. Mia had the decency to flush. “That was an accident,” she said, uncomfortably. “I thought I was turning up my own burner.” “I don’t care,” I said. I was sick of listening to her, and sick of doubting the one girl who had been in the least bit nice to me. “You know what? I don’t care at all. I don’t even care about being on this show! Right now, all I care about is putting a mud mask on and nursing this hangover I have.” Mia nodded solemnly. “I hear you. So we’re good, then?” “Sure. Whatever. We’re good.” I extricated myself from her grasp and headed toward the massage rooms. I hoped they served mimosas here. Kate bumped into me in the entryway. “What was Mia saying?” she whispered furtively. “Nothing,” I shrugged. “Did she say anything about me?” I looked up at Kate. To my surprise, she had a guilty look on her face that disappeared as soon as she caught me looking. “She didn’t like the dress you picked for me,” I said. “That’s all.” “Oh! I’m sorry!” Kate cried, her words coming out in a rush. “I thought it would be better, but it was such a big mistake. And it almost got you kicked off, and if you hadn’t had immunity—” “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay!” Tears glistened in Kate’s eyes. “I’m so, so, so sorry—” “No problem,” I said, holding up my hand to stem the tide of apologies. “Really. I thought it made my ass look fabulous. And I didn’t get kicked off, so no harm, no foul.” Kate nodded, relief washing over her face. I wondered why she was so worked up, but I didn’t want to bring it up right then. If there was one thing I didn’t need on my relaxation day, it was drama. After a cup of hot green tea with honey, I felt a lot better. The masseur had worked on my feet as another spa worker rubbed a cucumber mask all over my skin, then instructed me to strip down to my underwear and lay on the table. I settled face-down into the cushy massage table, closed my eyes, and waited for the masseur to return. When he came back, he put a hot towel on my shoulders. The steam billowed out over my neck, warming my whole body. A soft melody began to play, some Chinese-sounding thing with flutes. “Mmm,” I said, as the masseur began to rub oil over my lower back. He worked in silence, his hands kneading my sore muscles. I could feel the stress melting away as his hands caressed my shoulders, squeezing and rubbing in all the right places. The room filled with the scent of lavender oil. My mind drifted back to the cocktail party last night. After Piers had danced with me, I’d hidden away back in the fiction stacks of the library. There, I’d found a really interesting display about early printing presses. I found, as well, that I wasn’t the only one who hated cocktail parties. One of Dylan’s

distant relatives, a great-uncle, had talked with me for nearly a half hour about old printing machines and linotypes. I thought that, overall, I’d done the best that I could for an introvert. Sure, I hadn’t much talked with Dylan, but he’d been chatting up one of the other contestants every time I’d checked. Mia had cornered him for a long while, talking about who knows what, and I’d seen him glancing over at Kate. I’d been rooting for Kate, and it had come as a victory when Dylan finally wrenched himself away from Mia to go to her. Now, though, I was second-guessing myself. Was Kate really as nice as she had seemed at first? Or was she even sneakier than Mia was? Man, this competition was bringing out the suspicious side of me. Trust no one, indeed. On the one hand, I hated all of the sabotage and sneakiness. On the other hand, it would make for a hell of a good article. I decided to let myself relax and enjoy the drama for what it was—silly pettiness that didn’t matter at all. And right now, nothing mattered as much as the way the masseur was melting all of the tendons in my shoulders. “Umm, that feels good,” I said, as his hands moved down to the muscles of my lower back. I moaned softly as his strong fingers worked lower, lower— My eyes flew open, staring down into the bamboo floor. His hand was slipping down over my butt, massaging my ass in deep circles. “Uh, is this part of the massage?” I asked. In response, both of his hands cupped my ass, squeezing hard. “Hey!” I said, pushing myself up from the massage table. “Cut it out—” “You don’t want a happy ending?” “Piers!” I twisted my head around and grabbed the sheet to cover my chest as I sat up. Piers was sitting on the side of the massage table, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hands were oily and his dark hair fell tousled over his forehead. “What are you doing here?” I hissed. “Giving you a massage.” “I—I see that! Why?” “Well, you were laying there on the massage table, and I thought—” “You are not a professional massage therapist!” “You didn’t seem to notice.” He grinned. “Get—get out of here! You are not allowed to be in here! This is relaxation day!” “I thought I was doing a great job of relaxing you,” Piers said. He slid his hand up my thigh and I swatted it away. “Ow!” “Get out of here before anyone comes in!” “Is that what you’re worried about? There’s a sign outside the door that says not to disturb.” Piers shifted closer to me, and I shimmied back, almost falling off of the massage table. “And if someone walks in and your head is buried between my thighs?” Even saying it made a blush rise to my throat. “I’m sure a sign on the door will help—” “I’ll only use my hands, if you’re worried about that.” Piers grinned. “I don’t… I don’t—” “You don’t want this?” I was at the edge of the table, and Piers’ hand was skimming along my exposed upper thigh. His fingers mesmerized me the same way they had the first time I’d seen him, when he was playing the piano. Those were the fingers that had cupped my chin when he first kissed me. Those were the fingers that had been inside me.

All of the air in the room was gone, and I sucked in a deep breath. All of my nerves were vibrating as his fingers stroked my skin at the hip. Soft strokes, gentle strokes. “Piers, what are you doing?” It was meant to be a bold question, but it came out as a whisper. “Helping you relax,” he said. “Don’t you want to relax?” “I—I…” I couldn’t think. The way he was touching me made my words jumble up on my tongue. He was so close to me, and I was so naked, vulnerable. I didn’t feel scared, though. I felt safe. And completely, one hundred percent aroused. “Lie down,” Piers said. His fingers kept moving, always moving, lightly skimming my skin. The ache inside me surged up as he paused near the inside corner of my hip. I swallowed. “Piers—” “I’m sorry about not calling you before. I should have. I just didn’t know what to say.” He hadn’t known what to say. What a ridiculous excuse. But his fingers paused on the top of my hipbone, and my heart thudded against my chest. He looked so sincere. “Apology accepted,” I said. “So what are you doing here?” “I don’t know. I can’t help myself.” He shrugged slightly, his face full of desire. “It was just supposed to be one time. Just a little bit of fun, you said.” My words were hesitant, stumbling. I didn’t want him to agree with me. “You said it was a mistake. Was it, Lisa?” I blinked. His face was open, completely open, the same way he’d opened up to me the first night. He looked… vulnerable. “No.” The word was a whisper. No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was the best orgasm—orgasms—that I’d ever experienced. But there was something inside me that made me hesitate to give into the feeling that rushed through my blood. It seemed like too much. I couldn’t get involved with a guy like this. There was too much going on with him —the celebrity, the show, the fact that I had to write up an article about this at the end of it all. It all felt overwhelming. “You can lie down and let me finish your massage,” Piers said, his voice a breath on my shoulder. “Or I’ll call Thomas back in to finish. I don’t think he’ll do as good a job as I will, though.” He smiled at me, and my heart twisted. “Just one massage?” I asked. I wanted more, but I knew I couldn’t have more. We were already playing with fire. “Just one massage,” he echoed, his eyes twinkling green and blue in the low light. “Okay,” I said. “On your back,” he ordered softly. I turned, flushing as my naked body was exposed for him to see. What was I thinking? This was insane. I almost stopped him right then. I almost told him to leave. If I’d had an ounce more willpower, I would have. Then I remembered how he’d made me feel before, and my whole being surged with desire. I closed my eyes instead. If I didn’t see myself naked, it would be okay. God, I was such a coward. “Perfect,” he said. I trembled as he laid his hands on my shoulders. “Absolutely perfect.” I waited for his touch to move, but at first he only massaged my shoulders. My muscles began to relax again. My nerves settled back, and even the tight coil inside of me unwound. The Chinese wind flutes played softly. When he finally moved his hands down, I let out a soft gasp. Both of his hands cupped my breasts, slowly circling and squeezing. His strong palms slid over my oily skin, and I felt my whole body heat up as he slid his thumbs over my nipples. “Do you like that?” he asked, rolling one nipple until it grew hard under his fingers. I bit my lip.

The sensation sent bursts of electric pleasure outward through my nerves. “Yes,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. He kept massaging my breast with one hand. With the other hand, he moved down, down past my stomach. His palm glided over my hip and slid down between my thighs. A moan caught in my throat as I arched up to meet his hand. He pressed me back down onto the table. “You have to stay still,” he said, a teasing lilt in the low notes of his voice. “This is supposed to be relaxing.” I could have ripped his head off if he hadn’t started stroking me then, slow gliding strokes on either side of my slit. His thick fingers slid down, parting right before they touched me. I chewed my lip and forced myself to be still, urgent need pulsing through me. “Imagine your body as a being of energy,” he said. “Imagine the chi flowing through your veins, beating outward with your heart.” I sucked in a breath as he grazed the swollen flesh with his fingers. “Imagine every part of your body as a million particles of light—” “Piers,” I said, inhaling tightly as he slid his fingers down my oily skin, just on the outside edges of my wet and aching slit. “What in the hell are you talking about?” “I had a roommate in college who did Reiki massage,” Piers said. “This is how he made people relax.” “He must—ah!—must have been a hit with the ladies,” I hissed through my teeth, as Piers pressed deeply on either side. My hips tilted upward into his touch. “Just imagine energy flowing through your body, okay? Relax.” “I am relaxing. It’s just that Reiki sounds like kind of some hippy-dippy—ohhh!” I moaned softly. His hand had cupped my breast, his thumb moving in slow circles around my nipple. His other hand moving in slow strokes, down where I was hollow with need. “Good,” he whispered. “Perfect.” I forced myself to breathe deeply, in and out. Every inhale was a stroke upward, and every exhale was a stroke down. Despite his attempts at Reiki, though, I could feel the energy inside me, and it wasn’t flowing smoothly. It was tensing, clenching my core with every touch of his oiled fingertips. He stroked me over and over, his fingers coming closer and closer to the most sensitive part of me. My whole body was beginning to clench. The need was too much. Warmth rippled through my nerves with each stroke, and my fingers scrabbled on the sheet of the massage table. “Please,” I whispered. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, Piers, oh please—” That was enough. His fingers slid down, thrusting into me. At the same time, he slid his thumb over me, giving my clit one hard stroke. Heat erupted in my veins, flashing through all of my limbs and setting them afire. I felt the surging ache in me draw closer, tighter. My body arched upward against the table, forcing his fingers into me even deeper. “Yes,” I breathed throatily. “Oh God, Piers, yes, please yes—” He pinched my nipple so hard I saw white, and I gasped with pleasure. I could feel the thickness of his fingers filling me, and it made me insane with need. Every part of me ached for him. As he rolled my nipple, I squealed and thrashed on the table. I loved it, loved the searing heat that it sent through me. Mostly, though, I loved his fingers inside of me, his thumb pressing down and sending me closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. He wasn’t going slowly anymore. His thumb gave my clit short, hard strokes and his thick fingers pumped into me.

I bucked my hips against his hand. It was impossible to control my body like this. I needed relief. I was on the edge and ready to jump. “Piers—oh yes. Yes! Yes!” He flicked my nipple with his fingers, and at the same time he brought me over the edge with his other hand, his thumb rubbing hard circles into my swollen clit as his thick fingers jammed into me, thrusting deep into my flesh. I clenched around his fingers and bit my lip as the orgasm came screaming through me. “Mmmmm!!!” I couldn’t let myself scream out, I couldn’t, even though my whole body was being torn apart with pleasure. I arched hard as the crest of the orgasm hit, my body spasming against his hands. My eyes were closed, but I could see white explosions of light as I clenched again and again over his thick hard fingers. Just one massage. Just one massage. The last shudders of the orgasm rippled through my body and then I was spent, utterly exhausted, my body hot with sated desire. The air turned chilly in an instant, and I shivered. “Oh Piers… Piers…” My head lolled back against the massage table. “Shhh,” he whispered. A sheet came up and I felt him tucking the fabric over my shoulders. I looked up at him and saw his eyes soften. He was so close that I could feel the heat of his body through the sheet. There seemed to be some connection between us, something vibrating in the space between our bodies. I could tell he sensed it too. Just one massage. I glanced down. His cock was straining against the fabric of his pants. I licked my lips and he shifted his weight. “Piers?” “Yes?” “Did you—did you want…” I trailed off, unsure how to ask him. Right then, I would have let him do whatever he wanted with me. He could stretch my body out, use me in any way. And I wanted it, wanted to give him back some measure of what he had given me. “I promised only to use my hands,” he said, his voice hoarse. His Adam’s apple bobbed under the dark shadow of his cheeks. He hadn’t shaved yet today, I realized. “But—” “I’ve got to get back,” he said, looking away from me. The connection between us broke, falling away. I swallowed. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I didn’t want to push him. Not now. I closed my eyes and sank into the melting darkness. Everything shivered around me. “Thank you,” I whispered. I felt his weight shift as he leaned forward. He kissed me on the forehead, a light brush of his lips that made my mouth part slightly in anticipation. But that was all he gave me. “Namaste,” he said, a smile against my skin. “Are you relaxed now?” “So relaxed,” I murmured. “Great,” he said. “Then you’ll be more than ready for the next contest.” I opened one eye and squinted at him. “What contest?” I asked. “Flying a fighter jet,” Piers said, standing up from the table. “Flying a—what? Are you kidding me?” “See you outside in the spa courtyard,” Piers said, grinning. I stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying desperately to calm myself. A day of relaxation? Yeah, right.

“This is so not good for my chi,” I mumbled, rolling off of the massage table.

Chapter Eighteen “So we’ll all be pairing up in partners for the jet fighter contest,” Piers explained. Kate and Julie both glanced over at me. Just like in high school, we’d subconsciously grouped off already into cliques. April and Heidi had turned into best buds after the cocktail party. Rosalita, Mia, and Tanya stood apart from the group: they were definitely the three most beautiful girls in the contest, and Mia was their ringleader. We were all dressed in jumpsuits, standing on the tarmac of a private airfield. When we’d been changing into the suits, I’d thought they’d looked awful—they showed every bump and bulge—but Piers and Dylan managed to look like superheros in front of the fleet of fighter jets. “One of you will be paired with Dylan, and one of you will be paired with me, so five teams.” At the news that someone would be paired with Dylan, all heads turned toward him. So much for partners. “Each team will have a flight instructor accompanying them during the flight,” Piers said, gesturing toward the men who were already checking over the jet planes. “Can we take the flight instructors home with us afterward?” Heidi whispered. “I call dibs on the blond one.” “Who gets to fly with Dylan?” Mia asked, biting her lip as she looked at him seductively. “Good question. It’ll be a random draw,” Piers said. “That’s not fair! The winner of the last contest should get to fly with Dylan,” Tanya said. “You already got a prize for winning,” Piers pointed out. “You won a gift certificate to the Strand.” “Ugh, books? Who reads books?” I put my hand on my forehead and tried to keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. “We can vote on it,” Dylan said. “To make it fairer.” “Yeah!” Mia said. “A vote!” Piers slapped his hand over his forehead. “Fine. We can vote. Let me hand out some paper,” he said, fumbling under his jumpsuit and pulling out a few loose papers from his pocket. “Just write in the name—” “I can’t fly,” April said. “You won’t have to do any piloting if you don’t want to,” Piers explained again. “The flight instructor—” “No, I mean, I can’t fly.” April’s face was pale. “You’re scared of planes?” “I’ve only ever been in an airplane once, and I threw up the whole time.” Everybody instinctively edged away from April, who looked like she was going to puke just thinking about being up in the air. “You can ride with me,” Dylan said. “I’m a great pilot, don’t worry!” Now everybody looked at April with a mix of envy and irritation. I could tell Mia was upset that she hadn’t thought of the ruse first. But April shook her head, fear tensing her delicate features. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I just can’t. I can’t.” “Sure you can!” Dylan said enthusiastically. “All you have to do is sit there. You’re only upside down for a little bit during the loops, anyway, and—” That was too much for April, who spun around and threw up on the tarmac between her shoes. All of the other girls jumped away from her. Only Heidi patted her on the shoulder and held her hair back.

“Alright,” Piers said. “Looks like one of you will be flying solo.” “What about April? Does she get a free pass, since she won’t fly?” Mia crossed her arms. “Then I’m not flying, either!” Heidi shot Mia a dirty look. “April automatically loses,” Piers said. April burst into tears and threw up again between her sobs. Piers winced. “Then why are we even flying!?” Mia asked. “Because… because there will be one more loser, as well.” “How do you lose by flying in a plane?” Julie asked. “Is it whoever throws up loses?” “What? No.” Piers shook his head in disgust. “It’s a fighter jet simulation. We’ll be shooting at each other, and whoever gets the most hits is the loser.” “You mean we’re going to get shot?” Kate asked, her face pale. “What if our engine gets shot and we crash?” “It’s lasers,” Dylan interrupted. “Not real bullets.” “We’re going to get shot with lasers?!” Piers bit down on his lip and started handing out papers. He tore a receipt in half and gave me the bottom piece. “Two hundred dollars on a bar tab?” I said, glancing up at him. “Tsk, tsk.” “Don’t blame me,” Piers said. “Blame the alcohol for being so tasty.” “Can you vote for yourself?” Tanya asked. “Sure,” he said. “But if everyone votes for themselves, it’ll go to a random draw. Okay?” “Psst!” Mia poked me from the side as Piers was handing out the last of the paper slips. He only had one pen, and was starting to look frustrated. “What?” I asked. “Vote for me, okay? I want to fly with Dylan.” “Yeah? So does everybody else.” “I promise I’ll make it up to you later, okay?” Her dark eyelashes fluttered over a fierce expression that said she would personally shoot me out of the sky if I said no. “Sure,” I said, shrugging. “Okay.” “Yes! Thank you!” She slunk away, and I saw her whispering furtively to Rosalita and Tanya. “What was that all about?” Julie asked. “You’re not going to vote for her, are you?” “Nope,” I said, a plan forming in my mind. “Let’s all vote for Kate for this one, how about it?” Julie hesitated, then nodded. “Hey, April! Heidi!” I whispered. April was standing shakily to the side, Tanya’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. “What is it?” “Sorry. I know this is a bad time. But will you vote for Kate so that Mia doesn’t get to fly with Dylan?” “Sure,” April said miserably. “Whatever.” “Thanks!” I beamed. This was my first attempt at sabotage, and it gave me a real adrenaline rush. I could totally put this in the article. When Piers read the votes aloud, Mia smirked as the first two votes went her way. Then he read Kate’s name. Then Kate again. By the time he’d announced Kate as the winner, Mia’s face was as red as her lipstick. “Who didn’t vote for me?!” she hissed, as we lined up in front of the jets. “You should ask who did vote for you,” Julie teased. “It’ll go faster.”

I didn’t think Mia could turn any redder, but by the time we climbed up into the jets I was worried that she would burst an artery at high altitude. And then I was sitting in the jet cockpit, with the flight instructor sitting right behind me. And I realized that I was a little bit afraid of flying, too. Not regular flying, but loops? Corkscrews? I wasn’t sure I was up for this challenge. “Scoot over, Ace.” I looked up. Piers was standing on the ladder right outside the cockpit. His crotch was right at face height, which I was sure was on purpose. I purposefully looked at the dashboard controls instead as I buckled myself in. “Uh uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Julie was supposed to be my partner.” “I put her in with Mia,” Piers said. “With Mia?” “They’ll be best friends by the end of this, I should think.” “Maybe, or maybe one of them will be dead.” “Either way, good for TV ratings.” Piers slid in next to me in the cockpit. “Oof! This is a tight fit.” “No cracks about my weight, thank you.” “I wouldn’t dare.” He reached up and pulled down the cockpit cover, locking it into place. Then he handed me a headset. I quickly put it on, muffling the sounds coming from outside. We were pressed against each other tightly, and the jet engine roared to life. The whole cockpit vibrated with the noise, and even with the headset on I could feel the thrum of the engine in my chest. He flipped a switch on my ear and I heard the crackle of static. “Hello, hello.” It was strange to hear his accented voice coming in through the headset. “Testing, testing. Can you read me, Llama Inglebert Salmon Alpha? Over.” “Copy that,” I said, my pulse pounding. The jet started to pull forward on the tarmac. “Is it too late to tell you I think I’m scared of flying?” “Delta Six One Niner to tower,” the flight instructor’s voice came in over the headset, cutting us off. “We’re ready for takeoff.” “Tower to Delta Six One Nine, you are cleared for takeoff.” The engines jumped up a notch, the roaring sound increasing in pitch. We began to trundle forward, faster and faster. The vibrations inside the cockpit shuddered me as we started to gain speed. I swallowed hard as the acceleration pushed me back in my seat. “This is the fun part,” Piers said. “Well, besides the loops.” “We’re not seriously doing loops, are we?” He didn’t respond, and I looked over to see him grinning. The ground behind him was rushing by at an incredible speed, and the roar was deafening, even with the headset on. “Piers? Piers, tell me we’re not doing loops!” The jet pulled up, lifting away from the ground. My stomach dipped as my whole body was pressed down into the seat and the cockpit window filled with sky. “Piers!” The plane dipped, lifting my stomach into my throat. I closed my eyes and tried not to puke. Then I felt Piers slipping his hand under mine. He squeezed my fingers gently. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is going to be fun.” “I hate fun!” I screamed, as the plane turned sharply and jammed my body against Piers. “I am so anti-fun right now!” And while I hated to admit it, holding his hand made me feel a little better. By the time we settled at a high altitude, I was able to open my eyes and look around. We whipped through clouds like they were

nothing. And I could see the other jets flying just below us. “Wow,” I whispered, pressing my face to the window. “Alright, people,” the flight instructor said. “It’s time for the dogfight. You see those jets under us?” “Yep,” I said. “You see those jets above us?” Above us? I hadn’t even thought about that. I looked up and saw that there were two other planes flying above us and to the side. “Look at the wings. Red and blue. We’re on the red team. That means: who are we trying to shoot?” “Blue!” Piers and I replied at the same time. “You got it. Shoot the blue, don’t shoot red. You get a point for hitting blue, minus a point for hitting red.” “How do we shoot?” I asked. “See the controls in front of you? One of them is labeled Laser Fire. That’s the one.” I grabbed the joystick and pressed the button on top. As we went through a cloud, I could see the laser in front of us. On the cockpit controls, a screen showed me the direction the laser guns were pointed. “You can both shoot if you want to, and I can pilot, or one of you can pilot if you’re interested in flying.” “I want to shoot!” I said quickly. I relished the thought of unleashing a tirade of laser fire on Mia and her cohort. “Great,” Piers said. “I want to pilot. That means I get to do as many loops as I want.” I shot a warning look over at him. “You only get to loop if it means we can shoot them better,” I said. “If you put us into a dangerous turn,” the instructor said, “or you get too close to another plane, I will take over the controls from back here. If you don’t want to pilot anymore, let me know and I’ll take over.” “Not a chance,” Piers said. “Tower to fighters, ready all fighters. Blue team check in.” All I could hear was the hiss of static. “Red team check in.” “Red one check in.” “Red two check in,” the pilot said. I grabbed the joystick as the rest of the team checked in. My heart was beating through my ears. “Piers, you tell me if you’re planning on doing a loop, okay?” I said. “I want to be ready.” “Every time?” “Yes, every time!” “Alright,” Piers said. “Tower to fighters. Ready all fighters,” the headset crackled. “Your fight starts… now!” “Loop time!” Piers said, and pulled back on the control. My whole body was pressed back against my seat, and blood rushed up to my head. “Piers! What the hell are you doing?!” “That’s actually pretty smart,” the flight instructor said, as calmly as if we were at a tea party instead of looping a fighter jet a mile up in the air. My heart thudded in my ears as my body lifted in my seat. “Get behind the rest of them, you can get a better shot.” “See?” Piers said. “I know what I’m doing.” The sky was turning above our heads, and then I saw ground. We started to pull out of the loop and

the pressure of acceleration increased. On the cockpit screen, I saw a bunch of red and blue blips appear in the target monitor. “Get ready to shoot,” Piers said. I hadn’t let go of the joystick, and now I aimed it ahead toward the nearest blue-winged plane. “Bam! Bam! Bam!” I unleashed hell, and the screen in front of me lit up as I hit my target. “Pew! Pew pew pew!” “Are you going to make noises every time you shoot?” Piers said. “Shut up and fly, pilot boy!” I cried. “Pew pew pew!” Ahead of us, the blue-winged jet tilted its wings and turned sharply out of our path. Piers turned, too. I was still shooting when the screen lit up red. “Shit!” I cried, realizing I’d accidentally hit a red plane that had dipped in front of us. “Sorry! I didn’t mean it!” “Got another one to the right!” Piers said. He turned, and I waited until the gun was pointed at the right jet to shoot. “Pew! Pew!” Our screen flashed red again with a word in large type: HIT. “HIT? What does that mean?” I cried. “It means we’ve been hit!” Piers shouted. “Hold on!” The plane turned sideways, and Piers crushed me with his body. “Why are we flying sideways?!” “Evasive maneuvers! Evasive maneuvers!” We swung the other way, and this time I was the one crushing Piers. “That’s good,” I said. We weren’t getting hit anymore. “Oh? You like being on top?” Piers smirked at me. “Look out!” I pulled up the joystick and started shooting at a blue jet that had suddenly appeared in front of us. “PEW!” I shouted, the screen lighting up blue. “PEW PEW PEW!” We were hit again. My heart sank and the jet nose swung upward. “What are you doing?” “I’m looping!” “You have to tell me when you’re going to loop!” I yelled, my stomach rising into my throat. “Alright! I’m going to loop!” “Ahhhhhhh!”

Chapter Nineteen When we finally landed, I stepped out of the jet plane with shaky legs. Piers helped me down the ladder. “How do you think we did?” I asked. “Pretty damn good. You’re a natural.” “Thank you. You were quite the pilot yourself.” “And for someone who’s anti-fun and scared of flying, you sure do have the biggest, goofiest grin on your face.” “Do I?” I grinned even bigger. “Maybe I’m not anti-fun after all.” “That was awesome!” Kate shouted. She came over to me and high fived me. Dylan beamed at both of us as the camera crew circled around us. I’d gotten so used to them being around that I didn’t even notice them half of the time. “Go team blue!” Dylan shouted. “Boo!” I shouted, sticking my tongue out at him. “Go team red!” “Wait, you were team red?” Kate asked. “You traitor!” “Glad you guys had fun,” Julie said, sidling up next to me. “I had to listen to Mia scream any time the plane moved at all.” “I had to listen to Lisa shout Pew Pew Pew every time she shot a laser,” Piers commiserated. “How are you all doing?” The head flight instructor popped over to our group with a tablet in his hand. “Awesome!” Dylan shouted. “Who won? Red or blue?” “Looking at the hit count, it seems like… the blue team won.” “BOOYAH!” I shouted, as Kate and Dylan shouted “NOOOOO!” “But—” the instructor continued. “It looks like the winning plane was actually a red plane.” “HA!” Dylan shouted. “Tallying up the winners… in third place, with twenty-seven confirmed hits, was a blue team, with Rosalita and Tanya!” “Yay!” they said, jumping up and down. “There were only five teams,” Mia snapped at them. “That means you’re third place loser, too.” “In second place,” the flight instructor continued, ignoring Mia, “we have another blue team. With thirty-three confirmed hits, Piers and Lisa!” “So close!” I said, giving Piers a medium-high five. “And in first place, with a whopping fifty-two hits… Dylan and Kate!” “We won! Ahhhh! We won!” Kate threw her arms around Dylan and he picked her up off the ground in a bear hug. Mia stared hatefully at them. “What about us?” Julie asked. “Uh, Julie and Mia? You were in fourth place with thirteen hits.” “Thirteen? That’s it?” “Guess you’re even more of a loser than I am,” Tanya said to Mia. “Great insult,” Mia snapped back. “So who lost?” “The solo rider, Heidi, got only four confirmed hits,” the flight instructor said. “Aww,” Heidi pouted. “It’s alright,” Dylan said. “April was already kicked out during this round. And it’s not fair to make Heidi lose, since she was flying alone.”

“Really?” Heidi asked. “Thank you so much!” “But—but—” Mia sputtered. “Now we’re all going to ride back,” Piers said. “And the winner gets to ride back… with Dylan!” “But she already got to fly with him!” Mia whined. “She gets to ride with him too? That’s not fair!” “Life’s not fair,” Piers said. “Some people starve to death on the street. Some people aren’t allowed to vote. And some poor souls have to ride back to their penthouse apartment in a limo with me instead of a billionaire. Suck it up.” “She’s right, though.” All heads turned to Kate, who looked completely adorable in her jumpsuit and blonde ponytail. “I had a great time with you, Dylan,” she said. “But you should get to know somebody else. I vote that Lisa gets to ride back with him.” All heads turned to me. “Me?” I asked. “Yes,” Kate said firmly. “You were in second place. That seems fair to me.” “Sure,” Dylan said, shrugging. “Sounds good.” “But—but—” Mia sputtered again, trying to come up with another objection but unable to find an argument that would work. “No buts,” Piers said. “The billionaire has spoken.” He turned away from me, his face expressionless, and for a moment I wanted to let Mia take my place, to ride back with him. I felt like he was abandoning me. Stupid, I know. I was here to win a date with Dylan, not Piers. But he didn’t look back. “You’re so lucky not to get thrown out with your four stupid points,” Mia hissed at Heidi, shoving her way past the group to follow Piers. “What happened there, anyway, Heidi?” Julie asked. Heidi blushed. “I got paired up with that cute blond flight instructor,” she confessed in a whisper. “And we spent the whole time flirting. I even got his phone number!” “Yo! Lisa!” I turned to see Dylan waving me his way. “Come on, Lisa!” He unzipped his jumpsuit and pulled the lapels apart, showing his Superman Tshirt underneath. “Check it out! I’m the man of steel!” “You are really the lucky one,” Heidi sighed. “Have fun!” I smiled a pinched smile and turned away from the group. My superhero billionaire was waiting for me.

“Isn’t this awesome?” Dylan had the convertible top down as we whipped along the curved back roads in his Ferrari. Yes, a Ferrari. I was well aware of the irony. “Yeah,” I said. “Totally awesome.” I tried desperately to keep my hair brushed back out of my face as the trees whizzed by us. “I love coming out back here and just riding around for hours. Like Batman in his Batmobile. Really takes my mind off of things.” “Sure,” I said. I wondered what things he had his mind on in the first place. Dylan Chase did not seem to be a man who ever had much on his mind.

“Did you have a good time at the spa?” I blushed as I thought of Piers coming into the massage room that morning. I was thankful that we were going so fast that Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off the road. I didn’t want him to see my red ears. “Sure did,” I said. “It was super fun.” “That was my idea.” “What was?” “Spa day!” he said proudly. “Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the spa kind of dude.” “Yeah, well, I was watching the tapes, and it seemed like a lot of you were on edge.” “That’s an understatement.” “So I was thinking, what’s the best way to get everybody relaxed? Whenever my mom gets stressed out at my dad, she goes and spends the day at the spa. So, walla.” “You mean voila?” “That’s what I said. You speak French, too? That’s crazy. You’re crazy smart.” He yanked on the steering wheel, and I braced myself with both hands. What was it about rich men and driving erratically? The Ferrari zoomed off of the paved road and thudded off onto a dirt track that disappeared around a bend into the trees. “Where are we going?” I asked. “You’ll see,” he said, winking at me. His tousled blond hair flew in all directions as he revved the car up a hill. I couldn’t help but grin back at him. He looked like a kid having the best time of his life. His good humor was infectious. At the top of the dirt path, we came out of the trees and into a large opening. Dylan gave the Ferrari one last rev and turned sharply, skidding to a stop. When the cloud of dust dissipated, I looked around in wonder. We were on the top of a mountain lookout, surrounded by low sloping valleys of pines and oaks. When Dylan turned off the Ferrari engine, it was so quiet that I could hear my heart beating fast. “This…this is beautiful.” “Isn’t it?” Dylan looked around proudly. “This is my favorite spot to come out when I’m driving. Sometimes I just sit here for hours looking at the trees and thinking.” “Really?” Dylan looked over at me, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I know what you’re thinking. Big old dumb lugnut like me, what’s he have to think about?” “I wasn’t… that wasn’t…” I didn’t know what to say that wasn’t insulting. “Look, I know I’m not as smart as you. You’re a smart lady, I can tell. Always got something running through your brain, right?” “It’s a curse,” I said, laughing softly. “See? And you’re funny, too.” Suddenly Dylan had his hand on mine. I froze, watching his big thumb press against the outside of my wrist. “That’s why I like you,” he said. “You’re smart, you’re funny. And I don’t just want to date some pretty airhead girl who can’t put two and two together.” “Well, you got me. I’m definitely not as pretty as the other girls,” I said, choking out a laugh. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, squeezing my hand and shifting in his seat to face me. “You’re all pretty girls. You and Kate especially.” “What about ex-supermodel Mia?” I asked, half-teasing. “Uh… well…” He seemed uncertain of how to answer. “Pretty on the outside?”

Dylan burst out laughing. “You said it, not me. I mean, she’s pretty. I knew you were all going to be pretty. It’s TV, right?” “Right,” I said. My mouth was dry. “But I’ve dated a lot of pretty girls. I mean, a lot.” “And you want something more?” He looked up at me, his brown eyes dark and soulful under his rumpled blond hair. “You get it.” “Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “I get it.” “I’m glad you’re here, Lisa.” He turned forward in his seat and looked out at the forest. He was still holding my hand, but now that he’d broken eye contact, I was able to breathe again. For a moment there, I’d thought he was going to kiss me. And for the life of me, I didn’t know what I would do if he tried. “Look at that,” he said. In the distance, three hawks circled over the tops of the trees. “How do they even fly like that?” “Like what?” “They’re not flapping their wings at all.” I watched the hawks glide in rising circles, their wings outspread. “Must be the air currents,” I said. “They’re just catching a ride.” “That’s so cool.” Dylan leaned back in his seat. “So they just float along forever?” “Maybe.” “Just letting the wind take them wherever it wants to take them. Must be peaceful.” “They don’t have places to be.” Dylan squeezed my hand again. “Neither do we.” We sat there for twenty minutes, watching the birds circle up and down on the invisible currents. Dylan’s hand was warm over mine. It was oddly comfortable to sit there, holding hands and watching the hawks glide through the air. They didn’t worry about whether they were heading in the right direction. They trusted the wind to take them where they needed to go. I took a deep breath and let it go. Dylan was right. I didn’t need to flap my wings. There was nowhere I needed to be. Nowhere but right here.

Chapter Twenty “Arlen, look! Bubbles!” We were at “picnic day” in Central Park. Dylan had reserved a large chunk of the park just for the contestants and our families. I pointed up at the iridescent bubbles floating overhead, and Arlen waved her arms wildly. One landed on her nose and popped. She started to scream. “Alright, let me take her.” Emma hefted the little girl in her arms and tried to distract her. “Arlen, look! Another bubble!” “Oh my gosh, is this your niece?” Kate came over. “She is so adorable!” Arlen turned her pout into a huge grin. “She loves showing off for strangers,” Emma said. “Can I hold her?” “Of course.” Emma handed her over. “My arms get so tired now. She’s almost two and big for her age.” “Hey there, cutie pie,” Kate gurgled at the little girl. “This is crazy,” Emma said looking around. “Which part?” I asked. “The swan boats on the lake? The horse carriage rides? The catered picnic lunch?” “I was going to say the cotton candy machine,” Emma said. “But all of that is pretty insane, too.” “I’m glad Arlen got over her cold in time for this,” I said. “It’s so nice to have you here.” “Where’s your family, Kate?” Emma asked. “They… they couldn’t make it,” Kate said. “I thought they lived in New York. Are they not around this weekend?” I asked. “No, they are. It’s just… they work. A lot. They’re too busy working.” She had a guilty expression on her face, and I didn’t press it. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet them,” I said. “I’m going to tell them they missed a perfectly wonderful magic demonstration,” Kate said. “And a petting zoo.” “How’s Mac?” I asked Emma. “He misses you.” “You have a son, too?” Kate asked Emma. I burst out laughing. “Mac’s our cat,” I said. “Although he’s definitely part of the family. We should have brought him to the picnic.” “Oh, I’m sure he would have loved the swan boats,” Emma joked. “Everybody’s sisters and brothers are so young,” I said. “I feel like I’m the only one with a grownup sibling.” “Half of them are Julie’s brothers,” Kate said. “She told me her parents have eight kids! The oldest one isn’t here, though, he’s in Europe right now. They seemed very proud of him.” “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Kate?” Emma asked. Kate looked down at Arlen. “Um, I have a little brother,” she said. “Where is he?” “He’s with his, uh, his nanny right now. I wish—I wish he could be here.” Kate looked really sad that none of her family was here. That must be why she was acting so strangely. She was the only one at the picnic all by herself. I decided to change the subject away from

family. “Dylan said that this was supposed to be a contest,” I said. “So what’s the contest part?” “If it’s how many carriage rides you can go on, I think we won already,” Emma said. “Arlen made us do twelve rides in a row. I am done with h-o-r-s-e-s, if you know what I mean.” “I don’t think there’s any contest,” Kate said. “Look at Dylan. He’s having a blast just playing with all the kids.” Dylan and Piers were both in suits, but they’d gone barefoot on the meadow. Racing around in the sunshine, they were playing touch football with the kids and a Nerf football. Both of them were getting into the game, diving for the ball whenever it came loose and pretending to get tackled when they got touched by one of the kids. “Dylan is so good with kids,” Kate said, sighing. “Yeah, both he and Piers seem like they would make great dads.” Kate bit her lip. “Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.” “They’re like big kids themselves,” I said. “Especially Dylan.” “Where did you two go yesterday?” Kate asked. She sounded hesitant, and she didn’t look at me when she asked. “You were gone for a while.” “Eh, not that long. He drove us up to a nature lookout. We did some bird watching.” “I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip again. “I shouldn’t pry.” “Nothing to pry about,” I said, trying to brush off her concern. “He told me he thought you were pretty.” “He did?” Kate flashed an uncertain glance at me. “Yep,” I said. “I think you’ve got a good shot.” She smiled nervously. “I sure hope so. He’s the perfect guy.” “How is he the perfect guy?” Emma asked, unable to resist indulging her curiosity. “Oh, he’s just so nice and friendly. He’s really a gentleman,” Kate blurted. “Plus he’s so funny. And now, with how he is with kids…” I looked back over at the meadow. Both he and Piers had taken two of the smaller boys up on their shoulders piggyback, and they were careening around the field while the boys screamed bloody murder. The football had long since been forgotten. “He is great,” I said. I was looking at Piers when I said it. I shook my head. I didn’t know what it was that always attracted me to the wrong person. At that moment, he looked over at me and the smile dropped off of his face. Then a kid tackled him, and he fake-tumbled down to the grass, laughing again. “What was that all about?” I murmured. “What?” “Oh, nothing,” I said, looking back out to the field. Piers didn’t look at me again, not even when the game stopped and they came back to the picnic blankets. I didn’t know what I’d done. It wasn’t like Piers to ignore me like this completely. On the contrary, Piers normally butted his head into my business regardless of whether or not I wanted him to. But now that I wanted to connect with him, it was like I had a magnetic repulsion shield around me. He made a point of ignoring me in every possible way. I hadn’t realized how much it would hurt until it happened. Stupid. I wasn’t here for him, anyway. I was here for the show, for the article I was writing. And I sure as hell wasn’t putting anything about Piers and me into the article. So why was I so irritated by his standoffish behavior? I needed to forget about him, I decided.

All through lunch, Emma and I eavesdropped on the other contestants and their families. Tanya’s parents were surprisingly friendly with everyone, both of them bubbling over with thick Russian accents. Julia tussled with her little brothers and took her sisters out on the swan ride alongside Rosalita, who also had two younger sisters. They both seemed to have limitless energy. I was surprised at how well Kate was doing with Arlen—she’d seemed too young to be able to handle kids, but they were having a blast together. Mia stayed away from the other contestants. Her parents both looked way too attractive to be real, like two department store models from the high-end boutiques. Her dad was tall, dark, and handsome, wearing a camel-beige linen suit with a white pocket handkerchief. Her mother had an oversized floppy hat that matched her flowing summer dress, and her sunglasses covered half of her face. Piers and Dylan got up in front of everyone after lunch. “Thank you to everyone for coming,” Piers said. “It’s been great getting to meet all of your families,” Dylan chimed in. Kate looked away and I caught a strange expression on her face. Pity surged in my chest. Poor Kate. It couldn’t have been easy to see everybody else having a great time with family. “And now we’re going to get to the main contest. I’m sure you’ve already told your families about the contests we’ve already done… the cooking competition. The cocktail party. The fighter jet laser dogfight. But this contest will top them all.” My eyebrows raised. The cameramen moved closer to Piers, who reached mysteriously into his pocket. “Today, we are going to do… an EGG TOSS!” He pulled out an egg from his pocket and tossed it over to Dylan. Dylan fumbled it once, twice, bouncing it off of his elbow. It fell down, but before it could hit the ground, Dylan kicked it up like a hackysack. The egg cracked into two pieces on his foot, but Dylan managed to grab both of them in the air. “Got it!” he called out triumphantly, holding the two halves of the hardboiled egg aloft. “Now that,” Piers said, cracking a smile despite himself, “would be cause for disqualification. So try not to kick your eggs. However, we will be judging not only on distance, but also on style and presentation.” “Who are our partners?” I called out. “You can pick any family member to be your partner,” Piers said. He didn’t look at me when he answered. “So let’s line up!” “Hey, Dylan!” I ran over to him, and he beamed at me. “Kate doesn’t have any family here today,” I said. “So I was thinking maybe you could be her partner.” “Oh,” he said, his smile fading. “I can’t. I mean—yeah, no. I can’t. Maybe she can pair up with one of Julie’s brothers. She’s got enough of them!” He laughed a little and then turned away. I frowned. I’d thought that my plan to push them together would go great. I saw Piers looking over at me, but he quickly ducked his head away when I met his gaze. “What is wrong with everybody today?” I muttered, heading back towards Emma and Arlen. Whatever. I had an egg toss contest to win. The egg toss was a disaster. Half of the contestants missed the first toss, even from only five feet away. Rosalita had never done an egg toss, and her little brother was winging the eggs her way like a little leaguer. Julie’s brother tried to show off by doing a headstand and catching the egg with his feet. When he smacked his feet together too hard, the explosion of egg rained down on Tanya and Heidi, who squealed and dropped their own eggs, then complained about the unfairness of it all. Weirdly enough, the best egg toss competitors turned out to be me, Kate, and Mia. Mia’s dad had offered to partner up with Kate, while Mia paired with her mom. Emma and I tossed the egg back and

forth in smooth arcs while Arlen watched from Dylan’s arms. I almost felt bad for Mia. Her mom criticized her the whole time. “Don’t throw it so high!” “Make sure you catch it softly. Softly!” “Pay attention! This is important!” I rolled my eyes with every insult she threw at Mia. If that was how she had grown up, I kind of understood how she had turned out so bitchy. By the time Emma finally missed a catch, we had run out of backup eggs. I threw up my hands. “Oh well!” I cried. Just then, Mia’s dad threw his egg to Kate. His throw was intentionally low and much harder than his other tosses had been. Kate dove for the egg, but it cracked on the ground, spraying bits of hardboiled egg everywhere. “Yes! Yes!” Mia’s mom shrieked, running over to Mia and holding their egg aloft. “We did it! We won!” I eyed Dylan, who was handing Arlen back over to Emma. Was he really going to let Mia win this thing? That last throw was basically sabotage! But he didn’t protest at all, and Piers announced Mia as the winner. Her mother beamed happily as he told them that Mia had immunity for the next challenge. It made me sick to watch them celebrate while Kate was left all by herself in the middle of the field. When Piers walked away from the group, I followed him. “Hey. Hey!” I cried. Piers turned around. “Oh, Lisa.” He glanced over my shoulder. “I didn’t see you.” “Like hell you didn’t.” His eyebrows raised. God, he looked handsome. The sun and exercise had given him a ruddy flush on his cheeks and forehead, and he looked so damn beautiful it made me want to throttle him. “What can I help you with?” he asked in a clipped tone. He had his phone out in one hand and he looked down at it with fake indifference. “Stop acting like that, for one thing.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “You know exactly what I mean, Piers. You’ve been ignoring me all day.” “Have I?” “Yes, you have.” I ripped the phone away from his hand. “Hey! I was looking at that!” “Right. Were you looking at your damn phone when Mia stole that contest, too?” Piers pressed his lips together and glanced over my shoulder. “Give me my phone back.” “Once you tell me what’s going on with you, I’ll give it back.” “Look, I get it. Okay?” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What exactly is it that you get?” “You and Dylan.” My face went slack and my tongue flipped into a knot. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?” “He told me all about your car ride.” “And?” I blushed furiously. “What about it?” I didn’t know why I felt so defensive. We’d held hands, and that was it! Well, sure, Dylan had given me a peck on the cheek and a big hug when he dropped me back off at the penthouse, but that was all. “He told me he really liked you. He thinks you’re smart.” Piers tilted his head, a hard look on his face. “Congratulations on impressing the billionaire.” My blush deepened.

“It doesn’t take much to impress him,” I said. “Oh, stop it already. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asked impatiently. “Why?” “To date a billionaire.” I stared at him, not sure what he was expecting from me. “I’m here because you tricked me into being here,” I said. “Oh, come off it.” “Remember that day of the auditions? When you tricked me into auditioning?” “I remember,” Piers snapped. “I remember it all.” He grabbed his phone back from me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to approve these cuts for the first episode.” “Right now?” “Yes. Right now.” “Fine,” I said, stepping away. “Glad to see you’re being serious with your work. I guess I’ll just go and have some fun.” “You do that.” I walked away quickly, not trusting my voice to reply. My eyes stung with unshed tears.

Chapter Twenty-One I headed back down to the swan boats. My heart was roiling in my chest. I stumbled all the way down to the boat dock before I realized that Dylan was sitting on the edge of the dock, his legs swinging out over the water. “Oh! Sorry!” I said, my mind a jumble. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” “It’s alright,” Dylan said. He picked up a twig and threw it as hard as he could. It plopped into the lake and bobbed there, ripples floating outward. He let out a sigh. “What’s the matter?” “I’m bummed!” he said. “Why are you bummed?” I asked. “I mean, unless you don’t want to talk about it.” He shook his head and patted the side of the dock next to him. I sat down. “I had to tell Rosalita that she was kicked out. They made me tell her in front of her whole family, too. It just sucks.” “Did you like her?” I asked. “I mean, no, but I didn’t not like her, you know?” He threw another twig in the same direction as the first one. “I guess I just realized it’s only going to get harder from here.” “I’m sorry.” “Are you bummed, too?” Dylan asked. “You look kinda bummed.” “I am kinda bummed,” I said. “Here.” He handed me a piece of twig. I took it and threw it out as far as it would go, which wasn’t very far. But the very act of throwing something made me feel a tiny bit better. Or, as Dylan would say, less bummed. “Thanks,” I said. “That helps.” “It always helps to throw a twig when you’re bummed,” Dylan said matter-of-factly. “So why are you bummed?” I couldn’t tell him about Piers. There was no way. I sighed. “Why did you let Mia win this last contest?” I asked instead. “Oh, God.” Dylan fell over onto his back with a groan, his hands over his eyes. “Don’t even talk to me about it,” he said. “I’m such an asshole.” “Um. Okay.” But before I had time to change the subject, he sat right back up and continued talking. “I didn’t want her to win!” he said. “But Piers told me I had to, and even though I saw what her dad did with Kate’s egg, I couldn’t say anything—” “Wait, wait. Piers told you Mia had to win?” I couldn’t believe it. It was Piers who had let this happen? “Yeah! He said the producers wanted to mix things up and make it more interesting. I guess it’s good for TV, or something. I don’t know!” He turned to me, his face contorted with guilt. “I know it wasn’t fair. I didn’t want her to win either, trust me.” “What a stupid way to stir up drama,” I said. In my head, I was running through the reasons why Piers might want Mia to win. To keep me from winning, maybe? To keep me away from Dylan? I couldn’t help but be distrustful of his motives. “I’m sorry,” Dylan said. “If it had been up to me—”

“It’s alright,” I said. “It’s not your fault.” “It kind of is,” Dylan mumbled. “No, it’s not,” I said firmly. “It’s the stupid producers, and Piers rolling over for them so that they can get better ratings. It’s not your fault at all. Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?” “Okay.” He looked out at the floating twigs. “So you don’t think I’m an asshole?” “You couldn’t be an asshole if you tried, Dylan. You’re way too nice for that.” He turned to me, and before I could react, he had leaned over and planted a soft kiss on my lips. I froze. My heart leapt up into my throat. His hand cupped my cheek lightly, like a football player cradling an egg. He only lingered for a second before pulling back. “Thanks, Lisa,” he said. “I don’t feel bummed anymore.” “I—I’m—” I sputtered. I didn’t know what to say. “I’m glad I could help.” Dylan grinned at me and leapt to his feet. He held out a hand to me. “There’s gonna be cake soon,” he said. “Come on!”

I stumbled back to the picnic behind Dylan, my mind reeling. Had that really just happened? I replayed the scene in my head in disbelief. Dylan’s lips, achingly soft and tender, pressing a tentative kiss against my mouth. His hand cradling my chin. And his smile afterward, as though one kiss had solved every problem in his world. And Piers—he had fixed the contest and let Mia win by cheating! I was furious with him. Not for me, but for Kate. It had been her win, and it had been stolen from her. I couldn’t let it go without confronting him. He was nowhere to be found, though, and while Dylan cut the cake for everyone at the picnic, I slipped away to try and find him. The swan boats were all empty, and the horse carriage rides were almost over—Arlen and Emma had gotten on the last ride around the block. I went to the field where the boys had been playing touch football before. Piers wasn’t there, but I found his jacket on top of a pile of camera equipment. I looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. And then I saw his phone peeking out from his jacket pocket. The video for the first episode was in there. Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled his phone out of his jacket and turned it on. Already open on the front screen was a folder full of video clips. It wasn’t for the first episode, though—this folder was labeled Auditions. I was about to look elsewhere when one of the clips caught my eye. It was labeled Lisa_Post_Audition_Discussion. I opened it up. The video was a clip of three people. I recognized them as the judges I’d seen in the audition room. Two men and a woman, all in business wear. “What did you think of our last contestant?” It was Piers’ voice—the accent was unmistakable—but he didn’t appear onscreen. “She’s old,” one of the men said. “Too old for this show.” My skin itched. I wasn’t old! I was in my early thirties! I mean, compared to some of these girls, maybe I was old, but… “Fat, old,” the woman said, tossing her clipboard down on the table. “Why are we even discussing her?” Fat? I wasn’t fat either! I mean, I wasn’t a size two, but I wasn’t Mrs. Claus or anything! “She’s funny,” the man on the end said. “Look how desperate she is.” “The dumb, gold-digging housewife,” the other man agreed. “Could be a great villain.” “Exactly. She’ll make a fool of herself in an early episode, and then we can dump her.”

“It’ll be good comic relief, at the very least,” Piers said. My lips parted, trembling. I wanted to throw Piers’ phone across the field. I wanted to break the screen. But I couldn’t stop watching. Comic relief? That’s why he had brought me on the show? “I’m not sure,” the woman said. “We have other options that I think would work better for a villain. The third contestant, what was her name?” I frowned as she argued with the other two judges. I thought I recognized her voice from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it. “Alright,” Piers voice was saying. “So we agree to keep her on, at least for the first episode?” “Yes,” the last man said. The other two judges nodded. “Good,” Piers said. “Let’s run through the deliberation again, this time for the camera.” He paused. “So what do you think of Lisa?” “I liked her,” the last man said. “What a bold personality. She’s not afraid to say what she wants.” “She’s going after the man for his money,” the woman chimed in. “Is that who we want on The Billionaire Dating Game? A gold digger?” “At least she’s honest about it,” the last man said. “True, true,” the woman said, clasping her hands in front of her. “And I think she has a spark to her. I vote to keep her.” “Me too,” the first man said. “If her attitude changes, she could be a contender.” The woman nodded. “Then it’s decided,” Piers interjected. “Lisa is in?” “Yes,” the first man said. “I have my reservations,” the woman said, “but I’ll vote yes—” “What are you doing with my phone?” I dropped the phone, startled. The video kept going as I fumbled on the ground to turn it off. I looked up into Piers’ piercing blue-green eyes. His face was slanted in a deep frown. “I wasn’t—I was looking for you,” I said. “You shouldn’t be snooping through my phone,” he said, reaching out for it. Something inside me snapped, and a rush of anger brought blood to my face. I shoved the phone into his chest, letting my anger flow freely. “Fine! Take it!” I said. “Take it and good riddance!” “What were you looking at?” “Oh, nothing. Just you and the producers discussing how fat and old I am. How terrible of a contestant I would be. How much of a gold digger I am.” Piers’ face dropped. His lips parted. “Lisa… Lisa, I don’t—” “Nice to hear that I’m just a joke contestant. A villain to be shoved off of the show at the first opportunity.” “Lisa, it’s not what it sounds like.” “Really? Because it sounds to me like you’re a complete fucking asshole.” “Lisa, I had to get you on the show somehow—” “Of course you did! You needed me on for comic relief, right? Look at the unfashionable woman who’s ten years older than everyone! She’s so desperate! All it takes is one erotic massage, and she’ll do anything you want!” “That wasn’t—” “You used me!” There were tears in my eyes. I couldn’t believe I had fallen for this manipulative jerk. I had known it from the beginning, hadn’t I? “Lisa, please calm down.”

“What? You want me to calm down? But what about the drama?! It’ll help your ratings if I go crazy, won’t it? Won’t it?!” “I can explain.” “No explanation is necessary!” I yelled. “You just stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you, until you and your producers find a way to sabotage me and kick me off the show. It’ll make a great fucking article for Moi!” “You wouldn’t dare.” Piers’ face was pale. “I would dare!” I bent down and picked up a twig from the grass, and threw it as hard as I could at Piers’ chest. It bounced off his shirt and landed back on the ground. “A twig?” Piers asked, staring down at the twig in disbelief. “You threw a twig at me.” “Yes! And I’d do it again!” I said. “Because I’m bummed, and it’s all your fault!” “If you hadn’t looked through my phone—” “Oh! So it’s my fault that you’re a manipulative asshole, because I caught you being a manipulative asshole?” I threw my hands up in the air. “I am done with you. I should have been done with you the moment I saw you!” “Lisa, it’s not—” “And—and—Dylan just kissed me!” I yelled, stabbing one last finger in the air to make a point. “I think he actually likes me! So good luck kicking me off anytime soon!” Piers stood there with his phone dangling from his hand as I stormed away. Dylan was right. I’d felt much better after I threw that twig.

Chapter Twenty-Two I smiled the brightest, fakest smile I could muster at Piers as he stood in the middle of the penthouse living room, talking about the next contest. I wasn’t about to give the cameras any ammunition to use against me. I would be the happiest, most cheerful person ever. I would be positive and upbeat and one hundred percent friendly. If Piers was going to twist my words, I was going to make it as hard as possible for him. “Today,” he was saying, “we’re going to have a very special guest judge. From America’s Runway, please welcome Tina Toronto!” The contestants around me burst into excited applause. I did my best to cheer excitedly alongside them, even though I had no idea who we were cheering for. “Who’s Tina Toronto?” I whispered out the side of my mouth to Kate. “She hosts a fashion show on the same network,” Kate whispered back. “You’ve never seen America’s Runway?” Fashion show? My face almost dropped, but I wrangled it back into a fake smile. “And today we’ll all be creating our own fashion in a crossover episode!” Oh, shit. So this was how Piers was going to get rid of me. Fashion was my weak spot. It was worse than a weak spot. It was a nonexistent spot. I was lost when it came to fashion. And he knew it. My teeth gritted into a hard grin. He wasn’t going to get me. “You will all be designing a high fashion outfit with a partner contestant from America’s Runway,” Piers was saying. “But! There’s a twist.” Dylan stood up. “It’s a superhero fashion show!” he said. He cleared his throat and looked down at the note card in his palm. “As—as some of you may already know, I am a big fan of comic books! Especially DC comics. So for this fashion show, you should be picking a superhero—or supervillain—from the DC Comics universe, and designing your outfit around that. Then you’ll be modeling the outfit down the fashion runway.” “We have to make a superhero costume?” Julie squinted hard. “Not quite,” Piers interjected. “You’re designing an outfit inspired by a comic book character. A character itself, or the color scheme—you can use any of these to help inspire you. We’ll be going to a comic book store first thing this morning, so that you can browse through the characters and find some inspiration.” God, his smooth talking voice was so irritating. How could I have fallen for this guy? He seemed so fake. Just then he caught my eye, staring hard at me, and I quickly looked away. “Now let’s all get into the limo and go look at some comics!” “Woo!” Dylan said, pumping his fists in the air.

The comic book store manager was staring at Mia’s tits. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead I plastered on a smile and forced myself to look at the comic in my hands instead. I wasn’t going to give them any drama to tape. “I don’t know what superhero to pick,” Kate said, flipping idly through a comic book. “What do you think?” “I’m going to pick the one that has the best color scheme,” I said. “Or maybe just Batman. He likes Batman, right?”

“Oh!” Kate exclaimed. “That would be so cool! What if you did a sleek dress with, like, the Batman logo on it? And, like, a cape type thing, but you could make it a shawl…” “It sounds like you want to do Batman,” I said. “I don’t want to steal your idea.” “Go for it,” I said. “I can’t come up with a fashion idea to save my life.” “You could do the Joker!” Kate exclaimed. “Like, a sexy dress version of the Joker.” “Why does everything have to be a sexy dress?” I groaned. “Because it’s a fashion show,” Mia interjected. She grabbed up a comic book from between me and Kate. “Are you both really going to pick a guy superhero as your inspiration?” “Maybe.” “Why not?” Kate asked. “Batman with tits? Ugh,” Mia scoffed. “I just can’t imagine something like that being sexy.” “That’s because you have no imagination,” I said, then clamped my lips shut. Dammit. I wasn’t supposed to be getting into arguments today! Kate was silent, looking down studiously at the comic book. “What are you going to do for your outfit?” I asked Mia, trying to make up for my last remark. She brushed her long hair back. “I haven’t decided yet. Not like I would tell anyone once I did. You’d just steal my idea.” “Right,” I said, with a forced grin. “Well, good luck!” “I don’t need luck for this contest,” Mia said. “I’ve done hundreds of catwalks before.” “Wow. Hundreds! You don’t say?” “So you ladies are just going to have to fight for second place. Understood?” I smiled and nodded. “You got it! Second place, here I come!” Mia stared at me like I was crazy. “Whatever. I’m going to go pick out my comic. See you losers later.” “Bye! Have a great time!” Kate eyed me sideways. “What on earth was that all about?” she asked. “I’m trying to act more friendly,” I said. “How’d I do?” “Great acting,” Kate said. “But I think I like your bitter, sarcastic side better.” “Too bad!” I said brightly. “I’m going to be so happy to be second place! You won’t even believe it!” “I wouldn’t mind second place for this show, that’s for sure,” Kate said. It took me a moment to realize what she’d said. “Wait—second place? Why? Don’t you want to win?” “I mean, sure,” Kate said, blushing a bit. “But you know you win if you decide to walk away from the billionaire at the end.” “No I don’t. What do you win?” “You haven’t heard?” “Kate, you’re making it hard for me to not say something sarcastic and bitter.” She laughed. “Sorry. If Dylan picks you and you decide not to date him, you get a hundred thousand dollars. He can pick someone else, of course. But you still get the money for walking away.” My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “A hundred thousand—are you serious?” “Totally serious.”

“But it’s a rumor,” I said. “That’s not official. Probably Mia made it up so that we would walk away at the end.” “I asked Dylan about it,” Kate whispered, looking around the comic book store. “And?” “He said it was true.” Kate’s eyelashes fluttered, and she looked down at the comic book with a strange expression on her face. “Kate? Are you telling me the truth?” “Yes!” Her face flashed pink. “Why are you looking so guilty, then?” “I don’t—it was something else Dylan told me.” “What?” I asked. My chest felt hollow. Kate bit her lip and avoided looking at me. I knew what she was going to say before she said it, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “He said… he said he’s going to have a hard time choosing between us.”

The set for America’s Runway was in the same building that I’d gone to for the first auditions of The Billionaire Dating Game. As we walked down the hallway, I studiously avoided looking at the door to the break room where Piers had taken off my shirt. Piers had gone back to ignoring me. In fact, I don’t think he had so much as made eye contact since I’d confronted him at the picnic. I told myself that it was good riddance. I told myself that I didn’t need the stress of competing for two guys’ affections at the same time. But as much as Dylan talked with me, and gave me attention, I couldn’t seem to make myself care. All I thought about was Piers holding me in his arms. Stupid, was all it was. I was in the running for a billionaire. And if Kate was telling the truth, I was one of the top two contestants. I trusted her, even though sometimes I thought that she was keeping something secret from me. If it was true, though, I would either be getting a hundred thousand dollars… or a date with Dylan. The memory of Dylan kissing me made me jerk myself back to reality. I didn’t know if that was what I wanted. He was a nice guy, sure, and I’d had a lot of fun with him. Maybe I was wrong to dismiss a guy for being immature. And even if he was— “Hi, partner! I’m Amanda!” I blinked. The girl in front of me was a foot shorter than me, with a bright pink mohawk and earrings dotting her eyebrows, nose, and lip. “Hi there!” I said, a bit dazed. “Partner?” “Let’s hurry,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward one of the tables on the set. It was covered in tissue paper sewing patterns, thread, and a sewing machine that looked like a medieval torture device. “We aren’t going to have a lot of time to make this before the show. Let’s get your measurements while you tell me what you have in mind for an outfit.” “Uh—okay,” I said. “Strip down!” she ordered. “I have to measure you.” I looked around. The other girls were sitting on chairs, chatting with their partners. Mia had her drawings out and was explaining exactly what she wanted done. I was apparently the only one being ordered to doff my clothes. “I’ve won three of these contests already,” Amanda hissed at me. “Trust me!” “I trust you, I trust you,” I said, holding up my hands. “Now strip! Hurry!”

I did what she said, wishing I’d worn matching underwear for the show. She wrapped measuring tape around my waist, my arms, my hips. “So what’s your superhero?” she asked, pinning some linen-type fabric around my middle. “Uh, the Joker,” I said. “Good one.” “Thank you,” I said, trying not to shiver as she pressed the cold measuring tape up into my inner thigh. “Do you want to do classic Joker, or like, a play off his suit, maybe something with the silk tie, you know…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not really into fashion.” “Oh, jeez. Really?” “Really.” I saw the camera crew hurrying our way. Oh, no! I crossed my arms to cover my chest and plastered on a smile. “Arms down, please!” Amanda chirped. She measured from my wrist up to my shoulder. The camera crew looped around us. Oh, God. They were taking video of my ass. I should have worn better lingerie today. I should have— “Okay, got your measurements. This is going to be interesting.” “Interesting?” “In a good way. I think you’re going to rock this. Now, let’s talk design!” I pulled on my clothes as quickly as I could, and the cameramen decided to go film someone else. “How do you know so much about the Joker, anyway?” I asked. “Did they have you do research, too?” “Nah. I used to be super into movie costuming. I watched all those old Batman movies.” She pulled out a sketchpad. “Okay! So, no ideas for the dress?” I shook my head. “Good,” she said. “I’m gonna spitball some ideas, and you tell me if you like it.” Her pencil flew across the paper. I was amazed to see the lines of a dress form within seconds. She’d nailed my figure, too. As I admired her work, she talked nonstop. “Now, this is high fashion, so we can do whatever we want. And with a comic book theme, I’m thinking we go big.” “So the shoulder pads like that—” “Emphasizing the lines of the Joker suit. Only it’s not a suit, it’s a dress. The suit jacket is a cape. You’re gonna look evil and classy at the same time.” “Evil and classy? I like it.” “And your makeup—” “Can I wear really bright red lipstick?” I asked. “Yes! We’ll go pale, but maybe not too pale. And let’s get some bright green extensions for your hair.” I grinned. This was my kind of fashion. “Now, I think this will work with the flowy purple, but we’re going to have to see what fabric will work for the dress part.” “Cool,” I said, and held up the sketch she’d made. If we could pull this off— “Hurry!” Amanda said, brushing her hand up over her head, ruffling her fierce pink mohawk. “Let’s make this happen!”

The rest of the contest was a blur. Amanda was an evil genius when it came to fashion, I realized. She kept me standing for an hour while she pinned the fabric up around me, adjusting and readjusting the suit top until it fit me perfectly. Every once in a while, she’d stick me with a pin and mutter a brusque apology. Meanwhile, Mia was in a screaming match with her partner over what kind of fabric to use. “I can’t believe they’re still going at it,” I said, after fifteen minutes of yelling. “I can,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “Kathleen always gets what she wants.” “So does Mia.” “Then I guess they’ll go on forever.” “A perpetual complaining machine.” We both burst out laughing. I hadn’t realized that fashion could be this fun. By the time Piers and Dylan walked in, I had almost forgotten the main part of the competition. “Oh, shit,” I said, dabbing on the last bits of makeup. “I actually have to walk down a runway in this thing.” “Have you never—oh, jeez.” Amanda clapped both hands to her head. “Alright, crash course in walking.” “I mean, I know how to walk,” I said. “I’ve been doing it since I was two years old.” “Not this kind of walking. Stand up.” I stood up. The countdown was on the last minute, and the camera crew was going around to get the final shots of everyone. “Head up. Chin up. We’ll do hand on hip, that’s the easiest pose. No, not like that.” Amanda reached down and turned my arm so that my elbow jutted forward at a sharp angle. “That feels wrong,” I said. “Feels wrong, looks right,” she said. “That’s the model code.” “What else?” I eyed the clock. “One foot in front of the other, like you’re taking a sobriety test.” “Good thing I didn’t have anything to drink yet tonight,” I mumbled. “Don’t swing your hips, they’ll swing naturally. When you get to the end of the catwalk, you’re going to pose once with your hand on your hip. Leg out, then shift weight, then you turn. Watch.” I watched. “Okay, now you try.” “Time’s up!” Piers shouted. “You’ll do great,” Amanda said, but I noticed a bit of concern in her eyes. “You look great, anyway. How do you feel?” “Evil,” I said. “Evil and classy.” “Oh, and don’t smile!” she hissed, grabbing my arm. “Don’t—” “Don’t smile! You’re never supposed to smile. Just a sexy pout, okay?” I nodded, trying to feel confident without smiling. All of Amanda’s bulletpoints for walking and posing whirled in my brain. I’d had no idea that something that looked so easy could be so hard. Like finding love—everybody made it look easier than it was.

Chapter Twenty-Three I watched in awe as the other girls walked down the runway. They made it look like a piece of pie. Of course, half of them had modeled before, so it wasn’t a surprise. I studied closely as Mia walked for her turn. I realized as I watched her flow down the runway that there was walking, and then there was walking. She knew how to walk. At the end of the catwalk sat Piers, Dylan, and Tina Toronto. They all had clipboards, but only Tina was furiously taking notes. Kate stepped up onto the catwalk, and I gasped. Her dress was pure sex. It looked like an evening gown, only the designer had made it out of supple black leather that gleamed in the light. The embroidery across the front was done in black, so you couldn’t see the design until she posed. Then the bat symbol gleamed in shiny black thread over her chest, dipping down to show off her cleavage. A thin black cape fluttered behind her, the shawl only covering her collarbone. I could see Dylan mouth the word Wow, and I couldn’t blame him. Hers was definitely the coolest outfit. Then it was my turn. I walked down the catwalk as enthusiastically as I could while still giving a pout. Then when I got to the end of the catwalk, I saw Dylan’s eyebrows raise up. He let out a wolf whistle. Behind him was a huge mirror, and I saw my whole outfit for the first time. It looked incredible. The fabric Amanda had picked out was an iridescent satin that looked green from one way, purple from the other. A darker purple cape winged out from my shoulders, emphasizing my hourglass figure even more. The front of the dress dipped low, showing off my ample cleavage that she’d plumped up even more with the biggest pushup inserts I’d ever seen. And to top it off, my hair was slicked back straight, with green extensions threading through my dark locks over my shoulders. I’d never been in a dress that had been tailor made for my body before. I’d never had professional makeup and hair before. It was incredible the difference a proper fit made; the difference it all made. I looked like… I looked like a model. I couldn’t help myself. My face lit up in a huge grin before I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be smiling. I clamped my lips together and turned back, forcing myself to pay attention to my walk. Then Julie was up in her neon green Poison Ivy costume, and I exhaled, stepping down off the catwalk. The runway show was over in only minutes. I was shocked. We’d spent the whole day making these outfits, and they would be on display for only a few seconds? It didn’t seem right. We all lined up on the catwalk, standing behind our partners. Amanda gave me a nervous smile and I smiled back. Tina Toronto tore apart the outfits she hadn’t liked. To my surprise, Julie’s outfit was deemed “too boring” and “uninspired.” Heidi’s Wonder Woman outfit was “ill-fitting, with cheap looking fabric and visible seams.” When she got to me, I was so nervous I could barely breathe. “Now this outfit,” she said. “When we talk about inspiration, this is what I mean. The shoulder pads hearken back three decades, and all of the lines scream classic eighties chic. It suits the character perfectly.” “I agree,” Piers said. “A great outfit.” I didn’t bother looking at him. “However,” Tina continued, “the model was lacking. You’ve never walked a runway before, have you?” I swallowed hard. Dammit, I had screwed up. In front of me, Amanda put her head in her hands.

“No,” I admitted. “It’s very obvious,” Tina said, looking up critically from her clipboard. “You have a shaky gait, and that pose at the end of the catwalk was execrable. Do you know what that means?” “It means I’m a crappy model,” I said. A few titters went up from the contestants. “So tell me why your team shouldn’t lose this contest,” Tina said, twisting her glasses between her fingers. “I—it was all my fault,” I said. “I know I’m not runway material. But Amanda shouldn’t suffer for it. If you kick me off, you shouldn’t kick her off. It’s not fair.” “This contest was about teamwork—” “And we worked great as a team!” I interrupted. “It’s not her fault I can’t walk to save my life!” “What about your pose?” Tina asked. “What about it?” “That huge smile at the end there,” Tina said. “It looked like you did it on purpose—” “Of course she did it on purpose!” Dylan piped up. He hadn’t said anything before then. “She’s had to smile!” “I—I had to smile?” I stared at him, agog. “Of course you did! You’re the Joker! That was my favorite part!” “Oh. Right. Exactly!” I said. Thank God for Dylan! “I was trying to stay—uh, in character.” Tina sighed, putting her clipboard down on her knee. “Well,” she said. “The dress itself is exquisitely made. So I suppose this one is a wash.” My knees shook as they moved onto the next contestant. Amanda turned around. I expected her to glare at me with hatred, but instead she reached out and squeezed my hand. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “She’s mean to everyone.” “I’m sorry about messing up the walk,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. If she had gotten another partner, she might have gotten first place. “It’s alright,” Amanda said. “I don’t think we would have won anyway. Check out those two.” Tina Toronto was deliberating between Kate and Mia for the top prize. Mia’s dress was black, too—she had picked Storm for her comic book character, and streaks of white lined the edges of her dress. While Kate’s Batman dress was sleek and supple, Mia’s radiated outward in spikes of crisp fabric. They were both gorgeous, and I could see why she was having trouble deciding. Still, I crossed my fingers for Kate. Dylan shifted in his seat as Tina gushed over Mia’s outfit. When she finally stopped talking, he opened his mouth. “But she can’t win!” he cried. Mia’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Why not?” Tina Toronto asked. “Look at her outfit. She picked Storm!” “So?” Mia put her hands on her hips. “So? So Storm isn’t even a DC Comics character! That’s a Marvel character!” Every head turned to Dylan. It seemed like nobody knew what the heck he was talking about. I certainly didn’t. Dylan blew out a breath of exasperation. “She’s X-Men. Duh! X-Men is Marvel. Not DC. That totally doesn’t even follow the rules.” I couldn’t help but laugh as Mia turned aghast. “But—but—” “Sorry,” Dylan said. “Those were the rules.” “Mia, you do have immunity,” Piers pointed out. “So even by breaking the rules, you can’t lose this contest.”

“I didn’t—I only—” “So congratulations, Kate! It looks like you’re the winner!” Kate squealed and hugged her partner. Mia stood scowling as they jumped up and down in celebration. Amanda turned to me and gave me a hug. “This was the most fun I’ve had in any of these contests,” she said. “I hope you beat Kathleen!” I whispered. “Me too!” I turned back to see Dylan coming forward to give Kate a hug. Piers stood behind them, but his eyes were focused over them, onto me. A strange feeling twisted up in my chest. I tamped it down. And I was truly happy to see Kate finally winning a contest. Even though she was my closest competition, I didn’t want her to leave. As long as I didn’t get booted from the competition, we could end up in the top two spots together. An evil grin spread across my face. After all, if the fashion contest hadn’t gotten me kicked out, I don’t know what would.

The next day was a down day—a real down day, not like the fake down days that had ended in fighter jets and egg tossing contests. We were let loose, with strict instructions not to talk about anything that had happened on the show so far. If any word got out about who had won or lost already, Piers warned us, we would be eliminated from the competition. Only a few of the episodes had been aired so far. I tugged on my old jeans, grabbed a slice of pizza for breakfast as I headed back home, and felt like myself again. I was looking forward to checking out the aired episodes and seeing what kind of edits the producers had decided to do to me. But when I arrived back at the apartment, Emma was heading out. Her skin was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. “Arlen has another fever,” she said. In her arms, Arlen was wailing. “This time it’s even worse. I’m scared, Lisa.” “She’ll be fine,” I said. Arlen didn’t look fine. She was red as a radish, and screaming at the top of her lungs. “Here, let me get the bag. We’ll go to urgent care. It’ll be okay.” The door next to ours opened, and I spun around to see our neighbor standing in the doorway. “Don’t say a word,” I hissed at him. He frowned and shut the door angrily. “Shhh, Arlen,” Emma murmured, swaying with the baby in her arms. I put my arm around her and guided her down the hallway. I hated to see my baby sister looking like this. It wasn’t like her to be so worried, so nervous. I hoped she was worrying about nothing. “Come on, Em.” At urgent care, there were a dozen other families sitting in the waiting room. None of them looked happy to see a screaming baby walk in. I left Emma sitting in the waiting room while I signed in at the front desk. “Please get us in as fast as you can,” I pleaded to the nurse behind the desk. “Arlen has a really high fever. It’s urgent.” “Everyone’s here for something urgent,” the nurse said blankly. “That’s why it’s called urgent care.” I sighed and gave up for now. I didn’t want to make things worse by insisting we get special treatment. I only hoped we wouldn’t have to go to the emergency room. We’d gone once before, and it had cost a fortune. As I started to walk back to the waiting room, I saw someone I didn’t expect to see coming out of

the doctor’s offices. “Kate!” I said, startled. Kate turned around, her long blonde ponytail flying over her shoulder. She was wearing loose sweatpants and had no makeup on. I barely recognized her—she looked so different. “Lisa?” Her eyes went wide. “What are you doing here?” “My niece has a fever,” I said. “What are you doing here?” Just then, I saw a face peeking out from behind Kate. A little boy, maybe four or five, was holding tightly onto Kate’s hand. “Oh, is this—” “My little brother!” Kate blurted out. “He was—uh—he had an ear infection and we had to get antibiotics.” “He’s so cute!” I bent down. “Hi! I’m Lisa! What’s your name?” The little boy turned away shyly and buried his face into Kate’s pants. “His name’s Jacob,” Kate said. She looked nervous. “Sorry, we have to go. I—” “Mama!” Kate bent down and picked up the little boy. “I know, I know, you want your mama,” she said, avoiding my eyes. I frowned, my journalist’s suspicion making all of my instincts ring out in alarm. Was this what I thought it was? “I’ll see you back at the penthouse,” Kate said. “Mama, I want my juice!” Jacob cried, shaking his head against Kate’s shoulder. It was. Kate didn’t have a little brother. She’d lied to us. She’d lied to everyone. Kate… had a kid. “Here you go,” Kate mumbled, pulling a juice bottle from the bag draped over her shoulder. Jacob took it, contented. “Kate?” Kate looked up at me. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her long blonde eyelashes fluttered. “Please don’t tell,” she whispered. My heart sank. I couldn’t believe that she had kept such a big secret from me. She had a kid! “Does Piers know?” I asked. “Does Dylan know?” She shook her head tightly. “I lied to get on the show.” “But—but—they do background checks, don’t they? How did they not find out?” A thousand questions whirled in my mind. Kate hugged Jacob tightly to her side and kissed him on top of his head. “I was still a teenager when I had him,” she said. She pressed her lips together, and at that moment she looked ten years older than she had when I first met her. “My parents didn’t want anyone to know, so they adopted him before we moved to New York and pretended that he was my brother until I grew up and got enough money to move out.” “Wow. Why?” was all I could say. “They didn’t want anyone knowing that they raised a teenage mom,” Kate said, her voice turning bitter. “They didn’t want to help me at all after I disappointed them like that.” “Is the dad—I mean, he’s not in the picture anymore, right?” “No! Of course not!” Kate’s eyes flashed with a deep hurt. “He’s…he’s long gone. He was gone before Jacob was born.” “That’s why your parents wanted to hide it.” I thought back to the picnic, when Kate had mentioned her little brother. It made so much more sense now. I wondered how I hadn’t seen it all along.

“I don’t know what my parents did to keep the records sealed, but I guess it worked,” Kate was saying. “They let me on the show, anyway.” “But—I mean—what are you planning to do if you win?” “I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t expect to get this far. I just wanted to get on the show and hopefully make some contacts with the TV network. You know, for my cooking show.” “Kate, you are a hustler!” I was astonished. For such a young woman, she had everything figured out. “So you didn’t actually want to win?” “I mean, I didn’t at first. I just wanted to get some television experience.” “But now?” Kate blushed. “I didn’t expect to fall for Dylan.” “And you didn’t expect him to fall for you, either.” Her face flushed even harder at that. “Lisa, please promise me you won’t tell. I’ll do anything—if you want, I’ll make sure I lose the final contest if it comes to that.” “No—no, it’s okay. I won’t tell. I promise.” My mind was whirling. “I… well, I don’t want to go crawling back to my parents for help, and I’ve been working at this shitty restaurant forever, going to open auditions and hoping for a break into television. I know it’s wrong to lie. And it’s such a big lie. I didn’t know it would get this far, and now I feel like such a bad person.” Kate looked miserable. I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright,” I said. “This contest has been turning me into a bad person, too.” I thought of Piers, and Dylan, and how I didn’t even know the real reason I was still in the competition. Looking at her twisting in guilt made me want to confess my own sins. But I wasn’t as good of a person as she was.

Chapter Twenty-Four We spent half the day at the urgent care. The doctor wanted to give Arlen some more intense antibiotics to fight off whatever infection she had. Emma looked worried about dosing her baby with so much medicine. “And how much will it cost?” she asked. “Are we going to be able to pay for all this?” “I’ll figure something out,” I said. “Don’t worry.” Inside, of course, I was worrying like crazy. I hoped that the article I was writing about The Billionaire Dating Game would impress Clarence so much he would give me a raise, but I wasn’t counting on it. I had my eyes on the second prize—if I could just make it to the final round of the competition and get Dylan to pick me, I’d be walking away with a hundred grand. Heck, even if I could win another one of the contests, there might be some money in it. I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for dresses. At night, I made dinner for everyone and collapsed into the couch, typing furiously. I wanted to add Kate’s story about her secret son to the article, but I obviously wasn’t going to be able to send that part in until after the competition was over. In the world of TV, where everyone is faking it, I wrote, even falling in love can be dangerous. Clarence called me from the office that night for an update. “I’m kicking ass and taking names,” I said. “I’ll have the first article written up for you soon.” “Make it tomorrow,” Clarence said. “I need to run it by the owners before it goes to print.” “The owners?” I frowned. I’d thought Clarence was always the final say on magazine articles. “Our parent company also owns the TV network that’s airing this show. You didn’t know that? Are you doing any research on this at all, Lisa?” “Of course I am!” I said. “I just didn’t realize—” “Is that Lisa?” I heard Jessica’s voice on the line. “Hey, Lisa! I saw the first episode. Congratulations on your win!” “Thanks,” I said. It seemed like it had been a hundred years since the cooking contest. “So you’re still on the show?” Clarence asked gruffly. “Yes,” I said. Hope blossomed in my chest as I remembered something. “Don’t tell anyone, though, we’re not supposed to let anyone know that sort of thing.” “Yeah, sure. Lips are sealed,” Clarence said brusquely. My voice turned wheedling. “You mentioned before that I could maybe get a bonus if I stayed on long enough to write two articles. So, do you think—” “Calm your tits,” Clarence said. “Lemme see the first article before you go spending your bonus on new lipstick.” I took a deep breath and tried not to scream into the phone. “I’ll send it to you tomorrow,” I said. If he liked it, I would have enough money to pay for all of Arlen’s damn medicine. “Lisa?” “Yeah?” “Make it good.”

Back at the penthouse the next day, I harangued Kate into doing my makeup and hair. In my new summery dress, I looked like a real girly girl—and for the first time, I thought that I had a decent chance of

winning the competition. There were only five contestants left after Tanya had been kicked out of the fashion show: Heidi, Julie, Mia, Kate… and me. If I could scrape by in the next few competitions, I would be on my way to never having to worry about money again. “It’s date day!” Piers announced, with the five of us sitting on the white leather couch in the middle of the living room. I beamed as the camera crew circled around. “Today, you will each have a chance to spend one hour alone with Dylan Chase on a one-on-one date. This will give you a chance to get to know each other better.” He glanced over at me at that last sentence. I saw his blue-green eyes darken, and then his fake persona floated back over his face. “After the date, you’ll have the rest of the day free to go out shopping, sightseeing, whatever you want. Be back here at the penthouse tonight, because tomorrow morning we’ll be announcing the winner of the one-on-one dates!” “Where are we going on a date?” Heidi piped up. “That’s all up to you. You will decide where to go and what to do on your date with Dylan,” Piers said. “So plan something romantic, something fun…and may the best girl win!” Kate was first up, so she didn’t have a lot of time to prepare. “It’s fine,” I said, trying to bolster her confidence. “You’ll get to make the first impression.” “What about roller skating?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll like roller skating?” “I think he’ll love roller skating,” I said. “Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for… you know.” Her eyes darted over to where the camera crew was still taping. “Sure thing!” I said, trying not to seem suspicious. “Have a great time!” Piers escorted Kate out of the apartment. Heidi was next, then Julie. By the time they called Mia out of the penthouse, I realized that I had to come up with a date idea that nobody else had done. I racked my brain to figure out an idea that Dylan might like. Laser tag would be fun, but it wasn’t exactly romantic. We could do a sit-down dinner, but Mia might already have taken him out to eat. And it was getting close to dark, so all of my ideas that involved outside activities weren’t really going to work. And I needed something I could write about for Moi, something that Clarence would like enough to pay me to write another one. I was torn. When Piers came in, he was wearing his stupid TV persona like a mask that was glued onto his skin. It irritated me more than ever when he came to talk to me with the same glib voice he’d used with all the other contestants. He wasn’t just Piers Letocci to me, dammit! But that was just it, wasn’t it? He was Piers Letocci. He could have any woman he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he’d had me, whenever he’d wanted. I’d let him run his hands over my body the same way he’d let his fingers slide over the piano the first time I’d met him. He’d done what he wanted with me, and now he had dumped me. It made me shiver with rage to think that he might have moved on to another contestant. The camera crew hovered behind his shoulder. “Are you ready for your date with a billionaire?” “Am I ever!” I shot him an uber-fake smile. “I’m sure you are,” he said, reaching out to touch my arm playfully. I jerked it away. He’d done that exact same move with Mia earlier today, before her date. Well, he could stick it to Miss Firenze if he wanted to. I wasn’t going to let him charm my pants off again. What did they say? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me four times, and you win the prize for biggest dickhead in the universe. “Where’s Dylan?” I asked sweetly. “He’s downstairs. Do you already know where you’re going to take him for your date?”

“Nope!” Piers raised his eyebrows. “Really?” “I have a few ideas in mind, but I think I’ll play it by ear,” I said. In reality, I had a few terrible ideas and I wasn’t sure which one to choose. “After all, who doesn’t like a girl who can be spontaneous and romantic?” I shot a sharp look at Piers. His face hardened, but only for a second. “That sounds… great,” he said. “Great.” “Great.” We rode down in the elevator in silence, the camera crew behind us. When we finally reached the ground floor, Piers let them step out first. “I have to talk to you,” he whispered to me, grabbing my arm. I jammed my foot against the elevator door to keep it open. There was no way in hell I was going to let Piers trap me in an elevator with him again. Just the thought of what he’d done to me before made me shiver with an emotion I didn’t want to let in. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I hissed. “I want to go on a date with a billionaire.” “Lisa, listen to me for one bloody second, will you? Please. I just want to apologize.” “Apology not accepted.” “If you’ll just listen—” “Sorry!” I said brightly, loud enough for the camera crew to hear. “I don’t want to be late for my date!” I yanked my arm out of his grasp and stepped out of the elevator. He followed, his lips pressed together in a white line. “Dylan!” I threw my arms around Dylan’s neck and gave him a big hug. He picked me up and spun me, and I laughed brightly, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he set me down. There. That would give Piers a nice case of jealousy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him gritting his teeth behind that stupid fake smile. “You look awesome, Lisa!” Dylan said, looking down at me appreciatively and holding my hands in his. “Doesn’t she look awesome?” “She looks amazing,” Piers said flatly. “Aw, thank you!” I said. “I’m sure you two will have a wonderful time this evening.” His eyes glared at me, even as his mouth was smiling. “Remember to be back within one hour. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the judging.” “Can’t wait! See you later, Piers!” I waved at him until he disappeared outside. The camera crew hung around. How weird. I had forgotten that they would be following us on our date. “So,” Dylan said, “where are we going?” “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “What have you done already today?” “Oh, man,” Dylan said, “I have done everything today! First I went roller skating with Kate, and then we got a bowling game in too. Then Heidi took me to a poetry reading at this art museum thing.” “Sounds like a bad date I had recently,” I interjected. “Well, I’m not gonna say anything bad about it, but… I can’t say anything good about it.” I laughed and pushed my hair behind my ear nervously. The cameraman focused on me. I felt like I couldn’t act like myself with a camera trailing on me at all times. It was weird. I’d gotten so used to it before, but now that I was actually trying to make a good impression on Dylan, it felt strange to have a bunch of guys following us around with video cameras and microphones.

“And then Julie and I did a walking tour of New York City, which was okay since she doesn’t really know the city. And then Mia took me out for dinner.” “Oh,” I said, a bit disappointed. “So you already ate.” “Not really!” Dylan said. “She took me to this fancy ass French restaurant, and everything was like this tiny!” He held up two fingers pinched together. “Like, the dessert was one cookie, cut in half to share, with a strawberry for a garnish. And Mia ate the strawberry.” His stomach growled, as though to corroborate his story. He slumped against the wall. “You look tired,” I said. “I’m pretty beat. So much walking! I was like, we can just drive! But Julie wanted to walk.” “How about this,” I said, a plan forming in my head. “Let’s chill here at the apartment and order a pizza, and you can beat me at Mario Kart.” Dylan’s eyes widened at the mention of video games. “Really?” he asked. “Really.” “But… Like… You’re sure you don’t want to go out anywhere and show off your dress? You look really pretty.” “Thanks,” I said, laughing, “but it’s all for you anyway.” “Lisa, you’re the best!” He swept me up in a big hug again. “And you guys,” I said, pointing to the camera crew, “you can skedaddle out of here.” “Uh, we’re supposed to follow you on your date,” the main camera guy said. He looked hesitant. “And there are already cameras set up throughout the entire apartment,” I said. “Plus Dylan is wearing a microphone. You’ll have plenty of footage of us sitting on a couch and talking and being boring.” Without waiting for an answer, I turned and walked with Dylan back into the elevator. “Nice work,” he said, looking surprised. “It must be weird to have them following you around everywhere,” I said. “I don’t know if I could handle that.” Dylan shrugged. “It’s not that weird. I mean, there’s paparazzi following me everywhere I go in the city anyway.” “Really? That’s awful.” “It’s pretty awful, but, like, you get used to it.” I felt a twist of guilt. I’d made fun of Piers for being so famous, but I hadn’t realized how bad it could be. “And like, half the week I’m doing interviews and going on TV. I mean, I hate it, but I have to for the business.” “What business do you do, anyway?” I asked. “I just realized I don’t know anything about you. You could be a Mafia don as far as I know.” Dylan chuckled. “I wish. Nah, I work for my dad. He has this business doing, like, I dunno, business stuff.” “Business stuff? Fascinating.” “You’re being sarcastic, right?” Dylan squinted at me. “Because it’s like, really boring.” I smiled. I shouldn’t be sarcastic around someone who was impervious to sarcasm. “No, really. I’m sure it’s not boring. What kind of business stuff do you do?” “Like, you know, delivering shipments and getting regulations passed for local businesses, that kind of thing.” “Sounds like it could be the Mafia.” I raised one eyebrow. “Shipments of guns and drugs, right? You shoot anyone on the city council who doesn’t approve your regulations? Or bribe them to do your

bidding? Put horse heads in their bed if they don’t agree?” Dylan gave me another look that said he wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not. My expression must have clued him in, because he burst into laughter. “You’re hilarious,” he said. He smiled at me with such a genuine appreciation that my heart squeezed a bit in my chest. “I really like you, Lisa.” I swallowed. The elevator stopped, thankfully, and I stepped out into the apartment. “Let’s see how much you like me once I’m kicking your ass at Mario Kart,” I said. “And I’m not being sarcastic.”

We spent the whole hour eating pizza and playing video games, and by the end of the night, I was thinking that maybe—just maybe—I had what it takes to date a billionaire. I pressed the space bar and stared at my laptop. My fingers were trembling. Dylan had just left, and I was trying to finish up the first part of the article before anybody else got back to the penthouse. My mind was whirling. He kissed me, I wrote. Then I deleted the sentence quickly. I put my chin in my hand and stared at the blinking cursor. On Rainbow Road, I sabotaged Dylan the way my sister always sabotaged me. I threw myself on top of his lap and blocked the screen, sending his car careening off the edge of the course. To my surprise, he tossed the controller aside, and— I leaned back in my chair and deleted the whole paragraph. My face was hot and my pulse was racing. What had I done? Dylan had kissed me, and one kiss had turned into a minute or two of making out on the couch. It made me feel like a teenager again, and by the time I remembered that everything was on camera, it was already too late. A makeout session. Really, Lisa. Maybe I have been too hard on immature guys, I typed. When I came on this show, I was expecting to find a brilliant, witty, mature man. What I got was Dylan Chase. And I’m starting to realize that love doesn’t have to be scripted like a movie. It doesn’t have to be hearts and roses. Love can be immature, and silly, and spontaneous. Love can be fun. Clarence would love this, I thought. There was a good mix of sex and funny, and lots of pithy sayings about romance. As I was typing the last line, I heard the elevator doors open up in the living room. With a last glance over the article, I pressed Send. Before anyone could come in, I quickly shut my laptop and sat back in my chair. I exhaled a puff of air. Love? Was that really what this was? I didn’t know how I felt about Dylan, and my emotions got more and more mixed up the more I thought about it. It had been fun to hang out with him, but even when we were kissing, I hadn’t felt the kind of spark I’d felt with Piers— No. I shook my head before I could even go down that line of thinking. I’d been falling for jerks for way too long, and now that I was falling for a nice guy—scratch that, a nice billionaire—I wasn’t going to mess it up by comparing it to something else. I needed to stop overthinking things and just go with the flow. If Dylan wasn’t Mr. Right, he was better than any other guy I’d dated. Even if that wasn’t saying much.

Chapter Twenty-Five “What if I get kicked off?” Kate asked, twisting her hands nervously. She kicked her feet back and forth as she sat on the bed. I would have thought that she looked like a little girl, if I hadn’t known that she had a kid herself. “We won’t get kicked off,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “Didn’t you say that Dylan liked both of us the best?” “Sure, sure. It’s just…” Kate trailed off. “What? You had fun on your date, didn’t you?” “Not really. I mean, I didn’t try.” I stopped brushing my hair. “You didn’t try to have fun?” “Well…” Kate said. “I kind of bombed it. On purpose. I really wanted you to win this one, so—” “Wait, wait, wait. You bombed it? What do you mean, you bombed it?” I put the hairbrush down and turned around. Kate looked embarrassed. “I didn’t flirt with him that much. And at the end, he went to kiss me, and I made him kiss me on the cheek.” “Oh, jeez, Kate,” I said. My mind was reeling. It was strange—I didn’t feel jealous, exactly, but it was weird. Dylan had tried to kiss Kate on the same day he’d tried—and succeeded—to kiss me. “You didn’t have to do that!” “I did! I mean, you’ve already done so much for me.” She gave me a meaningful look. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t done anything for Kate apart from keeping her secret—that she had a kid. And now she was sabotaging herself to let me win? It was insane. “Don’t—don’t do that again,” I said, uncertainly. “Please, Kate. If I win, I want it to be on my own merits. Okay?” “Okay, I won’t,” Kate said, still fidgeting. “ Lisa?” “Yeah?” “Did—did Dylan try to kiss you?” She looked up at me with innocent doe eyes, and I felt awful. After all, I hadn’t just kissed Dylan. We’d had a makeout session for the last ten minutes of our date. And I wasn’t even sure if I liked him or not! “Yeah,” I said, turning back to the mirror and brushing my bangs back with my fingers so that Kate wouldn’t see the flush on my cheeks. “Yeah, we kissed.” Kate’s face fell, but I could tell she was trying to stay composed. She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “You really like this guy, huh?” I asked. She didn’t say anything, only nodded. God, I was an awful person. She was the one who deserved Dylan, not me. I didn’t deserve anyone. That was why I couldn’t find my Mr. Right—because I didn’t deserve it. I sighed and tugged Kate to her feet. “Come on, we’re going to be late.” Piers and Dylan were sitting in the living room in front of the big white couch. I avoided looking at either one of them as I sat down on the couch with the other contestants. Behind Piers, the crew had set up a video/audio monitor. It showed all of us sitting on the couch. I remembered the auditions in the TV studio where I’d met Piers to do the interview. All of the

nervous girls lined up in a row. That’s how it felt now that we were down to five contestants. Now that I actually had a shot, I was nervous. “Let’s talk about your one-on-one dates yesterday!” Piers said. The audio echoed softly through the monitor speakers, his British accent drifting through the air twice. He’d missed a spot on his chin when he shaved that morning, I noticed. I stared at that one spot of stubble as he talked, focusing all my attention there. He and Dylan went over the day. “How do you think your date went, Kate?” Piers was asking. I turned to see Kate swallow hard. “I—well, I was nervous,” she said. “I think I was holding back.” “I could tell that you were holding back,” Dylan said. He was nodding, his expression very serious. This was serious for him, I realized. He was trying to find a good girlfriend for himself. I felt even worse. “Did you have any bad dates yesterday?” Piers asked Dylan. I noticed that there were circles under Piers’ eyes, and they had put on more makeup than usual. He looked hungover. When he glanced over at me, I turned my gaze to Dylan and tried to listen to what he was saying. “Probably… the dinner with Mia.” “No offense,” he said. “But I really didn’t like the food, and it just wasn’t very fun.” “I was trying to be romantic, not fun,” Mia huffed. “And Heidi’s date at the poetry thing.” “You didn’t like that?” Heidi asked. “You said you liked it!” “I didn’t want to be rude,” Dylan said, looking uncomfortable, “but that’s really not my kind of date.” “So who lost this competition?” Piers pressed. “If I had to decide, I would say…” Dylan’s eyes flickered to Mia briefly. Kick her off, I found myself wishing. Kick the stupid selfabsorbed bitch off! “Heidi,” Dylan said. Heidi burst into tears and ran out of the living room. Dylan looked shaken. “Let’s talk about the best date you had yesterday,” Piers said. He didn’t look shaken at all. He looked almost bored. This was just another day of work to him, I realized. Dylan was agonizing over finding the love of his life, and Piers was just here to collect a paycheck. I pressed my lips together. I didn’t understand my own feelings. Why was I so drawn to Piers? Even though he was immature, Dylan was a much better guy… on screen, that is. And he was a nice guy. Really. But there just wasn’t a spark between us. There wasn’t that ferocious intensity I’d felt during even my first kiss with Piers. I almost sunk my head into my hands. You’re the queen of making bad decisions. That’s why you’re head over heels for the British asshole. Keep it up, and you’ll never find Mr. Right— “I really liked ice skating with Kate,” Dylan continued, “but I would say that the best date was with Lisa. We played Mario Kart and had pizza, and it was a perfect way to end the night.” “Congratulations, Lisa!” Piers said, and this time he didn’t even bother to hide the boredom in his face. His expression was completely blank, emotionless. “You’ve won immunity—again!—as well as free tickets to a private concert at Terrance Studios. Will you be taking Dylan to that concert for a second date?” His eyes burned into mine. “Of course!” I said. I wasn’t thinking about the concert, though. I was thinking about how I could work this win into my story. Clarence would have to give me a raise if I wrote up a kickass article about playing the game of reality TV… and winning! And immunity meant I was one step closer to the final round! “How do you feel?” Piers asked me.

“It feels amazing,” I said, and the smile I gave wasn’t even forced. “Just amazing! Thanks, Dylan!” Dylan grinned at me and brushed his blond hair away from his eyes. “Alright, let’s take a break,” Piers said. “Fifteen minutes, alright? Get Heidi ready for her exit interview, and then we’ll start the next contest.” The camera crew started adjusting the lights in the living room. I got up and went into the kitchen for a drink, leaving the other contestants to talk with Dylan. I hoped that Kate would be able to talk with him some more. A hand grabbed me from behind. I didn’t have time to shriek before I’d been pulled into the dark pantry, the door slamming behind me. The light came on with a click and I stared into two blue-green eyes. “Piers, what the hell are you doing?!” “Apologizing,” he said. I reached for the door, but he blocked my path. “You already apologized,” I said. “You didn’t accept my apology. You didn’t want to listen to me explain—” “And stuffing me in a pantry is going to make me want to listen to you? You really are an idiot, Piers.” I reached for the door again, and this time he grabbed my wrist. A shock went through my arm at his touch, his fingers gripping me tightly. “Piers—” “When you barged into my car that day, I let you apologize,” he said. “Now you’re going to let me.” I stared up into his face. He smelled so damn good, and the feeling of his fingers made my insides start to melt. God, why the hell did my body react like this to him? I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I said, tamping down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. “Hurry up with it. This place smells like coriander.” “Lisa, do you really want to date Dylan?” Confusion swirled through my brain. “What—I—that isn’t an apology, Piers!” “It’s a question. Answer it.” “I don’t know!” I said. “Maybe!” “Kate told me during one of the interviews that you were interested in the money. That you were trying to win so you could walk away with the cash.” “She—she said that?” My jaw dropped. I remembered our conversation, and I’d joked about wanting second place, but I didn’t ever say that. Had she misunderstood me? Or was she trying to undermine me with Dylan? Or was Piers making all of this up? “So is it true?” he asked. “I didn’t say that,” I said. “I didn’t even know second place got a bunch of money until she told me.” “You’re not answering the question.” “What do you want me to say, Piers?” His eyes smoldered with an anger so intense it made my own anger boil up to meet it. He had no right to be angry with me. Not after what he’d done. “I want you to tell me why you’re really here.” “I’m here because this asshole TV host thought I would make a good joke contestant,” I snapped. I pulled my hand out of his loosened grasp. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

Piers’ eyebrows slanted down in twin streaks of dark on his face. “Lisa, the only reason I said that was to get you on the show. The producers wouldn’t have gone for it otherwise. I needed you to come on as a contestant.” “Why?” “Why? Because I wanted to see you again!” he hissed at me. “What are you, stupid?” Frustration surged through me. “Not as stupid as you, apparently!” I hissed back. “Instead of asking me out—like a normal person would do!—you go around lying and manipulating people so that you can spend more time with me on a show where I’m supposed to be dating another guy! How on earth did you come up with a ridiculous idea like that? Are you some kind of moron?” “Yes!” Piers said, in a half-whisper, half-shout. “I’m a moron, and I’m in love with you! Is that so bloody difficult to understand?!” My brain stopped working. My mouth opened and shut, trying to come up with the right words. “You’re not in love with me.” I said the words, and as I said them, I realized that I didn’t want them to be true. “Lisa, how can you say that?” “Oh, come on! You were just out there, congratulating me on getting closer to Dylan, looking more bored than if you were hosting Pawn Shop Scrimmage—” “Bored? Is that what you think I was?” Piers stepped forward even closer, and I felt the heat of his body radiate close to mine. “Lisa, I’m hanging on for dear life out there trying not to smash my fist through a wall because I had to watch those fucking dailies for six hours last night where you kissed… you kissed…” He blew a breath through clenched teeth and turned away. His face was pale. His fists were clenched so tightly his skin stretched white over his knuckles. And I realized that he was telling the truth. “You—you’re in love—with me?” “I’m sorry!” Piers said, still ranting in anger. “It was a stupid idea to bring you on the show, I know! I know that now! I’m sorry! I’m a moron and an asshole and—” He stopped talking. His face was flushed and his dark hair was falling over his eyes. “And I’m going to shut up and kiss you already because I can’t take another minute without you.” Before I could say yes, he had me in his arms. Piers cupped my cheek in his hand, and his lips crashed against mine. And immediately I knew what I hadn’t wanted to let myself believe. I wasn’t here for Dylan, and I wasn’t here for his money, either. I was here because of the man with the piercing blue-green eyes who had let himself open up to me that night outside of the coffeeshop. All of the desire that had been churning around in my body for the past week came screaming up. I ran my hands through Piers’ dark hair as his mouth moved down to my neck. He turned, crashing me into the pantry shelves. A box of instant oats turned over, spilling onto the floor. “Whoops,” Piers mumbled, his mouth against my skin. He stumbled back, and I stumbled with him, clumsy with need. I pulled his face back to mine and his lips seized mine, hot and wanting. His hands ran around my hips and cupped my ass. He lifted me up and my legs wrapped around his waist. I moaned in my throat as he pressed hungry kisses against my mouth again and again. “Oh, Lisa—” Piers’ hands were cradling my ass, squeezing the place just above my thigh, kneading my muscles. I was already melted inside, hot like lava, ready to explode. “Piers, oh God, Piers—” My hand splayed back against the pantry, knocking over a basket of potatoes. Piers turned around with me still in his arms and leaned back against the door, kissing me all the while. His fingers scrambled

back to his pockets for something. “I have—I have a condom somewhere in this blasted—” “I’m on birth control,” I said in a rush, thinking of nothing but what I wanted right then. “Is that— are you—” “Yes, oh God, yes.” His hands were everywhere along my back and ass, and I felt the insistent urge inside of me bubble up. My hand went down to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “Lisa, Lisa—” “Piers?” “Ohhh, Lisa—” “No. Piers, wait.” “I can’t wait,” he groaned. “I can’t—” “Wait!” I nearly yelled. “Is this microphone on?” My fingers had found the small mike wired to the inside of his shirt. His blue-green eyes snapped down and his face froze in shock. “Oh, shit,” was all he said before he turned and ran out of the pantry. I followed him in a sprint to the living room, almost knocking him over when he stopped in the doorway. I gulped when I saw that all of the contestants were sitting on the couch in front of the monitor. Dylan was there, too, a mix of betrayal and shock on his face. The cameraman swung his camera around to face us. “Well, fuck me,” Piers said, and his voice echoed softly out of the monitor.

Chapter Twenty-Six “You slut!” Mia yelped. Kate and Julie just sat on the couch without saying anything. Kate’s mouth was a small O of wonder. I wondered what she was thinking. “How could you?” Dylan said, as he rose up from the couch. “I’m sorry—” Piers started to say. “Not you! Her!” “Me?” I gulped. “Dylan, I’m sorry.” My heart sank. There went my chance at second place and a hundred thousand dollars. And when Clarence found out why I had gotten kicked off the show, he would kill me. “I can’t believe you would do something like this to me, Lisa! After we made out right here on this couch!” He gestured to the couch where the other contestants were sitting. “Ugh, you made out on this couch?” Julie stood up and moved away. “You made out with Dylan?” Kate’s voice was small and hurt. “Not anymore,” Mia said, crossing her arms. “Looks like someone’s getting kicked off.” My stomach dropped. I couldn’t get kicked off. I’d told my boss that I was going to be able to write a followup article about the final rounds. I knew he was going to like the first article. But he was going to kill me if he found out that I got myself kicked off the show by fooling around with the host. “You can’t kick her off, Dylan,” Piers said. “She has immunity.” “To hell with immunity!” Dylan said. “What were you two doing in the pantry anyway?” “Playing Scrabble,” I said. “Making cupcakes,” Piers said at the same time. Dylan looked confused. “You were screwing around with Piers!” Mia said. “You were trying to get in good with the host so that he would let you win another contest. Weren’t you?” “You’re projecting,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I wouldn’t sink that low.” “Yeah, right!” “Anyway, Dylan already liked me enough to make out with me. I didn’t need to suck up to Piers to win this contest.” “You made out with Dylan,” Kate whispered again. She seemed to be in shock. “It was just some kissing,” I said to her. “It didn’t mean anything.” “What do you mean, it didn’t mean anything?!” Dylan’s confusion turned to anger. “I didn’t—oh, dammit,” I said. I was going about this all wrong. “Do I not mean anything to you?” he asked. He looked at me with an aching sincerity. His eyebrows were knotted into a plea on his forehead. I looked at Dylan. Then I looked at Piers. Then back at Dylan. “Dylan, I’m sorry—” I started. His face crumpled and he ran out of the living room toward the elevator. Piers rushed after him. I stared at Kate, who was white with shock. Mia and Julie were staring at me like I had just bitten the head off of a kitten. The camera man looked up from the lens, expecting me to say something. “Well, fuck me,” was all I could manage.

I turned to go after the two men who had turned my life upside down. The elevator doors were just closing as I ran into the hallway.

“Dammit,” I said. I’d just missed them. The cameramen barreled into the hallway behind me. I looked at the emergency exit and sighed. Shucking off my heels, I opened the door and started to run down the stairs. By the time I made it to the ground floor, my heart was thudding so hard I thought I was going to pass out and my hair was wet with sweat. My chest heaved as I threw open the door and saw Piers and Dylan talking in front of the elevator. They both turned to look at me. “Lisa?” Dylan asked. “One—one—one second,” I said, panting. “I can’t—can’t—” But I couldn’t breathe enough to tell them I couldn’t breathe. My hands gripped my knees as I bent over, wheezing. “Are you okay?” Dylan asked. “You look like hell, Lisa,” Piers said. I glared up at him. “You—you—” “I was just telling Dylan here that this was all a set up,” Piers said, looking at me meaningfully as he cut me off. “A set—setup—oh!” I gasped and slumped back against the wall. “I can’t believe you made me think you kissed him!” Dylan said. “I was so worried.” I blinked hard. I didn’t know if it was the oxygen deprivation making me confused. Piers stared at me, his eyes widening slightly in warning. “He knows now, Lisa,” he said, every word coming out carefully. “He knows that it was all pretend.” Realization dawned. “Pretend,” I wheezed, my breath slowly coming back to me. “Pretend. Right.” “I’m sorry we couldn’t let you in on it, Dylan,” Piers said, his voice so smooth and calm that I started to believe him myself. “But the producers thought that they would get a more realistic reaction from you if you thought it was real.” “Man,” Dylan said, ruffling his hair. “I did think it was real. I was about to quit the show.” “Ah ha ha!” Piers laughed, and it was such a fake laugh I thought Dylan would catch on. But he didn’t. “Wow,” Dylan said, a new smile breaking over his face. “You sure got me!” “Ha!” was all I could manage to say. “Reality TV is really weird,” Dylan said. “I thought it was all real, you know?” “That’s what we tell the audience,” Piers said glibly. “But it was all fake. Wasn’t it, Lisa?” “All fake,” I wheezed. “Right.” “Sorry I got mad at you, Lisa,” Dylan said. “I really thought…” I waved one hand at him knowingly. I hoped that he wouldn’t be able to tell the blush on my face from my overall redness from running down the stairs. “No problem,” I breathed. “So, are we still doing the next contest?” Dylan asked Piers. I couldn’t believe how quickly he went from being super upset to super cheery. This was the most good-natured guy in the world. I felt terrible for lying to him. “Of course,” Piers said. “We’ll meet you over at the set in fifteen.” “Sure thing!” Dylan said. “Remember—you’re still mad at Lisa, right?” Piers said, giving a big wink. “Right,” Dylan said, winking back. I smiled weakly at him and he walked out of the building.

Chapter Twenty-Seven “I can’t believe I ran down twenty stories of stairs for that,” I said, my heart still pounding as Piers and I headed back to the elevator. I rested my head against the back wall. “It was only seventeen stories,” Piers said. “Suck it up.” “Keep it up and I’ll drop you off on the second story,” I said. “You can walk the rest of the way up.” “Keep it up and I’ll press the emergency button again,” Piers said. I eyed him sideways. “Tell me that microphone is off,” I said. “I triple checked,” Piers said, turning toward me. “Does that mean—” “No.” I stopped him with a finger. “No?” “No more. Not now.” He looked at me, and his eyes could have melted my heart. But I didn’t let it show. “You’re right,” Piers said. “You’re completely right.” “I know I’m right.” “But—” “There are a million reasons why not. It’s unfair to Dylan. It’s unfair to the rest of the contestants. Mia was right—I would basically be bribing you with kisses.” “I don’t mind being bribed with kisses.” I shook my head. My mind was still whirling with mixed emotion. We only had a few stories left to go in the elevator. And I needed to know something. “Piers?” “What is it, love?” That word. I swallowed back the feeling that threatened to overwhelm me. “You told Dylan that it was all fake.” “Yes. And?” I wanted to ask him if he had meant what he said. If he was really falling in love with me. But if he said yes, I didn’t think I would be able to hold back. So I didn’t ask. “What do I tell the other contestants?” “Don’t tell them anything.” “But they’ll think I kissed you in the pantry!” “I hate to break this to you, Lisa,” Piers said, his face gravely serious, “but you did kiss me in the pantry.” I put my hands over my face. “This is such a mess. How did I get myself into such a mess?” “I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to fall for the billionaire,” Piers said in a dry clipped voice. “I guess that was my mistake.” “I didn’t—I didn’t fall for him,” I said. “It’s alright, Lisa. He does have a Ferrari, after all.” Piers smiled wryly at me. I could have cried. I didn’t mean for this to happen. “There’s nothing between us,” I said, and when I said it I knew that it was true. “I tried to make myself fall for Dylan because I was mad at you, but it didn’t work. He’s not my kind of guy at all. We kissed, sure, but there was no connection between us.”

“Do you think he knows that?” “I—no. Ugh,” I said, hating myself. “He’s falling for me.” “Of course he is. You’re a wonderful girl. Who wouldn’t fall madly in love with you?” Tears stung my eyes. I willed them back. “I’m an awful person! How can I try to make someone fall in love with me when I don’t even care about them at all? It’s evil!” “You don’t think that’s what every other contestant is doing here?” Piers asked. “Really, Lisa. Do you think every one of them cares about Dylan Chase, the guy? If he was just some guy on the street, none of them would blink an eye. They’re all fighting for his money.” “Not all of them.” I thought of Kate. She would hate me. “And how can I go back on the show with all of them thinking I broke Dylan’s heart?” Piers shrugged. “You don’t have to go back on the show,” he said. But I couldn’t quit now, and he knew it. I was so close to the money. I just had to get close enough to walk away. And without staying on the show, I had no shot at a bonus article. “I’m the bitch,” I said, resigning myself to accepting my fate. “That’s what the producers wanted from the beginning, right?” “You still have another round, Lisa. You have immunity for the next contest.” “So I play the villain for another round, and get kicked off in the finals. Is that how the story ends?” “That’s how the story ends,” Piers agreed. I was thinking about how I could spin this in the next article I wrote for Moi. It would be okay if I was the villain, I decided. If that’s what it took, I could handle it. “Fine,” I said. “So no more... anything between us. Okay? Not until I’m off the show.” He nodded. It was a relief… and a disappointment. My heart twisted in my chest, and again I wanted to ask him if he loved me. But I couldn’t. Not now. “No more until you’re off the show,” he agreed. “Lisa?” “Yeah?” “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I hope you get kicked off soon.” “You and everybody else in America,” I said with a sigh.

The next contest was all about faking it: we were going to do an acting audition for a TV producer. The winner would get a role on a real TV show. It was a bit part on a stupid soap opera, but everyone else seemed excited about it. When we rode to the TV studio, though, nobody would talk to me. We sat in the limo in silence. Kate sat across from me, studiously examining her cuticles. It was excruciating; she hadn’t spoken to me at all since the scene with Dylan and Piers. I wanted to tell her the truth—the whole truth—but talking with Piers had convinced me that I needed to hold out until the end of the show. I didn’t want to lose. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I wanted to be with Piers, but I could handle a few more contests if it meant walking away with more money than I knew what to do with. And I wanted to help Kate win even if I didn’t: she deserved it more than anyone, and I could tell that she was excited about getting to be on TV. But now, she hated me. It was every woman for herself, and it was utterly lonely. “Did you read the script?” I asked Kate. She shrugged and looked out the window. Her face contorted in a hurt expression and I knew she wasn’t faking it. It was my fault. I’d hurt her. I knew her secret, but I also knew that she was the only one who

actually cared about Dylan. And I’d betrayed them both. “I guess I just have to talk to myself,” I said, slouching back into my seat. “I read the script last night. I found the heroine pretty unrealistic.” I leaned sideways toward Julie. “Do you think you’d make a good heroine for this show?” Julie stared at me, but said nothing. “Interesting idea!” I said brightly. “A mute heroine. That’ll take some acting. They say that the silent film stars were unmatched when it comes to subtle expressions of emotion.” Julie crossed her arms in front of her. “A perfect example of how a single gesture can convey such a high level of ‘fuck-you’ ness, I think,” I continued. “How about you, Mia? Any brilliance you want to share?” “I don’t talk to sluts,” Mia said. “Brilliant,” I said, and slumped back. The cameraman turned the camera directly into my face. I gave a hateful grimace. Villain? That’s what they wanted? Then that’s what I would give them. I didn’t even care anymore how the producers portrayed me on their stupid show. They could do what they wanted. I would focus on what mattered. And right now, I had immunity—I could do whatever the hell I wanted. It was a liberating notion. And if the other contestants didn’t hate my guts, I would be almost happy. At the TV studio, we were sent up on stage in front of another camera crew. It was strange—our camera crew was taping their camera crew, while trying to stay out of the way of the other cameras themselves. We’ll do a few takes of each scene,” the producer was saying. “Let’s start with Mia Firenze. Mia?” Mia smirked at us and walked up in front of the cameras. “Where’s Dylan?” Kate whispered. “Dylan won’t be here to judge today,” Piers said. “He has some other business to attend to.” “Don’t you and Lisa have some business to attend to off in a closet somewhere?” Julie asked, tilting her head innocently. “Oh, shut up,” I said. “Mia was right,” Julie said, turning to me. “You’re nothing but a slut.” “I liked it better when you were all pretending not to talk to me,” I snapped. “Quiet on the set!” the producer yelled back at us. “And… action!” Mia started to read the script. It was an awful soap opera scene with even worse dialogue. “Julio, where are you going?” Mia exclaimed. She was overacting, being way too dramatic. Who could have guessed? I wanted to lean over to Kate and make a quip about it, but then I remembered that she was mad at me. “I have to leave tonight, my love,” the actor playing Julio said. “They’re after me.” “Who?” “The Raging Fury!” “Not that gang! No!” Mia threw both her hands up in the air, then had to bring the script back down to read the next line. “No! Julio! They will kill you if they find you!” “I know, my love. That is why I have to go right now.” The rest of the scene was equally awful, with both characters hemming and hawing over him leaving and calling each other “my love.” I wanted to shake Julio by the shoulders and drop kick him out the door by the end. “I always loved you,” Julio said, taking Mia in his arms for a final farewell. “I will always love

you.” At that moment, a guy that I guessed was supposed to be from Raging Fury finally kicked in the door and ended the scene with a shootout, yelling Bang bang bang! Mia and Julio pretended to get shot, falling to the ground with dramatic flair. If any characters deserved to be shot to death, I thought, it was Julio and his stupid girlfriend. Kate went up afterwards and played out the same scene. I crossed my arms and listened. She did a much better job than Mia, but the script was still stupid as hell. “I don’t get this,” I mumbled. “Really?” Piers came up next to me and folded his arms across his chest. He was only a few inches from me, but I knew we couldn’t touch. The air between us was a force shield keeping us apart. “What don’t you get? You see, Julio’s rival gang—” “I understand the plot,” I huffed. “But if she really loved him, she’d be shoving him out the back window before the gang showed up. Not giving him a tender goodbye.” “You’re such a romantic.” “Shut up! I am a romantic. It’s just a practical kind of romance.” “You wouldn’t kiss your man before he left forever?” “Not for ten minutes. Not while a gang is coming to get him!” The director looked around at us, and I clamped my lips shut, looking away innocently. “Like I said,” Piers whispered, “There’s no spontaneity with you.” I glared at him. “Alright, Lisa! Lisa Forrester!” the director called in a bored tone. “Your turn.” I huffed onto the stage. The actor playing Julio brushed back his hair with his fingers. He looked bored, too, like he didn’t want to do a dozen more takes of the same damn scene. No spontaneity, indeed. I would show Piers how spontaneous I could be. I tossed the script on the couch in the middle of the set. I wasn’t going to need it. “And… action!” the director said, pointing at us. “Julio!” I yelled angrily. “Where are you going?” Julio’s eyes widened slightly in confusion. “I have to leave tonight—” “The hell you do! You’re not going anywhere!” I grabbed a pillow from off of the couch and stood in front of the doorway, holding it up in front of me menacingly. Julio frowned. I was going off-script and he obviously had no idea what I was doing. “They’re after me,” he said, trying to get back to his lines. “Who is? That stripper down at the Crazy Horse?” “What? No!” Julio looked utterly confused. Good. We were going to wreck this scene together. “Don’t try to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I can smell her cheap perfume on you!” I leaned forward and sniffed deeply. “It smells like cheating!” “It’s not—” “You cheating bastard!” I swatted him on the shoulder with the pillow and he held up his hands in real fright. Maybe he thought I was a crazy woman. Good. I was. “No!” he cried, trying to get back to the script. “They’ll kill me if they find me!” “Not if I kill you first!” I said, swatting him again with the pillow. Julio jumped over the couch and I followed him around to the front. “Tell me her name!” “I swear to God I’m not cheating on you!” “Then why are you sneaking out at midnight?” “They’re after me!” “Who?”

“The Raging Fury!” Julio yelped. “Is that what you call your dick now? Well, you and Mr. Raging Fury can go get the clap from that whore down on thirty-third! See if I’m here when you get back, you son-of-a-bitch!” I raised the pillow up over my head. “Please, no!” Julio screamed. “My love—” “Don’t call me your love!” I screamed, as I hit him over and over again with the pillow. “You never loved me!” He ripped the pillow away from my hands and I lost my balance, tumbling into his arms. “I always loved you,” Julio said, gripping me tightly and yelling into my face. “I will always love you!” The actor playing the gang member kicked in the door and yelled Bang! Julio fell down on the couch, taking me with him. I slumped down dead under his body. There was silence all around us. I opened one eye and peeked out. All of the contestants were agape. Piers was trying very hard to suppress a big grin, but it wasn’t working. And the director was looking at us over his glasses in complete shock. “Well,” the director said. “That was… interesting.” I marched off the stage boldly and slapped the script against Piers’ chest. “See?” I said, raising my chin. “I can be spontaneous, too.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight “How could you pick her over me?! She didn’t even use the script!” Mia was screaming at the director. Piers was looking on calmly as the camera crew taped over his shoulder. And I was trying not to laugh. “This isn’t a science,” the director explained. He seemed like he was used to dealing with screaming women. “This is an art. And like I said, I think Lisa and Kate did the best job of portraying the character of Julio’s girlfriend—” “But Lisa didn’t even do the same character!” Mia shrieked. “She didn’t get a single line right!” “It’s called improvisation,” I said, enjoying her outburst. “All the best actresses do it.” “Piers!” Mia spun to him, appealing the decision with a red face. “She should get kicked off! She broke the rules!” “The rules are whatever the director says they are,” Piers said. “Today, he’s the final judge.” “And that too! Where’s Dylan? Why doesn’t he have a say in this?” “I think Dylan would have liked my interpretation,” I interrupted. “Shut up!” Mia screamed. “This has nothing to do with dating a billionaire!” “You’re not even getting kicked off,” Piers pointed out. At that, Julie burst into a fresh set of tears. She had done a mediocre job reading the lines, and I think the director had fallen in love with Mia’s tits before realizing that she was a bona fide crazy person. But there was no going back, and Julie was the loser for this contest. Kate patted Julie’s shoulder. I wanted to go over and give her a hug, but I couldn’t. I was the villain now. It gave me a tinge of sadness. “The winner of this contest won’t get immunity,” Piers reiterated, sliding back into his announcer mode. “But they will get a part on the hit soap opera Dangerous Love and a thousand dollar cash prize! When we get back, we’ll find out the winner of our audition contest!” The camera crew shifted position to a different angle. “We’re back!” Piers announced. I realized now why he sounded so glib, almost bored, when he acted as the host. Every contest was interrupted by seven or eight commercial breaks, and he had to tape every single one. “And the director of Dangerous Love is ready to pick a winner from our contestants!” Mia didn’t know why we were doing this TV stuff for a dating show, but I understood completely. The producers were doing cross promo for their other shows on the network. It was stupid, sure, but it made sense from a business perspective. They wanted to promote their show. “Kate, why do you think you should win the part of Julio’s girlfriend on Dangerous Love?” the director asked. “I like acting,” Kate was saying. “Sometimes I just want to pretend to be someone I’m not.” She caught my eye, giving me a meaningful look. I knew what she was trying to say. Even now, she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Someone without a kid. Someone who only wanted to date a billionaire. She wasn’t going to be mean to me, because I knew her secret. But she was admitting that she understood why I’d kissed Piers. Or, at least, she thought she did. She thought I was doing whatever it took to win. That’s what we were all doing, right? Only I knew that she was actually in love with Dylan. And me? God help me, I was in love with the host. “What about you?” the director asked. “Lisa?”

“Huh?” I snapped out of my thoughts. “You gave us a great improvisational performance,” the director said. “But why should you get the part?” Kate looked away. I realized that this was much more important to her than it was to me. A thousand dollars—well, it was nice, but that wasn’t why she wanted to win. This would give her another opportunity in television. “Lisa?” “I shouldn’t.” Kate looked back at me, her eyes widening. The director frowned. “Excuse me?” “I’m not an actress,” I said. “I don’t want to memorize lines. I think you should give the part to Kate.” “Oh.” The director looked over at Piers, who shrugged. “This—this is highly unusual,” the director said, stumbling over his words. He hadn’t expected that response. I was pretty good at improvisation, after all. “Uh, why would you not want this part?” “I already have a career,” I said, feeling a bit sad as I thought about Clarence and my job at Moi. It wasn’t a great career, but it was all I had. “This part…it’ll make a difference to Kate.” “Not to you?” I sighed. Piers stared at me, but I didn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t need him to tell me what I already knew. “Me?” I said. “I’m never going to change.”

After we finished taping, I got a phone call from my sister. Kate was excitedly talking with the TV director, and I moved off back onto the set to talk. “Hey, dorkface,” I said. “You’ll never guess what just happened!” “Lisa? Lisa?” My chest tensed up, all of my excitement draining away. Emma’s voice sounded worried. It had gone up into that high-pitched register that made her sound like a little girl. “Em? What’s the matter?” “It’s Arlen. We’re at the hospital.” “What? Why?” I sat down on the couch. Everything else faded away. “I don’t know. The medicine the doctors gave didn’t work, and now nobody is telling me anything. She had such a high fever, and—and—” “It’s okay,” I said. “Hey, Emma. It’s going to be okay, alright?” “Yeah,” Emma said, but she didn’t sound like she believed me. “But the insurance won’t tell me what they’re going to pay for, and how can we afford to stay overnight in the hospital?” “You’re staying overnight?” Piers shouted over to me. He was waving me back. I held up one hand to say Wait a minute. “They said they’re going to do blood tests or something in the morning. Lisa, I know we don’t have the money for this.” “Don’t worry about the money,” I said. “Let me worry about the money. You worry about Arlen. I mean, don’t worry about Arlen. She’ll be fine. I know she’ll be fine.” “But—” “Do you need me to come to the hospital?”

“Lisa!” Piers came over to me. “We’re heading out to the next contest now.” “Now?” I put my hand over the phone. “We just finished this contest!” “Well, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your busy schedule—” “Fine! Okay! Let’s go!” I stood up and followed him. “Emma? Emma, I have to go. I can’t come over right now, but I’ll be there later. Okay?” “Lisa, I heard that. You don’t have to come to the hospital. I’ll be fine.” “But—” “I just wanted to know if it was okay to do the tests.” “Of course it is,” I said, swallowing hard and thinking about how stupid I’d been to give away a thousand dollars. This was the universe smacking me in the face for being dumb. “You do whatever you have to do.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine We went back to the penthouse. Only instead of stopping at the apartment, the elevator went all the way to the top of the building. I couldn’t think of anything except what Emma was going through with Arlen. I hoped she was okay. “I wonder what the hell the contest is this time,” Mia grumbled. “I hope it’s better than that stupid TV audition. That director was a moron.” Piers rolled his eyes and said nothing. The elevator doors opened to the top floor and we all herded out into the open night air. We were on the roof of the building, and the wind whipped cold over my arms in the dark. I shivered. Kate caught my elbow as we walked out toward a lit stairway. “Why’d you do it?” “Huh?” I looked back at her. She was staring at me with a mix of confusion and anxiety. “Why did you give me the win?” I sighed. Was that what this was about? “Like I said to the director: it wouldn’t make a difference to me. And that’s what you want, right? To get your own television show?” Kate’s eyes narrowed. “But what’s the real reason? Are you trying to look good for Dylan again, or—” “That was the real reason.” Kate looked at me doubtfully. “Look, I need the money just as much as you,” I said. “But I sure as hell didn’t need a bit part on a soap opera. And—” “Come on, girls!” Piers motioned us over. “Let’s talk about it later,” I said. Kate still didn’t seem like she believed me. And could I blame her? Trust no one, that’s what we’d said from the beginning. And now it was just her, me, and Mia. We walked up a short flight of steps and then I stopped in awe next to the other two contestants. “Wow!” I said. It was a pool on the roof of the building. The night sky stretched out all around us. “It’s an infinity pool,” Kate whispered in awe. The sides of the pool dropped off over an invisible edge, making it look like the pool was floating in the middle of the city. The lights from the buildings around twinkled in the water’s reflection. Dylan stood on the other side of the pool, dressed in nothing but a dark speedo. His broad shoulders glistened with water, and his blond hair had turned dark with moisture. Behind him, what looked like another camera crew was setting up a ton of equipment. “Cannonball!” Dylan yelled, jumping into the pool with a splash. He swam over to the side of the pool toward us and leaned his elbows over the edge, creating a small waterfall around his arms. He grinned up at us. “Tell me this isn’t a swimming contest,” Mia moaned. “Surprise!” Dylan said. He didn’t seem surprised to see that Julie was gone. I realized that he had probably arranged the outcome with Piers beforehand. Why on earth hadn’t he kicked out Mia? “Hey everyone! Good to see you again!” He pointed at me with one finger.

“I’m still mad at you, Lisa.” He didn’t sound mad at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Piers put his hand over his face and shake his head. “You should be,” I said, putting on a contrite expression. “I’m very sorry, Dylan. You can throw me in the pool if you like.” “Not yet,” he said. “You have to get dressed first.” Behind us, there was another crew setting up a table with even more cameras. There was a rack of long white dresses, and a large crate with holes in it. “Are we having a pool party?” Kate asked. “Nope!” Dylan said. “It’s a photoshoot!” Mia cried out happily. “Look, they’re setting up the lights!” “That’s right!” Piers said. “You’ll all be doing an in-pool photo shoot. And there’s another surprise.” “Oh, hell no,” I said, as I saw what the crew member was taking out of the crate. “Snakes?” Kate turned white. Mia’s jaw dropped open. She didn’t look happy about a photoshoot anymore. The guy came over to us with a giant white snake wrapped around his shoulders. It stretched out from one of his arms to the other. “That thing must be ten feet long,” I said. “Eleven, actually.” The crew man held up the snake. Its black beady eyes glistened and its tongue darted out quickly. “Eunectes murinus. He’s a water anaconda. This guy is two years old, and has been in several Hollywood movies, including one of the Ace Ventura sequels.” He held up the snake that was slowly winding around his upper arm. “His name is Steve, and he can smell with his tongue.” “Great. Very impressive,” I said. “But what does Steve eat?” “Don’t worry,” the crew man said. “He only eats mice and small rabbits.” “Oh my god,” Kate whimpered. “Rabbits?” “Small rabbits,” the crew man corrected. “Baby rabbits?!” Kate looked like she was going to be sick. I would have comforted her, but I didn’t know if she’d forgiven me for before. “Are these my models?” A tall slender man with white-blond hair came over to us. He was wearing a full-body wetsuit and I had to struggle not to look at his snug-tight crotch. “And this is your photographer,” Piers said by way of introduction. “Miles Miloveccio.” “I’m Mia Firenze,” Mia said, holding out her hand daintily. “I loved your winter show in Venice.” “Oh, thank you!” Miles said, with such a fake sweet smile that I had to grin. I was eyeing the gowns. “So we’re wearing those in the water?” I asked. The dresses on the rack spilled over the hangers and down onto the ground. “Yes! They are all meant to flow and ebb and iridesce.” To me, they looked like they were meant to drown. I didn’t know how I could swim while wearing that many yards of waterlogged fabric. I didn’t know what worried me more, the dresses or the snake. But I steeled myself. There was no room for modesty here, and we all stripped down to our underwear to change into the dresses. I shivered even as I shimmied myself into one of the white floaty gowns. It looked like a wedding dress. “You will all be mermaids!” the photographer exclaimed.

I didn’t feel like a mermaid as I humped my way over to the edge of the pool, dragging the train of my dress behind me in thick handfuls. I stared balefully into the clear water. It was cold and windy, and even if there wasn’t an eleven-foot long snake in the pool, I wouldn’t have wanted to get in. Then I felt two hands on my waist. “What—” “You told me to throw you in the pool!” Dylan said happily, swinging me up into his arms. “Wait! Dylan!” “And a one, and a two, and a—” I closed my eyes. I might be on my way to certain death, but that didn’t mean I had to watch. I hit the water butt-first. To my surprise, it wasn’t cold at all. It was a heated pool. My dress billowed up around me in the warm water. I floundered for a moment and then kicked away the train of the dress so that I could tread water. Dylan was splashing around next to me, grinning like a fool. “This isn’t so bad,” I said, turning around. “It’s nice and—” My words caught in my throat. Steve was right there in front of me, his black beady eyes staring into my soul. His tongue flicked out twice. “I’m not a rabbit,” I said. “Okay, now let’s put the snake around her waist,” Miles yelled to the crew member. It took an hour before Miles was finished with my photo shoot. He took photos with me by myself, with me and Dylan floating together underwater, with me and Dylan and Steve. “This is the weirdest threesome I’ve ever been in,” I said, as the camera guy wrapped Steve around Dylan’s neck and under my arm. “Not me,” Dylan said, but he didn’t elaborate. Kate did fine, although every shot with Steve had her looking nervous. And while I had hoped that the snake would throw Mia for a loop, she was a natural. It was infuriating to see how quickly she could get into the right underwater poses. Miles obviously enjoyed her shoot the most, and he spent more time putting her and Dylan together in sexy positions. “You two make the perfect couple!” he exclaimed more than once. Kate got more and more despondent. We were both standing in the shallow end in our dresses, waiting for them to finish. And Miles couldn’t stop gushing over how beautiful Mia looked underwater. “He should run off with Mia if he likes her so much,” Kate groused. “Maybe we can cut her up into baby rabbit-sized pieces and feed her to Steve,” I offered. Kate shot a hard look over at me. I’d thought that we were commiserating, but her frown told me otherwise. “What?” I asked. “Is it really that bad that I want my competition to be snake food?” “I thought you were different,” Kate said. “But you’re not.” “Different? Different than what?” “Different than Mia. But you’re both out for yourselves.” “What on earth are you talking about? I just gave you a win—” “And you knew exactly what you were doing. Just like how you got Dylan back on your side even though you cheated on him!” “We’re not dating yet,” I pointed out. “So I kissed another guy! So what? I apologized!” “And that’s the other thing! He wasn’t even mad at you at all about it! He was happy as pie to have you back here! Why?” I shrugged, feeling guilty for not telling her the truth. I’d lied to Dylan, and now I was lying to Kate. “I feel awful about everything,” I said honestly. “Maybe he realized that.” “I know there’s more to it than that, Lisa!” Kate whispered at me. “You’re not telling the whole

truth!” “Well, neither are you, if it comes to that!” I lowered my voice to a whisper too. “I think the whole having a kid thing is a whole lot more important than kissing some other guy!” “Shut up!” Kate hissed. “I thought we were friends, but I guess not!” “I guess not!” I hissed back. Kate turned away from me and huffed away. Because she was wearing a water-soaked dress, she huffed in slow motion, and if it had been any other time I would have thought it was funny. Now, though, I was just plain upset. We started to change back into our regular clothes, and the camera crews disappeared from around the pool. The photos wouldn’t be ready for viewing for another couple of days, Piers explained, and so Dylan and Miles would be choosing their favorites at the end of the week. Until then, we had to stay in the penthouse. “We can’t leave?” I asked. “Like, at all?” “Right now, no,” Piers said. “We can’t have any of you talking about the last contests until it’s all over. One more week of taping, and we’ll be done.” “But… my sister…” My stomach felt like cold lead. I wanted to go to the hospital, to help Emma with Arlen, but I knew that she wouldn’t want me to leave the contest for her. And now I was stuck here for another week. “It must feel awful, not being able to see your family,” Kate said to me, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. I lowered my eyes and turned away. She was right. She had been living without her son for this whole time. Who was I to complain? I was the only one left on the roof by the time I was done changing and drying my hair. My phone rang, and I dug through my purse to answer it. I hoped that it was Emma calling with an update, but when I looked at the screen, I sighed. “Hi, Clarence,” I said, holding the phone up to my ear. “Lisa! Where the hell are you?” “I’m standing by a pool on a luxury penthouse rooftop,” I said. I kicked at the edge of the pool, sending a spray of water out onto the city lights below. “Where are you?” “Very funny,” Clarence said. “Why aren’t you in the office?” “Why would I be in the office?” I frowned. “Didn’t you get my email?” “Clarence, I’ve been out all day—” “The story is shot. We cut it. You’re done there, Lisa. Get your ass back to the office pronto.”

Chapter Thirty My heart sank. I swayed slightly on my feet, unsure if I had heard Clarence correctly. “What—what do you mean—” “Our parent company wasn’t very happy with how you were portraying the producers of the show. Giving away too much, they said, negative press, something like that. Anyway, they decided to cut it.” The water in the pool swam fuzzily in my vision. I hadn’t said anything apart from a few lines about how the producers were manipulating the editing to make me look like a villain. And that had been too much. “But…but…” “Believe me, I’m not happy about it either,” Clarence said. “The office has been going to hell without you, and now it’s all for nothing.” I sat down suddenly at the edge of the pool, hugging my knees to my chest. The wind blew through my damp hair, and I shivered. “So—wait. Does that mean I don’t have the article?” “Haven’t you been paying attention? No, we can’t publish any of it.” “But—” “Lisa, sweetheart, I don’t have time to argue with you about this,” Clarence said. “You have to get back here and write up this lipstick review to fill the empty space for tomorrow. Got it?” The wind roared in my ears. “Got it,” I said, my voice like an echo across the water of the pool. The phone hung limply in my hand, the screen dark. I couldn’t believe it. I had worked so hard to get this far. I had thought that I had my first major article—my first major anything—and now it was being ripped away from me. All for nothing, Clarence had said, and that was the right way to put it. All of the contests. All of the scheming. All of the effort and time I’d put in—and now I wasn’t even going to have a single sentence published. No bonus money for another article. Nothing. “You have one second to drop the phone.” My head snapped up, my brain still whirling from the news. Piers snatched the phone from my hand and tossed it away onto a poolside chair. “Piers, what are you—ahh!” Piers picked me up in his arms and leapt into the pool. I shrieked as we splashed into the warm water. He came up a foot away from me, his dark hair streaming wet over his ears. His eyes reflected the lights off of the green-blue water. His white button down shirt was plastered to his chest, and I could see his muscles through the damp fabric. “Piers!” I sputtered, floundering in the water. “What the hell!” “I admit it. I was jealous that Dylan got to toss you into the pool. I had to wait until everyone was gone, but it was worth it.” “Piers—” I sputtered, miserably. “Tell me my cannonball was better, though?” He grinned widely at me. “Piers…wait… I…I…” I burst out into tears, unable to control the emotions that were flooding through me. Immediately his face fell. He reached out to me and drew me closer through the water, but I couldn’t stop the sobs from wracking my chest.

“Lisa, I’m sorry. Lisa, I didn’t mean—what’s the matter? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I shook my head, my throat closed off with sadness. I buried my head against his shoulder, sobbing into the wet fabric. His hands cradled me close in the heated water, and for a moment I felt utterly vulnerable. I was crying in his arms, letting all of the tension and worry of the past few weeks burst out of me in one sitting. He waited until my cries had died down into soft whimpers. Then he drew me back. His eyes shone like water, his dark hair plastered damply against his forehead. He looked completely lovely, perfectly handsome, and his face was filled with earnest worry. “Was it the snake? There aren’t any more snakes in the pool. Unless you count my water anaconda.” He winked and gave a bit of a smile. A half-sob, half-laugh escaped me. He pushed my hair back with his fingers and drew me into another hug. Oh, God, those fingers. The same fingers that had tortured and teased me, the same fingers that had sent me into ecstasy. Now they were comforting, firm and warm on my wet skin. “What is it, love?” “They pulled my article.” I finally spat out. “My stupid boss said that they couldn’t run it and they’re pulling the stupid article. And I’ve been here for weeks now, and for what? For nothing!” Tears streamed down my cheeks. The injustice of what Clarence had done wasn’t even the worst of it—the worst was that he acted like it was no big deal for me to come back to the office and keep doing menial work. “I had a chance to write a major article, and now it’s shot,” I moaned. “I’ll be doing graphic design pictures on lipstick and blush forever. I have to be back at the office tomorrow.” “So that means—” “I’m out of the competition.” “You can’t stay? There are only two more contests left.” “I can’t lose my job, Piers.” He pressed his lips together and frowned. “I’m sorry,” I said, hiccupping back a sob. “I’m a complete failure. Everything I start ends up as a big mess. I shouldn’t even try anymore. I should just give up—” He cupped my chin and tilted it up into a kiss, stopping my words. His mouth was hot and wanting, and when he cradled me up into his arms I yielded completely. I wanted to forget everything. I wanted to drift away in this water and let all of my responsibilities melt away. But after a moment, he pulled away and forced me to look at him. “Lisa, listen to me,” he said, his hand still cupping my cheek. “You’re not a failure.” I smiled a weak smile, tears still streaking down the sides of my face. I could feel them hot and damp, hotter than even the water in the pool. “You’re really good at lying, Piers.” “I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth. You manage to surprise me in every possible way.” “Right. Surprise! I’m a hot mess!” I forced a laugh through my tears. “The producers thought for sure you’d get booted after one or two episodes. I mean, Lisa—you were up against a dozen young girls who made it their job to win this show. Half of them were models already. You’re nearly a decade older than any of them.” “Um. This isn’t exactly making me feel good about myself, Piers—” “But you managed to do it anyway! With all the odds against you, you charmed the billionaire into falling for you and now you’re in the final round.” “I was in the final round. I can’t stay, Piers.” I bit my lip and looked up at him. I had messed up. I had let him down. And yet, he smiled. “Well, you said something about waiting until after you were off the show…”

“I—oh!” His mouth was on mine again and his hand slid around under my dress. I gasped as he squeezed my ass, sending thrills of sensation through my body. I moaned as his lips moved down to my neck, kissing and sucking. “Piers, wait…what if someone sees—” “I locked the door to the roof,” he whispered, his hands tearing off my panties under my dress. “Don’t worry. You’re all mine now, love.” The way he said those words made me shiver with something more than desire. His voice was confident, possessive. And I knew at that moment that I had been pulling away from the exact thing that I needed. I had wanted so badly to be independent, but now I was giving that up to be his, if only for tonight. “Piers—” “God, I want you so badly, Lisa.” His whispers in my ear alternated with hard kisses to my skin. We were moving slowly to the edge of the infinity pool, moving as in slow motion. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. Your gorgeous ass. Those beautiful eyes. Every part of you is perfect. And perfectly mine.” We reached the edge of the pool. My hands pressed against Piers’ chest through the wet fabric. I looked up into his eyes, hungry with desire. And suddenly I was shy again. Uncertain. Was this really what I wanted? This was a man who could have any girl he wanted, and he said he wanted me. Did he only want me because he couldn’t have me? His hands pushed the skirt of my dress up over my hips, and I felt the twin pulls of desire and resistance. My body was urging me forward, but my mind was telling me that this might be a bad idea. Once he had me, would this all be over? Did I want this kind of one-night stand? Any other girl would have fallen over herself to make love to a famous celebrity in a luxury pool. But was I that kind of girl? “Piers—wait.” He stopped, his breath coming fast and shallow. I felt his fingers tense on the curve of my hip, pausing. “Lisa, there are only so many times you can tell me to wait before I spontaneously combust.” “I’m not…I don’t know what you think I am. I don’t know what you want…. this to be. Is this a one-time thing for us?” Under my hand, I could feel his heart pounding. “Is that what you want?” His face was serious, and I could feel the tears springing up again at the backs of my eyes. He hadn’t meant what he said in the pantry. It had all been fake. “No,” I said. It was hard to force the word out. My body ached for him, and I wanted this so badly. At the same time, though, I knew that it would hurt me even more if I had to walk away when it was over and never see him again. It was a risk I had to take—the risk of losing him now. He paused, as though thinking about it. “Well?” I asked. “It’s a good thing you said no,” he said, his voice not giving away any sign of emotion. My muscles tensed under his grasp. “Because if you had wanted a one-night stand, do you know what would have happened?” I shook my head, not trusting my voice. A small still hope quivered in my chest. “I would have had to track you down every day.” He kissed my forehead lightly, his expression as gravely serious as ever. “… and jump on top of you in every elevator, pantry, or pool I found you in.” He moved down, kissing my cheek, where tears still lingered. “I would seduce you over and over again, in office break rooms and in massage parlors. You

would never be able to escape my seductions.” The hope shivering inside of me burst forth into tears of joy. I flung my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, nearly submerging him under the water. He laughed. “Lisa, for such a smart woman you can be a damn fool at times.” “Piers—” “Don’t tell me to wait.” I shook my head happily. “Take me,” I said, and wrapped my legs around his waist to pull him close under the water. “Take me now.”

Chapter Thirty-One Piers’ lips crushed mine. He pressed me back against the edge of the infinity pool, sending rivulets of water splashing back into the darkness. City lights twinkled like stars in the night around us. My legs gripped the sides of his waist, urging him forward. “God, Lisa,” he moaned, as my hips grazed his stiff cock. “Please—” I whispered. It was all I needed to say. There was no need for hesitation anymore. My entire body wanted this, needed this. The coil inside me tightened as his hands moved down and then he was there, exposed, his cock pressing hard against my entrance under the warm water. I moaned, sliding up to position his tip in the right place. His breath caught in his throat and under my hand I felt his heart pounding. The fabric of his shirt was wet and see through, and his muscles bulged as he pulled himself close. I closed my eyes, ready for the first thrust, my legs wrapped around his hips. His hands gripped the curve of my ass. “Wait,” he said. There was a pause. My whole body cried out to be filled, and I clenched involuntarily. A whimper rose in my chest as the pause lengthened. I opened one eye. Piers was floating, a sly grin on his face. “What are we waiting for?” I rasped into the cool air. “Nothing. I just wanted to get you back for all those times you did it to me.” “Oh, you—!” Then he thrust forward and up, and my gasp turned into a moan of pleasure. His cock slid into me, filling me completely. God, he was so huge, so hard. My hands gripped his shoulders as he leaned in. Dizziness spun my head, and if he had let go of me at that moment I was sure I would drown, just sinking into the water without another thought. “You were saying?” I clenched around his cock and his grin turned soft as desire filled his eyes. “Oh, you’re wicked,” he said, a hint of hoarseness in his voice. He eased back and then rolled his hips into me. I screamed. It was the fastest orgasm I’d ever had, and the most intense. There was no time to get ready for it, no time to think. It was not there, and then it was, and I wasn’t prepared at all for the force of the wave that hit me, shivering my nerves in an electric spasm of pleasure. Clenching and unclenching, I shook as his hard cock stiffened inside of me, rock hard and unyielding. My legs pulled him in even deeper as the climax broke through my body, making all my muscles tense. “Ohhhhhh!” My scream turned into a moan. “Ohhhhh.” My core squeezed hard, spasming again and again. My head lolled back into Piers’ steady hand. When I finally opened my eyes, he was looking at me with a kind of awe. “Bloody hell,” Piers whispered. “That felt incredible.” “Sorry—sorry I came so fast,” I gasped. My pulse was still pounding from the sudden orgasm. “I —I—” I burst into unstoppable giggles. All of the tension inside of me was gone, replaced by a soft pleasure. “Oh, God, Piers, I needed that so badly!”

He grinned at me. Water lapped at his chest. “Glad I could help. Now, before we go setting any more records…” He shifted inside of me. “Ohh!” I gasped. I’d thought that he was all the way inside of me, but now he pushed in even further, stretching me. My lips parted as I felt him move into me, lifting me a few inches out of the water. My weight settled back onto him and his hands gripped my thighs, pulling me tight onto his hard cock. He bit his lip, and I could see the pleasure flash across his eyes, loosening his expression. There was no pretense here, nothing fake or forced. It was just him and me in a pure expression of desire. “Lisa?” “Yes?” “I’m going to kiss you now.” It was like the first time he had kissed me outside of the coffeeshop. His lips, hot and hard, seizing mine in a probing intimacy that made me melt. It was different, though, in one way—I knew him now, or at least I thought I did. And I knew what he had been missing from his life. Why he had sung about his empty heart. He was as lost as I was, lost in a sea of people all searching for love and not being able to find it. Only he had found me. I had spent so much time searching for my own idea of what Mr. Right was—making my list of wants and needs—that I had forgotten what mattered the most. And here was this man, so funny and smart and handsome, driving me to the edge of insanity with desire. He had seemed so wrong for me from the start. But we had come full circle, and I realized now that I was the one who was wrong. I’d pushed away all of my needs while pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Was it so terrible for me to want to feel secure, protected? Was it so terrible that I went senseless with pleasure when he seared my lips with a kiss? He was nothing I wanted and everything I needed. And it had taken me this long to realize how much of a fool I’d been to push him away. Piers eased out and then in, working at a slow rhythm, setting fire to my nerves. I reached out and ran my fingers through his wet hair, pulling him closer into a greedy kiss. My hands molded to his taut arms, his broad shoulders, and his mouth covered mine, taking me into a slow rise of ecstasy with every thrust of his cock into my aching body. “Yes,” I whispered, as his mouth moved to my neck. “God, Lisa, you’re so damn perfect.” He sucked hard at my skin, and I moaned, pushing down and impaling myself onto him. I wanted him inside me, needed to be filled with something only he had. Water splashed between us with each thrust as he began to move faster, his rhythm finding mine as our breaths drew close and quick. I needed this. Needed him. As I clutched him tight, I lost all of my restraint. I moved like an animal, giving in to my wilder impulses. My fingers dug into his muscles, urging him on. It was a wild need, a primal need, and I groaned hoarsely as his tongue licked me from collarbone to chin. His cock, impossibly hard, went iron stiff. He braced himself against the edge of the pool, shoving me against the wall with each roll of his hips. I let out cries of pleasure with each roll, giving myself permission to need him. And the wave of fire inside me grew and grew, threatening to spill over and crash me down with a severity that I couldn’t anticipate. “Yes,” I moaned into his neck, my voice disappearing into the dark night around us. This was what I needed, and I wouldn’t push it away. “Ohhhh. Yes! Yes! OHHHH!” He drove himself into me, hard rolls over and over again. He slammed the breath from my lips with his thrusts. The fiery wave grew and grew inside me, and even being submerged in water couldn’t quench the flames. I could feel its power menacing, threatening to tear me apart. I leaned into his arms and closed my eyes. I was on the crest, ready to plunge headlong into the wave of dark ecstasy.

“Lisa.” His voice was a throaty rasp, low and growling. “I’m—I’m coming—” Yes. I don’t know if my voice was working or if my lips said it silently. I was already on my way, in freefall into the rolling wave, and as I pulled Piers close, the ecstasy crashed through me with a deep, resounding shudder. “Ohhhhhhhhh,” I moaned. His cock stiffened and hitched. His hips rolled hard against mine, pressing perfectly into that spot where I needed it most. My scream went soundless as bliss stole my breath. He jerked once, twice into me. There was no space between our bodies, and when he spasmed, I spasmed with him, our moans intertwining. My body clenched, milking his hard thick cock. I couldn’t stop the hard shudders that ripped through me again and again, the fire that burned through my body. I felt as though I was being engulfed in flame, and there would be nothing left but ash when I opened my eyes. How could I survive such an intense sensation? I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was moaning, shivering. The sounds coming from my throat were choked with pleasure. But as the wave died down, the last flames licking through my nerves, I felt his arms around me. His hands, strong and warm and possessive. His chest, pressed to mine, forcing me to breathe as he drew breath. “Lisa,” he was whispering. “Oh, Lisa, Lisa.” He held me tight in his arms, his heart beating against mine. And I knew that I was losing myself in more ways than one.

“I’m going to miss you on the show,” Piers said, after he helped me out of the pool. “You mean you’re going to miss mauling me off camera every chance you get.” “Really though. I’ve never had so much fun taping a show before. You made it fun.” “Even though I was competing to get a date with someone else?” I raised an eyebrow. Piers scoffed. “Oh, come on. You don’t want to date a billionaire. You never did.” “Mmm,” I said, letting him press another kiss onto my lips. “I’ll just have to settle for a poor multimillionaire instead.” “Woe is me. Was that your plan all along?” “Perhaps it was,” I hedged. “You seductress, you.” “Fame beats fortune any day,” I joked. “Even if you don’t have an infinity pool on top of your penthouse roof.” “Mmm. Maybe I will buy a Ferrari,” Piers murmured. “Can’t let that kid upstage me.” “Don’t worry,” I said, giving his dick a light squeeze through his wet pants. “You don’t need a Ferrari to impress this girl.” “We can do a double date sometime with Kate and Dylan,” Piers said, leading me back down the stairs off the roof. “So you’re sure Kate is going to win?” I asked. There must have been something in my eyes that made Piers stop before we reached the elevator. “What is it?” “Nothing,” I said, turning my eyes down. “You know something I don’t about Kate.” “Maybe.” “What is it? Tell me, Lisa.”

“Really, it’s nothing. I swore I wouldn’t tell.” “Is she in it for the money? She wouldn’t turn down first place for a hundred thousand, would she?” “Fans would riot, wouldn’t they?” “Would she?” I looked up at Piers. He was serious. “Lisa,” he said. “But if you know something I don’t—” “I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to get her kicked off the show. Kate’s a good kid.” My heart twisted in my chest. “And I promise she won’t get kicked off for anything you say. I just want to be prepared for whatever comes up. Lisa, what is it?” I bit my lip, weighing the decision. “Trust me,” Piers said softly. “She has a kid,” I said finally. “She lied to the producers about it.” Piers’ eyebrows raised slightly. “A kid? How did we not—” “It’s her little brother. But not really her brother. He was adopted by Kate’s parents to hide the truth, because she was a teen mom.” Piers blew a breath out between his teeth. “Wow,” he said. “That’s… that’s something.” “Don’t kick her off the show,” I said. “You promised—” “I won’t. She deserves the win a hell of a lot more than Mia, anyway.” “Why is Mia even around? She’s— ugh. Never mind. I don’t even care.” “Don’t ask.” Piers gave a twisted smile. “I couldn’t tell you anyway.” “Alright. I have to go pack,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later, I guess?” “When you get a chance, we need to do an interview about why you left the show,” Piers said. I could tell his mind was still on what I’d told him about Kate. I hoped that nothing would come of it. Piers was right—she did deserve the win.

Chapter Thirty-Two “What do you think you’re doing?” I looked up from my suitcase. Kate was standing in the doorway, her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “Are you talking to me again?” I said. “That’s good to know.” Kate closed the door behind her. “What are you doing?” “I’m packing,” I said, as though it wasn’t obvious enough. “Why?” “Because I’m leaving.” “Leaving?” Her thin, perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together in a knot. “I’m not going to be sticking around for the finals. My boss called me off the article. I’m not writing about this show anymore.” “You can’t leave now!” “While I appreciate your sudden show of support—” “No, I mean, you can’t. Didn’t you see the first episode?” “The—no. What first episode?” “The first episode of this show. The episodes we’re not supposed to be watching. I’ve been watching them all.” Kate thrust her phone at me. The video was paused halfway through playing. “I don’t want to see how much of a villain the producers are making me out to be,” I said, not taking the phone. “I know it’s not going to be good.” “Just watch.” I sighed and sat down on the bed. Kate sat next to me. The episode started most of the way through the cooking competition. Then they cut to a one-on-one interview with Dylan and Piers. “How do you feel about the contestants so far?” Piers asked. I recognized the smooth bored way he went through the questions. He hated doing this, I could tell. He wanted to do something better than a reality show. “There are a few girls that I really like. Kate is super cute and nice,” Dylan said. “Even though I didn’t like what she cooked.” “Anyone else?” “Yeah. Lisa.” The shot cut to Piers’ face. There was no overt reaction, but I noticed a flash across his eyes, a slight narrowing of something. Jealousy? Then the camera went back to Dylan. “You know, I mean—she was really down to earth. And I think we clicked, you know, like on a deeper level. I love chicken nuggets.” I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “Hush!” Kate said. “Listen.” “You know,” Dylan continued. “I think she really might be my soulmate.” “Lisa?” “Yeah,” he said. “Lisa.” The video cut to a commercial. Kate turned off her phone screen. “See?” she said. “See what?” “You can’t leave.”

“Why? Because Dylan decided that his soulmate is someone else who likes chicken nuggets?” Kate’s eyes moistened under a frown. “Lisa, I’m serious. All of the episodes are like this. He says great stuff about you all the time.” “And he never mentions you? I find that hard to believe.” “Well, I mean, sometimes. But it seems like he likes you more.” “Kate. You can’t—listen, you can’t believe what’s on TV. The way they edit these things, they could make them say anything they want. It’s all fake.” “But—” “Look, you should be happy about this!” I said. “You think Dylan is going to choose Mia over you?” “Of course not,” Kate said, her voice impatient. “But it can’t be me!” “Why not?” “Dylan is in love with you. You saw the video. He thinks you’re his soulmate.” “No,” I corrected. “He thought I was his soulmate. He’s obviously wrong. Anyway, you two get along much better.” “He wants you on the show even after you kissed Piers,” Kate said softly. “Why would he do that, unless—” “It doesn’t matter,” I said, cutting her off. I didn’t want to have that conversation right now. “I’m leaving.” “Stay through the finals. Stay until he picks you, at least. Then you can walk away with a hundred thousand dollars.” “So that you can get him after I leave?” Kate’s face was pink. “I—I mean—” I burst out laughing. “Kate, you can’t hide it. You are head over heels for Dylan.” “But he doesn’t—” “He likes you. Trust me.” “Then why did he kiss you?” Kate’s eyes glistened with tears. She looked miserable. “Kate.” I sighed. “You’ve been holding back this whole time. You haven’t encouraged him at all. That’s all he needs, a bit of encouragement from you.” “You think so?” “I know so.” I tried to sound more confident than I was. “He’s right on the edge. Push him, and he’ll fall for you.” “Then… then… you really don’t like him?” I pressed my lips together. Kate sounded so desperate for hope. It was impossible to her that anyone might not want Dylan Chase. “Kate, Dylan is all yours.” She looked up at me. “Then you have to stay anyway.” “Kate—” “You have to stay! Because then when he picks us for the top two, you can walk away with the money. If you leave now, Mia will get it.” I burst out laughing. “Stay just to spite Mia? I wish I could.” For a brief second, I thought about it. It was a good chunk of money, after all, even if it meant throwing away my career. But it wasn’t guaranteed. “I need to get back

to work.” My phone rang. “See? That’s probably my boss now,” I said. But it wasn’t Clarence calling. “Hey dorkface,” I said. “L—Lisa?” “Em? What’s the matter?” “I’m calling from the hospital,” she said. Her voice was unsteady, high-pitched. It sounded like a little girl’s voice. “It’s Arlen,” she said, choking out the words. “Lisa…” Her voice broke off, and I could only hear a muffled sniffling. My heart stilled in my chest. “Em? Emma, what is it?” Kate looked at me with a worried expression. I was helpless to do anything but listen to an empty phone. “Emma?” “It’s Arlen,” she said again. “Oh, Lisa. I don’t know what to do. They did the blood tests.” “And?” A strange uncertain dread twisted up in my chest, as if I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “It’s cancer,” I heard my little sister say, the words sputtering out in between the sobs like a candle in a room without air. “My baby has cancer. Lisa, what are we going to do?”

Chapter Thirty-Three My tongue caught in my throat. What are we going to do? Emma had always looked up to me for help. I remembered once when I was eight and she was six, and we’d been stuck inside on a rainy day. Indoor tag was a bad idea, and we’d knocked over one of my mom’s wine glasses, one of the special ones that had a flower impressed into the base of the glass. It had shattered, the glass pieces sliding over the cheap linoleum kitchen floor, and we’d both frozen still. And Emma had looked up to me, her girlish eyes wide and uncertain. What are we going to do? I always had the answer, and whenever we got in trouble, I was the one to get us out of it. We’d swept the pieces of glass up and thrown them away in the outside trash, my sister holding the pan while I swept, telling her to mind the small shards. “Get rid of the evidence,” I’d said, and it had worked. My mom had forgotten all about the wine glass on the counter, and when she finally looked in the cabinet days later and saw that there were three glasses there, she hadn’t suspected her girls for more than a second. But this time, I had no answer. There was nothing I could do to fix this, and I realized that I was squeezing the phone so tightly my hand hurt. “Lisa?” My sister’s voice, pleading. Do something. What are we going to do? Lisa? Lisa? “I’ll be right there.” I hated the promise in my words, hated that I was expected to fix the unfixable. Hated that something so unfair and terrible had happened to my family. I hung up and put the phone in my purse shakily. “Lisa? Is everything okay?” I looked up at Kate. She knew something was wrong. I shook my head and stood up. I couldn’t talk about this now. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I had to sort things out. Nothing made any sense. “I—I have to go.” “What about your stuff?” My bag was packed, clothes spilling out. I’d bought too many dresses during the contest, and they didn’t fit. Anger pulsed through me. Arlen had been sick, and I’d been here doing stupid contests in stupid dresses. Playing fashion while my niece had cancer. I hated everything at that moment, hated the dresses and the competition, hated that I’d been torn up over a guy of all things. “I’ll be back for it,” I said, and left before she could ask any other questions.

“Emma?” I poked my head through the doorway. Emma and Arlen were sitting together on the hospital bed, reading a book. Emma’s eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy from tears. “Come in,” she said. “We were just reading Madeline.” “Lah,” Arlen said, her small hand reaching for the page in front of her grumpily. Her arm had a bandage wound around her elbow, and there was another bandage on her hip. “She’s already speaking French,” I said, smiling weakly. “Well done.” Emma turned the page and read: “In the middle of the night, Miss Clavel turned on her light and said, Something is not right.” Emma closed the book with a note of finality.

“Is that the end?” “If you say the words like you’re reading The End, she doesn’t even notice,” Emma said. She pressed a kiss on the top of Arlen’s head. Arlen slumped down against Emma’s chest, burying her small face against her mom. “She’s tired,” Emma said. “I bet.” “They had—they had to put her under to take a bone marrow sample from her hip.” I swallowed hard. “What kind of cancer is it?” “Acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” Emma said, pronouncing the words like they were in a foreign language. I guessed they were. Soon she would be speaking that language, though—all of the words for the diagnosis and symptoms and treatment. I shook the thought from my head. “Do they know—like, what stage it is?” Emma shook her head. “I guess it doesn’t work like that for this kind,” she said. “It’s in the bone marrow, and that’s everywhere. So there’s not like, Stage One or Stage Two or whatever. It’s—I don’t know. The doctor was trying to explain it to me but I couldn’t really focus.” Tears welled in her eyes. I reached for her and wrapped her up in a hug with Arlen between us. “It’s alright,” I said. “It’ll be alright.” “Will it?” I looked down at my little sister. “I can’t promise anything,” I said. “Except that we’ll do everything we can to help her.” “The doctor said there might be a special treatment that wasn’t covered by the insurance, I don’t know if we can afford—” “Don’t worry about the money,” I said firmly. “But—” “I’ll take care of it,” I said, even though I didn’t know how I would. “I will figure something out. What happens next? Did the doctors say?” “They have to do a spinal tap on her,” Emma said, her voice shaky. “To see if it’s in her nervous system and to see if they need to do radiation. And they’re going to start her on chemotherapy. Intra— intra-something chemotherapy. And we both need to get tested to see if we match for a bone marrow transplant, if it gets that far.” Emma looked up at me. There was a strength in her that I hadn’t ever seen before. Even with tears in her eyes, I could see that she was going to do whatever she could do help her baby. Like an animal cornered, she was going to fight like hell. How could she be so strong through her tears? I felt as though if I started crying, I would break down completely. “Will you get me some things from home?” Emma said. “We’ve been stuck here for a day, and I didn’t want to leave her alone.” “Of course,” I said, desperate to feel helpful. “I’ll get them and be back with dinner.” “I fed Mac before we left, but he’s probably yowling by now.” “Maybe Jessica can take him for a few days while we get everything sorted out.” Jessica loved our cat, even though Mac didn’t return the favor. “Sounds like you have it all figured out,” Emma said softly. “Right. Just leave it to Lisa.”

Outside of the hospital room, I ran into a doctor coming in. “You’re Arlen’s doctor?” I asked her.

She nodded. “You must be Lisa. Emma’s been talking about you. I’m sorry about your niece.” “Thanks,” I said, struggling to keep the tears from coming out. “She’s on your insurance, right?” “Right,” I said. “Emma mentioned something about special treatment. I don’t know if you know anything about that.” “There are many different treatments available, but some of them aren’t covered by insurance. We’ll know within forty-eight hours what the results of the blood tests are, but the initial results weren’t good.” “Not good?” Of course they weren’t good. She had cancer, didn’t she? “There are a lot of cancerous cells. She’s very, very sick. If we see that the cancer is already developing in Arlen’s central nervous system, I’d like to start her on a type of early CNS prophylaxis we’ve been developing here with good results.” “That’s the kind not covered by our insurance?” “That’s right. If you’re able to pay for the treatments out of pocket, we can start immediately. Otherwise, we would need to wait until we see the results of the conventional chemo before being able to move on to more extreme treatments.” She took a breath, waiting as if to see what my reaction was before continuing. “Let me be clear. This is the worst case scenario, but all signs point to the likelihood that Arlen’s cancer has spread farther than we’d like.” Worst case scenario. Here, I’d thought cancer was the worst case scenario. And now the doctor was saying that it was even worse than we’d thought. “I’d like to have a plan in place just in case we need to start treatment right away, since the initial results indicate it might be necessary.” “How much do we need to pay if… if she needs what you say she might need?” “The initial CNS treatments would require upfront payment of around forty thousand.” “Forty thousand dollars?” My brain went into a whirl. Our savings wouldn’t come close to covering it. Even taking out all of my retirement savings wouldn’t be enough. Even if I sold every damn thing we owned, it wouldn’t be enough. The doctor was still talking. “The full course would depend on how she responds to treatment, but the first round usually ends up costing six figures within the first year of treatment.” I shook my head. “That’s… that’s a lot.” The doctor looked at me sympathetically. “We don’t know what the results are yet,” she said. “And Arlen might end up not needing the radical treatments at all. If you can’t afford them—” “I’ll figure something out,” I said. “Yes. Plan on doing…whatever it is you’ll need to do. I’ll find the money.” “You’re sure?” I didn’t pause. “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”

Chapter Thirty-Four “Clarence, I need to talk to you.” My boss was on the phone. He held up one hand in an impatient gesture. “Not now, Lisa.” Anger boiled through my veins. I stepped into his office. So many times he’d waved me off carelessly. And I’d scurried around doing whatever he wanted. Now, though, his nonchalant demeanor frustrated me to rage. “It’s important,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Lisa, I said—” I reached over and plucked the phone from his ear, hanging up. His jaw dropped, and he looked up at me in astonishment. “Do you know who that was?” “Could be the duchess of Burgundy for all I care—” “That was the head of Vivanelle advertising. Our main advertiser—” “I said, I don’t care!” Clarence’s mouth snapped shut. “I need to talk to you,” I said carefully. “Where were you last night?” he asked. “I told you to come straight here. There was an empty column we had to fill with an astrology reprint. I can’t tell you how many people are going to complain that their horoscope was the same as last month—” “I was in the hospital,” I said, interrupting his rant. “Ask me what I was doing there.” Clarence leaned back in his chair, both hands flat on his desk. “Are you sick? You don’t look sick.” “My sister’s kid has cancer,” I said. I meant to say it firmly, but my mouth choked on the last word. “I’m sorry,” Clarence said, in a clipped tone. “Condolences. I’ll tell HR to change your absence to sick leave for yesterday.” “I need to take a few days off to help my sister.” “You can’t—” “And I need an advance on my salary.” “An advance?!” Clarence burst out with a single laugh. “Lisa, I can’t—” “An advance of forty thousand dollars.” Clarence swallowed, then clasped his hands together on his desk. He stared down at his fingers for a moment. I waited to see what he would say. “You can’t be serious,” he said finally. “Lisa, you just can’t be serious.” “I am.” “Don’t you have insurance?” “It doesn’t pay for what we need.” Clarence was shaking his head already, and my whole body was trembling with the injustice of it all. “It’s impossible, Lisa,” he said. “It’s not—” “Clarence.” I leaned forward over his desk so that we were face to face. “I spent the last five years working my ass off for this stupid magazine.” “Lisa—”

“I worked unpaid overtime every day. I answered emails every weekend. I have not taken a vacation for three years because I’ve been working for this magazine. Every emergency you came up with, I fixed. I fixed everything. I did everything you asked me to do whenever you needed help. And now I’m asking you. Because I need help.” I felt wetness on my cheeks and realized that tears were leaking from my eyes. “Tell me you can do this for me, Clarence.” I paused. All of my breath was gone. My hands were trembling, even pressed against Clarence’s desk. A tension strung through my nerves, as though a single pluck would shatter me with vibration. “Lisa, I can’t.” “You mean you won’t.” “I can give you a months’ advance—” “It’s not enough.” “That’s all I can—” “It’s not enough!” I slammed my hand down on his desk. His phone cracked under my palm, the screen spiderwebbed with white splintered plastic. “Lisa, stop it!” He stood up, his brows knitting together. “Stop it.” I knew that face. It was the face he made before dismissing me. Before telling me to get out of his office. Rage boiled through me as he continued to talk, that smarmy condescending tone seething through my ears. “I know you’re going through some tough times, but I can’t help you with this right now.” “Fine,” I said. “I quit.” Clarence’s face went slack with shock. “You—you—” “I quit,” I repeated. If it had been any other day, I would have been thrilled to see the stupid blank expression on his face. I would have exulted and walked out the door with my head held high. But not today. Today, I just felt defeated. One of my options—what I’d thought was the best option—was closed to me. I turned to leave. “I don’t think that’s wise,” Clarence said. “I think you’re making a hasty decision here. An emotional decision. I think—” I turned around in his doorway. “Clarence, when I start giving a shit about what you think, I’ll give you a call.” As I left, I saw Jessica standing in her cubicle. A smile spread across her perfectly made-up face. “Lisa, you’re back!” “Not exactly,” I said, holding up my hand. “I just quit.” “Quit?!” “I’ll talk to you later, Jess.” “Lisa!” Clarence’s voice carried out into the hallway as I marched toward the exit. “You can’t do this, Lisa—” But I could, and I was going to. A paycheck wasn’t going to help me now. I had to go for broke.

Back at the penthouse, I unpacked my half-packed bag. There was nobody else in the apartment. I wondered where they had gone. I didn’t want to miss a contest. This was my last shot at being able to pay for Arlen’s treatment. I would make it happen. No matter what I had to do, I would make it happen. I was dialing Piers’ number just as the elevator doors opened and he walked into the living room. The camera crew was trailing behind him.

“Lisa, you’re here!” he said. “Good. We can do your goodbye interview.” “I can’t leave,” I said. He stopped, looking confused. “What do you mean?” he said. “I quit my job so I could stay for the final round. I realized that I need to stay here, Piers,” I said, my words rushing out. I didn’t know how to tell him in front of the cameras. “I can’t give up now that I’m so close to the end. I have to stick it out. I have to win!” Piers had a strange expression on his face. “Sit down,” he said, sinking down onto the couch. The camera guys circled around us. “You—you quit your job?” “They didn’t want me to stay in the competition,” I said. “So I quit instead.” “But—” “Piers, I know I said I didn’t want to stay in the contest, but I do! I really, really want to stay. I need to stay.” Piers wet his lips. He looked uncertain. I couldn’t tell him the real reason I needed to stay with all of the cameras around, though. I would have to tell him later. My eyes searched his, begging him to understand what I was doing. “Lisa,” he said finally. “You can’t stay.” “I can, though!” I said, insistently. “I quit my job and everything.” “No, I mean you can’t stay. You’ve lost.” “Lost?” For a moment, I wasn’t sure what he meant. The word went spiraling through my brain, bouncing around and coming right out of my mouth. Lost? Of course I hadn’t lost. I wasn’t leaving. I was staying in for the final round. But as I looked into his eyes, the words started to sink in. “The photoshoot contest,” he said, his voice speaking carefully. Calmly. “We just taped the judging.” The judging. That’s where everyone was. Realization shocked me into wordlessness. Piers put his hand on my knee, but I barely felt his touch. “You lost that contest,” he said, his voice growing soft as the roar in my ears picked up. “Lisa, you’ve been eliminated.”

Chapter Thirty-Five Lost. Lost. Eliminated. “I can’t lose,” I sputtered. “Piers. I can’t—” “The judging is already over,” he said, his voice turning firm even through his face was sympathetic. His voice turning into that fake persona of Piers that I hated more than ever now. I needed him to be real, and he was so far away I couldn’t even see him in the room. “But I need to win. I can’t be kicked off now. I need—” He shrugged helplessly. I turned to the cameras. The steady red light, the shiny glass lens. Everything seemed too overwhelming. I couldn’t think. “Tell them to get out,” I said. “I can’t—” “Lisa—” “Please, Piers.” There were tears in my eyes. “Please. There’s got to be some way for me to stay in.” He looked uncertainly at me. His confusion was apparent, and I could understand why. The last time we’d been together, I’d told him I was leaving for good. And now here I was, my hat in my hand, begging him for another chance. “Lisa, I’m sorry.” Everybody was sorry. Everybody around me was sorry, and nobody would help. I struggled to breathe. “I can’t—I can’t—” “Let’s do the elimination interview, okay?” he said gently. “Let’s finish that out first. Once you’re done—” “Piers, tell the cameras to leave. I need to talk to you.” He shook his head, and I saw something in his green-blue eyes that I didn’t quite understand. “The producers are watching, Lisa,” he said, each word careful. “We have to do the elimination interview.” So he wasn’t going to be able to help me. Nobody would help. He was being watched by eyes above him, and he couldn’t get out of line. My gaze darted up to the cameras in the ceiling. Were they watching even now? I swallowed the protests in my throat. I was out. That was the end of it. “Elimination interview?” I asked. “It’s only a few questions.” “Sure.” My voice was a whisper. “Okay,” he said, getting back into his fake persona. He sat stiffly on the couch next to me. I wanted to reach out, wanted him to give me comfort. But if I did that, it would risk his job. So I sat there, alone and miserable, with the man I loved sitting a foot away. It could have been a mile. “So, Lisa, how do you feel after being eliminated?” I shook my head. My heart was clenching in my chest, but for an entirely different reason. “I don’t—I still don’t understand it.” “The photoshoot was a difficult contest.” “No. I mean I don’t understand this. All of this. Cameras and contests. I don’t understand how this is supposed to help a billionaire find someone to date.” All of this was a stupid ruse. A way to get TV

ratings, nothing else. It didn’t help Dylan. Didn’t help the contestants. Didn’t help anyone but the TV producers. “You came on this show to do these contests—” “You can’t choose the person you want to be with the rest of your life based on a photoshoot!” I said, my voice rising. “It’s ridiculous! All of this is ridiculous!” “I know you cared about this competition a lot,” Piers said. “But I didn’t! I didn’t care about this competition. I’m only here because I need—” I broke off mid-sentence. All of the tears that I’d been holding back came streaming out in a wave of sobs. What did I need? I needed Arlen to get better. I needed to win this contest so that I could help my sister. And it wasn’t going to happen. I buried my face in my hands, unable to stop the sobs that wrenched from my chest. “I need—I need—” Piers had frozen into an expression of uncertainty. He had no idea what was going on, why I was crying so hard on this stupid couch during this stupid elimination interview. I was sure every single other contestant had broken down into tears at the thought of losing Dylan. Did he think I was pretending? “It’s okay,” he said. He handed me a box of tissues and touched my shoulder. His hand was warm and firm, and I wanted to collapse into him, to make him take away my pain however he could. But I couldn’t even ask him for that. “It’s not okay!” I wiped away my tears and glared up at the cameras behind him. “It’s not okay. I needed that money.” “Money?” Piers gave a surprised glance up to the cameras. “Yes, money,” I said, trying to catch my breath between sobs. “You know, the reason all of these girls came here in the first place? Because Dylan has a ton of money. My sister’s kid—Piers, she’s sick. She has cancer. I need money to pay for her treatments. And I can’t—I quit my job so I could—but then I can’t even win this contest. I’m not pretty enough, I can’t do a fucking photoshoot. And it’s all my fault, and if I can’t pay for it—” I stopped before saying it: She’ll die. Piers stared at me, his lips parted. He looked shocked, truly shocked. “Piers, please,” I said. Desperation choked my throat, and my face was hot with tears. “If there’s any way to get back in. If I could talk to Dylan, please—” “This interview is over.” Both Piers and I snapped our heads up. There was a woman standing in the doorway. She had a sleek black dress on, her black hair tied back in a bun. It was one of the producers. “Thank you, Mr. Letocci,” the woman said. “That’ll be enough.” “We weren’t finished,” Piers said, standing up. “You’re finished now.” “But—” I started. The woman snapped her fingers. Two security guards came forward from the hallway. “Escort the contestant off the premises,” she ordered. “Mr. Letocci, the other two producers would like to see you back in the studio for editing.” To my surprise, Piers paused for only a second before nodding. He stepped away from me. As I watched him go, I felt all of my hopes being ripped away. He wasn’t going to help, not at all. I watched as the camera crew followed him into the elevator. “Piers,” I called after him. “Piers, wait! Make them stop!” The security guards closed their hands over my shoulders in a viselike grip.

“Piers!” I shouted. The doors closed on his impassive face. It was over.

Chapter Thirty-Six I didn’t cry when Piers left. I didn’t cry when the security guards escorted me down and out of the building. My tears had already been spent on other sorrows. And all that was left was a dull, aching pain in my gut, eclipsed by the growing fear that I wasn’t going to be able to do what I’d said I was going to do. I walked through the streets of New York City aimlessly, my bag slung over my shoulder. The crowds of people walking around me seemed to move in fast-forward. They all walked with intention, their eyes focused ahead of them to some determined purpose. I wanted to stop them and shake them by the shoulders. Slow down! I would say. What is it that you think matters so much? A bum held out a plastic cup to the tourists ahead of me. The lady moved away quickly, but the man dug in his pockets and came up with a handful of change. The muted jangle of coins in the plastic cup echoed in my ears as I walked past. I needed help, too. Suddenly I had the image in my head of me sitting down on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign: Need forty thousand dollars by tomorrow. An insane laugh bubbled to my lips. I stopped, leaned against the nearest building. My cheeks were wet, but I hadn’t noticed when I’d started crying again. Maybe my tears weren’t spent after all. Maybe I would cry forever, cry until I died of dehydration. A woman pushed past me, jostling my bag from my shoulder. She didn’t even turn to look at me. “Slow down,” I whispered. Slow down. A little girl is sick. What matters more than that?

It was late by the time I got back to the hospital. Emma and Arlen were already asleep. Arlen had an IV hooked up to her arm and there were monitors all behind her bed. Her whole midsection was wrapped up in a bandage. Poor girl. I sat down next to the hospital bed. There were bouquets of flowers lined up on the table, probably from Emma’s friends. I hoped they’d been by to keep her company. Emma’s eyelids fluttered open when I put my bag down. “Hey, lamebutt,” she whispered, stifling a yawn. “Hey, dorkface. How is everything?” “It’s alright.” Emma blinked and wiped the sleepiness from her eyes. She sat up slowly, cradling Arlen gently so as not to wake her. “Do you need anything? I brought chocolate pudding.” “I need chocolate pudding.” “Well, I brought it for Arlen, but…” “Lisa, don’t you even tease me about chocolate pudding.” I smiled weakly. “Okay. There’s probably enough for both of you.” I took out the pudding cup and ripped it open. Emma tried to get her arm out from under Arlen, but Arlen whimpered and squirmed. “Hold up,” I said. “Don’t wake her up.” “I can’t get my arm out—”

“Wait.” I held out a spoon of pudding in front of Emma’s face. “Are you feeding me?” She laughed a bit. “Now I know how Arlen feels.” “Do you want pudding or not? Here comes the airplane.” Her laugh was stifled by a mouthful of pudding. “Oh, that’s heavenly,” she said, leaning back in the hospital bed. “Mmmm. Can you go ahead and hook that up intravenously?” “You want to mainline your chocolate pudding? Junkie.” “Absolutely. Give me another spoon of that.” “Nah, this spoonful is for me.” “You jerk!” “It’s the pudding tax. One for you, one for me. Or do I have to teach you about sharing, too?” Emma grinned, her bottom lip smeared with chocolate. We ate the pudding spoon by spoon. In the background, Arlen’s monitor emitted a steady whir. Every once in a while, something would beep softly. “So what is all this?” I asked, gesturing with the spoon. “They had her under anesthetic for the spinal tap,” Emma said. She looked down and brushed a lock of Arlen’s hair away from her face. “So they hooked her up to all these machines for the procedure.” “Did the doctors find anything else out?” “They got some of the blood tests back, so they know what kind of cells are in there. And they’re going to start chemo first thing tomorrow.” Emma’s lip quivered, and she bit down on it, looking away. I put down the empty pudding cup and reached out to her for a sideways hug. “It’ll be alright,” I said, not knowing how. “Arlen’s a strong kid.” “I don’t know… I don’t know why this happened.” “Me either,” I said helplessly. “There’s no reason.” “I just think… if there was something I had done earlier. If I had pushed for another doctor to see her the first time she was sick—” “You didn’t know. None of us did. Not even the doctors.” A slow tear made its way down Emma’s cheek. I wiped it away with a tissue. “It’s no use,” Emma said. “I’ve cried so much my cheeks are going to prune anyway.” She looked up at me. “How did Mom handle it all by herself?” I sat back in the chair. We didn’t talk much about Mom anymore. Emma had gotten into a fight with her about Joey when they’d started dating. My mom had told her that all men were trouble, and had forbidden her from seeing him. Of course, that only made Emma more desperate to prove her wrong. And when she’d gotten pregnant while still in high school, the fallout was vicious. By that time, I was in college and couldn’t be the peacekeeper anymore at home. Emma and Mom were at each other’s throats. Emma had moved in with Joey the week she turned eighteen. A month later, Mom died of a heart attack. And four months after that, Emma had Arlen—and Joey disappeared. It had taken almost a year to find him and get the lawyers to make him pay child support. “She did the best she could,” I said finally. “Just like we’re doing.” We’ll be her parents. That’s what I’d said. Only, it was harder to be a parent than I thought. My lips pressed together. “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for—” “Yes, I do. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. If it hadn’t been for me getting knocked up, you would have finished college.”

“Don’t—hey. Hey.” She was sniffling, her hand pressed up against her mouth to make the sobs come out quietly. Arlen wiggled on her lap. “Emma, don’t blame yourself for any of it. I decided to drop out, okay? And I’ll go back to school eventually, anyway.” I considered telling her that it might be sooner rather than later. Now that I’d quit my job at Moi, I didn’t know what I was going to do. “I’ve just made so many mistakes.” “You made one mistake, and his name was Joey.” She smiled at that through her tears. “And you were a kid,” I continued. “Everybody makes mistakes, especially kids.” “But I wasn’t the one who paid for it. You had to deal with all of my mistakes. It’s all my fault.” “No, it’s not. And no matter what mistakes you made, look at us. We have Arlen and she’s wonderful. And I wouldn’t give the two of you up for anything.” She looked up at me, her eyes red with tears, her face still young and beautiful under all the hurt. “Lisa, you’re the only family we have. I don’t deserve you.” My face went hot. “Em, I have to tell you something.” “Hmm?” “I couldn’t—the doctor said we might have to pay for special treatments, and I couldn’t get the money.” The words splashed out of me in a torrent of guilt. “I asked my boss, but he wouldn’t give me any advance pay, and I went back to the show but it wasn’t—I didn’t win, Em. I got kicked off. And there’s not enough money saved up, and I’ll try to get a loan but I don’t—I don’t—” “Shhh. Shhh.” Emma wiggled her fingers from under Arlen, and I reached out to hold her hand. Tears streamed down my cheeks as she gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry. I tried—” “Shhh. Lisa.” Emma raised her eyebrows at me. “Lisa. Hey, lamebutt. Listen to me.” I bit my lip hard. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears. “Lisa, you don’t have to do everything. You can’t protect us from everything.” “But—” “You’re doing the best you can. Aren’t you?” I looked down at my little sister in the hospital bed, her sick baby on her lap. And here she was, holding my hand and comforting me. I nodded, my head bowed, and held back my tears. Inside my mind, though, I couldn’t stop the thought whirling around in my head since I arrived at the hospital: What if my best isn’t enough?

Chapter Thirty-Seven Another day passed in the hospital. Between going out on pudding runs and visiting Mac, I was busy every minute of the day. We were still waiting to see if Arlen needed the special treatments. I couldn’t afford them yet, but I applied for every loan I could online. I set up a donation website, and throughout the day Emma watched as donations trickled in. It wasn’t looking great, but it was something. I stopped by the community college and applied for classes to start immediately. Not that I was going back to college, but I thought that I might get approved for some student loans. I didn’t know if it would work, but I was going to try anything that could possibly have a chance. I even texted Piers, begging him to call me. But after the way he’d left me, I wasn’t expecting anything. I was the same as all the other girls that flirted with him, only I was after his fortune rather than his fame. How stupid. I’d fallen asleep in the chair outside the hospital room that evening, my laptop on my knees. “Lisa?” “Lisa, wake up.” “Yo. Lisa.” I opened my eyes. There was a face inches away from mine. “Ah!” I yelped, jumping backwards in the chair. My laptop fell from my lap, and Dylan caught it. “Dylan?” It was Dylan. Wide-eyed and staring down at me, an expectant expression on his face. “Wha—what are you doing here?” “Come with me and I’ll tell you,” he said. I glanced back at the hospital room. “I don’t—what do you want, Dylan?” “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll want to see this.”

I gripped the sides of my seat as Dylan wheeled around a corner, the engine of his Ferrari zooming. “Piers told me about what happened with your niece.” “He—he told you?” “He sent me the video of your last interview. I had no idea, Lisa! I’m sorry I went after you like that. I bet you didn’t even want to kiss me.” Dylan sighed, and I saw the same expression that he’d had before, when talking with me about his fame. “Dylan, it’s not like that. I mean, I was starting to like you—I wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I didn’t like you. I think you’re a wonderful, funny guy.” “Really?” Dylan grinned, a shy blush coming onto his cheeks. The guy was adorable, I’d give him that. Even if he wasn’t my cup of tea, he would make a great boyfriend to someone. “But it’s true, that’s not why I came on the show,” I said, more seriously. “I wanted to win so that I could get the money. It should be me apologizing to you.” Dylan shrugged. “Piers told me that’s what would happen. He didn’t think I’d find anyone worth dating on the show. I kind of did it as a favor to him.” “A favor?”

“Yeah, well, he helped me out when I first came to New York and started working on my dad’s business. I kind of went crazy with spending money. At first, that is.” I blinked. Apparently he didn’t think Ferraris and fighter jets were being crazy with money. I wondered what he thought was crazy. “And I was dating all these different girls at once, and it was like, none of them even cared. Or, they said they didn’t care. And I was going out to clubs and getting drunk and hooking up with anyone I thought was cute. I mean, I thought that’s what you did when you were rich.” He frowned, his fingers gripping the wheel. “And I was getting bad, like, blackout drunk. When I met Piers out at a red carpet event thing, I thought it was so awesome that all these hot girls would fall over themselves trying to get our attention. Like, famous girls, singers and models and shit. I bought them all drinks, and Piers came over to my table. I was such a big shot, right, like freaking Piers Letocci coming over to my table!” His eyes glowed, and I realized that he must think of Piers as a role model. I chuckled lightly. Piers as a role model? God forbid. “He asked me—I remember, because I was getting way too drunk and flirting with all the girls— he asked me what I was trying to accomplish. I didn’t know what he meant.” Dylan bit his lip, staring out the windshield intently. “He said, None of these girls really care about you. And I started to argue with him, like, because they were all trying to get with me. But he just looked at me, and he said, They want the money. They want the suit. They want the fame. But they don’t give a shit about you. Don’t waste your life on people who don’t care about you.” Dylan looked over at me, as though to see if I was going to laugh at him. I waited for him to continue. “And I asked him how I could find a girl that really cared about me. I was joking, right, because I was drunk and I didn’t really know what he was talking about. And he told me that the only way would be if the girl didn’t know who I was. Stay inside. Don’t get famous, he said. Because if they know your face, it’s already over. You’ll never find anyone who will truly love you.” I swallowed hard, remembering the first night I’d met Piers. The man in the mask. I’d wondered why he had hidden his face. I’d wondered why he was so reluctant to show me. And I remembered the shock in his face when I hadn’t recognized who he was. “So it hit me that if someone like Piers Letocci says that, I oughta listen. Because I always thought that I wanted to be like him.” We pulled up to the curb outside of a building that said Marquis Theater. “This is it,” Dylan said, hopping out of the car. He opened my door for me and I stepped out, trying to make sense of what he had told me. “Why did you agree to do this show, then?” I asked, as we walked up the steps to the theater. “Why did he even ask you to come on TV?” Dylan flushed. “Well, he needed a billionaire. And I’m going to go over to London soon to open up a new branch of the company. Piers said that nobody watches his stuff in England.” I stopped at the side of the building. The sign above our heads said Main Stage Entrance. “Wait, what? He’s British, isn’t he?” “Yeah, well, I guess they think American TV is stupid. And lots of people there see him as a sellout. Anyway, his ratings are awful over there.” “Huh.” “So I thought, why not?” “Why not.”

“Why not,” Dylan agreed. “Hey, can I ask you something?” “Sure,” I said, as he opened the side entrance door for me. “What’s up?” “It’s about Kate.” I looked over at Dylan, raising one eyebrow. “Is she in it for the money?” “Oh, Dylan—” “Because you said in the interview that all the girls were here for the money. And the only one I really had a thing for was Kate. But I don’t want to get my hopes up, you know, in case…” He trailed off. “I don’t know for sure,” I said, hesitant to say anything that might turn out badly for him. I hoped that Kate wouldn’t choose the money over him, but I wasn’t sure. “She’s pretty crazy for you. That’s what she told me.” “Awesome!” Dylan grinned broadly. We walked through a dark hallway. A murmur of voices grew louder and louder as we headed down the hall. Stage technicians dressed in black hurried around us. “Where are you taking me, anyway?” I asked. “It’s a surprise,” Dylan said. “Piers planned it all out.” “A surprise?” The hallway opened up, and I realized we were in the back of a large stage. Dark black curtains hung down in parallel drapes, and wires snaked across the floor. The voices I’d been hearing were now a loud hubbub. As we walked to the edge of the stage, I could glimpse the audience, a thousand dim faces past the edge of the stage. I knitted my brows together. I had way too much to deal with right now to think of anything besides Arlen and Emma. But something in my heart nudged me forward. If there was any chance… “Hey. I’ll talk to you later,” Dylan said, pushing me down in a chair just off the side of the stage. “You stay right here, okay? Piers doesn’t know I brought you here.” “He doesn’t know?” “Shh. It’s going to start!” Dylan bounded onto the stage. I peered around the edge of the curtain. Kate and Mia were both sitting at the other end of the stage, and Piers was standing in front of a microphone, doing a sound check. The audience erupted into cheers when Dylan raised his hand and waved to them. “Well, look who decided to waltz in at the last minute,” Piers said. “It’s Dylan Chase!” The screams of the audience rose to a deafening roar. “Alright, looks like we’re ready to start,” Piers said. I recognized the smooth voice of his stage persona. “Are you ready, Dylan?” “Sure thing!” Dylan pumped his fist in the air. “Let’s get this show started!” “Welcome to the last and final competition for The Billionaire Dating Game,” Piers said. “We’re so glad that you all could join us, and I hope you’ve all been following along at home. If you have, you’ll know that these are the last two competitors in the show. First: Mia Firenze, the beautiful model who rocked our last photoshoot!” Mia stood up and waved. A cheer went up from the front row of the audience. “And Kate Penrose, the waitress who charmed Dylan with a Batman-inspired dress in a previous contest!” I might have been biased, but there was no denying it: the cheers for Kate were more than twice as loud as the ones for Mia. I clapped loudly and let out a wolf whistle. Piers turned to the side to see where the noise had come from, his dark eyebrow arched. I pulled the curtain in front of me, ducking away from his sight. When I looked back around, he was back at the microphone with Dylan next to him. “For our last episode, we’re doing a live taping,” Piers said. “And this episode is all about what

it means to be a billionaire.” “Part of being a billionaire is charity,” Dylan said. “As Spiderman might say, With great power comes great responsibility. And that includes the power of money.” “Lisa Forrester was eliminated from the competition in the last round,” Piers chimed in. “And in the elimination interview, she admitted the real reason she had joined The Billionaire Dating Game.” My tearful face came up on the screen behind the stage. “My sister’s kid—Piers, she’s sick. She has cancer. I need money to pay for her treatments.” I pressed my hands to my face in shock. What were they doing, showing this? “Having money isn’t all about using it to buy fancy cars,” Dylan said. “Although fancy cars are pretty awesome. What’s more awesome, though, is being able to help people.” No. It couldn’t be. Was it? “Tonight,” Piers chimed in, “we’re going to be doing a fundraiser drive to cover the medical costs for Lisa Forrester’s niece Arlen, who has just been diagnosed with leukemia.” The crowd hushed, and a sob rose in my throat. This was what Piers had planned? I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to jump up and scream. I wanted to run on stage and give him a hug. But I sat frozen, completely in shock. “Reality TV isn’t always important,” Piers said, and he had dropped the glib persona. He was speaking as a real person, as the person I knew and loved. “Sometimes it’s meaningless.” He paused, looking out into the audience. “But not tonight. If you’re out there watching, stay tuned. Because right now, we’re going to make The Billionaire Dating Game something much more than just a reality TV show.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight “Kate and Mia will be taking turns up here on stage to ask our viewers to donate, and we’ll track the donations as they come in. Any extra will be donated to cancer research in Arlen’s name.” My hands held my head tightly, as though if I let go I might explode outward. As Mia stepped up to the front of the stage and began to speak, I couldn’t help but look at Piers standing calmly next to Dylan, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “…and so I want to start off by saying that any donation you send in right now will be matched one hundred percent by an anonymous donor I recruited to help us with this charity,” Mia was saying. “So call or text and make a donation to Love for Arlen - your gift will be doubled if you call in right now!” Piers whispered something to Dylan, and Dylan shrugged, shaking his head. An anonymous donor? I wondered who it would be that would donate to a child they didn’t even know. It was then that I noticed the donation tally pop up on the screen at the back of the stage. It was a huge counter, and it was already well into the hundreds of dollars. I watched, agog, as the numbers spun upwards in bursts of activity. Two thousand, then three thousand, then four thousand. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Mia was doing a dramatic reading of a poem about cancer survivors now at the front of the stage. I had to admit, she was really good at getting the crowd worked up. As I peered into the audience, I could see some people crying, and lots of them were on their phones—I didn’t know if it was them making the donation counter rise, but it didn’t matter. She was getting results. I watched the counter spin up and up. Thirteen thousand, fourteen thousand. I’d hated Mia before. I’d thought she was a horrible person, a catty bitch. But I couldn’t even be a little bit mad at her now. She was throwing herself into her performance, and whether she was doing it just to get Dylan or to help Arlen, it was working. She read through an article about childhood cancer, and how hard it was to treat certain kinds. Every other paragraph, she would remind people of the number to call in. She had assistants going down into the audience with baskets to collect cash donations. And the donations just kept coming. Seventeen thousand. Eighteen thousand. When she finally finished, the donation tally paused at the total: Thirty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars. “Thank you, Mia,” Piers said. “That was an impressive total.” “It’s doubled,” Mia said earnestly. “My—the anonymous donor will double it, remember?” “Can we get that tally doubled?” Piers called out. He only had to wait a second before Mia’s donation tally was updated on the screen. Sixty-four thousand… the rest of the number blurred in my vision. It was enough. Even with just Mia’s donations, it was enough. We could do the treatments. I could have kissed her right there on stage. “Thank you, Mia. And now, Kate, you have the stage and you’re the one running the charity. Your time starts… now!” Kate walked up to the microphone. Before she even got there, her donation tally had jumped up to over five thousand. Apparently a lot of people had been waiting to call in for their favorite contestant. My heart soared, not just at the money but at the thought that Kate might actually win this challenge, despite Mia’s anonymous donor. “Thank you,” Kate said. She took a deep breath, and I could tell she was nervous, looking down at a slip of paper in her hands. “Cancer is something that affects us all, and I was very sad to learn that Lisa’s niece was diagnosed with leukemia. Right now, I’d like to take a moment to remember all of our friends and family who have been affected by this awful disease, whether they are here today or no longer

with us. Let’s think of them.” She paused and bowed her head. The entire theater went silent, completely silent. And for a moment, all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding. I thought of Arlen, adorable Arlen, waving her arms in the air and hiding under the coat racks when we went shopping. Tears slid down my cheeks. I wouldn’t know what to do without Arlen. It terrified me to think about coming home to an apartment that wasn’t covered in applesauce and crayons. She and Emma were the only family I had. I sat there in the darkness and the silence, and my fear came out in sobs, choking my throat. I didn’t hold them back anymore. “Now,” Kate was saying, “I want all of you to message someone you know, someone who might want to help a little girl who needs help now more than ever. And if you haven’t donated already, please pick up your phone and give anything. A dollar, if you can. If all of you just gave a dollar, it would be enough, I know it would. It could be the most important dollar you ever give away.” I couldn’t see through my tears anymore. “There’s something else,” I heard Kate say. “I know that this competition is about fundraising for a charity. And so far we’ve got a lot of donations. You’re all so amazing!” A burst of applause and cheering came ringing through my ears. “But for the last few minutes here, there’s something else I’m going to ask you to do. Because I talked with someone who works with leukemia patients, and there’s something they need even more than money. And that’s the promise of a lifesaving bone marrow transplant.” Again, I could see people moving through the audience. This time, though, they weren’t carrying baskets for donations. They were carrying— “I’m asking all of you in the audience, if you’re willing, to get tested as a bone marrow donor. Right now, the only thing you need to do is swab a little Q-tip in your cheek. We have assistants coming around with the swabs and the sheet of information to fill out. And if you’re a match with Arlen, or with another cancer patient, we’ll let you know—and you might just be able to save someone’s life.” An assistant came up to Kate on stage. “I’m going to get tested right now,” Kate continued. “So you can all see how easy it is. And everybody at home, you can get tested too—just go online to BeTheMatch.org and they’ll send you a kit to see if you’re a match for someone who needs it.” She stepped away from the microphone. I glanced up, and my heart twisted in my chest. The donation tally was up over fifty thousand. I couldn’t wait to tell Emma about it. But Piers was talking again, and my attention went back to the competition. That’s right. This was still a dating game. I had almost forgotten. “And that’s the final tally!” Piers said. “We’ll continue to accept donations for Arlen, so keep them coming. Right now, though, it looks like the winner of the charity competition is… Mia Firenze!” The audience clapped, and Mia was jumping up and down. I wiped the tears from my eyes and stood up shakily, my mind suddenly reeling. Was she really the winner? The final winner? How could Dylan let this happen? He didn’t want to date her! “As the winner of the Billionaire Dating Game, you can choose to leave with your billionaire…or take the money and run,” Piers said, sliding back into his TV host voice. “If you decide to leave, you’ll get a hundred thousand dollars.” Kate smiled a trembling smile and gave Mia a congratulatory hug. No! I wanted to shout. This isn’t right! Mia didn’t need the money. Kate did. And Kate was a better match for Dylan anyway! What the hell was going on? “This is your moment to decide,” Piers said. “Take the money… or take the billionaire?” “Thank you, Piers,” Mia said, stepping forward to the microphone. “That’s a hard choice.”

She cleared her throat, and looked out into the audience. “But first, I have something to confess.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine “Confess?” Piers asked. He had a small hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and I realized that he knew more about this than he had let on. What was happening here? “Yes,” Mia said. “I have to take the money and leave. Dylan, I’m sorry. But my heart belongs to someone else.” A collective gasp came from the audience. Dylan, though, didn’t look surprised at all. “You see, my parents really want me to date a billionaire. They were the ones who pushed me to come on this show. And since I’ve been financially dependent on them, I’ve done whatever they told me to do. But not anymore.” A burst of noise came from behind me, backstage. I turned to see one of the producers pushing through the hallway, the woman with dark hair. A security guard was holding her back by the arm. “Let me go!” the woman cried out. “That ungrateful little bitch! Does she really think she can do this to me?” My jaw dropped as I realized that the producer was Mia’s mother. At the picnic, she’d been hidden under her hat and sunglasses, but now I recognized her. That’s how Mia had gotten onto the show. That’s how she had won immunity and gotten through all of those competitions. Mia’s mother had been pulling all the strings this whole time. “You can’t go on stage,” the security guard was saying. Another guard came to pull Mia’s mom back. She was right behind me. “This is my show!” she screamed. “This was all my idea!” Mia turned slightly, hearing the commotion offstage. “Mom? Is that my mom?” Piers looked over and saw me standing in the wings. “Lisa?” he said, dumbfounded. The producer yanked her arms out of the guards’ grip and shoved me onto the stage out of her way. I stumbled into the lights, and the producer marched by me, right up to Mia. Before I could escape back to the wings, Piers was across the stage and at my side. “Lisa!” he whispered. “What are you doing here?” “Dylan brought me here,” I replied. “He told me you were doing the charity. Piers—” His hands took mine, and I steadied myself in his blue-green gaze. The audience, though, wasn’t paying any attention to us. They were focused on the crazy woman who was screaming at Mia. “Mia!” she yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mia stood to face her mom. I could see even from across the stage that her legs were trembling. And I realized that she had done it all, everything, because her mother had wanted her to. Her fists clenched at her sides. “Mom, I don’t want to date a billionaire. I want to date Alex.” Her voice trembled. “Who’s Alex?” Dylan asked. “He’s a pizza boy!” her mom screamed at Dylan. “A goddamn pizza boy!” “I love him!” Mia screamed back. “And you can’t do anything about it now!” “I’ll take back your car,” Mia’s mom threatened, leaning forward and spitting the words. “All your credit cards! Your shopping accounts!” “I don’t care!” Mia yelled. “Take it all back! I don’t want it anymore! I’m going to move in with

him, and we’re going to be happy!” Mia’s mom waved her hand in the air. “How do you think you can live on a measly hundred thousand dollars?!” The audience burst out laughing. Mia’s mom spun around, her dark hair whirling. “What?!” Mia was smiling now. She put her hands on her hips. “Mom,” she said. “We’ll manage.” Applause drowned out whatever Mia’s mom was screaming next. She threw her hands up and huffed offstage, shoving aside the security guard as she made her way out. “One second, Lisa,” Piers said, grinning at me. “I have to finish this up.” I nodded, smiling back as he squeezed my hand and turned back to the microphone. “Well,” Piers said, “that was certainly a surprise! And look here, another surprise! Lisa Forrester is here, back on the show for one last appearance!” I waved into the bright lights and the crowd noise swelled in my ears. “But wait! That’s not the last surprise. Mia, you said you were in love with someone else?” “That’s right,” Mia said. Piers gestured offstage. “Let’s bring out the lucky pizza boy now!” A gangly young man came out from the wings on the other side of the stage. Mia gasped and ran over to him, throwing her arms around him. “Alex!” She had a goofy grin on her face, and I couldn’t help but be happy for her. I had thought she was a terrible person this whole time, but I guess I had been taken in by reality TV after all. It wasn’t me who was the villain here, and it wasn’t Mia. “So,” Piers said, stepping up to the front of the stage. “It looks like Mia has decided to run off with the pizza boy. Sorry, Dylan.” “That’s alright,” Dylan said, grinning. He had known. They had both known about Mia. I was astonished that they had both hidden it from me the whole time. “Do I get a second chance now, Piers?” Dylan asked. “You sure do,” Piers said. “I’m guessing you’re going to choose the other contestant who’s left on The Billionaire Dating Game. Kate Penrose, step forward.” Kate moved shyly to the front of the stage, looking over at Dylan. “Before you ask Kate to date you, though,” Piers said, “there’s one last secret you should know about.” Dylan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He hadn’t expected this. And Kate…Kate looked like she wanted to melt into the floor with shame. “Piers—” I whispered, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. My chest clenched. Piers wouldn’t give away Kate’s secret, would he? He had promised— “Kate,” Piers said. “There’s something you haven’t been perfectly honest about with Dylan. Isn’t that right?” Kate flushed red, pushing her blonde hair back away from her face. “I—I don’t—” “You have to tell the truth here,” Piers said. “Relationships have to be based on trust, and you can’t have trust if there are secrets between you two. Isn’t that right?” Kate flashed a glance up to Dylan, who was waiting expectantly. “Kate?” he asked. “What haven’t you been telling me?” “We have him here, Kate,” Piers said.

Kate gasped. Dylan’s face dropped into sincere disappointment. “It’s another guy? You have a boyfriend too?” “No!” Kate cried out. “I… I…” “Dylan, we want you to meet Jacob!” Piers gestured to the other side of the stage. A stage hand came out, leading Jacob by the hand. He sucked his thumb shyly. When he saw Kate, he ran over to her and threw his arms around her leg. I couldn’t breathe as I watched Dylan’s reaction. His expression turned from disappointment to utter confusion. “Mama!” Jacob cried. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, ruffling his hair and hugging him to her side. “It’s okay. Don’t be nervous.” Dylan was staring at the kid like he had no idea what to make of anything. Kate looked up at him nervously. “I’m sorry, Dylan,” she said. “The rules said that you couldn’t have a kid, so I lied. I wanted to be on the show so badly. I’m sorry. I…I understand if you don’t want to date me anymore, after I lied to you. I just want you to know that I really, really like you. A lot. And no matter what, I think you’ll find a great girlfriend because you seem like such a great boyfriend.” She bit her lip and waited. “A kid?” Kate nodded. Dylan’s gaze swept over all of us on stage, landing on me. “Lisa, did you know about this?” Dylan asked. “Did you all know she was breaking the rules?” “Dylan, don’t make a hasty decision,” I said, putting all my emotion into my words. “Love isn’t about following rules. It’s about following your heart.” “So… I mean… You have a kid?” Dylan repeated. His mouth was open in shock. “His name is Jacob,” Kate said, turning her son around in introduction. “Jacob, this is Dylan.” There was a pause as Dylan looked down at the little boy standing between them. Then he knelt down. “Hi Jacob,” he said, holding out his hand. They shook hands seriously. “How old are you?” “Five!” Jacob said, holding out one hand with his fingers spread. “Huh. Five,” Dylan said, stroking his chin as though he was thinking intently about the answer. “I like your Batman T-shirt.” “Thank you,” Jacob said proudly. “Is he your favorite superhero?” Jacob nodded. Dylan’s hands pressed his knees as he stood up. “Well, if he likes Batman, I think we can work things out,” he said. A grin spread across his face and he held his arms out to Kate. “Whaddaya think, Kate? Still want to date a billionaire?” Kate beamed as Dylan swept her into a big kiss. The audience cheered loudly, and behind them, Piers was clapping. “I love you, Kate,” Dylan said. “I love you, Dylan,” Kate said. “YUCK!” Jacob said, making a face. “Kisses!” “Better get used to it, buddy,” Dylan said, tousling the kid’s hair. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna take a ride in my Batmobile?” “Batmobile!” The audience laughed, and when Dylan kissed Kate again, they erupted into a roar of applause. I clapped heartily. My heart swelled to see them together. They were two of the most kindhearted people

I’d ever met, and they truly deserved each other. My gaze went past Dylan and Kate, and landed on Piers, who was already looking intently at me. He moved across the stage, and my body twisted with desire as he came close, his eyes smoldering. “Follow your heart, huh, Lisa?” he asked, wryly sarcastic. “Sounds kind of hippy-dippy to me.” “Yeah, well,” I said. “I guess I’m turning into a romantic after all.” “So what does your heart say?” The applause was dying down in the audience, but I couldn’t wrench my eyes from Piers’ face. His persona was gone, and he was there, really there, with me. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?” “Lisa Forrester, do you want to date a reality TV host?” Piers asked, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “As long as I don’t have to beat out a dozen other girls for the privilege,” I said, teasing back. “You’ve already beat them all,” Piers said, and then his hands were on my waist and I was wrapping my arms around his neck. He pulled me into a kiss and from far away, I heard the shouts and cheers of a thousand screaming fans. The lights were on us, but I didn’t care. Because right then—his lips seizing mine with passionate desire, his arms clasping me close to his chest—it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

Chapter Forty Three months later A loud ring in my ears brought me out of my dream. I reached sleepily up for my cell phone, twisting the covers around myself. “Yes?” I mumbled. “Lisa? It’s Kate. Are you ready to go look at dresses?” “Mmm. That’s not until ten.” I glanced up at the window; it was barely light outside. “What time is it? It’s not ten.” “Well, I know. But I talked with Jessica, and she said that I should wake up three hours beforehand so that I wouldn’t be swelled up from sleeping. Did you know you swell up when you sleep?” “Um,” I said. “Uh, Kate. I don’t need to be awake now, though, do I?” “Well, but I thought we could go get coffee and chat and maybe brainstorm some ideas for flower arrangements. I have this great idea for calla lilies as bouquets, and—” “Okay, okay,” I said, squinting up at the ceiling. “I’ll meet you down at the Coffee Cat at nine.” “Nine? What about eight?” “What about nine-thirty?” “Alright! Nine it is!” Kate chirped. “See you and Jessica then!” I let the phone drop down to my chest. “Whose bright idea was it to let me help plan a wedding?” I groaned. Kate and Dylan had only been dating for a few months, but they were already inseparable. He’d proposed to her a month after the show, in a fighter jet, and she’d said yes without hesitation. Although they were planning a move to London next year, they wanted to have their dream wedding in New York… and I’d been wrangled into being part of the wedding planning. If it hadn’t been for me, Kate said, she would never have ended up with Dylan. I thought that they would have ended up together no matter what anyone threw between them. If any two people could have made me believe in soul mates, it was them. Piers’ arm came around me and pulled me into his chest, spooning his body around me. “You better not be leaving anytime soon,” he said, his lips pressing against the skin of my neck. “Kate needs me.” “I need you more.” “Oh yeah? Prove it, TV boy.” He pressed closer to me, and I felt him harden against my lower back. “How’s that for proof?” he murmured. “Mmmm. I’m not sure I believe you.” Piers’ head disappeared under the covers. I felt him slide down the bed, and I couldn’t help but giggle as he rolled me over onto my back. “Piers!” His hands pressed my hips into the bed as he buried his face into my crotch, nuzzling me through my panties. A slow curl of desire unraveled itself in my body, waking me up even more than the thin light coming in through Piers’ bedroom window. “Piers! Piers—ohh!” My lip caught between my teeth and I gasped as his tongue licked me through my panties, slow and hard. Then he pulled away, and I arched up, the curl of desire a sudden ache.

“Oh!” His hands pushed my hips back down, pinning me to the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled from under the covers. “I’m distracting you. Don’t you have some wedding planning to be doing?” I yanked the covers off over his head. He grinned up at me from between my legs, his blue-green eyes twinkling with amusement. His hair was dark and tousled. “Don’t you dare stop,” I warned him. “Then you’d better be sure you can handle all this. Because if you tell me not to stop—” I bit my lip in a pouting expression. “Oh, you didn’t. Not the puppy dog face. Lisa, you know I can’t handle your puppy dog face.” I whimpered, still pouting. “Okay,” Piers said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Just remember you asked for it.” Before I could respond, he dove down, his fingers yanking down my panties mid-thigh. “Ahh!” His tongue slid down into me, where I was already wet and wanting. I moaned as his thumbs kneaded either side of my hips, his tongue moving slowly over my sensitive flesh in circles that teased me to the edge of ecstasy. I gripped my fingers into the silken sheets and tilted my head back into the down pillow, letting myself sink into sensation. Piers’ hands were strong and slow, possessive as they caressed my curves. His tongue thrust in and out, sliding over me in tantalizing, painstaking motions. “Piers—” I moaned. My body was awake now, afire with need. My hands scrabbled down over the sheets, trying to pull my body against his tongue to make the pressure grow. But with every movement of mine, he drew away at the last moment, teasing me and teasing me until I was ready to scream for relief. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he whispered. His breath cooled my flesh, sending shivers up through my spine. I gyrated on the bed, my hips pinned by his hard grip. “Piers—oh God, Piers—don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Please—” “Let me show you how much I need you,” he whispered. His mouth moved up, kissing my hip, before continuing up along my side. “Let me show you how much I want you, Lisa.” “Yes,” I said, guiding his thick length to my entrance. He was hot and stiff under my fingers, and I was already wet, so ready for him to be inside me. “Yes.” “Lisa?” Piers said. I opened my eyes. His face hovered above mine, his lips a few inches from my lips. “I want you to know how much you mean to me,” he said, his voice solemn. “Enough to stop teasing me and get on with it?” I tugged on his arm, arching up into his body. “See, this is why I love you.” “I love you t—ah!” I hissed a breath between my teeth as Piers thrust deep, filling me with his hardness. “What was that?” he asked teasingly. “I love—ohhhhh!” His mouth sucked on the skin at my neck, and I shivered with delight as he rolled his hips into me. “That. I love that. Do it again.” “Say please.” “Pretty please with a cherry on top. Ohh! Yes!” Piers rolled into me, sinking his stiff cock deep. I felt myself stretch and clench beneath him, and my legs wrapped around his hips. I didn’t want him to stop, that was true. I never wanted this to stop. My body rocked back and forth, urging him into a faster rhythm. “Oh, Lisa,” he moaned. His rock hard cock slid in and out, and his muscle tensed right there

against me, sending me up to the top of the crest. Inside, desire ripped through my nerves. I clawed at his back, wanting more. Needing more. “Piers—Piers—” I was there. I was almost there. His hips rolled into me, and I groaned with pleasure as I felt the warmth spool outward through my limbs. My every nerve was on fire with need. He rocked into me faster, and I clenched around his stiff cock, letting the orgasm ride up and begin to surge through me. “Marry me,” he whispered. “I—I—what?” My eyes opened wide as the words hit my ears, but I was already riding the wave of climax and it couldn’t be stopped. Piers’ blue-green eyes locked onto mine, his desire coloring his whole expression and sending me straight over the edge. And in my mind, the words shattered and swam: Marry me. “Ohhhhhhhhh!” White hot explosions wracked my body, sending fiery thrills of sensation through me. Piers moaned along with me, and I felt his orgasm hit at the same time. His cock went impossibly stiff, my core clenched and spasmed as the orgasm crashed down again and again, shuddering my whole self. I was unable to speak until I lay back, panting, my heart still pounding from what he had just done and said to me. “Piers—” I said breathlessly, the air in the room too hot. There was no oxygen in my lungs, but I had to talk to him. I had to know what he meant. “Piers—” “Lisa.” His hands cradled my face, his fingers brushing back my damp hair. He bent his head and kissed me softly, gently, only the whisper of a kiss. “Piers, did you—are you—what did you just ask me?” He smiled at me. “Are you going to give me an answer?” “Did you just ask me to marry you?” “Technically, I told you to marry me. Call me stubborn, but I don’t think I’ll take no for an answer.” He bent his head again for another kiss, but I pressed back on his chest with both hands. His skin was hot, and under my fingertips I could feel the beating of his heart. “Piers—” “Yes?” “Do you mean it?” He quirked a smile and planted his chin in one hand. With the other hand he pulled a ring out from under the cover. My mouth dropped open as he held the ring out to me. “I mean it more than anything,” he said, sliding the ring down onto my finger. “Oh…oh my gosh. Piers…” I stared down at my hand at the sparkling diamond. “I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting. Did you want a big proposal? A live TV screening of me going down on bended knee? I can round up the troops—” “No,” I said, laughing. “Please, no. This is perfect.” “Then what do you say, beautiful? Tell me you’re going to marry me.” “I’m going to marry you.” I couldn’t keep the giddy grin off of my face. Piers caressed my cheek with his hand, as though touching something so fragile it could shatter. I turned and kissed his fingertips, laughter bubbling up through my whole body. “Tell me you’ll spend the rest of your life with me,” he whispered. “And then some.” “Tell me you’ll love me forever and ever, even when I’m old and gray and have wrinkles on my dick.”

“I will love your old wrinkly dick forever,” I said through my laughter. “And what about you?” “Me?” “Will you love me even if I wear summer fashions in the fall and winter fashions in the spring?” “I will,” Piers said, his face solemn. “And will you love me even if I can’t walk down a catwalk properly?” “I will. Hell, I’ll carry you down the damn catwalk if you want me to.” “Will you set new records with me in every elevator we ride?” Piers grinned. “Now you’re talking. And I will bring you breakfast in bed on Saturdays, and send you flowers at home and at work—” “I work from home now, Piers—” “Then it’ll be twice as easy to do. And I’ll kiss you awake and asleep every single day we’re together.” I smiled up into the most beautiful blue-green eyes I’d ever known. “You are trying to turn me into a romantic, aren’t you?” I asked. “Yes. Is it working?” “I think you’re beginning to crack my cynical heart,” I said. “Tell me what kind of wedding you want, and it’s yours. An elaborate gala? A secret elopement?” “Something in the middle.” “Good. Think about it today when you’re planning out Kate’s wedding.” I shook my head in amazement. I was going to marry Piers. Piers Letocci. I laughed aloud. “I’ll be Mrs. Letocci,” I said, swinging my legs off the side of the bed and admiring the ring on my hand. “I think I like the sound of that.” “Don’t you let the fame get to your head,” Piers said, kissing me on my lower back. As I stood up, he gave my naked ass a swat for good measure. “Now get dressed or else I’ll have to ravish you again.” “Is that a promise?” I teased. In response he reached out, and I darted away out of his grasp laughing. When I came out of the bathroom, my toothbrush in my mouth, Piers had his laptop out in bed. “Your new column is out,” Piers said, in a singsong voice. “Don’t read it,” I warned, pulling out clothes from the dresser. It felt so strange to have my words read by someone I knew. And now that I had a regular column on the Women’s World website, I would get emails from friends and family who read my column every week. Not to mention Piers reading his favorite parts aloud from bed. “I’m reading it,” Piers said. “Don’t!” Piers chuckled and shielded his laptop from me. “Get dressed, future wife. I’m busy reading my favorite columnist.” I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed to put on my socks. “What I Learned from Dating a Billionaire,” Piers read. “Please don’t.” Inside, though, my stomach twisted into a knot of anticipation. I’d been working on that article for a long time now and Women’s World had put my column on the front page of their site. Freelance writing was more fun and more challenging than anything else I’d ever done, but an article like this could really open up some new roads for me. “When I first met Piers Letocci, I didn’t recognize him,” Piers read aloud, in his important reporter news voice. “Please, no.” I said. “Please. Not aloud.” Piers had recently started doing a charity podcast with Dylan. They covered inspirational news

stories and investigated the most effective charity organizations. He loved it, but secretly I think he loved doing his serious reporter voice even more. My phone rang just as Piers started into the second paragraph of my article. “Thank God for salvation,” I said, picking up as Piers continued to read. “Emma! How’s it going?” “Lisa? I have some good news,” she said. “What is it?” “The doctors just got Arlen’s last test results back.” “And?” My breath stopped in my chest for a second as I waited for her to speak. “It’s clear.” “Clear? What does that—” “Complete remission! Thanks to the donor they found during the charity drive, she’s clear of any cancer cells. They say that we’ll need to retest her again to make sure, but for now we are done with treatments! We’re so happy, aren’t we Arlen?” I heard a gurgle through the phone. “Oh, Emma.” My throat choked up. “That’s…that’s so wonderful.” “What is it?” Piers asked, his arms circling me from behind. I put the phone to my shoulder. “Arlen’s in remission!” I said to him. His eyes widened and he mouthed Congratulations! “Wait—Arlen wants to say hi,” Emma said. “Arlen, say hi to aunt Lisa.” There was a pause, and then a little girl’s voice came on the phone. “Hiiiiiii!” “Hi, Arlen. You’re feeling better now, huh?” “Um. Lah!” Her gurgling nonsense turned into a high-pitched giggle of laughter. Such a sweet sound. I bit my lip, happy tears springing to my eyes. In the background, I could hear Emma talking to Arlen. “Come on, Arlen. You can say hi to Aunt Lisa. Remember like we said? Aunt Lisa?” “Liiii-sa.” Arlen gurgled. I was so surprised, I nearly dropped the phone. “Oh my gosh! She said my name! Arlen, you said my name!” I turned to Piers. “Did you hear that? She said Lisa!” “Arlen, can you say Piers?” Piers asked, listening closely to the phone. “LAH!” Arlen yelled. “Close enough,” Piers said. “La back to you, Arlen!” “LAH!” “Is that Piers?” Emma said, coming back on the line. “Tell him I said hi.” “Hi from your future brother-in-law!” Piers said. He raised my hand and planted a kiss straight on my ring. “I’m in the shower now. Love you.” “Love you,” I said. “What did he just say? Lisa? Lisa?!” Emma screeched. “Hey, look at that. You can say my name just as well as Arlen can.” “Lisa!! What did Piers just say?!” “You heard the man.” “Are you—he proposed to you?!” “Yep. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to accept or not, but you know how convincing he can be.” Piers winked and blew me a kiss from the doorway, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Oh my god! When did he propose? How did he propose? Tell me everything!” I flushed. “Um, I’ll tell you later.” I was going to have to make up a suitable story—most proposals aren’t R-rated, after all. Maybe I’d say he proposed in an elevator. “Lunch today?” “You got it. Give Arlen a big smooch from me. I’m so glad she’s better.” “Love you, lamebutt.” “Love you, dorkface.” I set down the phone happily. “Hey, future wife!” Piers poked his head out of the bathroom. “I changed my mind. Take off your clothes and come take a shower with me.” “Do you need help scrubbing?” “It’s an emergency. I can’t reach my penis. You’ll have to wash it for me.” He arched his eyebrow jokingly. I laughed and glanced at the clock. I had a bit of extra time, didn’t I? “You’re lucky your future wife is so spontaneous.” “She’s perfect in every way,” he agreed, and ducked away. I heard the spray of the shower and the sound of Piers whistling. Before I stood up, I glanced over at his laptop. The last page of my article was at the top of the screen. Some of us have a billionaire for a soul mate, I’d written, and some of us fall in love with the pizza boy. And sometimes our soul mates are right there in front of us, hiding behind a mask. But I learned that you can’t force love to come to you. You can’t rely on a checklist, because your real soul mate might end up checking off a bunch of different boxes that you didn’t even know existed. Because no matter what you think you want, no matter what you think you need, Mr. Right can show up anywhere. Even when you’re looking in the opposite direction. “Future wife!” Piers called, his voice gurgling from under the shower head. “There’s too much hot water in here for one person! I’m drowning! Help! Hel—urglglg!” I grinned to myself, closed the laptop, and turned around to go save my Mr. Right. —



Thank you for reading The Billionaire Dating Game! If you enjoyed the story would you please consider leaving a review on your favorite retailer? Just a few words and some stars really does help! Be sure to find out about new releases, deals and giveaways, by hopping on my mailing list!

http://bit.ly/AubreyDarkNewsletter I’d love to connect on-line as well! Facebook / Twitter Get caught up in a billionaire rockstar romance Bad For Me (A Billionaire Romance Novel)

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I only had one shot. One chance to impress Clint Terrance, the baddest billionaire playboy in the NYC music scene. One song to make all my dreams come true.

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I never expected it to work.

Now he’s after me. The fake me. And I’m starting to realize that one song was only the beginning, and a billionaire’s desire is more dangerous than even I can handle.

I’ve always been a good girl. All I’ve ever cared about was my family, my music, and the farm I grew up on. I’ve built my whole life around that,and I’m in a good place. A stable place.

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Enjoy this free sample of Bad For Me Prologue

Rachel I’m pinned on my back, my dress pushed up to my hips, two hundred feet above the streets of New York City. The floor underneath is all glass: if I crane my head to the side I can see the streets below, the cars moving like blinking white and red ants. It’s almost midnight, and I feel like a lightning bug being held inside of a glass jar, suspended among the stars in the air above the sleepless city that I shouldn’t love, but do. Terrified. Thrilled. Electric with sensation. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a man’s body pressed against me like this, the hard muscles against my soft curves sending all sorts of strange signals through me. And his one muscle, there, hard and insistent against my inner thigh. The music in the air is loud, filling my ears with a beat that almost matches my pounding heartbeat. It echoes through me, and I feel hollow, needy. I shift, and his body shifts with me, pushing us even closer together. “Rachel.” The music dissolves in my mind, and I hear his voice under the thrumming bass notes. A growl in my ear that sends bolts of desire shooting through me down to my toes. He has me tied up with sashes, floating in the air, and he’s floating with me, his sculpted body arched over mine. A red sash around my ankles, two more sashes knotted around my wrists. I’m supported in a dozen places by soft fabric stretched taut under my body, but the only sensation I care about is that muscle, hard and throbbing between my thighs. He wants me. If you had told me a month ago that Clint Terrance would want me, I would have laughed myself silly. But nothing is silly now. I’m melting with every second that passes, every drum beat that stretches out time. I never want this to end, and we haven’t even started. When he threads his fingers through my hair, I moan. He’s not touching me where I need it most. I ache for him in a way I never knew was possible. I ache for the kiss he hasn’t given me yet. I ache for his hands on my body. I ache for him, him most of all, him inside of me, filling me the way the music fills my ears. The tattoo peeking out from under his white jacket is a splash of musical notes, and for a brief moment I want to reach out and touch it with my fingertips, to try and read the music that’s written all over him. I can’t move my arms, though. The sashes are taut around my wrists. I bite my lip in frustration, and he sucks in a tight breath. “Rachel. Tell me you want this.” I look back up to see his dark desirous eyes above me, and I’m scared to think about what will happen if I say yes. My whole life has been a careful, sheltered existence. And now he’s asking me to give it all up. Give up my family. Give up my life. For him. The sky is glass, the floor is glass, and all of a sudden I’m scared that we’ll shatter everything if I let him take me now. I’m not supposed to be here, not with this man. I’m not this kind of girl. I never have

been. He’s waiting for my answer, tense and ready, holding himself back even though I can see it kills him to do it. And as the music plays, I know that I’ll never be ready, not really. There’s never going to be a perfect time, a perfect place. There’s only here and now, and I won’t ever know how to fly until I let myself jump. His lips are close to mine, so close that I am sure he can feel my breath, even if the word is lost in the music. “Yes.”

Chapter One

Clint Goddammit. I’m such a fuckup. I didn’t mean to get into a fight at the studio. I swear I didn’t. But trouble seems to follow me around like a band of underage groupies. That night, I burst into the studio after-party already buzzed. The show had gone perfect—I couldn’t wait to hear what my pops thought—and I’d been swimming through hot chicks on my way out of the stadium. I hoped Piers had brought an extra limo to hold all the girls. Something bugged me, though, and I didn’t know what. I was the lead singer of a hot rock band on the biggest tour of my life. Life was good, and tonight was the peak of it all. Then why did I feel like something was missing? The music blared from the speakers, but the crowd was so loud that I could barely hear who was playing. I scanned the mob of people, my eyes passing over girls in tiny skirts and men with fading tattoos poking out from their suit sleeves. They’d turned the soundboard counter into a bar, and Piers looked like he was getting a kick out of playing bartender for the night. The studio was jammed from wall to wall to celebrate our last run in New York. There were probably a dozen platinum records sitting at the makeshift bar. Three years ago, I would have been drooling at the opportunity to network with the big names in the biz. But tonight, after a killer show at Shea, I just wanted to find a girl to take home. Maybe two, to get rid of this bug up my ass. Hell, maybe three. Pops wasn’t there yet, but his latest girlfriend was leaning over the bar, helping herself to a bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label. Figures. Sherry was poison, and it was probably her that made me feel something in the air wasn’t right. Oh fucking well. A drink would fix everything. “Shots on me!” I yelled, and the crowd roared their approval. I motioned to Piers, who quickly yanked the bottle of Jack Daniels out of Sherry’s hand and flipped it over the counter to me. “You know what I like, Piers,” I said, ignoring Sherry’s dirty stare. “You in the weeds yet?” “If I wasn’t before, I am now. This place is a bloody madhouse,” he said, in such a proper British accent I couldn’t help but chuckle. Piers wasn’t really into music—I don’t think he’d ever sat through one of my concerts in its entirety. But chicks dig accents, and Piers played it up whenever he came out after one of my shows. “Hey, you wanted to be the bartender.” “You kidding? I can’t tell you how much shit I’ve overheard already. If I wanted to blackmail

someone in the music business, I’d be all set.” “Remind me never to get you mad.” “Don’t worry. I think the tabloids have already printed every picture of your bare ass in existence.” “Not bare anymore.” “You finally got that tattoo?” “Bet your bare ass I did! Wanna see it?” I started to unbutton my jeans, but Piers held up his hands. “Whoa! Later, big boy. Don’t want to scare away all the ladies with your derriere.” “Scare them away? I’ll have you know that girls fly across the world to get to see this.” “Humor me and keep your pants up for the first hour of this party, Clint. You showed up before most of the security guards.” “Fine,” I said, tucking my shirt back into my jeans. “Wouldn’t want to start a riot, I guess.” “Thank you for not flashing everyone in here. Trust me, it’s a great kindness.” “You’re so welcome.” I leaned back against the bar, looking out over the crowd again. Still no Pops. And Sherry was flirting with some other producer, I forget his name. What a bitch. My fingers itched at my side, and I tapped out a beat on my knee. “How was the show?” Piers asked, interrupting my rhythm. “Huh? Oh, great! We all kicked ass.” “So?” I looked up, unscrewing the cap off of the bottle. Piers was already stacking shot glasses in a pyramid on the bar top. I stole a glass and poured myself one. “So?” “So why does your face look like you just licked a sour pussy?” “Fuck, I dunno,” I said. He gave me a look that said he wasn’t going to give up that easily. I’ll give Piers one thing—he knew how to read people. Especially me. I leaned over the bar so that I didn’t have to yell. I was trying to figure out what had gotten into me, to put it into words. “It’s like… it’s all the same shit.” “The same shit,” he echoed. “All the music and the shows and the girls.” “Uh huh. And? Your problem is?” “I dunno, Piers. The music world moves so fast, man. But we’re still playing the same shit we played three years ago.” “Well. That’s what people want to hear. The hits, yeah?” “Yeah.” But that’s not what I want to play. I didn’t say it. I had it good. Talismen had been my dad’s idea, and he knew best. He was the one with the big office, the platinum records, the number one hits. He’d built this recording company from the ground up. If he told me to get up on stage and play Row Row Row Your Boat with a harmonica and a cowbell, I’d do it and I’d like it. “Look at me,” Piers was saying. “You think I like doing reality TV?” “You don’t?” I let sarcasm drip over the words. “How could you not love Secret Baby Bachelor?” Piers rolled his eyes at me. “You know, I came over to America to be a news reporter.” “That would be something else.” I tried to imagine Piers behind a news desk, talking about…

Syria or something? I didn’t have a clue what news people talked about. Piers slammed an empty shot glass down onto the bar. “But people don’t want news. They want Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian clawing each other’s eyes out over which shade of lipstick is better.” “So what do you do with that?” I asked. I already knew the answer, but I wanted him to say it. “Fuck it. You do what you have to do.” “Do what you gotta do.” “That’s how we’re on top, right? Fuck it.” “Fuck it,” I echoed, and slammed down the shot. The whiskey burned hot in my throat, but then it was down and a warm fuzzy feeling swept back whatever it was that had me feeling like shit. “Hey, I got something for you tonight.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Her name’s Roxie.” He nodded over to the far corner of the studio. I looked over and saw what he was talking about: a buxom chick with fiery red hair lounged around in a skin-tight silver dress, a pouty expression on her face. “Pour these shots. People are getting restless.” “You do know what I like.” I grinned and flipped the bottle, pouring the shots expertly over the pyramid of shot glasses. The sweet amber liquid flowed over the top glass and into the others in a fountain of whiskey. The first shot was taking hold, and with Roxie on the horizon, my mood was rising already. Nothing was missing. Everything was perfect. I hummed a couple bars of an old timey song I had stuck in my head, nothing like the rock that was actually playing overhead.

In the big rock candy mountain, you never change your socks, And little streams of alcohol come a-tricklin’ down the rocks.

Along with whiskey and wine, redheads were a weakness of mine. Always had been. Not that this Roxie chick was a natural ginger—it looked more like she had dipped her head in candy apple dye. But fake was fine; nobody in this city was real, anyway. I winked at her as I finished the pour, not wasting a single drop. She bit her lip and tossed her hair over one shoulder. It was gonna be a wild night, I knew it. “Ladies and gents, drinks are served!” Piers started passing out the shots down the bar. I took a few for myself and retreated through the crowd, still humming as people clapped me on the back in appreciation.

There’s a lake of stew, and of whiskey too, You can paddle all around em in a big canoe In the big rock candy mountain.

As I finished with a whistle, I caught a glimpse of someone over by the recording room. “Hey, Danny!” I called to one of the security guards. “That asshole over there leaning on the glass—” “Got it,” Danny said, snapping his fingers. He moved toward the recording room. I’d personally overseen the remodel of the studio, and I wasn’t about to have some drunk rocker fall through the plate glass window between the two rooms. “Killer set, Clint, absolutely killer!” my tour manager cried out. “Thanks,” I said, handing him one of the shots of whiskey. I was about to head over to Roxie to share a shot with her when it happened. I could already imagine the way the night would go: we’d share a shot, then we’d share a kiss, then we’d share a bed. She’d get a cab ride home by herself, of course, but first we’d have a night of crazy hot sex.

Then something caught my eye. A woman at the end of the bar shook her head, her light blonde hair falling in long waves down her back. Not really my type, but that wasn’t why I was looking at her anyway. It was the guy sleazing out all over her that drew my attention. I didn’t know who he was or what record company he was with, but he looked like every stereotype of an old-school rocker gone bad. A black leather jacket with patches all over it and metal studs around the neck. Three days’ worth of patchy scruff on his cheeks. A gold chain around his stringy neck. It was laughable. The guy had his hand around the chick’s midriff. She leaned away from him, but he didn’t get the hint. Instead, he pulled her away from the bar. I moved closer as he began to tug her towards the exit. Some sort of stupid instinct that draws me toward trouble instead of keeping me away from it. “Come on baby, let’s go,” he was saying. “But I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice rising above his. “I didn’t even meet him yet!” I headed between them and the exit door. Yeah, I’m the kind of idiot who doesn’t know when to mind his own fucking business. But I figured it was my name on the studio door, and my reputation on the line if some girl got treated bad at a studio after-party. “You can meet him later.” “But I want to see him now!” She was shouting by now, causing a commotion at the end of the bar. Not even the music could drown out her high-pitched shouting. I stepped in front of them and put my shot glasses down on the bar. The guy leered at me from under his greasy, slicked back hair. I had no doubt that I was doing the right thing. “Move, buddy,” he said. “Is this guy bothering you?” I asked the girl. Not a girl, really, but a woman. She was older than I’d thought, maybe thirty-five. Too old to be wearing a fake leather miniskirt or bright red lipstick, that’s for damn sure. “Oh my god. You’re Clint Terrance.” Her mouth dropped open. I nodded. “I was supposed to come here for an audition!” She couldn’t stop gushing, and every sentence coming through her fire-engine red lips was an exclamation. “I love your studio’s music! This is like fate! Me meeting you here!” “You’re the Terrance kid?” the guy asked. His leer turned uncertain. I could tell he knew who I was. My name was a weapon, and I didn’t use it unless I had to. Usually I didn’t need to. “An audition?” I focused on the woman. She licked her bottom lip and I realized her pupils were dilated from some designer drug. She wasn’t awful-looking, but I’d seen too many of her type. Bleached blonde wanna-be rock stars who had gone past their prime. All coked up with nowhere to go. “Where is he?” she asked. Her hand clawed around my wrist. “Can I see him?” Him? Who the hell’s she talking about? “Come on, sweetie,” the sleazeball said, yanking her away from me. “Let’s get you out of here.” “Hey!” I said, planting myself firmly between them and the door. “You don’t want to interfere here, kid,” he said. The warning was in his tone and in the way his arm clamped even tighter around the woman. She barely seemed to notice. All of her desperation had turned to me, and she was waiting for me. “I’m not a kid to anyone but my dad,” I said. “Whatever, kid,” he said. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He tried to push past me with the woman.

“Nobody messes with the girls in my studio,” I said, pushing him back. “Not your fucking studio, kid.” Fuck that. I wasn’t going to let this guy push me around. The whiskey was boiling in my blood, and the security guard was over on the other side of the room. I clamped one hand on his shoulder and shoved him back against the bar. “Hey!” He winced and let go of the blonde. She jumped away from him behind me, putting her hands on my back. “My savior!” she cried. Way too melodramatic. I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she pressed her fake tits against me. “Fuckin’ stop it, kid—” the guy started to say, but I didn’t wait to hear him. My arm was already in the air, and the punch landed right across the guy’s ugly face. “I’m not. A fucking. Kid.” My face was inches away from his, and I could smell the blood that was already dripping from his lip. “Goddamn lunatic!” He tried to shove me away, but now I was burning mad. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.” “Yeah? When has that ever stopped me?” “Listen—” “Shut the fuck up, asshole.” The whiskey spun my brain, and the energy of the crowd around me gave me another burst of energy. I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. He kicked at me, sending a jolt of pain through my leg. The fuck! Who kicks me? Who kicks Clint-fucking-Terrance? I punched him again, and my fist cracked across his nose. Behind the bar, Piers was yelling and waving wildly for security. “Nobody calls me a kid,” I said. “No-fucking-body, no fucking way! You get that?” I mashed a finger into his bloody face, right on his nose. He squealed like a slide guitar. “Clint, stop!” My tour manager’s voice buzzed in my ear, and someone was tugging at my shirt. I heard it rip as I pushed forward, shaking the smarmy bastard in my grip. He twisted in my hands, his eyes filled with terror. Some people were yelling, and I could hear Danny coming through the crowd behind me. I gave the asshole one more shake and raised my fist again. “Please don’t,” he said, only with his broken nose it came out as Preese dunt. “You fucking sleazeball,” I said. “You goddamn—” “Stop.” The voice behind me wasn’t a shout, but it boomed across the crowded studio as loud as if it had come through a megaphone. The crowd went silent. I dropped the guy back against the bar. He whined softly, slithering back away to a safe distance from my fists, and I turned around. My dad stood in the middle of the studio floor, looming over the crowd in his dark navy business suit. Moses himself couldn’t have parted a crowd like my dad did. They fell back in waves. He cleared his throat and adjusted a silver cufflink at his wrist. “Get your ass in here, kid. Now.” He turned his back and stepped into the recording room without waiting for a reply. “Sure, Pops,” I said under my breath, gritting my teeth and turning back the bar. Piers glanced over at me, but I didn’t meet his eye. I threw back one shot, then the next, without taking a breath between. So much for sharing. The party—and Roxie—would have to wait.

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Chapter One



I breathe in the darkness. There is a blindfold around my eyes. There is a collar around my neck. I am sitting up on my knees, naked, trembling. My wrists are bound to the bedposts, stretched out to either side of me. He is behind me. I can feel his breathing on the back of my neck. I strain forward, away from him. He is not touching me, but his breath is warm on my skin. I pull harder, but the ties around my wrists hold fast. The ties around my wrist are silken handcuffs. The bed underneath me is covered in silk sheets. Even the blindfold is black silk. Black. Everything is black. My eyes are open under the blindfold but I can see nothing. I sit there silently, feeling the air move against my naked body. “Lacey, my darling.” He breathes the words into my ear from behind me. I gasp as his hand touches my shoulder. His fingers are long and slim. They are warmer than his breath on the back of my neck. “Are you afraid of the dark?” I shake my head. I won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Am I afraid of the dark? No, I want to say. I’ve always loved the dark. Even when I was a child, I didn’t need a nightlight. I didn’t shed a single tear when I broke my arm. I stayed in the haunted barn one night when my brothers dared me, and I didn’t even cry out when my dad spanked me for doing it. My mom always said that I was the bravest girl she’d ever met. Now, though, I don’t feel brave. Now, in the darkness, I’m scared of what’s going to happen. What he’s going to do to me. His fingers slide down my back. His other hand grips my hip and I feel the bed move as he shifts his weight closer to me. I grit my teeth. Despite myself, I feel my body begin to respond as his hands curve down around my waist and pause there. Warmth spreads between my thighs. I clench them together tightly, trying to ignore the pulsing desire inside of me. Take me. Take me. No. This isn’t me. This can’t be real. I jerk my head away at the sudden touch on my neck. Even in the darkness, I can tell that he is smiling behind me. The touch comes again, and this time I’m prepared. His lips press against my neck. I try to sit still, but an involuntary gasp comes from my mouth when he sucks gently on my skin. “Oh, Lacey,” he murmurs. His hands come forward, sliding over my stomach and up to my breasts. Again he kisses my neck. Again I gasp. This time it’s his tongue, the hot pressure sending me into near spasms as he cups my breasts. He shifts his weight again, and now I moan as he sucks my skin and everything sinks into pure sensation— —his muscled chest against my back, his skin hot against mine— —his fingers pinching my nipples so hard it sends flames racing through my nerves, his thumb rolling over the hard swollen nubs— —his lips taking me, his mouth possessing me, his tongue licking my skin—

—his breath whispering softness into my ear— “I can’t stop myself.” “Don’t try.” I hear my voice rasping in the air. Don’t. I don’t want him to stop. Not now. I want him to do everything to me. I don’t want him to hold back anymore. His hands come down, gripping my thighs. His fingers scrabble needily over my skin. Before I can say another word, he forces my thighs apart. My body recoils, clenching together, but he’s already kneeling between my legs behind me. I can feel his hard cock against the small of my back. It’s impossibly hot, burning hot against my cool skin. I moan as he slides his cock down between my thighs to where I’m already slick with moisture. “Jesus. Oh Jesus. Lacey.” His voice is a growl that sends shivers through my body. “You don’t know what you do to me.” My fingers grasp at the silk ties, but they are already pulled taut. My body, too, feels like it’s pulled taut, waiting for his touch to send me into uncontrollable vibrations. For a moment, before he enters me for the first time, I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter; the blindfold is still on, but this feels like the last decision I make. I make it silently, the words curling through my mind and stopping before they reach my tongue. Take me. Take me into your darkness.

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***

My hands are tied behind my back. Even if I could get loose, I'm locked inside the plastic surgeon's library. He's in the next room. Killing someone.

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with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the seller website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. DISCLAIMER The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. MATURE CONTENT This story contains sexually explicit material, and is intended only for persons over the age of 18. By downloading and opening this document, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction. All of the characters involved in the sexual situations in this story are intended to be 18 years of age or older, whether they are explicitly described as such or not.

Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Enjoy this free sample of Bad For Me Prologue Chapter One When a billionaire mistakes you for his birthday gift, you have to play along... Chapter One