* * *

  Just like they had a week earlier, the producers told Grayson the sky was the limit. It seemed that, with their help, he was going to get to create a dream date for me. I knew, once again, that I had to dress beautifully, so I wore a gorgeous burgundy dress with thin straps and sexy cold-shoulder sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a scalloped skirt that didn’t have slits up the sides but was cut so that the sides were shorter than the front and back. It was dressy but playful.

  Grayson once more brought me flowers. So thoughtful. This time, he’d chosen a dozen red roses already in a beautiful vase. After taking a deep whiff, I set the vase down on the coffee table and kissed him on the cheek before taking his arm and letting him lead the way.

  “You look very nice,” I said, and I meant it. Grayson had always seemed more like a casual guy, but he pulled off a business look nicely. He wore a dark gray suit with white shirt and light blue tie, matching pants, and black shoes. Gone were the glasses, replaced with contacts (I hoped he had contacts on, since he would be doing the driving). He’d trimmed down his facial hair more into a goatee, really showing the rugged, handsome shape of his face—and, more than before, I saw his appeal as a potential mate. Before, I’d considered him friend material but now?

  Wow.

  I figured the ladies of the audience would feel the same way.

  Soon, we were out front, and Grayson had a red Charger with two black stripes down the middle for the length of the car. He could barely contain his excitement. “A beauty, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she really is.”

  The cameramen—just two now, because the producers probably figured it was overkill sending lots of guys to film a couple—took their own vehicle again for our big date, just like they’d done when I’d gone with Spencer the week before. So the producers hadn’t completely changed the way the show worked—just mostly.

  Once we were on the road, Grayson began fiddling with the radio, tuning into a metal station. “You mind if I turn it up a little?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Maybe I should have asked him not to, because he was banging his head every time he had to stop at a light or a stop sign. But I was amused when he would begin singing, using a death metal voice. I tried not to giggle. We were on the freeway in a matter of minutes and, even though he continued singing, he wasn’t acting like a maniac anymore.

  Finally, I asked, “So where are we going, Gray?”

  “Downtown, baby!”

  Realizing he hadn’t planned on saying anything else, I said, “Okay…but that doesn’t tell me much.”

  “We’re almost there.” Taking an exit off the freeway, he slowed the car and it wasn’t long before we were surrounded by towering skyscrapers and bright lights. A couple of minutes later, he pulled into a drive in front of a hotel. Grayson left the keys in the car and a valet driver whisked it away as soon as we were out. He told a man at a podium who we were. “We need to also wait for Mr. Simpson, correct?”

  “Yes. They should be here in a few minutes. They left right after we did.” Ah…Mr. Simpson was one of the camera guys. I hadn’t known that—but I imagined the guys got more chances to chat with them than I did.

  While we waited, I lowered my voice and said to him, “So what are we doing at a hotel?” A huge one, at that.

  “You’ll see.”

  God, we were still playing the wait-and-see game. I supposed I needed to respect that. After all, the guys needed some way to entice me, keeping me on my toes. At least it wasn’t sweltering hot outside or chilly. The weather was perfect. The only thing making it even begin to be unpleasant was the smell of car exhaust from the city streets.

  But that too was short-lived, because the van with the guys showed up and, as the valet shuttled their car away, we all followed the maître d’ inside the restaurant. The ride up the elevator took my breath away. The doors were glass and we got a view of the city as we shot up the outside of the building. The view was reminiscent of Gabe’s amusement park adventures, but it didn’t take long before we got to the top. When we exited, following the maître d’, my breath escaped me. The view of the city from this high up was spectacular. The sky was a dark blue—the sun’s last rays barely illuminating the atmosphere—but the city lights already twinkled.

  “We have the perfect table over here for you,” he said, leading us across the room to a table by a window. Just like lunch yesterday, this place didn’t spare the glass. After we were seated, he said, “Your waiter will be right with you. Enjoy your dinner.”

  I examined the drink menu and, as I looked up to ask Grayson what he was considering, I gasped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. But look!” The city was moving right in front of our eyes—or, rather, the restaurant was revolving.

  “Yeah. You really didn’t know?”

  “Okay, so I’ve lived in LA for a while, but I had no idea this place even existed.” Before the waiter got to our table, I asked, “Have you ever been here before?”

  “Nope. This is a first for me, too.”

  The waiter approached and gave us a slight nod when we looked up. “Hello. We’re honored that you’ve chosen to dine with us tonight.” He handed me a menu and then gave one to Grayson. “You have lots of choices on tonight’s menu, so please take your time.” Another man in a white tux grabbed the stemmed glass in front of me and filled it with ice water before moving behind the waiter to fill Grayson’s. “If you know what you’d like to drink now, I can get that for you—or I can come back.”

  Grayson was already scouring the menu. “Actually, I have a question. What would you recommend out of the starters?”

  The waiter’s stoic expression reminded me of the Queen’s Guard standing in front of Buckingham Palace—no emotion but complete dedication to his duty. “It’s a matter of personal taste, but most diners enjoy the skewered teriyaki chicken, and I’d pair that with Merlot.”

  “That sound okay with you?”

  I smiled and nodded. This show was making me open to all sorts of new experiences, and I embraced this one eagerly.

  “Very good. I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.”

  Once more, we were left alone and I began perusing my menu. Everything, from the seafood to the filet mignon, made my mouth water, so it was going to be hard deciding what to get. Maybe Grayson had had the right idea of asking the waiter his recommendations. If I couldn’t narrow it down, I’d have to do that, too.

  Grayson said that he was also agonizing with meal choices. Finally, I leaned over the table to whisper to Grayson, because I had a feeling he could relate to what was rolling through my head. “Have you looked at these prices?” For what our two meals, drinks, and starters would cost (not to mention dessert later), I could buy groceries for a month or two for myself.

  “Yeah—but not to worry, Claire. This is all covered by the show.”

  “I know, but—”

  Our waiter reappeared with a bottle of Merlot, and he expertly poured first my glass and then Gray’s. I couldn’t wait for the starter to get there, and I brought the wine to my lips—and it tasted even better than I’d expected. “Your starter will be ready soon. Do you need more time or do you have any questions about our entrées?”

  “I just can’t decide. Everything looks so good.”

  “Same here.”

  “Might I suggest the shrimp scampi?”

  Grayson asked, “Do most of your diners like it?”

  The waiter lowered his voice. “It’s my personal favorite.”

  “I’m sold.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Very good. Might I suggest a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc to go with your meal?”

  “Of course.”

  The fact that there was no price next to the wine list told me it cost a ridiculously exorbitant amount—but I imagined the show either had the budget for it or was getting a discount considering the places we went to were getting free advertising. And something I didn’t know until after I was able to watch reruns of the show later on was that Cat made a big show of introducing the place where we went for the winner’s special date. They’d done that the first show, too, but it was a tradition that continued—so, by the second season, restaurants were vying to serve the matchmaker contestants.

  Off he went again, soon to return with the chicken teriyaki. Grayson and I hadn’t gotten done marveling at the place by the time we had the food to fawn over. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Hell, I had been for the entire show for the most part…which was probably why the universe considered it was time to deliver a blow. I saw, entering through the elevator, a woman I’d deemed as my worst enemy—and she had a hot guy on her arm. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t noticed me but, just after she and her date were led to their table, she turned and began walking straight toward me.

  This woman was a casting director who’d had my acting fate in her hands more times than I could count, and I imagined seeing me here with Grayson—and cameramen around us (thus making it hard not to notice)—wasn’t going to work in my favor.

  Goddammit.

  Chapter Eleven

  BETSY WALCH STRODE over in her black fuck me pumps, emphasized by the slit in her red dress that climbed so far up her leg it almost exposed her undercarriage. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to just waltz over to our table like we were long lost friends.

  “Claire, darling. What’s going on over here?”

  What really sucked? I had to be nice to this woman because, in many ways, my future was in her hands. Well…maybe not nice but at least not outwardly obviously snarky. If she as a casting director didn’t like me for a role, then I probably wouldn’t get it. That was her job, after all. By this point, I’d all but given hope getting a role if she was the one doing the casting, because she just didn’t seem to like me for some reason. I didn’t get that.

  And I somehow knew she was one of those fakey women who’d want me to air-kiss her but no fucking way. I wasn’t even going to stand up when she approached our table, career be damned or not. Matchmaker was going to make or break me, but in a way that my future with a person like Betsy Walch no longer mattered—and that sudden realization made me feel bold.

  First, though, I’d try to be polite, just like my mother would have expected. “Dinner, of course. Your hair looks great.” In all honesty, it did, and there was no sense not being gracious about it. She’d gone from black to red and the new color looked better against her pale skin. And even the weird updo she had it in, looking a little like a 20s flapper, complemented the look in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.

  “Oh, that? I’m kind of getting tired of this look.”

  Of course. Wouldn’t want to accept a compliment from me. I stifled a sigh and said, “This is Grayson Shaw. And, Grayson, this is—”

  Before I could spit out her name, she stuck her hand out, palm down, toward Grayson and said, “Betsy Walch. I’ve been the casting director for—”

  “I recognize your name. You cast a lot of episodes of Star Force 3000.” He actually took her hand and kissed it.

  Idiot.

  Betsy’s face lit up at the fact that Grayson recognized her name. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “You’ve brought so many of my favorite characters to life. It’s like you magically know the best person for a role.”

  My heart sank. Did that mean I had been a shitty choice for any of the roles I’d tried out for with this woman?

  This was the first time I’d seen a genuine smile on her face. “It’s not magic. That’s my job.” Glancing at me, she said, “And I’m good at it.”

  A primal beast inside me wanted to get up and start scratching at her face—but the civil side of me maintained control and forced a phony smile to turn my lips up a little, a smile she should have been familiar with, considering it was the one she usually used. But my stomach was queasy. Still…I managed to keep my voice saccharine sweet. “I think your date’s getting impatient.”

  “He can wait. He wants a leading role in the next movie I’m casting, so he’ll just have to be patient.”

  The snark rose from my belly just as I imagined lava climbs from the depths of a volcano. “So if I took you out for a nice dinner, you’d consider me for the next role I audition for?”

  A sneer curled on her lips. “He’s got a lot of talent and just needs the right role.”

  What a bitch. I was done. “Sorry we can’t talk with you longer, Betsy.” She blinked twice then and seemed to be struggling for words. That was a first—and even if I never got a role thanks to her (which hadn’t been likely anyway), I felt like I’d won. Our waiter stood beside her, patiently biding his time. At the same moment, the cameraman directly behind me coughed, reminding Betsy that she was on film. I already knew one of the guys would approach her later and ask if she’d sign a release to appear on the show—and I thought she might agree, because it could be good publicity for her. Otherwise, her face would be blotted out.

  But the camera was a good reminder that she might not want to go full-on bitch for the moment. “Good to see you, Claire.”

  Yeah, and I had half a dozen sarcastic comebacks for her. But I had to be nice. It was only fair to my date. “You, too, Betsy. Have a nice dinner.”

  Her date was a real cutie, and I’d be looking for him on the silver screen. I now had the feeling Betsy used her position to her advantage and, even though I’d joked about it, maybe chumming up to her was the way to get a role when she had the control—but the very idea of having to ingratiate myself to a bitch like that turned my stomach.

  In spite of seeing her across the way (fortunately, I only had to look at the back of her head), dinner was great. Not only was the food delicious, but watching the city move before us was breathtaking, even if it happened slowly.

  I grinned, taking another bite of shrimp and marveling at the view. Not only did we get to watch night fall on the city from a higher vantage point than usual, but then we got to enjoy the lights beginning to twinkle one by one, as if they’d come out for our pleasure.

  My only worry was that we had quite a bit to drink and, even though Grayson was tall and beefy, I didn’t know that he’d be able to handle it all. Of course, that was based on the fact that I was tipsy and giggly. By the time we got to the crème brûlée, though, I was more in control of myself.

  By the end, we’d done a full three-sixty and then some. I was a little wobbly on my feet but after two steps, I was moving fine. Grayson offered his arm and I took it, but I also took the lead, taking us over to Betsy’s table before walking to the elevator. “Betsy,” I said, catching her with a bite of steak in her mouth. “It was a pleasure. We need to do coffee sometime.”

  She nodded as I turned my gaze to her date. Typical Hollywood wannabe actor. Boyish good looks worth a dime a dozen, but Betsy, in her late thirties, enjoyed exploiting their dreams for a little roll in the hay. I had no doubt she was footing the bill for dinner even.

  But it didn’t matter. I smiled at the actor (had I seen him in anything?) and then turned on my heel, leading us toward the elevator. Once there and riding down (not so scary in the dark), he asked, “How do you know her again?”

  “Casting director,” I replied, forgetting he knew who she was. “She’s passed over me dozens of times for roles.”

  “She’s crazy. You’d be a great leading lady.”

  Aw. He was warming my heart. “Thank you, Gray.”

  And soon we were on our way.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked, winding his way back toward the freeway.

  “We have all night, don’t we?”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  It was time to throw this sweet guy a bone. “Then I think we should go to my room for a while.” I didn’t want to get his hopes up about anything, but I had no issues exploring our boundaries a little bit. And, honestly, I was starting to feel like he really had earned some serious alone time with me.

  “This is your night, so we’ll do whatever you want.”

  As he drove the freeway, a little less congested than earlier, I thought about his statement. What did I want? Did I even know anymore? This show had so muddled me inside—even though not quite two weeks had passed—and presented me with so many options, I didn’t know what I wanted, truly, anymore. So I was open for whatever and hoping I’d get a sign.

  Again, though, what did it matter? I didn’t have any say ultimately about which man I’d end up with. I knew the audience decisions were supposedly based upon what they saw and who they thought would be best for me, but that meant I’d have to put faith in the cameramen to capture exactly what was needed; the editors to not let the bad stuff wind up on the cutting-room floor; and the voting portion of viewers to be wise people who had my best interest at heart.

  That was a lot of people who had my future in their hands.

  Of course, I also knew the contract didn’t force me to marry the last man standing. It only strongly encouraged us to do so and, if we did, they’d pay for a no-holds-barred wedding and give us a few thousand in cash for the honeymoon.

  Don’t think it would be free. The caveat was that they’d be filming the whole damn thing, including the beginning of the honeymoon.

  But the end of the show was still two weeks ahead…and I had four guys left, four guys who’d been thought to be compatible with me but who were different enough that I couldn’t just point my finger and choose based on superficial biases.

  I hadn’t thought this game would fuck with my head as much as it was.

  “Claire?”

  “Yeah?” I snapped myself out of a tipsy half-daze and looked up at Grayson who stood beside the car, holding the door open for me.

  “Are you ready or do you need another minute?” I blinked, realizing I’d been fretting during our entire trip back to the mansion. “Is everything okay?”

  I saw the cameramen getting out of their van just behind us, but they weren’t hovering around. They were officially off duty, at least as far as Gray and I were concerned. The rest of the evening was ours, sans mobile cameras. So I was shocked when the second man turned and asked, “Do you guys need anything for the evening?” I wasn’t sure what he meant until he added, “A bottle of wine or something else?”

 

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