Chapter 6: Chapter Five

Backyard BBQ sounded simple. A few hours, some flirting, some meat. But according to the spreadsheet Elliot received that morning, it was an endurance challenge.

Not one barbecue, but twelve. Six that day, and six the next, one hour each with fifteen-minute breaks in between. One column of the spreadsheet specifically listed who would be attending each shindig. The names of the competing women Elliot recognized, but the lists of names next to theirs varied in length from four to ten. Family members? Friends? Who the hell were all these people?

The Hacienda loomed at the top of the Camarillo hillside. Cut into the slope slanting toward the valley was a palatial pool with an outdoor kitchen and plenty of semi-private places to talk. Elliot sat in the shaded outdoor kitchen tilting his face to let Rachelle apply finishing touches of sunscreen and anti-shine powder.

Up and to his right, Ginger appeared on the lawn in a black tank top with fraying edges, the same pushed up sweatpants as the previous night, and pulled back hair that looked like it might not even have been brushed. But when she passed behind him on her way to the grill, he got a whiff of it. It was freshly washed, the damp scent of cool jasmine unmistakable. It wafted through him, reaching some primal levels and sending a surge of sensation straight to his dick.

If he let himself fully remember that night six months ago, his stint on the show could all be over in the time it would take to flush his contract down the toilet, so he couldn’t go there. He shifted his attention to his mother. It was a cold shower equivalent.

She toyed with her large beaded necklace as she eyed the watermelon sangria on the long, decked-out table beside them.

“Mom. It’s ten a.m.”

“They wouldn’t have put it there if they didn’t want anyone to drink it.”

“I can’t have you getting hammered before noon,” Elliot warned as a deep-seated anxiety threatened to take hold. “We’ve got a lot to get through today.”

“Did you pee yourself when you saw the schedule, too?”

“Not exactly.”

“Someone must really have it in for us.” She gestured at the sangria. “It’s not gonna be any better than it is right now. The ice will start melting, and it’ll get all watery.”

The smell hit him again. Jasmine. Ginger was standing right beside him. “Have some before the ice starts to melt, Irene. We have a new flavor for every barbecue.” She gave his mom a sweet smile. “Enjoy. Elliot, a quick word?” She cleared her throat softly, then added, “Please?”

Elliot took a few steps away from the table with his infuriatingly hot producer. She started talking again before they stopped moving. “First up is Brianne. She gets an hour and a half since you tried to send her home. She has her dad, both her brothers, and her stepmom. Also, her best friend Kate. Oh, and Kate’s boyfriend. Last minute add-on.”

“Super,” Elliot mumbled. He was still pissed at Michelle for saving Brianne last night. He wouldn’t have married that woman if she were the last one alive. A year ago he would have taken her to bed in a heartbeat, but wasn’t he supposed to be trying something new here? Michelle was supposed to be the one making sure he didn’t repeat old mistakes, and yet…

“Talk to me about what you didn’t like about her.”

His face did an involuntary scrunch like he’d tasted something bitter. “Do I have to?”

Ginger rolled her head on her neck, annoyed, the thin veneer of professionalism from five seconds ago already cracking. “Yes.”

Elliot found her and everyone else’s level of exasperation with him uncalled for. He was the only one here actually going through something. Would it kill his mom or even Ginger to offer a kind word? Apparently. “Did you want to film me talking about it?”

“No. This is for my personal knowledge, so I know where to point the story. You can talk to Davis about it on camera whenever the hell he gets down here.” She turned briefly to speak into her headset. “I need Davis on the lawn ASAP. So what didn’t you like?”

It was his turn to be irritated. “You’re talking to me now? It’s my turn?”

She ignored his questions. “What was it? Nothing in common? Too good-looking for you? She’s out of your league and you were intimidated? What?”

He let go an exasperated sigh. “She’s my type.”

Ginger blinked. “And?”

“And…this is about trying new things, right?”

“It’s about finding your life mate. Why would you rule out someone because she’s your type? I don’t get it.”

“Good thing this show isn’t geared specifically to your little audience of one. I don’t have to explain my choices to you.”

“I mean…you kinda do.” She gave her ponytail an indignant flip. It should have fallen completely apart. It didn’t.

He couldn’t stand it. “Look—you—get off my back. I’ve got an hour and a half with her looming over my head like my own personal rain cloud, all right? I don’t need your judge judge hands on hips—” What the hell was he even saying?

He took a breath.

Ginger looked down at her hips where her hands clearly weren’t. “Can I get you anything, Elliot? Water? Xanax?”

A hand job would be great, Ginger. Thanks so much for asking. “Just go—prep someone else. I’m all good here.”

She bowed her head for the amount of time it took to adjust her expression. When she finished, she looked almost contrite. “Can we—? Let’s start over. I get this is a lot today. Whatever you need, ask one of us, we’ll do our best to help. I’ll be out of the way, in the control room—Vanessa’s my eyes and ears. Anything you need. Okay?”

“Right.” The word came out both exhausted and bitter.

“Want some advice?”

He eyed her warily, but eventually nodded.

“Find something you like about each one of them. Something that makes her stand out. Something she has that no one else has. Tell her what it is. Can you do that?”

“Just one thing?” he asked.

“At least one thing.”

He nodded. He’d gotten worse advice.

“You got this, Elliot. We’re gonna have a great day.” She gave him a firm nod and started back up the lawn. He refused to watch her walk away.

The point she was trying to make was clear. He was her job. The disappointment on the back of that revelation was acute. The way his body ached to be near hers again was one-sided, and she’d all but erected an actual physical barrier to keep it from happening. Although—in the grand scheme of things, the barrier he’d put up was somewhat bigger as evidenced by their surroundings.

“Is it me or do you two have some tension?” his mom asked.

Elliot yanked at the collar of his shirt while his mom handed him a freshly poured cup of watermelon sangria. “It’s delicious,” she whispered with a sage nod of her head and a slight batting of her false eyelashes. The frosted helmet of her hair didn’t budge an inch.

Elliot glanced up as Anna swept in for a quick hello. “Hook me up, too, Mom.”

His sister looked Elliot up and down as she sat. “Outfit number one, huh? I’m liking the coral on you. Brings out your eyes.” With that, she snickered.

“All of you can go to hell.”

Michelle was right behind Anna, one of her thin arms sliding across Elliot’s back as she wound her way around him, performing her own assessment. Dressed in an altogether uncharacteristic floral sundress, her usually intense brown eyes shone bright with hope and the possibility of the day. “Relax, babe.”

“Wanna trade places?”

“You’re doing great.” She squeezed his arm. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he mumbled.

She gave him an indulgent grin. “I need you to relax. Open up.”

“Open up about what?”

“Just—open up. Every woman here wants to know you.”

Not every woman.

“Why’d you save Brianne?” he asked, since he might not have another chance to talk to Michelle in person. Contact with The Panel would be harder to come by as the weeks passed.

“She’s a challenge.”

The answer couldn’t have been more vague, or obnoxious. And as if she’d been summoned by the speaking of her name, marching toward them from the house, with zero warning from anyone, was Brianne and her entire entourage, plus camera crew.

Brianne stood out at the front of the pack, but this time in a white one-shoulder swimsuit and a wrap skirt. Her thick golden hair billowed behind her, caught in the breeze off the valley. She gazed at Elliot with a singular intention behind her eyes.

“Ooo!” Anna exclaimed. “She came to play. Go get her, Elliot.”

If someone cut open his body right then, they wouldn’t find blood. All they would find were second guesses. He pictured all the doubts like they were printed on little fortune cookie papers, spilling from his veins. What the hell had he gotten himself into? How was he supposed to get to know any of these women when they looked so good all the time? Like they were all in a bar and closing time had been called.

Reminding himself to keep his eyes on her face, he formulated a quick mental questionnaire of everything he needed to find out about each of the women, including whether they were pro public school or against, who they voted for in the last election and why, and what exactly they did for a living. Also, how fastidious were they about their dental appointments? That was the important stuff. No touching, no talking about himself until he knew there was compatibility beyond attraction. Lavonne would approve, and besides, according to Ginger, it was the job.

“Good morning!” He tacked on a smile and left The Panel to meet the approaching group.

Brianne hugged him to her, flattening her breasts against his chest and giving a long, slow stroke down his back. “Mmm….” she moaned. “How are you?”

So much for no touching.

As greetings went, it wasn’t bad, and if he were to come home to it at the end of a long day, it would relieve a lot of tension, but he hadn’t come here for chemistry. He forced himself to pull back and check out her teeth. At first glance, they seemed well cared for. “Good. You?”

“Perfect.” She ran her fingertips down his chest and lifted her eyes to meet his. “You look amazing.”

So did she. A little too good. It begged the question whether she would spend as much time caring for a family as she obviously cared for herself. She didn’t strike him as the nurturing type, but if Michelle wanted him to give Brianne a chance, he’d have to dig deeper. After forcing a smile and shaking everyone else’s hand in her entourage, he invited them to meet his family.

His mom was already refilling her sangria cup, but it was early. If they worked to get enough food in her, they might all come out of the day unscathed.

Brianne hung onto his arm as she reintroduced herself to his Panel.

With the same air of cool detachment she’d maintained all of last season, Lavonne sat quietly in her matching pantsuit on the other side of the picnic table taking notes and intimidating the hell out of everyone.

Elliot rested his arm loosely around Brianne’s waist like he was trying her on for size.

“Brianne, what do you do?” Anna asked.

“I’m a social media influencer.”

His mother frowned. “What does that mean, sweetheart?”

“I do makeup tutorials, and now makeup companies pay me to advertise their products on Instagram.”

“I see.” His mom still looked confused.

“You must have a ton of followers,” Anna said.

Brianne gave his sister an unassuming smile. “I mean…four hundred thousand.”

That was what she did for a living? If they got married, would he be forced to participate? Trying on hats and sunglasses for her latest Instagram story?

“Were you always so popular?” his mother asked.

“I guess I was. What about Elliot? Was he super popular in school? Football captain and all that?”

Anna snorted. “No. Elliot was the guy dressed in black in the back of art class bitching about how the teacher’s lectures were derivative.”

Michelle snickered behind Elliot’s other shoulder. “Truth.”

It was surreal. Anna, Michelle, and his mother all resembled their actual selves, but it was like their volume had been turned up to twelve.

Remembering Ginger’s advice, Elliot spoke up. “I admire your confidence.” It was a decently good quality he could highlight. “It must take a lot to put yourself out there on social media like that.”

Brianne blushed, flashing a surprised smile and giving Elliot a brief glimpse of her as a person, not a participant.

Maybe Ginger knew what she was talking about.

In the PA’s outstretched hand was the most obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Elliot had ever laid eyes on. “This is what Ginger wants you to wear.”

Elliot refused to look at it for another second. He hadn’t seen Ginger since yesterday. He didn’t care what she wanted.

For two days, Elliot had behaved himself. He’d drunk his weight in sangria, eaten every single thing that came off the grill, and dealt with eleven women, their family, and friends. He would not wear a Hawaiian shirt that looked like it came off a Tommy Bahama clearance rack. He’d rather be naked.

“It’s the only thing left you haven’t worn,” Vanessa pleaded, a few of her dark curls stuck to her cheeks with sweat. She waved the shirt in front of him.

“Then someone needs to go shopping.” He hoped it’d be her. Vanessa’s intensity was a lot to deal with when he’d been day-drinking.

Her voice stretched thin, begging. “Elliot. Please.”

“I’m fine in this.” He gestured to his bare chest and navy board shorts.

Her eyes widened in horror. “She’ll kill me.”

Elliot stretched out on the bed in the Hacienda’s guesthouse. He tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He was half drunk, completely exhausted, and only had one barbecue left to go before he and the crew got a six-hour break. “Is she that hard to work for?”

“I’m lucky to work for her.”

Elliot grunted a laugh. “Why’s that?”

“She started as a PA like me, and she’s always been on my side. That’s sometimes hard to find with women in this business.”

He lifted his head. “You can call her a bitch if you want. I won’t tell.”

Vanessa’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Awesome. Thanks. Except she’s not.”

“She is if she expects me to wear that shirt.”

Ginger’s PA resorted to an all-out whine. “You can’t repeat a look, Elliot.”

“You can tell Ginger she can dress me in that shirt when my body is cold and dead. Better yet, send her in. I’ll tell her to her face.”

Vanessa cracked. The clatter of the shirt hanger hitting the floor was loud enough for him to know she’d hurled it. The door slam was her punctuation mark on the moment.

Elliot propped himself up on his elbows, mind swirling with seasoned wine. He pictured the expression on Ginger’s face if she were to walk in on him then—to find him shirtless, in a bed. A frustrated growl made its way up his throat. He resented the fact that after getting to know eleven women better over the last two days, the only one his mind kept coming back to had disappeared.

Ginger had done her part and kept her distance, but he could have used a few more pearls of wisdom from his producer. He’d been looking for her constantly, hoping to catch a glimpse, curious about what she was seeing in his interactions with the women. If any stood out to her in a way they still hadn’t managed to with him.

More than that, he wanted to talk to her. Hash things out. Understand what went down between them so he could move on from it the way he’d moved on from Jenna. It might have been a simple one-night stand for her, but his heart had been so open to making a connection it was possible he’d read too much into it. Maybe relationships weren’t her thing. But he couldn’t help but think, after the way they were together, that if it hadn’t been for the network’s determination to have him back at any cost—Ginger would have responded differently to the emails he’d sent after that night at the Hilton.

If he was her meal ticket, he needed to hear it from her mouth. Maybe once he did, it would put to rest some of his second-guessing. Re-establish his reasons for coming here.

He stood, giving himself a once-over in the mirror, satisfied with the work he’d done in the last few months to make himself camera-ready. Problem was, he wasn’t considering the camera’s thoughts on his hard-earned physique. Again, he was imagining the look on Ginger’s face while her monitor screen displayed him emerging from the guesthouse without a shirt. Would she remember the way she’d dug her fingernails into his shoulders, or traced the outlines of his rib cage? His breath swelled at the memory.

Not just his breath.

They needed to talk.