Chapter 7: Chapter Six

Ginger’s PA sobbed brokenly, bent over her knees on one of the pool lounge chairs.

“If you can tell yourself it’s only for a few weeks, you’ll be in a much better headspace.” Ginger knew she would be—now that Elliot had finally put his shirt back on. It had been a hell of an afternoon with him strutting all over the final barbecue without it. Asking him to wear a Hawaiian shirt was a mistake, and he’d been taking it out on her ever since. Absently, she rubbed Vanessa’s back in a there-there gesture. “Once filming’s over, it’s easy.”

The PA shook her head.

Ginger reigned in her impatience. In a voice as sweet as she could make it she said, “Vanessa, your job is to stand next to me and do what I tell you to do. Unless you think Holden would be a better fit for me.”

Vanessa’s head snapped up. “Holden?”

“I heard he’s looking for a mentor…” Ginger waited for the fire to come back into Vanessa’s eyes.

“You know I’m better than that spoiled Ivy League brat.”

“You sure?” Ginger studied the younger woman’s face, pleased to see that her tears had all dried up.

“Positive.”

With a firm nod and an even firmer pat on Vanessa’s back, Ginger considered the crisis resolved. “Good. Now go check on craft services. The crew’s gonna be pissed if dinner’s late again.”

“I’m on it.”

Vanessa stormed across the lawn, full hips swinging with determination to get the job done. But Jesus. Three days in and she was breaking down? When Ginger had originally interviewed her for the job, Vanessa acted like she was ready to take on LA, one no-foam latte at a time. But sleep deprivation took its toll on twenty-one-year-olds, too. It was a special kind of torture.

Ginger re-entered the control room as the last BBQ date waved goodbye to her family and hurried back into the Hacienda to get ready for the Farewell Mixer. She needed to put her eyes and ears on The Panel, who were now settling into the lounge chairs by the pool. It was a glorious evening, seventy degrees and not a cloud in the sky as the sun began its descent beyond the valley.

On the screen before her, Lavonne sat in an upright chair, still poised after nine hours in the sun. Her navy slacks and subtle floral-print silk blouse showed no sign whatsoever that she perspired. The renowned therapist listened to Anna and Michelle bicker while taking copious notes.

Michelle interrupted Elliot’s sister again. “Let’s circle back around to Brianne for a sec.”

Anna let out a frustrated huff. “God—I knew you were gonna say that. She’s not right for Elliot!”

“Which is why I know he’ll try to send her packing again, but hear me out—”

Irene patted Michelle’s tiny thigh. The gesture fell a little flat because her hand was limp with alcohol. She was well-sauced, for sure. Ginger drained the rest of her Pellegrino and nodded toward Kat who gave her a big eye roll and returned her gaze to her own monitor.

Michelle’s resonant voice vibrated through Ginger’s headset. “I think the point of all this is to get Elliot to see he hasn’t been going deep enough. Just because she looks exactly like every other girl he’s taken home from a party, doesn’t mean there’s not something more to know about her. It’s a good lesson for him—especially when this gets down to the relationship work. It’s not like no one ever judges Elliot on his looks, either.”

Anna sat up, and Lavonne’s forehead peaked with interest. Her pen stopped scribbling.

“I hear you,” Anna said, “but I think the ship’s sailed with Brianne. He’s already tuning her out. Amanda’s still his type, and he seems more engaged with her.”

Michelle still wasn’t sold. “We already know he’s keeping Amanda. The point is who is he immediately discounting for reasons that might not be the right ones.”

Anna raised her hand, excited to move on. “Okay—speaking to that—I think Elizabeth.”

“She’s too shy for him.” Michelle’s rebuke smacked of authority.

Anna stood her ground. “I think she needs more time.”

Ginger scoffed internally. She was with Michelle on that one. Time wasn’t going to make Elizabeth right for Elliot. He needed someone with edge—someone to call him out on his moods—someone who could argue a point with him, not let him always have the last word—

She pressed her eyes shut in an effort to halt the flow of thoughts. Matchmaking wasn’t her job. Her job was to make sure everyone was where they needed to be, doing what they were supposed to do—and making sure the right people stuck around until the end. Elizabeth wasn’t in her top three anyway.

Michelle refused to back down. “He needs someone with more charisma.”

Lavonne scribbled furiously.

“Ugh…can we decide already? I’d love a nap,” Irene said.

Ginger scowled at the screen. Had Irene just shown up for the open bar or what? She couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to help determine the fate of her only son? She literally had one job here.

Anna sent a sharp look her mother’s way. “What are your thoughts then, Mom?”

Lavonne cleared her throat, put down her pen, and leaned forward in her chair. “If I may, we could go down the list. To make sure we’re not overlooking anyone.”

Elliot’s mother heaved a sigh and collapsed back into her lounge chair.

Lavonne pressed onward, her soft, husky voice smoothing out everyone’s rough edges. Even Ginger’s. Lavonne was nothing if not good at calming things down. “We’ve talked about Brianne… Is she a maybe, a definite no, or a definite save?”

“Let her go,” Anna said.

“She’s a maybe,” Michelle interjected.

“Irene?”

Elliot’s mom waved a hand in front of her like she was shooing an insect and not totally phoning in her job. “Let her go.”

“I agree.” Lavonne struck through Brianne’s name and continued down her list. Ginger was pleased that the cameraman had zoomed in on her clipboard. She made a mental note to cut in some tight shots of the list during editing.

The next few names were all keepers, and The Panel experienced a moment of accord. Until the eighth name came up. “Cassie.”

“Ooo…Cassie,” Anna said with some intrigue. “I’m not sure which way he’s gonna go with her.”

“Her mom was horrible,” Michelle agreed.

“She was. Like wow.”

Ultra-conservative politics aside, Cassie from Scottsdale had a mom who could spot your cubic zirconia studs from a mile away and find you fundamentally lacking. Cassie herself wasn’t so bad. She was a neonatal nurse with a fresh face and fun personality to match, but her family had been a seriously tough crowd.

“Cassie deserves a save,” Anna said with a sidelong glance at her mom. “We can’t judge someone based on their mother.”

“I heard that,” Irene mumbled, though her eyes were closed.

“Cassie and Elliot were like two bros at a frat party,” Michelle complained.

“He said he didn’t want chemistry,” Anna reminded her.

Ginger’s eyebrows lifted. Did he? That was a surprise considering Elliot was pretty much chemistry incarnate.

Michelle gave her head a sharp shake. “That’s bullshit and we all know it. I think he’ll try to send her home.”

Anna squared her shoulders, ready to fight the battle. “I think you’re wrong, but if he does, we’re saving her.”

“Whatever.” Michelle gave up.

Lavonne made a big circle around Cassie’s name.

After all was finally said and done, The Panel’s top three saves were Cassie, Elizabeth, and the overly charismatic Rena from the Jersey Shore who was a total mismatch for Elliot, but who everyone liked too much to send home so soon.

Ginger needed to speak with Elliot. As far as she and the show were concerned, Cassie and Rena needed to stay, which meant Elliot couldn’t put them up for elimination at the same time. They both had potential for next season.

Ginger dialed Elliot’s flip phone, and he answered on the second ring.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“The guesthouse. About to get in the shower.”

“Listen, I need to go over a few things with you before tonight.”

“Phone’s about to die, so good luck.” He sounded as exhausted as she was.

Ginger rushed her words in case he was telling the truth. “Who are you planning to eliminate?”

No response.

“Elliot?”

She glanced at her screen to find the call had ended. “Shit.” Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and asked herself a very important question: could this wait?

She’d see him before the elimination.

Six hours later when he may already have his heart set on eliminating one of her women.

No, she needed to catch him before he took a nap—get his mind right so he didn’t sleep on the wrong decision. Leaving the control room, Ginger started across the lawn. Her stomach growled, and a wave of light-headed emptiness rippled through her. She chugged some water, but it didn’t do the trick. Maybe Elliot had some food…

Except she wasn’t going on a date with him. They were going to have a quick strategy chat, and she’d be on her way. After all, there was no reason to think this meeting would be anything less than professional. The past two days, she’d done an awesome job producing him without pissing him off.

She’d wanted to tell him about ten different times to put his shirt back on today, but she’d managed to keep her ass in her chair.

Her eyes drifted closed at the memory of that inky-blue tattoo covering his bronzed shoulder blade, conjuring images of midnight, reminding her of a dark hotel room with the television on, and his face in shades of blue…

Her shoe hit a rock and she stumbled, jolting her out of her dirty thoughts.

Elliot’s suite was adjoined to the main house by a short sidewalk—a small guesthouse right on the edge of the drop-off to the valley. Darkness settled over the hillside in a thick mist as she approached his door.

Elliot answered wearing sweatpants only. What was left of his hair was slicked back, wet from a shower that had left his body golden and glowing. The full-sleeve tattoo was all up close and personal. It was graphic and bold, a design meant only to enhance the shape of him. There had been times she would have killed to trace a few lines of it again.

“Is this because my phone died?” His tone was dry, annoyed.

“Are we doing the rest of the show shirtless?”

“What?”

She cast her eyes beyond him and stepped inside, changing the subject to keep the peace. “You have any food here? I haven’t had a chance to eat.”

“We had six barbecues today.”

“I was working.”

The back doors in the bedroom were wide open, and the warm, romantic glow of gas lanterns on the terrace drew Ginger’s gaze, but she hadn’t come here to fall under anyone’s spell. She took a sharp right, heading for the kitchen where she found Elliot’s welcome basket full of nuts and protein bars. Tearing into one of the foil packages, she took a big bite. When she returned her attention to Elliot, he was standing across the island from her, his strong arms crossed over his bare chest.

Her eyes weren’t the only ones roaming. To her chagrin, his penetrating gaze made her inner thighs pulse with an all-too familiar ache.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers to get his attention back on her face. “Stop that.”

He blinked slowly. “Can we get this over with so I can sleep? What do you need?”

“Well first, I need you to start charging your phone so we can avoid my having to do this in the future…”

“The phone you guys gave me is a piece of shit.”

She took another bite out of her bar and cracked open a lukewarm bottle of water from the basket. “I listened in on The Panel going over their potential saves for tonight—”

“Wait.” He held up a hand to stop her. “Are you supposed to be telling me this?”

“I know how to do my job.”

“Did Jenna get tips on who her Panel was leaning toward?”

“Of course she did. I realize this is your life, but we’re also trying to tell a story.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “What story were you trying to tell with me?”

“Didn’t you watch the show?”

“No. I didn’t.”

She gaped. “Seriously?”

His darkening glare told her he was absolutely serious.

Ginger avoided his eyes like she found the chalky bar in her hand totally fascinating, but also to avoid telegraphing the fact that it bothered her—the idea of his being so upset about losing Jenna he couldn’t even watch his television debut. “What are you planning to do about Cassie?”

“Keep her. Why?”

“What about her mom?” Ginger asked.

“I’m not trying to marry her mom.”

“But I mean…you’d have to deal with her if you guys…”

He waved his hand in confusion. “I’m sorry—did you want me to send Cassie home?”

“No…”

“Did I answer your question? Are we done?” The sharpening of his tone betrayed his impatience.

She cut to the chase. “Who are your bottom four?”

“I have to tell you?”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Elliot, I’m not the audience. I don’t need to be kept in the dark about your desires and motivations, all right? You can be completely transparent with me. I’m like a confessional. You can tell me anything.”

“Is that right?” He started to move, slowly, around the island until he was on her side of it. She deliberately faced forward, unwilling to look up at him. It didn’t keep her from smelling him though. Spicy and woodsy, and all man. The entire side of her body he was hovering near prickled with awareness.

She side-stepped to put some distance between them and finally turned to face him. Her ears roared with the pounding of her pulse. Her knees were even weak. If she were competing on the show, she’d be a jittering ball of nerves every time he so much as glanced her way. How were the women able to maintain their composure around him? Did they not see how disastrously hot he was? Did he not make them want to do things people only did on the internet? She fanned her face and opened her mouth to complain about how unpleasantly warm it was outside, but he spoke first.

“All my desires?”

“Have you been drinking?”

He grinned. “I’ve only had six sangrias.”

His eyes showed it, too, with the heavy lids and the wandering gaze. Anyway, it was a stupid question. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been watching him all damn day.

“Did you want to have a drink with me?” he asked.

A ridiculous giggle escaped Ginger’s mouth. She had no idea where it came from. “No, thank you,” she managed. “Tell me your plan. I need some sleep, too.”

“Come on, Ginj. Let’s have a shot. One drink.”

Where had she heard that before? “I’m working.”

“You and your work ethic. Doesn’t it ever get old?”

“It’s keeping me employed, so I guess it’s still all the rage.”

Cocking his head to the side and giving her the most impossibly sexy look, he said in a low voice, “You had a drink with me once.”

Oh no he didn’t. He did not bring that night up. Again.

Well, if we’re playing dirty… “Right. In that brief period of—what was it?—five seconds that you weren’t on the show.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ouch.”

Six sangrias and he was totally disinhibited. He wasn’t thinking clearly at all. She needed to get out of this. It occurred to her that she could go around the island the other way, so she did exactly that, grabbing another protein bar for the road.

“What’s the matter, Ginger? You can’t keep me company for a few minutes?”

“You’re not even dressed.” She hated that those words were the first to blurt out of her mouth. She should have been pretending she hadn’t noticed.

“Is that a problem?”

Ginger mustered up her best disgusted look and even made a grossed-out sound to go with it.

Elliot laughed. He wasn’t buying her disgust, so it must not have been too convincing. He was highly aware of how gorgeous he looked. His body was in the best shape of his life, the sun from the mid-afternoon party settling into his skin, turning it a deeper tan, and with that midnight-blue tattoo covering his right arm… Yeah. He knew how hot he was. It wasn’t like it didn’t take confidence to come on a show like this.

“Look, I’m trying to keep this professional. I expect you to do the same. I’m your producer. Don’t treat me like some mid-western dental hygienist at one of your mixers. ’Kay?”

He smirked. “Don’t treat me like I’m some slob from accounting. You and I both know where your hands have been.”

She held up one of said traitorous hands to shut him up. If they were going there, she was determined to steer the ship. “What happened was one night, months ago, and has nothing to do with the show. It was fun, but it ended the second I left the room.”

“No shit.”

“Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.” Although if she was honest with herself it had been impossible to forget.

“As long as we’re discussing it—”

“We’re not. The discussion’s over.”

His smirk disappeared, along with some of his composure. “Goddammit, Ginger. How’s it fair you get to say what you have to say, but I have to keep my mouth shut?”

“My show, my rules. Now tell me who you’re sending home tonight.”

“Go to hell.”

“Let’s not make this personal, all right? You didn’t come here to rub my face in a mistake I made six months ago.” He didn’t—did he? She pressed on. “You came here to change your life. So let’s talk about the show. Can we do that?”

His eyes blazed—all fury and frustration. The Elliot no one wanted to work with reared his ugly head. “Fuck the show.”

If straight talk wouldn’t work, she was not above begging. They needed to get back on track, for both their sakes. “Elliot. Please. Let’s sit down so we can talk.”

“I’m not sitting with you,” he fumed.

“Okay, then let’s take some deep breaths. Can we do that?”

Shoving his hands through his wet hair, he gripped his scalp and tugged hard. “Fuck!” he shouted. “Get out!”

“Elliot, seriously. Take a breath.”

He exhaled harshly, the sound of it sending a shudder through her. She waited for the inhale, but it didn’t come.

“Breathe,” she said again.

In through his nose, with his eyes closed, he slowly heaved in some air. As he blew it out, his eyes drifted open.

They stared at each other across the kitchen island. His shoulders rose with his next inhale as her heart slammed itself repeatedly into her chest wall.

“Rena, Brianne, Lucy, and Elizabeth,” he said.

“Elizabeth? Why?” She was curious to know if he’d come to the same conclusion about their future compatibility as she and Michelle had.

“She’s a virgin.”

Ginger’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“Her sister implied it.”

How had she missed that? “Virgins are a hard no?”

“Can you picture me with a virgin?”

All the air evacuated Ginger’s chest in a gasp. Sense memory flooded her. His demanding touch, some of the filthiest words she’d ever heard… He’d scare a virgin half to death. Ginger gathered her wits. She couldn’t think about that right now. “I think they’ll save Rena then. Any chance you’d want to keep Elizabeth around? Virgins make good TV. But it’s totally up to you.”

He gave her a look like she was full of shit, and she couldn’t help but note he had a point. When it came to the ending, very little would be left to Elliot. “I’ll send Natalie then. I don’t care.” He sounded all defeated.

“You holding up okay?”

“I’m fine.” His voice was tight.

“’Cause I’m around if you need to talk.”

Grimacing, he waved his hand at her, turning toward his bedroom, as if he could erase her presence with the gesture.

She followed only to the edge of the doorway.

He was already collapsing on the bed face first, his long limbs loose and splayed. “Go away, Ginger.”

“Did you set your alarm? We’ll see you at nine thirty?”

“Get. The hell. Out.”