Chapter 3

Revenge was a dish best served cold and twelve years seemed to be about the perfect span of time between the day Dane McClarren realized that Lilith Parker would never be interested in him that way and the day his retaliation scheme would unfold.

The producers of Bride at First Sight had inadvertently handed him the perfect opportunity to lure the girl he’d been in love with in high school onto the set of their show so they could capture the exact moment when he revealed who he was. Thanks to an intensive self-improvement plan, she’d never recognize him. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized she’d married that gangly boy who’d tutored her in Algebra all those years ago. It had taken several weeks to get Lilith to accept the invitation to audition but she’d finally taken the bait and everything was coming together.

Except for the part where Dane couldn’t eat. Or breathe. Or get rid of the itchy place between his shoulder blades. His stomach had this knot in it that was way worse than the time he’d shown up for what he’d thought was a costume party, only to find out he’d gotten his wires crossed. No one else in the place had on a costume. No one. That had been his best costume too, half Gandalf the Grey and half Gandalf the White, so depending on which way he stood, you only saw before the battle against the Balrog, or after.

He hadn’t stayed, of course. He never stuck around for further humiliation, though he knew guys who thought that showed character somehow, to hang out with people higher in the food chain as they continued snickering behind their backs.

“Mr. McClarren, they’re ready for you,” a lady in a trim white pantsuit called into the waiting room. The producers had called it a green room, but it wasn’t green or even much of a room.

Maybe they had a soft drink machine in the hall with some ginger ale in it. Unlikely. Everyone else in the world worshipped at the altar of sugar-laden colas but he’d never had a tolerance for them. He needed something to settle his stomach, though.

“Mr. McClarren.” The lady put a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he stared up at her and that’s when it clicked.

He was Mr. McClarren, which he shouldn’t have so much trouble remembering since he’d chosen the name as a derivative of his favorite car. Or what would be the favorite car of a man who cared about cars. He hoped.

It should be easier to take a new name. Like, why did something your parents picked out have to be so ingrained? Why didn’t parents let kids pick their own names? Dane was so much better than Eugene. Dane had that hip, cool vibe that said hey, here’s a guy who knows how to order craft beer in a restaurant and could totally hook up with a supermodel. Right?

The craft beer part he’d studied until his eyes fell out of his head. He knew the names of every microbrewery on the planet. What he could not do was drink the vile stuff. People did that for fun? No thank you. Supermodels would be okay. They didn’t have many in Dallas, Texas, land of churches and football stadiums. But he kept his eyes peeled just in case.

“Are you okay, Mr. McClarren?” the lady in white asked, concern evident in the scrunched-up space between her eyebrows. “The producers are waiting for you on the set.”

“Yes, of course,” he said more smoothly than he’d had a right to expect, but then he’d had extensive training with a voice coach who had declared Dane her best student ever, bar none.

But she’d gotten weird around him after he’d worked with the fashion consultant and learned how to dress. She blinked a lot and seemed to have developed a case of the dropsies overnight, like she’d suddenly forgotten how her fingers worked. He was constantly having to bend down and pick something up for her, which wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world when his fashion consultant had forced him to buy four-hundred-dollar jeans that were clearly a size too small.

Probably she’d just been being nice when she’d said his haircut opened up his eyes, allowing her to see what a pretty color they were. Of course it had. He’d worn his shaggy hair down over his eyes for over a decade. You couldn’t hide behind it if it wasn’t long enough. He still wasn’t used to being able to see, what with the haircut and laser surgery and all.

Both made it a lot easier to follow the lady down the hall to the set, where the bright lights nearly blinded him. His eyes were still a little sensitive and completely unused to being naked in public. He’d been wearing glasses since second grade.

When his eyes finally adjusted, everything got real in a flash.

Lilith. Sitting right there. In a high-backed chair in the dead center of the stage. Looking at him.

Gah, she wasn’t the same girl from high school. Not even close. This was a full-blown woman, with arresting cheekbones and a friendly smile, curves of the sort that her sharp suit couldn’t hide. The shoes, with an ice pick heel and lots of strappy things that crisscrossed up her ankle, screamed how out of his league she was.

What had he been thinking? He couldn’t even speak to this woman, let alone marry her in some ill-conceived revenge scheme he’d spent a couple of months planning but suddenly couldn’t remember a thing about.

“You must be Dane,” she said with her throaty voice that had laced his dreams so many times.

That was the kick in the head he’d needed. She was still Lilith underneath, the girl he’d fallen in love with who couldn’t have been bothered to acknowledge him that night at A Walk in the Clouds—and she’d promised him a dance. Gotten his hopes up. Only to be crushed.

Turnabout was fair play, after all.

“Yes,” he said and just as he’d painstakingly practiced, he crossed the stage and held out a hand. “Dane McClarren. The producers told me your name is Lilith?”

“Parker,” she supplied easily with a nod. “You can call me Lil if you want. Some people find it less of a mouthful than Lilith.”

Bizarre. This wasn’t going too badly. He’d let this scene unroll in his head lots of times. Usually he stumbled, either physically or verbally, when he imagined it. Sprawling at her feet would have had an ironic bit of symmetry to it that he hadn’t been able to fully erase from the vignette.

But here he was, shaking her hand like a civilized adult instead of a traumatized teenager lying at her feet as she stared down at him before whirling away. Huh.

A bit perplexed at how he could have copiously planned out this entire scenario and yet be so off balance, he sank into his own high-backed chair.

“I have to confess,” she murmured to him behind one of her palms, leaning into his space with a whiff of something feminine and sultry. “I’m really nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. But it sounded like fun, you know? Being on TV? Is that why you decided to audition?”

Fun? No. That had never so much as crossed his mind. But what was he supposed to say? Actually, I didn’t have to audition because this is all a setup? “Uh, sure.”

Now he felt like a class A idiot and a jerk besides. But it was too late to rethink this whole thing. The revenge angle hadn’t even been his idea initially. Dane’s plastic surgeon had passed along the contact info for the show’s casting agent since Dane qualified as one of her best success stories and the rest had kind of cascaded from there.

One of the producers darted onto the set, shouting instructions to the dozen or so crew members milling around the enormous camera that dominated the space beyond the small stage where he and Lilith sat. A woman held a microphone on a long pole, extending it over their chairs, and another woman with a clipboard yelled instructions into her headset.

Dane’s pulse skittered as the producer pointed to the teleprompter and instructed them to read the text as it popped up. Thanks to his new supersonic eyesight, he had no trouble making out the words scrolling across the screen.

Dane: It seems odd that a beautiful woman like you isn’t already married.

That was his line. Dutifully, he read it off, pleased that he didn’t mix up the order or fall out of his chair. Then Lilith was supposed to say her line.

Lilith: That’s really sweet of you to say. I wish matters of the heart were easier. Then I wouldn’t have to be looking for love in such an unconventional manner as on a reality TV show.

She didn’t read her line. She stared at the teleprompter with a screwy expression.

“That’s not the way I talk,” she said and glanced at Dane. “Who talks like that?”

“Cut!” The director slashed his hand through the air near his waist. “You don’t have to think, sweetheart. You just read the lines and we go on. Okay?”

Lilith arched a brow. “Sure, darling. Just as soon as you climb out of the dark ages. We women have grown brains since the last time you checked, and by the way, address me as Ms. Parker or not at all.”

Dane blinked. Wow. Lesson number one in standing up for yourself.

The producer rolled his eyes and muttered something to the lady behind him with a clipboard, then called out, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take a sensitivity class in my spare time, Ms. Parker. Meanwhile, we’re doing a camera test here. If you don’t talk on film, we don’t get the shot and you don’t get to be in the show. Capisce?”

“How about if Dane and I just have a conversation?” Lilith suggested and lobbed a warm smile in his direction that nearly made him forget his name. And he’d been saying it to himself in his head, so he’d remember it when his line came up on the teleprompter. “We can get to know each other. That will go over on camera much better.”

What? No. No it would not. He needed lines. Otherwise, it would take an act of congress for him to come up with something to say that didn’t sound asinine. “What’s wrong with the script?"

“It’s stilted and sounds faked.” Lilith wrinkled her nose. “If there’s anything I can’t stand, its people being less than genuine.”

She meant him. Didn’t she? Dane’s pulse went into freefall. Was she onto him? “I don’t know what to say.”

Total truth. So there was that.

Lilith leaned forward, her attention fixed on Dane instead of the camera or the teleprompter or a million other things she could be focusing on. The back of his neck went hot. She couldn’t possibly recognize him. The haircut? Only one of many changes, including plastic surgery to fix his nose and ears. A workout routine that he’d followed religiously for almost a year had filled out his face and body. His wardrobe matched his new name. There was very little to connect him with the gangly teenager he’d been. But her scrutiny threatened to undo the producer’s carefully plotted unveiling if he wasn’t careful.

After all, he was still himself underneath his skin.

That was enough to get his tongue loosened.

“A conversation would be nice,” he threw out hastily. “After all, we’re supposed to get married on the show. We should probably have a few unscripted conversations.”

“Well, right. Exactly.”

Her smile brightened. He really didn’t remember her smiling so much, but then, it had been a long time since he’d spent any time in her presence, and even when he had, he hadn’t given her much reason to smile.

That was an odd recollection. Usually he just replayed the disgust on her face when she let her gaze rake over him as he lay there sprawled out on the gym floor after he’d tripped. She’d ripped his heart out and carried it away with her when she’d flounced off, never to be seen again. And it had taken a lot of courage to attend the dance in the first place.

“I didn’t really envision there being a script,” she said and shifted in her chair to face him more fully. “There, that’s better. I’d rather look at you than all those people out there.”

The glint of appreciation in her gaze made him go hot all over, and for a completely different reason. She liked the way he looked. As best he could tell anyway. Usually he had a hard time picking up on what other people were thinking or feeling, which was how he’d wound up on the gym floor in the first place. But this was kind of…obvious. And he’d worked hard to get to the point where he wasn’t a disaster in the looks department. Why not assume he’d completed that very important first hurdle in this quest?

“I completely agree,” he murmured and shifted his entire chair to face her as well. “I’m not used to being on camera. You must be though. You seem so at ease.”

Lilith laughed, a silvery waterfall that flowed over his skin. “It’s the company.”

His company? That had to be what she’d meant. He made her feel at ease. Wasn’t that a kick in the pants? Inexplicably, that eased the pressure in his spine and he finally relaxed.

Propping an elbow up on the wooden arm of the high-backed chair, he leaned in a little closer to her, breathing in her exotic scent. Unlike a lot of women, she hadn’t bathed in whatever her perfume was. Instead, it was subtle. Very faint. He’d have to be this close to her to smell it. In fact, he’d bet he was the only one in this room who knew what she smelled like, and that leant an intimacy to this interaction that he hadn’t seen coming.

He liked it.

“I agree with that too,” he told her. “I’ll confess I was a little worried we wouldn’t be compatible. I’m not so concerned about that at the moment.”

“Do you have any concerns? About me?” she clarified.

“None.” And then he let his mouth tip up in a smile. “Well, except for one. I might have a difficult time calling you Ms. Parker.”

Her return smile felt like a reward. “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s only for people who make me mad. I’d rather you call me Lilith.”

“Lilith,” he repeated dutifully, and it left his mouth with a warmth that matched the intimate vibe he’d unwittingly created simply by rearranging his chair. “It’s a nice name.”

She shrugged, a pleased tinge rising along her cheekbones. “I’ve always thought it was a little weird. Like, I’ve never even met anyone else with that name.”

“You carry it well.”

Better than he’d carried his weird name. Eugene. It was practically an invitation to be made fun of, and he’d railed at his mother for naming him that on many occasions. She stuck by her excuse that it had been his grandfather’s name and she’d wanted to honor him. Fine. Build a memorial in the backyard. Don’t saddle a kid with a mouthful that might as well be in the dictionary next to the word “nerd.”

“Maybe because I like it.” She tapped a well-manicured fingernail on the arm of her chair. “I don’t mind having a different name. It’s mine. Other people’s opinions are just that.”

First time he’d considered that the shoulders carrying the name could hold themselves differently, thus conveying to the rest of the world that there was nothing odd about it. “You don’t care about other people’s opinions?”

“Sure, about things that matter. Like their opinion about the spa I run.” Her expression darkened for a moment, and then she shook it off. Fascinating. “Otherwise, no. I can’t imagine even asking someone else’s opinion about things like my name or how I look. I can judge how I feel about those things all by myself.”

“That’s…refreshing.” Certainly not typical. But it was something he could stand to learn. “You run a spa?”

She nodded. “I’ve owned my own business for almost a year. It’s terrifying. But I went into it with a friend and we get along really well. She’s like family. It’s different when you have someone holding your hand, right?”

He wouldn’t know. He’d always been a loner, and usually not by choice. The line of people volunteering to hold his hand had long been nonexistent. “Sure.”

“What do you do?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

So he told her. “Hack into companies’ servers so I can point out their security weaknesses.”

“Fascinating.” She propped her chin on her upturned hand, her gaze drilling into his. “Are you good at it?”

“Of course.” He sniffed self-righteously. “That’s why I said I hack them, not try to hack them. Every company has weaknesses that can be exploited by criminals. My job is to find the holes. I always do. And then I help the company fix the problems I find.”

He rarely talked about what he did for a living, mostly because it was hard to be anonymous when you blabbed about it to everyone. Plus, the specifics made most people’s eyes glaze over, as he’d learned the hard way, and he worked long hours. It wasn’t glamorous. But it paid extremely well. Especially since he was the best in the business.

She was still watching him carefully, but for whatever reason, her scrutiny didn’t raise his blood pressure this time, and he let his gaze rove over her in kind.

“There’s something about you…” she finally said. “I can’t put my finger on it. But I feel like I’ve always known you.”

“I must have one of those faces.” He shrugged lightly, confident all at once that he’d sold her on Dane McClarren. She didn’t know they’d actually met in second grade. He’d put money on it.

“No. I’m just comfortable with you,” she murmured. “You don’t have an agenda. I like that. I like you.”

That was literally the first time he could recall someone making such a bold declaration with him at the center of it. It was humbling, enthralling, unbelievable. He swallowed. “I like you too.”

“And cut!” the director yelled. “You guys are gold together. This is going to be a great show.”

Lilith flinched and glanced at the crowd of people just past the edge of the light. “We’re done? We’re on the show?”

“It’s a wrap,” the director said with enthusiasm. “We start filming bright and early tomorrow. See Sheila for the paperwork.”

Dane blinked. The show. The scheme. Somehow, he’d forgotten all of that. He’d fallen prey to Lilith Parker’s charm once again. Because that was how she reeled you in, with pretty words and made you think she saw you, when in reality, she was just like everyone else—waiting to humiliate the geeky guy who was an easy target.

He couldn’t trust her. Last time he had, he’d actually fallen for her promises. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.