Chapter Three

In a dim, private room glowing with candles and strands of sparkling white lights, Ginger gazed out a picture window toward the hillside pool, easily viewed from her vantage point on the plush and cozy sofa. Silk pillows and cashmere throws helped further set the romantic mood in the Candle Room where Elliot would be sitting in less than twenty-four hours—his long legs spread, his gaze roaming, his tragically short hair… “I’d kill to make out here. You?”

Kat’s large blue eyes closed as she sank more deeply into the velvet sofa. She rested her cheek on her outstretched arm. “You offering?”

“Are you kidding? I’m exhausted.” Which surely explained her wandering thoughts. Ginger yawned again. Curled up in cashmere, all she wanted in the world was a long nap, but they still had their final walk-through. Ginger ran through her mental checklist. It was currently two a.m. A seven a.m. meeting loomed over the production staff where they’d finalize the schedule for the week. If she got out of there by three, she’d be able to nap before she had to be back at the Hacienda for the early meeting. The nap was all she could think about. Sleep was gold when production started. Highly sought after, hard to come by, and immensely valuable.

Matt, the third and final member of the field production team, poked his unshaven face into the Candle Room. “Ginger—there’s a problem with the hot tub.” He coughed, choking on the last words. He’d quit smoking two weeks ago and could barely finish a sentence without the words getting caught up in the cleansing of his lungs.

Ginger rubbed at her tired eyes. “What kind of problem?”

“There was a dead bird in it.”

“Of course there was.” The hot tub was the bane of their existence.

Matt cleared his throat and coughed again, this time having the decency to do it into his elbow. “I added it to my list for the morning, I wanted you to know—in case it’s not up and running.”

Kat lugged herself off the sofa, pulling all her wilted strawberry-blond hair over one shoulder. Everyone Ginger had run into since she arrived at the Hacienda needed a long shower and a week of sleep. “At least it’s not another bobcat,” Kat said.

Ginger grimaced as she also stood, the memory not a pleasant one. “No one’s gonna strip their ball gown off tomorrow for a dip. This isn’t that kind of show.”

Kat snorted a laugh. “I’m not sure I’d put anything past these ladies. Elliot changes the game a little.”

Ginger glanced sharply in her direction. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, all of America knows he enjoys ‘water sports.’”

Ginger scowled as she adjusted her faltering ponytail. “Let’s try to keep this first episode PG.”

Kat might have been joking, but Elliot and Jenna’s Indian Ocean interlude hadn’t been Ginger’s favorite day on the job. Everyone on the set, and pretty much everyone in America could tell what had gone down out there. And it was not in line with the vision of the show. Ginger glanced at the opulently romantic couch and removed a cashmere throw along with two of the pillows. She couldn’t have him making out with people on the first night. No reason for anyone to get too cozy. It wasn’t personal. It just wasn’t what the creators had in mind.

Although she hadn’t been exactly clear about that in their meeting, what with waving Elliot’s test results around in front of everyone like she expected him to hit the ground running. Chewing on her lip as they left the romantic room, she weighed the benefit of meeting with him one more time before production started—to give him a quick reminder about the tone of the show.

“Any other last-minute problems?” Ginger asked Matt as they headed down the hall to the main living area.

“A few light bulbs, but my PA is on it.”

Ginger scowled at the reminder. “Speaking of, where’s my PA?”

“Vanessa’s taking an alcohol inventory.”

“Great. So we’ll be here all night.” Vanessa worked hard, but she wasn’t exactly swift.

Matt scratched at his untamed beard and yawned loudly. “She’s almost done. Anyway, I think we’re about finished. Why don’t you head out? Get some rest.”

“Me, too?” Kat asked.

Matt looked at her like she’d broken into song. “You can’t both leave.”

“Then why should she get to?”

“Look at her.”

Kat and Matt both regarded Ginger, who frowned, resenting the implication. She couldn’t possibly have looked worse than Kat. “I’m fine. Let’s do the walk-through.”

Starting at the front door, they entered the house the way one of the contestants would—as America would. Adjusting flower arrangements and perfecting candle placement, the team turned down the hall toward The Panel’s viewing room. The converted media room had no windows, but it housed a wall of television screens, a brand-new leather sectional, and a separate sitting area where each woman would come for a brief introduction to Elliot’s friends and family before heading into the mixer.

“Lavonne wanted us to take out all the hard liquor,” Kat mentioned, referring to their relationship expert.

Ginger scowled. “You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” Matt said with a short laugh. “I didn’t order blackout curtains for the guesthouse, either.”

The guesthouse would be Elliot’s main living quarters as it was for every star. What did Lavonne think he’d be doing in there? She gave her head a little shake. She didn’t want to know. Better the windows remained uncovered.

Leaving the viewing room, the producers continued down the hall into an open living area complete with a chef’s kitchen, plenty of seating, and another expansive view of the lit-up, heated pool outside. Ginger fluffed pillows and arranged drapes while Kat wiped smudges off the sub-zero. The ritual was like decorating a Christmas tree. It was hard to imagine doing a job like this without Kat and Matt. But then again, if she was showrunner, other people would be doing all of this for her, and she’d be asleep in her fancy Australian penthouse.

“I could stand to stay here a few weeks,” Matt said as he nudged a sofa an inch to the left.

“Maybe we’ll consider you for next season.”

The thirty-something producer glanced at Ginger with tired eyes and a face she remembered being attractive when they’d both started this job. “I’ll pass, thanks,” he said. “I don’t want my mom picking my next wife. She’ll do a worse job than I did.”

“What about Lavonne?”

Matt only chuckled and shook his head.

Kat joined them at the French doors. “I’m giving the Hacienda my stamp of approval. Can we go now?”

The next day, operating on only two hours of sleep, Ginger waited for Elliot to arrive at a quiet upscale Italian restaurant in Moorpark, down the hill from the Hacienda. The early production meeting had gone as smoothly as anyone could have hoped, but after spending four hours with Kat visiting the hotel rooms of all fifteen women to give them the ground rules for show etiquette, Ginger no longer believed she was living her best life. Having to picture each one of them walking into the sunset with Elliot was more nauseating than she’d expected. But maybe she was tired.

If he didn’t show up soon, she’d be falling asleep on the bar.

Like an alarm clock blaring, her phone rang. The sight of her twin sister Anise’s face set her nerves even more on edge. “Ani, this isn’t a good time.” Ginger was in no mood to justify her life choices.

“Hazel wants to talk to you—it’ll be quick, promise!”

“Hi, Ginger!” her five-year-old niece chirped. Despite the inconvenient timing, Hazel was the hardest to resist.

“Hey, Hazeldoodle. What have you been up to?”

“Waiting for you to come back to visit. Today we made the best ever clam chowder—just like Grandma’s! I wish you could try some.”

Ginger grimaced as the little girl somehow managed to sum up all her own childhood struggles in the space of an innocent offer of a bowl of soup.

According to their mother she and her twin had been opposites since day one. Anise was good, Ginger was bad. Anise breastfed beautifully, slept soundly, and never complained. Ginger required months of lactation training, rarely slept, and screamed all the time. By elementary school her parents had written her off as an unruly rebel when all she’d really been was a kid with chronic stomach cramps due to a dairy allergy.

Diagnosed finally at age eight.

Her mother, the gourmet chef, had never forgiven her for it. She detested cooking without butter, and chowder was her specialty. Basically, Ginger was the family pain in the ass.

“I wish I could, too, but I’m so busy sweetie. I love you though. Could you put your mother back on the phone, please? Talk soon. Kisses.”

Ginger smooched into the receiver as Hazel handed the phone back to her diabolically sweet twin. At what point would she stop using her adorable daughters to convince Ginger to move back to the Bay Area? Why the hell would she want to return to living in Anise’s shadow? “Not cool,” she admonished.

“I use the weapons I have at hand.” Anise snickered. “So what are you doing? Working? You work too hard. You know if you worked for me, I’d actually give you two days off a week. Think of all the fun you could have with forty-eight whole hours at your fingertips.”

“I have fun,” Ginger lied. “And I’m not interested in the food service industry.”

“You’re a snob, is what you’re saying.” Anise’s tone was light, joking. “You’re too good for the family business?”

“I hate food.” It wasn’t that Ginger was too good for her family. They just didn’t get her. Fighting to be heard had been key to her survival.

Early on she’d had big plans. Anise may have been content to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but Ginger had dreams. While her elementary school teachers had likely cringed every time Ginger’s name showed up on one of their rosters, and she’d spent her fair share of time in the principal’s office explaining her resistance to traditional learning, her high school theater director—a Hollywood veteran herself—had been different. The first adult in Ginger’s life who’d recognized how badly Ginger needed a safe way to express herself in a medium other than summer vacation essays or food, she’d given her the keys to the theater.

Anything was possible on a stage or on a screen. Once a pastime, it had become her passion.

After years of sacrificing friends who didn’t “get” her hectic schedule, potential boyfriends she never made time for, and more family functions than she could count, Ginger was finally, finally on the verge of having something to show for herself. Her own show. An executive producer credit. A chance to create something all her own. She’d seen Marlon’s Emmy, and she wanted one, too. If Ginger had learned anything in her life, it was that the only person she could count on to put her first was herself. It was something her sister couldn’t possibly understand. Anise had come first since day one.

Speaking of runners-up, outside the restaurant, 'Matched'’s most famous loser pulled up in a limousine. “Ani, I have to go. Seriously. Give my love to all the people, and I’ll catch up with you another time.”

“Wait—Ginger—!”

“Bye.” She hung up before Anise could toss another guilt trip at her feet. She had enough problems already, and he’d just walked in the door. Ginger didn’t allow herself to spare a thought for her casual work clothes or disastrous hair. In fact, the less appealing she made herself, the better to distinguish this encounter from the last time she’d watched him walk into a bar.

God, he looked ridiculous. So hot it burned even from a distance. The way his dove-gray suit fit his long, lean body almost made up for the fact that some asshole had cut two inches off his hair.

She sipped the one drink she’d allotted herself for this meeting, hoping it would take the edge off being in a room with him.

Elliot approached with his signature stalk, the type of walk only the sexiest men were given by whatever higher power they subscribed to. His stride was long and strong, but his shoulders remained relaxed, as if he didn’t give a damn about anything. Despite his new, polished look, he remained insanely appealing.

The air in the restaurant grew thinner as he approached, but there was still enough of it to carry the spicy, clean scent of him. Eau d’Temptation.

Leaning against the bar top, he stared down at her. His perfectly tamed hair hadn’t moved an inch, and Ginger’s hand twitched with an urge to ruffle it up—grab a handful of it and make a mess. “Here I am,” he said.

Yes. He was. There. Jesus, this was weird. And familiar. And she could not go there right now! Clearing a sudden clog from her throat, she indicated the stool behind him. “Have a seat.”

He did what he was told, pulling up on the legs of his pants to give himself the required slack. Resting an elbow on the bar, he waited with an expectant lift of his finely groomed eyebrows. Déjà fucking vu.

Makeup had done some nice work on his face. His complexion was poreless. He was glowing. His strong jawline was shaved so close she’d question whether or not he grew hair there if it hadn’t roughed up her own cheek once upon a big mistake. After blinking the memory away and giving herself a swift reminder that none of his amped-up good looks were for her benefit, she moved straight to the point of their meeting.

“I needed a chance to talk to you about tone,” she said. “We didn’t get to discuss it yesterday.”

“You were too busy making sure I didn’t have chlamydia.”

“I mean—it can be a full-time job.”

His deliciously sensual mouth quirked, but he wiped off what might have turned into a smile fairly quickly when he saw she wasn’t returning it. “Tone, then,” he said.

“As I reminded the women today, 'Matched' is geared toward a wide audience.”

His stare remained blank and flat, but his dark blue eyes had some sort of gravitational force working…so obnoxious. “Meaning it isn’t meant to be some late-night hot-tubbing bachelor fantasy.”

“I’ve been on the show, Ginger.”

“I’m aware of that, Elliot, and yet—you still managed to have on-camera sex with a woman in the ocean.”

It was his turn to clear his throat as he took a glance around the bar. “I forgot you were paying such close attention.”

You’re in charge, Ginger. Handle him. “You need to understand the network isn’t interested in making that type of behavior a regular thing. We understand things happen when feelings start to get involved, but in the end, this is a relationship show. Not a hookup show. If anything, it errs toward educational.”

He smirked. “Is that the kind of thing you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

“I don’t have any problems sleeping at night.”

“No?” Sitting back, Elliot ran his hand slowly up his muscled thigh. “You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

The movement of his hand lit a match inside her. His tone was overly intimate, and all-too reminiscent of a conversation she’d tried very hard to forget. Her nerves came alive with sparks of flame, and if she’d been the type to blush, her face would have been beet red as she glanced exactly where the movement of his hand led her. His crotch. He meant to do that.

She snapped her gaze back to his face. “We need to be on the same page, Elliot. Otherwise, this doesn’t work.”

“Then why don’t you get me there, Ginger?”

She huffed. “I—we don’t want you making out with anyone on the first night, or the second, or the third… We want you focused on getting to know people. In the platonic sense.”

“Right.” He nodded like he was on board. “What all great marriages are made of.”

“If you plan to end up with a life partner at the end of this, it’s in your best interest to explore true compatibility.”

His eyes held onto hers with the type of pull the moon had on the ocean. How was he doing that?

“Sometimes things happen, Ginger. Nature takes its course.”

God, was she really going to have to stand on the sidelines again while he got his game on with fifteen different women? She wanted to gag. Forcing her expression to remain neutral, she laid down the rules. “Nature’s gonna have to wait. Once you’re down to about four women, we’ll be allowing a little more intimacy than usual.”

His brows lifted with interest. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you. And you and Jenna set a precedent. And it’s what the network wants.” The words burned her throat like battery acid.

“And if I’m not feeling it?”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem feeling it,” she said before she could stop herself.

His gaze sharpened, and Ginger froze when the pointed edge of it pinned her in place. The air between them suddenly got steamy, too thick to breathe. Had it been the way she said it? Too sultry? Or was the weight of the unspoken words between them making the atmosphere heavier?

He straightened in his seat, breaking the spell. “So six weeks? No touching? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.”

He sighed. “We could’ve done this on the phone.”

“I wanted you to see my face so you know how serious I am.”

“Maybe you should get me a phone that supports FaceTime.”

The attempt to suppress her laugh came out as a snort.

He finally cracked a smile. Lowering his voice, he added, “I admit, I kinda thought you wanted to talk about—”

Tension spiked through her, forcing her spine to stiffen. “Don’t.” She raised a hand to stop any further words that might have even been thinking about coming out of his mouth. She had a job to do and strolling down erotic memory lane wasn’t part of it. “That was a mistake. There’s nothing to talk about.”

His face went instantly blank, his entire body rigid. “Good. Because it was meaningless. That what you need to hear?”

Meaningless? The cruel word landed like a sucker punch. As much as she’d repeated the same phrase in her own head, hearing it from his mouth knocked the wind out of her. She exhaled through her teeth. He needed to remember who he was dealing with. “Elliot—I swear to God. You breathe one single word about that night to me or anyone else, and I’ll make sure you end up with the girl of your worst nightmares.”

He stood, straightening his slacks, her empty threat having zero effect. “You’ll have to get through Michelle first. Are we done?”

“Yeah. We’re done.” She was already breathing easier.

Elliot stalked away from her. “I’d offer you a ride, but I know how you get in limos.”

Frustration and rage made for a sour mix in the back of her throat. “Fuck you, Elliot.”

“I believe you already did.”