Chapter Four

In the foyer, Elliot straightened his tie for at least the ninth time as he approached the front door of the legendary Hacienda where the first night of the season was about to kick off. His fight or flight mechanism revved into high gear. He was ready to throw down or take off running.

Ginger glanced up from her iPad and lowered the mouthpiece of her headset so it no longer blocked the view of her full lips. Her eyes locked onto his, penetrating his gaze with an indignant challenge.

His heart, already working overtime with nerves, fell into a temporary rhythm incapable of sustaining life. His thoughts clouded for a moment. He forced his lungs open with a sharp inhale through his nose. A palpitation thudded against his chest wall before his bodily functions returned to normal. Maybe next time he could get a warning before she put the paddles on him like that again. The least she could have done was shout Clear!

However, after that afternoon at the restaurant, she might not mind if he dropped dead. He could have phrased his thoughts better at the bar, but the fact that she wouldn’t win an award for kindness any time soon didn’t make her any less sexy.

She pointed to the floor two feet in front of her, indicating his mark. He gave his head a slight shake to clear the rising floodwaters of lust and moved toward it.

“Elliot, remember Jamie?” Ginger gestured behind her.

Elliot nodded toward the large, full-bearded cameraman, too nervous to greet him as warmly as he would have liked. Memories of the drunken all-nighter the remaining four contestants and the camera crew spent in Thailand last season flashed briefly, and there were still some holes Elliot needed filled in about the adventures of that evening, but reminiscing would have to wait. “How’s it going?”

“Welcome back,” the cameraman said.

“Thanks. We rolling?”

“Always.” Jamie aimed the camera at Elliot.

Ginger moved out of the frame. “Gut check, Elliot. Tell us how you’re feeling.”

“Do I look at the camera or you?”

“I’m not here. Look at the camera. Act like you’ve done this before.”

Something else he’d done before was strip her naked, but he doubted she’d want him to call her out on that at the moment. Pushing back at the memory, he stared down the camera lens, the reflected image of his face swirling and breaking apart. “It feels different on this side of the door.”

“Are you excited?” She gave a rolling hand gesture for him to keep talking. Elaborate.

This was ridiculous. He stepped off the mark. “Shouldn’t Davis be here? I don’t mind talking to someone, but explaining to the camera how ‘jazzed’ I am right now feels disingenuous.” Dropping his frenetic air quotes, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

She tilted her head to give him an impatient look, already annoyed. “Does it?”

“Is this how it always works?”

“Davis’ll be here in a second,” she said. “There’s no harm warming up.”

“I’m all warmed up. Thanks. Let’s wait for Davis.”

Jamie didn’t lower the camera. “Do you two maybe need a quick team-building exercise?”

Ginger’s glare fixed solely on Elliot. “We’re fine.”

“What do you have in mind?” Elliot asked him.

“I like beer pong,” Jamie replied.

No one laughed.

Footsteps slapping the Saltillo tile heralded Davis’s fashionably late arrival.

Ginger raised the microphone on her headset, the frown of concentration returning as she listened to a voice no one else could hear. “The first car’s coming up the driveway.” She peeked through the sidelight. “Matt, is The Panel ready?” Nodding, she gave another elaborate hand signal. “All right. We’re on.”

Jamie refocused the camera as Davis stepped into the frame with Elliot. “You ready, buddy?”

Elliot flashed the smile that had gotten him into this mess in the first place and internally cursed Michelle for convincing him that returning was a good idea. “Absolutely.”

“The first car is pulling up. Tell us what you’re looking for tonight. You’ll have to send four women home before The Panel announces their save. What are some of the qualities that might make you say, nope, this woman’s not for me?”

Elliot took a breath. It went down shaky. Either he was more nervous than he thought, or Ginger’s evil glare was getting to him. “If she doesn’t want the same things I do.”

“Tell me more about what you’re looking for.”

Clearing his throat to make sure his thoughts came out as plainly as possible, he said, “I’m looking for a partner. Someone to do life with. I’m done with all the big adventures. I want someone ready to settle down.” The words came out sounding wooden. What had Michelle said last night? “Someone who makes me laugh.”

Davis donned his most charming grin. “What else?”

Ginger’s critical stare crawled all over Elliot. Though he wasn’t looking directly at her, her eyeballs might as well have been on his skin. He forced himself to envision the opposite of her. “Warmth. Kindness goes a long way.”

Ginger gave the signal to wrap it up.

Davis made a show of straightening Elliot’s tie. “Your first potential match is about to arrive. You ready?”

“Let’s do it.” Elliot faced the door. He gave himself a quick reminder that there only needed to be one woman at the end of this. He didn’t have to like every one of them.

When the doorbell rang, more cameramen came out of the woodwork. Or maybe they’d been there before, and Elliot was too zoned in on Ginger and Davis to notice. Four huge cameras crowded the foyer now, ready to catch the coming moments from every possible angle. He had to stop himself from looking at Ginger one last time.

He refused to live in relationship limbo anymore. If the show was the only way to get a guarantee, so be it. Six months of resentment powered his hand as he threw open the door for his first potential match.

Tall, blond, in a feathered sky-blue gown, the woman’s dark eyes lit up, and she let out a squeal of excitement. “I’m a hugger! Do you hug?”

Nope. Not it.

Elliot greeted her, and she gushed as he accepted the hug she was so eager to give.

Her scent was strong, vanilla and flowers. But it was too sweet. He pulled away. “What’s your name?”

“Hailey.”

“Hailey, nice to meet you. I’m Elliot.”

She beamed up at him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

At least she was happy to see him. “I hope you don’t regret it once you meet my mom.”

“I can’t wait.”

“She’s right through there.” Elliot gestured toward the hall that led to the viewing room where his hand-picked Panel waited.

Hailey was about to find herself face-to-face with Anna, Michelle, his mother Irene, and the show’s relationship expert Dr. Lavonne Woods. The meeting would be brief. First impressions only. Once they’d met all the women, The Panel would view the entire mixer on CCTV so they could decide who they wanted to save after Elliot’s first round of eliminations.

As Hailey headed away, Elliot struggled to remember his first impression of her already. His only thought was too sweet.

The next woman was more gorgeous than the first. She stood back a moment to let him take the complete picture in, from her perfectly golden hair, her flawless face, down to her white, shimmering gown.

This was all wrong.

She held out her hand delicately. “I’m Brianne.”

“Elliot.”

“Do you like my dress, Elliot?” She spread her arms to give him a better look.

“It’s beautiful.”

She twirled, in case he hadn’t seen enough yet.

“Amazing,” he added.

She moved in closer until her chest brushed his. In his ear, her words were a low hush just loud enough for the cameras, “Jenna wasn’t good enough for you.”

The comment turned him off instantly. “Ready to meet my Panel?”

“Absolutely,” she purred.

Elliot found himself glancing at Ginger as Brianne walked down the hall. She gave him a cheesy grin and a big thumbs-up. “Tell us how you’re feeling!”

“So far so good!” he said, gamely, but his own smile faltered. Maybe it was all the glam and the big setup, but his faith in the show’s promise of a happy ending had never been more lacking. He couldn’t picture either of the women he just met sitting next to him at a Cubs game and enjoying a beer, much less keeping track of his teeth cleanings and bearing his children. The doorbell rang again.

Fuck me. He gave the knob another twist.

“Hey, Elliot Hale,” the understatedly beautiful woman said with a wide grin that showed off both her dimples. “I’m Cassie. It’s nice to meet you finally.” She stepped in for a hug that was neither too desperate nor too stiff. It hit the right note and settled down his nerves.

It only took one. “Same. Where are you from?”

“Scottsdale. I’m a nurse.”

“Great.” Awesome. Nurses were incredibly organized, right? Nurturing. They loved to kick back and chill on their days off. He’d met plenty of easygoing health care professionals. “Thank you for taking the time.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting your Panel and getting to talk with you more.”

“I look forward to it, too.” That time he almost meant it.

The next several women were much of the same mix. Some too pretty, too young, too star-stuck to make a good impression, and about one in four whose presence didn’t instantly make him want to run for the hills.

Right off the bat he knew which women would be staying, and he had the rest of the night to figure out which ones he wasn’t interested in getting to know beyond the evening.

After greeting all the women, Elliot made his way, with Davis, Ginger, and one cameraman to a side porch where they broke down the last hour of his life into a few fifteen-second sound bites. When they finally lowered the camera, Elliot sagged against the low brick retaining wall and hung his head to catch his breath.

Ginger wasn’t having it. “Not so fast, Elliot. We’re only getting started.”

“Jesus, Ginger, give me five minutes.”

When he glanced back up, she was shooing everyone else inside. Once they were alone, she crossed her arms and squared off with him. “We can’t take breaks every hour. We’re on a schedule.”

“Will you relax? Christ.”

If anything, her rising shoulders proved the break was making her even more tense.

“This is a lot, okay?” Changing his tone to get her to drop her guard a little, he kept the words deep and private, meant for the two of them. It wasn’t like they didn’t have history. If they couldn’t be partners in this whole journey, it would be a miserable ride. And it would be nice to know the person half in charge of his destiny didn’t hate him.

“It’s what you signed up for,” she snapped.

“All I said was I need a minute.” Forget it. Expecting Ginger of all people to have a genuine moment with him when she’d made it clear that this was the side of the camera he belonged on was as stupid as meeting her at the bar alone yesterday.

Her proximity made everything complicated.

She looked toward the line of cars in the driveway, at the drivers lighting their cigarettes and checking their phones.

He took her in, his gaze roaming slowly upward, past her tattered white Converse, her baggy, rolled-up sweatpants, and her nod to professionalism with the old blazer/network logo T-shirt combo he was sure she’d worn holes through last season. Finally he arrived at her impatient face—her calculating brown eyes staring out at nothing while she waited for him to get his shit together. The only time he’d ever seen her wearing makeup was the finale where she’d appeared briefly on camera for their final interview. She’d looked beautiful that night, but he preferred the way she looked without makeup, once she’d sweated it all off, later at the hotel when she gave her entire body to him like it was the real grand prize.

The memory unleashed a sudden desire that rose like steam through his chest, causing him to sit straighter to give it some room inside him. Four feet away she was barefaced again, her hair up in that infuriating ponytail. It always looked like it was about to come loose, but it never did. It also never failed to derail him.

“Ginger—”

She gave her head a sharp shake and, without even a glance his way, trampled all over the olive branch he’d been about to offer. “Know who you’re sending packing yet? Anyone stand out as a no-way-in-hell?”

Eighty percent of the women could have left in the last ten minutes and he wouldn’t remember what they looked like, but his own guard was up so high he couldn’t trust his judgment, especially not with Ginger’s energy rippling all around him. “Too early to say.”

Her eyes met his. “Are you ready to go in yet? Everybody’s waiting.”

“What’s next?” he asked.

“Speed dates. You have some questions ready?”

“Why? Did you make me a list in case I came unprepared?”

“Of course I did.”

He stood, smoothing the front of his pants. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Ginger Moon.”

“Maybe not, but it will be your last. What can we do to get that panty-dropping smile back on your face?”

He balked, staring down at her. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Her eyes opened wide, all shocked innocence.

He took a step forward, bringing himself closer to her than he’d been in months. “I think you and I need to have a conversation.”

It was her turn to be taken aback. “About what?”

He did a quick survey of the area to make sure no cameras had snuck their way back onto the patio. They were still alone, so he let loose. “About the fact that six months ago—you were the one dropping your panties. Or is it easier for you to act like that never happened?” There. He’d said it. Put it on the table. It was out there.

She straightened, adding another inch to her petite frame. “I’m not the one throwing around words like meaningless, and saying shit like ‘been there done that, Ginger.’”

Zero to sixty. Just like he remembered her. “That is not what I said, and bottom line is, we are not just coworkers here.” He gestured between them both. “We have a history, short and meaningless as it is, it’s a fact, and I haven’t forgotten it. And you might have blown it off in a heartbeat, but maybe consider it took me a little more time. So if you don’t want me bringing it up, you need to keep your mouth shut, too.”

Eyes wide with surprise or disgust, her mouth opened and closed a few times in response. He thought she might be taking his advice and staying quiet, but she burst instead. “All I did was say panty-dropper!”

“Yeah? Well, don’t. I didn’t come here to find someone I have to forget about when the sun comes up. So you don’t get to use the P-word. Not one more time. You got it?”

“I—”

“Good. Now where am I supposed to be?”

Safe in the control room, Ginger simmered. Three interactions with Elliot Hale so far and he’d gotten to her three times. It was an unacceptable ratio. While there might come a time where she’d like him unwound and emotional on the set, in private it was dangerous. She’d thought in the months that passed since that night at the Hilton her response to him would have cooled, or at least the memory would have dimmed enough for her to be able to consider other options. He was there, after all, searching for his forever one and only, so time had worked its magic on him. It was ridiculous for him to keep bringing up that night.

But as she stared at the live feed from the Candle Room where Elliot sat engaged in his never-ending “speed” date with Amanda, Ginger studied every inch of his posture. The tilt of his head, the direction of his crossed legs, the tension in his fingers—and every time his jaw twitched, she had the annoying urge to smooth the muscle there with the pad of her thumb and remind him to relax. She’d never had that thought about Brandon, or Jake, or any of the other male stars. Their jaws were just jaws.

But it was her job, right? To keep Elliot focused. He should be relaxed. Open. Ready to accept the process wherever it would lead. In past seasons she’d managed the women, The Panel, the control room, but she’d never had the star to deal with. It had to be the stress making her feel things. All the added pressure of making him shine.

Amanda laughed at something he said, and Ginger rolled her eyes. With the press of a button, she switched feeds to The Panel’s room. Sliding her headphones on, she turned up the volume.

Elliot’s mother Irene was snuggled into the corner of the new sectional, cocktail in hand. Her daughter, Elliot’s sister Anna, sat nearby, eyes also transfixed by the large screen in front of them. Michelle, the tiny, but oddly intimidating friend, paced behind the couch, her own drink poised in her hand as she studied the monitor with the scrutinizing eyes of a coach heading a playoff run for her team. Lavonne, ever polished and professional, took notes in an adjacent chair, her two-carat rock flashing like a star against her coppery-brown skin. Her tight black curls were combed smooth, pulled back into the kind of no-nonsense bun Ginger could only aspire to.

“She’s boring him,” Michelle said.

Anna craned her neck to look at the petite waif of a woman. “How can you tell?”

“I just know.” Michelle may have looked delicate, but there was something formidable about her and her intensely knowing gaze. Ginger wasn’t sure whether America would love or hate Michelle, but that made her good TV.

Ginger hung on every word, glancing at Elliot’s face from time to time to gauge where to overlay Michelle’s statement about his perceived boredom later when she, Matt, and Kat got to the cutting room.

“Sounds like he wants someone boring though,” the sister said.

“You didn’t buy that, did you?”

“He made a decent argument for it.”

“I’d rather he not wind up with someone who makes him go all dead inside,” Michelle said. “I don’t care what he says.”

Ginger switched back to Elliot and Amanda, the kindergarten teacher from Kansas City, and flicked on the sound. “—for work about once a month.”

“Where’s your favorite place?” Amanda asked in response to Elliot’s statement.

“Any place warm,” he said, super bland. Super boring.

Isn’t their time up yet? Ginger checked the clock. They were running exactly on schedule.

“Mmm…same,” Amanda sighed.

God. Ginger wished she could fast forward to the end of the night.

“Get her out of there,” Marlon growled into his headset. “How many more do we have?”

With only three women left to go, relief was in sight. Elliot’s interaction with Cassie, the nurse, ended up being the only one to put smiles on the faces of The Panel. Cassie and Elliot had a short, sweet conversation about Netflix binge-watching which was a nice change from hobbies and employment histories. It didn’t make anyone swoon or anything, but it was a step in the right direction. At the minimum, their conversation flowed, and whether it was ridiculous or not, they both showed a passion for something.

Ginger pictured them on some other couch, in some private place on a night not too long from now… If she saw a connection in the making, then the audience would, too. Which was a good thing and should in no way have made her stomach turn the way it was turning.

Maybe she was hungry.

One night with Elliot was enough, she reminded herself. She may have only been a consolation prize when he lost the love of his life, but there was no denying how much they’d wanted each other during those few hours. It had been a fantasy, and it was difficult to regret. She rarely treated herself. But if she’d known they would have had to work this closely together, she liked to think she would have exercised some self-control back then.

“What’s his problem?” Marlon sat down on the table directly in front of her, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

The question, and his instant proximity threw her off guard. “What do you mean?”

“He’s boring the shit out of me. Looks like he’d rather be any place but here.”

“He’s nervous,” she told him.

“Did you try talking to him?”

Their earlier conversation likely hadn’t helped settle Elliot’s nerves at all. Her attempt to lighten his mood with the panty-drop comment had been a disaster. “I did. He was…on edge.”

“Are the women not good enough? The house isn’t nice enough? He doesn’t like his suit? What’s his problem?”

Me. I’m his problem.

“You don’t know?” Marlon asked when Ginger failed to answer quickly enough. “Because I’m sure there’s someone around here able to get to the bottom of it and fix the issue.”

Her fists clenched as her claws threatened to come out. “I’m on top of it, Marlon. What? Did you expect him to fall in love the first night? When has that ever happened?”

“Last season. When he met Jenna.”

“Jenna’s not here,” she reminded him, her tone acid. “These dates will cut together fine—there’s more than enough to work with.” Given what Elliot supposedly wanted for himself and what Michelle seemed to think he truly wanted, Ginger and the writers could build an entire narrative around the push and pull between him and The Panel.

“If there’s something holding him back, you need to find out what it is and eliminate it. I don’t want to see all his reservations on camera. Get him in the mood fast, or I’ll put someone else on Hale.” His gaze narrowed in on her. “You two have issues I’m not aware of?”

Ginger managed to keep a blank face, but there was a lump forming in her throat she wanted to gulp as soon as possible. Her knee-jerk reaction was to argue, fight back, but she was working on that. Marlon was her boss, and he had her future in his hands. She responded accordingly. “Of course not. Consider it handled.”

Without another word, Marlon stood, returning to the wall of screens. Ginger put her headset back on, barely able to register the ongoing discussion in The Panel’s room.

Marlon was right. She had to fix Elliot’s apathy or her boss would start sniffing around for the cause. It was obvious Elliot had some beef with her producing him, and she would have been a fool not to connect it with the night they spent together. Meaningless as it may have been, if she was still feeling the embers of the heat between them, it was reasonable to believe he could be, too. It was also reasonable to believe an observant man like Marlon would notice, and then where would she be? Jobless. Futureless. And certainly not in Sydney producing her own show.

She had to keep this professional. Stay behind the scenes and let Davis do the heavy lifting. Her following Elliot around and trying to drag every sound bite from him on night one probably hadn’t helped put him in the mood to find the love of his life.

If maintaining a more professional distance would get him to relax and focus on what he came here for, it was an angle she had to try. Being Elliot’s friend wasn’t what she was being paid to do. Finding him a wife was. Her entire future depended on it.

She refocused her gaze on the screens before her. Once he was through the first elimination, she’d pick her top three, and using all the skill that put her in this seat, she’d make sure one of them became Elliot Hale’s perfect match.