Текст книги "Daring Dylan "
Автор книги: Jacie Floyd
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Daring Dylan, the second book in the Billionaire Brotherhood Series!
Daring Dylan holds a special place in my heart, because a long time ago, under a different title, it won RWA’s Golden Heart award for best Single Title Contemporary manuscript. If that hadn’t happened when it did, I might have quit writing. I might not have, but winning the award provided me with the validation I needed to keep going. So thank you, RWA, for providing me with the necessary encouragement.
The third book of the series, Remaking Ryan, will be released in January 2016 and is available for pre-order now.
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Books by Jacie Floyd
The Good Riders Series
MEET YOUR MATE
CURSED BY LOVE
MEANT FOR ME
Boxed Set: SUMMER KISSES
Ten Full-length Novels by Golden Heart Authors, including Meet Your Mate
The Billionaire Brotherhood
WINNING WYATT
DARING DYLAN
REMAKING RYAN, January 2016 Release
The Billionaire Brotherhood
On one of the worst days of their lives and the history of the country, three boys with nothing in common except their privileged upbringings form a bond of friendship that lasts through years of personal struggles and triumphs. Wyatt is the intellectual, Dylan is the daredevil, and Ryan is the easy-going athlete.
Remaking Ryan Excerpt
The Billionaire Brotherhood
Book 3
Chapter One
Pre-order it now!
All men are bottom-feeders in the sea of life. Jenna McCall reminded herself that the testosterone-driven, smugly good-looking ones usually resided even lower.
Or such had been her experience.
Stepping from the hall into Ryan Eastham’s room and dropping her purse on the bedside table, she didn’t expect the unconscious hulk sprawled across a hospital bed to be any different.
None of them were. Her cheating husband hadn’t been, nor had any of her cheating ex-boyfriends before that.
Only her dad was an exception. He was the best, by anyone’s standards.
And Jenna’s step-mom, Abby, who had the good sense to be crazy about Jenna’s dad, also showed an understandable partiality for this gorgeous six-foot-four combination of drool-worthy muscle and bone. If, that is, Jenna was the type of woman inclined to drool. Which she wasn’t. Not anymore.
Not since her heart had been ripped from her chest and trampled by her faithless, ruthless, egocentric ex-husband. Or rather, deceased ex-husband. Damn him for the technicality. Sometimes it was hard to keep a good mad going at someone who had died a hero’s death. Even though he deserved her anger.
Jenna took a moment to reconsider her all-men-are-scum position. If Abby believed her nephew Ryan was a good guy, it could be true. Maybe. Possibly. But highly doubtful.
And since her dad had wanted her to stop by and visit Ryan, she supposed he expected her to offer some kind of support or assistance. Something to aid or comfort in him in his time of need. But, what?
While considering an assortment of possible actions, she turned to the windows and opened the blinds. Spring sunshine flooded the room, but did nothing to dispel the overwhelming scent of eau de antiseptique.
She eyed the patient again. Flat on his back, with his knee wrapped in gauze, day-old scruffiness darkened his jaw. A mop of sun-streaked hair tumbled across his forehead. Like the jock he was, he wore a college sweatshirt with the jagged remains of sleeves that looked like they’d been ripped off by a rabid dog. A pair of baggy basketball shorts completed the outfit. Except for the knee bandage, it was pretty much the same fashion statement he’d made as a teenaged boy.
If not for some pretty impressive don’t-mess-with-me masculinity that oozed off his skin like lava from a volcano, he looked almost vulnerable and childlike with his eyes shut and his skin pale against the stark, white sheets. Until he moved.
Suddenly, he stretched, muscles rippling. His hand sought his groin and scratched. Eeeww. Additional proof for Jenna that men had one-track minds. Even in a drugged or unconscious state, their thoughts gravitated to their dicks.
He twisted and flung his arm upward; his hand came to rest near his cheek. As if searching for a cool spot on the pillow, he rolled his head from side to side.
Blaming the maternal instincts she’d developed since her daughter’s birth nine months before, Jenna reached out to check for fever. His forehead radiated warmth, but she imagined that was normal for him. That muscle-rippling physique probably generated enough power to heat a small village.
Besides, he was here for knee surgery, not anything life-threatening, viral, or infectious. Unable to stop herself from fulfilling one of her teenage fantasies, she reached out to smooth the hair off his forehead.
“Zoey? Baby?” he mumbled, snagging her wrist and pulling her forward.
Caught off-guard, Jenna found herself breast to chest with an implacable male form for the first time in eleven months, two weeks, and three days. Not that she was counting.
Before she could spring away, his other hand burrowed into the hair at the nape of her neck and turned her face toward him. It happened so swiftly, she didn’t—couldn’t—react fast enough to evade the maneuver. Unwelcome goose bumps did the quickstep down her spine.
Her first thought was that he smelled male, woodsy, and slightly medicinal—like the great outdoors infused with a hint of anesthesia.
But then, along with the shock of having her chest pressed against his, came the panicky sense of suffocation. His breath mingled with hers and sweat beaded her forehead. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes crossed at the nearness of his mouth, just inches away. Before his lips touched hers, she pinched his nose between her fingers and twisted. Hard.
“Oww!”
Jerking back, he managed to clip her mouth with his chin. Jenna’s incisor sliced into her lip. She yelped and tried to escape his grip, but his fingers remained firmly clasped around her wrist. His arm muscles bunched with the strength of a professional athlete. She knew if he chose to, he could sail her across the room like a Frisbee. Luckily, he didn’t.
He squinted at her, confusion clouding the depths of his silvery gray eyes until the confusion cleared and he nodded in recognition.
“Jenna.” The word held a whisper of accusation, low and pulsing. He rubbed his chin. “That was uncalled for.”
“No kidding.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Dang, I think I’m bleeding.”
“Here,” he said, lifting a corner of the sheet to dab her lip.
“No, thanks.” She held up her hand to block the gesture, plucked tissues from the box on the bedside table and passed one to him. “You don’t have any infectious diseases, do you? STDs? Anything?”
“Clean as a rookie at his first training camp.”
“Good, ‘cause you’re bleeding, too. I hope we haven’t mixed and mingled bodily fluids. Blot your chin,” she instructed, but took a seat on the edge of his bed and did it for him. “Didn’t anyone teach you to look before you kiss?”
“Must’ve missed that lesson when my dad was teaching me the opposite advice.” He covered his mouth with his free hand and yawned so wide she heard his jaw crack. “Why are you here? Someone send you on a little guilt trip?”
“Pretty much,” she admitted.
“Your dad or my aunt?”
“Dad.” He’d called to tell her he and Abby had been delayed in St. Louis. He’d kept the conversation low-key, commenting on poor Ryan. In Boston. All alone. Facing the fourth and most serious knee surgery of his life. And with Jenna already so close.
As much as she would’ve preferred to remain cocooned at home with her baby, Jenna couldn’t ignore a request from her dad, even an implied one. She’d caved like a spelunker.
So, here she was, at the bedside of the larger-than-life football star she’d lusted after from afar during her high school years. He was always way out of her league and she wouldn’t have been on speaking terms with him, then or now, if an odd twist of fate hadn’t brought her dad and his aunt together. The two had gotten married about ten years ago, right before Ryan went off to college.
And while she’d heard a lot about him in the intervening years, they’d only bumped into one another a handful of times since then. Two of those occasions had occurred in the past year. One was her husband’s funeral six months ago. The other was Ryan’s father’s funeral a few months before that.
Otherwise, she’d only seen him on television.
Professional football player. Sports commentator
Everyone’s embodiment of Mr. Wonderful.
Big freaking deal.
He looked around as if just noticing they were alone. “Where are Tabby and Joel?” Tabby. That was cute. He still called his Aunt Abby by his childhood nickname for her.
“A tornado in St. Louis delayed their flight.”
“Well, damn.” A flicker that might have been annoyance or anxiety darkened his silvery eyes to pewter. “Are they all right? When will they get here?”
“They’re fine, but wind damage grounded their plane from Lambert. They drove to Springfield for a flight that should land about four. I haven’t heard from them since this morning.” She checked her watch. “It’s after two now.”
“So they sent you to chauffeur me home.”
“No,” she said, intending to make her position clear from the get-go. “I’m here to check on you and then leave, period.”
Before she could get another word out, a matchstick-thin nurse appeared in the doorway. An explosion of red hair with blonde and orange streaks spiked straight out of her scalp, giving her the look of a Fourth of July sparkler. A blue plastic name tag that read ‘Marley’ was pinned to the white uniform covering an Olive-Oyl-flat chest.
“It’s about time someone got here,” Marley said with a punctuating clap of her hands. “He’s been threatening to leave since they moved him out of recovery.” The nurse took in Jenna with a glance. “She’s not your aunt.”
“Change of plans.” Ryan explained about the cancelled flight. “She called Jenna here, an, um, old, um, very close friend, to come and get me.”
“We were starting to think he’d been forgotten.” Her eyes flicked between Ryan and Jenna with a knowing and inaccurate sweep. No psychic abilities were needed to read the woman’s thoughts. The nurse suspected a lot closer relationship between Jenna and Ryan than the one they shared.
“I’m not—he’s not—we’re not really friends.” Well, dang, she was making the situation worse. Trying to control the flush creeping across her cheeks, she had the uncomfortable realization that she was reacting for the first time in almost a year to a stimulus outside her own pain and misery. A step in the right direction, her grief therapist would say. Totally overrated, in Jenna’s opinion.
When Jenna started to hop off the bed, Ryan smirked and linked his fingers with hers in a charade of warmth and affection.
“I never doubted she’d come for me.” He flashed Marley the dimples that had women from coast-to-coast swooning. “She always does.”
The nurse giggled like a fifth grader, proving herself as susceptible to his outrageousness as any other gullible woman in the world. Jenna could barely keep from crossing her eyes at his line of bull. Even through the fog of medication, sexual innuendo seemed to be second nature to him.
Just like Matt.
If Ryan didn’t let go of her hand soon, she’d clobber him with her purse and leave.
Instead, he brushed a singeing kiss across the back of her fingers in a comical lover-like gesture that couldn’t have been less romantic. Except for the heat.
And, boy, did it pack heat. It had heat the way a wildfire had heat. Heat so hot she thought her hand might burst into flames.
She tried to jerk it away, but he held on, pretending the tug of war between them was part of their fun and games.
With a scowl, Jenna slid off the side of the bed. A warning—or a plea—flashed in his eyes before his face softened. He’d never asked her or anyone else for anything that she could recall, but then, she knew little about him. And clearly, he was ready to ask something of her now.
“You really are his ride?” Marley asked, still skeptical.
Ryan squeezed Jenna’s hand and answered for her. “Of course, she is. And now that she’s here, let’s get moving.”
“You’re sure anxious to leave,” the nurse said, winking at Jenna. “Some men are so impatient.”
“All men,” Jenna corrected.
“I’d stay for the company,” Ryan said, flashing his dimples again, “but I’ve had enough of hospitals to last me a lifetime.”
Jenna wondered if his words were more nonsense or some variation of the truth. Either way, his questionable charm continued to work on Marley. She patted her riotous hair as she stepped over to the bed, directly across from Jenna.
“I feel the same way sometimes.” Marley batted her eyes at him, then looked over his chart. “Dr. Bailey’s in surgery, but he’s already signed your release, contingent on your agreement that you won’t drive and that someone will stay with you for the next forty-eight hours. Give me a minute to provide care instructions to your ‘friend’ and then you’re outta here.”
Jenna stepped backed. “Oh no, I’m not—" Another crushing squeeze on her fingers silenced her.
“—not just a friend, are you?” He cast her an insincere look of adoration and Jenna almost choked. “We’re much closer than that.”
Ryan tugged her to him. Her chest smashed into his chest again, creating the illusion she couldn’t keep her hands off him. And the illusion was almost right. She’d like to get her hands on him, wrapped right around that thick neck.
“Oh, puh-leze—”
“Don’t be embarrassed, babe.” He trailed his fingers along the sensitive inner skin of her forearm. “Marley doesn’t need details. But the sooner you let her finish the paperwork, the sooner we can take off.”
“Let go of me this instant,” Jenna hissed into his ear, ignoring the tango beat of her pulse, “or I’m leaving you here to rot.”
Ryan heaved a put-upon sigh and released her. Jenna didn’t waste any time in getting vertical. She breathed a lot easier after she’d regained her own space and removed her body from contact with his.
The nurse recited a long list of instructions for everything from medications to the amount of bed rest he’d need before he began extensive rehabilitation. Jenna checked the time, as anxious as Ryan to be on their way.
“Understand?” Marley asked.
“Sure.” Jenna clutched the sheaf of papers. She’d give the list to Abby when she arrived, or to the absent Zoey-Baby, or to whomever he conned into taking care of him.
“He needs to be up with moderate movement, but the most important thing is to keep him off stairs for the next few days, and make sure someone’s with him for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Why?” Jenna asked.
“These manly types don’t like being flat on their backs, tied to their beds.”
“Sometimes we do,” Ryan cracked.
“If someone doesn’t keep an eye on him,” Marley continued, “he’ll do too much and reverse the entire surgery.”
“I’ll behave,” Ryan promised with a raised-hand vow. “Just get me out of here.” He directed a meaningful glance at Jenna. “We’ll work out the specifics later.”
Remaking Ryan is available for pre-order now!
Meet Your Mate Excerpt
Book 2 of the Good Riders
Chapter One
“And the winner of this year’s Community First award is—” Annabel heightened the imaginary suspense with a mental drum roll as she pulled into the local television station’s parking lot. Beelining for an empty spot at the end of the row, she allowed hometown favorite George Clooney to announce, “Challenging Destiny, Lasting Productions, Annabel Morgan and Howard Lasting, producers!”
Normally, she only conjured up her favorite career fantasy in dark and private moments, but today she’d paraded it out in bright sunlight to distract herself from a raging case of stage fright. After all, she didn’t appear on an afternoon talk show every day. Or in front of a television camera ever. Her nerves were stretched tighter than her budget.
Easing through the tandem parking slot from one side to the other, she pictured herself at the upcoming award ceremony. Dressed to impress in something sophisticated and expensive, she’d step up to accept the award that would change her life. Just as George took her in his arms for a meaningful exchange of glances and a long congratulatory kiss filled with infinite possibilities, a sickening crunch jolted her back to reality.
The front bumper of her ten-year-old Saab was metal-on-metal with a small, flashy vehicle attempting to back into the space she’d been sliding into headfirst.
Grimacing over her carelessness and the certainty of another insurance claim on the heels of her seventeen-year-old stepdaughter’s mishap the month before. Annabel shifted her car into park. She clutched the hem of her mini-skirt to keep it from rising to indecent heights as she stepped out to meet her victim. Good thing it was May, not January, or she’d freeze her butt off.
“Hey, lady,” a testosterone-laden voice growled over the slam of a car door. “You should keep your mind on your driving when you’re behind the wheel.”
Fresh from her bout of daydreaming, Annabel bit back the urge to tell the chauvinist where to stick his opinion. She glanced at the slight crease in her fender and the deeper dent in his, relieved that the damage hadn’t been worse. Shoulders squared, she turned to exchange info with the other driver and admit her guilt.
Damn. Investigative reporter ‘Mad Max’ Williams. An apology died on her lips. Even though he worked at the television station, he spent most of his time out on assignment. She’d hoped she wouldn’t run into him today. And now she had. Literally.
She crossed her arms and studied him with a chilling look. Professional acquaintances and personal opposites in work habits and lifestyles, he was her biggest rival for the community service award she coveted.
Aside from their award competition, she’d worked with him on several projects for Lasting Productions. Her work involved insignificant details like scriptwriting, casting, editing, and scheduling. His duties included the more challenging tasks of sitting in a booth and recording the voiceover, flirting with female assistants, distracting male interns with assorted hijinks, generally creating chaos, getting paid the big bucks, and receiving most of the recognition.
Everything about his flamboyant image and overbearing self-confidence rubbed her the wrong way. It annoyed her to admit that the broad shoulders and rugged good looks the television camera loved were even more compelling in person than they were on the small screen. But the less-than savory details she’d witnessed and heard about from others prevented her from lusting after the exterior packaging that rivaled Clooney’s.
Smoothing down her skirt, she waited for Max’s leisurely perusal to move from her new pointy-toed high-heeled shoes and past her uncustomary form-fitting outfit to her face. As expected, the interested gleam dimmed from his eyes and switched to disbelief as recognition kicked in.
“Nice legs, Morgan. First time I’ve seen you in anything but your Iron Maiden costume. You should show that figure off more often.” He lounged against the hood of her car and let his gaze travel her body a second time. “This new look is almost enough to excuse you from rear-ending me. But not quite. What had you so distracted?”
“What do you mean?” Like she’d be willing to share her hopes and dreams with him.
“You sure weren’t thinking about your driving, and you couldn’t have been preoccupied with your love life since everyone knows you don’t have one.”
“Whereas you,” she countered, poking a finger into his rock-solid chest, “were probably thinking about the bevy of mud wrestlers, rodeo queens, and strippers you’re currently dating.”
“Hey!” He straightened up with mild indignation. “Candy LaBar’s not a stripper. She’s an exotic dancer. Her act’s very artistic.”
Already running late, Annabel didn’t have time to trade childish insults with Max. She dismissed the response with a flick of the wrist. “I’ll bet.”
He whipped his phone out, then took pictures of the damage to both bumpers. As she stepped toward the television station’s main entrance, his fingers clamped around her elbow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He jerked a thumb toward his car. “Damage? Repair? Insurance?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
He shook his head at her dismissive attitude. “It’s just a scratch on the bumper of a vintage Porsche I’ve spent two years restoring. Whether they fix it or replace the bumper, it’s not going to come cheap.”
That figured. “I’ll have my insurance company contact you.”
“They better, or I’ll send the repair bill straight to you.”
“Fine, fine.” Annabel marched forward, eager to leave Mad Max behind. But he fell into step alongside her with his customary swagger.
“By the way,” he said, “congratulations on the Community First nomination.”
She slid a peek at him from the corner of her eye and examined his comment for sarcasm. His expression remained suspiciously sincere. “You, too.”
“Who’d have thought we’d be nominated in the same category?”
“Not me. The mind still boggles over my documentary about inner-city high school students competing with your four-part exposé on botched boob jobs.”
“That’s one way of describing them,” he said before urging, “Just remember what they say.”
“What do they say, Max? Sex sells?” Why does he always manage to bring out my inner bitch?
“No-oo. It’s an honor just to be nominated.”
She coated the smile she turned on him with pure sugar. “You remember that when they call out my name from the podium.” She prayed they’d call out her name. Her professional and financial future hinged on winning the award.
“Yeah, right. I’ve got the award all but in my hands.” He raised her show of bravado with an ante of overconfidence.
“And how many judges did you sleep with to make that happen?” The accusation almost shamed her as she made it.
“Talent earns its own reward.” A glint of real pride moved behind his dark brown eyes as he veered away from her, toward the news team’s entrance. “See ya later, Morgan.”
“Not if I see you first,” Annabel muttered to his retreating back.
Against her better judgment, she watched him stride masterfully toward the building. Then, he looked over his shoulder and caught her watching him. Lifting her chin, she turned to glide into the main entrance. Her face flushed when she twisted her ankle on the new heels. Damn, he probably saw that.
Putting the incident behind her, she hurried into the lobby where Carly waited. Her stepdaughter bounced in anticipation of their joint television appearance. A quick hug went a long way toward banishing Max from Annabel’s thoughts and quelling her preshow anxiety. “Been waiting long?”
“Long enough to find out everything we need to know.” Excitement widened Carly’s bright blue eyes to saucer-size. “First, sign in here, then follow me.”
Annabel had visited the station many times and knew her way around, but she allowed the bouncing teen to lead her the makeup room anyway. After they’d settled into chairs, an energetic elf with purple-streaked hair introduced herself as “Voila!” then set to work. She dabbed foundation on their faces, swiped blush on their cheeks, and applied goop to their eyes.
“Not so much, please.” Annabel pushed Voila’s hand away. She didn’t want to look like a clown, and Carly’s fresh appeal didn’t need much enhancement.
Voila frowned. “You’ll look sickly without it.”
“You know she’s right, and I want you to look awesome. Please?” Her stepdaughter’s coaxing did the trick after the makeup artist’s opinion had failed to win Annabel over.
Voila hurried to apply a few finishing touches. Annabel assessed her reflection in the mirror then blotted off a coat of shiny magenta lipstick. She tugged the lapels of her snug teal jacket together. As soon as she released them, they separated into a wide V that exposed the barely-there cleavage created by her new push-up bra.
“I don’t know how you talked me into buying this suit. I’m touched by the attempt to update my image, but I have plenty of other, more suitable clothes.”
“More boring, you mean.” Carly brushed Annabel’s hands away from the lapels. “You’ll be in front of a camera instead of hiding behind one for a change. You should wear something that makes you look young and hot, instead of old and frigid.”
“Let’s take your hair down to really boost your image.” Voila pulled pins out of the bun at the base of Annabel’s neck.
“No.” Annabel covered her hair with her hands to keep Voila’s busy fingers out of it. “It’s too curly and flies around when it’s not pulled back.”
“Hmmm.” Voila cocked her head and considered for a moment before sweeping Annabel’s locks into a French twist with just a few loose tendrils. The style softened the angles of her face and enhanced the shape of her light-gray eyes.
If her stepdaughter weren’t sitting right there beside her with Carly’s own brand of youthful, natural beauty, Annabel wouldn’t have recognized herself.
“You look gorgeous,” Carly enthused as they made their way to the green room next door. “Super hot!”
“You look fabulous, too.” Annabel pulled the girl’s long French-braid in front of her shoulder as they stepped into the waiting room. “But we’re going on a program to discuss successful stepparent/stepchild relationships. We’re not trolling for guys on the internet.”
“Close enough,” murmured a pencil-thin woman nibbling a carrot stick by the snack table.
As they took seats on a lumpy sofa, Carly refused to meet Annabel’s eyes. Never a good sign. Annabel studied the seven other sets of parent/teen duos.
While a couple of parents glanced at her curiously, the others flicked pitying looks her way. None of the teenagers managed to look her in the eye.
A wary tingle replaced stage fright as the reason for her damp palms. “Close enough to what?”
Before anyone responded, a chipper production assistant buzzed in, wearing a headset and clasping an electronic tablet. “My name’s Justine. On behalf of Tess Hartley, I’d like to welcome all of you to Let’s Talk. We’re going to open with the kids on camera. If you’d head that way, please...” She motioned the younger group toward the door. “I’ll come back for the parents shortly.”
Carly squeezed Annabel’s hand. The teenager’s excitement fizzed palpably between them like a carbonated cola.
“Good luck, Anna,” Carly whispered. “Please don’t be mad,” she added before slipping away.
Don’t be mad? That simple plea put Annabel’s parental alarm system on full alert. She was all too familiar with the way the high-spirited girl’s best intentions frequently misfired. “Mad about what?”
From the doorway, Carly flashed a mischievous smile and escaped with the other teenagers. Except for the gurgle of an espresso machine in the corner, the room swirled with awkward silence. Annabel thought of all the editing waiting for her back at the production studio and longed for the safety of her ordinary routine.
A military-type with ramrod-straight posture and square jaw stopped at the end of the sofa. “When you came in,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if you were a parent or one of the kids.”
The flattery tickled Annabel. Only fourteen years older than Carly, people occasionally guessed they were sisters. But she couldn’t imagine anyone mistaking her for a teenager. Maybe the kick-ass outfit Carly chose for her had shaved off some years.
“Stepparent.” She glanced around the room, trying to interpret the spike in atmosphere. “Aren’t we all?
A couple of “Not me’s” mingled with one “I am.”
“What’s going on here?” she asked GI Joe.
He nodded toward a monitor where the smiling face of Cincinnati’s answer to Oprah filled the screen. “Watch and learn.”
Tess Hartley let her lively theme song and the audience’s applause fade away before she introduced the day’s episode. “Today on Let’s Talk, we’re going to meet a group of caring teens who are concerned about their single parents.”
Concerned! The word bounced around inside Annabel’s head like a loose basketball on a gym floor. Why would Carly be concerned about her? Discomfort plummeted into downright dread.
“Through death, divorce, or abandonment,” Tess continued, “all of these high-school seniors live in single-parent households. As they prepare to leave home for the first time, they worry about their parents’ lonely futures. Isn’t that sweet?”
Tess’s audience agreed with enthusiastic applause, but Annabel didn’t think sweet accurately described it. In the green room, the knowing nods of some parents and the shocked expressions of others who’d been duped confirmed her assessment.
“Please, join me while they—” Tess paused and gestured for the studio audience to join in the recitation of the show’s well-known tag line “—tell Tess about it.”
Justine reappeared in the green room, buzzing along just as hyper and efficient as before. But now, she looked more sheepish than capable. “In case you haven’t figured it out, some of you are here under false pretenses. There’s nothing illegal or unethical going on. The kids are really excited. But if any of you prefer not to participate, you need to let me know now—before we get too far into the taping.”
Well, that gave them plenty of leeway. Annabel swallowed hard and found her voice. “What exactly have they gotten us into? A televised ambush?”
“They’re playing matchmaker,” the anorexic woman said, practically rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see who I get fixed up with.”
“Matchmaker?” Annabel picked up her purse, ready to head for the door.
