Bachelorette for Sale (8 page)

“Not really, but I’m sure the recipient thought it was lovely.”

“I’ll have you know it’s held up for the past twenty years, and my gram still uses it. I’d say that’s some quality craftsmanship.”

“My apologies. I stand corrected.” He toasted her with his glass, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She caught herself staring at his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips as he trailed kisses along her jaw the night before. Remembered how hard it had been to pull away. She glanced up, looked into his eyes. The pupils were dilated and his breathing was hard and fast. Looked like maybe she wasn’t the only one who remembered their kiss.

“Why don’t we set up Fridays at three for the on-site? That will give me more time to answer all of your questions.” His voice sounded like a man who’d spent a lifetime sipping on whiskey and smoking.

“That should work. There is one other thing, Mr. Valentine—”

“Jason, please.”

That should be her line, and she so needed to get her mind back on business. “Jason, no more lies, because no one gets a third chance.”

He held two fingers up and crossed his heart with his other hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Ha. Luke Skywalker was a Boy Scout, Jason was more like Han Solo, and everyone knew he was a scoundrel. Of course, he also got the girl. “Were you ever a Scout?”

“For about a day.” Now, that she could believe.

C
herry rolled over in bed, blinking at the alarm clock on her mahogany night table and the incessant ringing of the phone. “This better be an emergency or I’m killing someone,” she said to no one. It figured she’d be woken up early on her day off, especially as she’d come home from Jason’s too keyed up to sleep, even with the wine in her. Her mind had refused to rest. Instead it kept going back over Jason’s explanation again and again. Okay, she got his reasoning, even if she didn’t agree with him. Yes, she kept circling back to the elephant left in the room—he’d never apologized for kissing her.

As she stayed up half the night and watched back episodes of
Castle
while visiting with her old friends Ben and Jerry, she tried to figure out why. Did that mean he didn’t regret the kiss? Or that he’d already forgotten it?

“Morning,
Mija
. Did I wake you? I’m sorry. Listen, I have a big favor to ask. Before you start, I know it’s your day off, but I got called into work. Emma went into labor and I have to cover for her. I need you to go to the center and cover the interview for me,” Tawny pleaded.

No way. The media and Jason, who’d said he’d be at the site today, were more than she could deal with. And after the dreams she’d had the last two nights, there was no way she could face him today without turning ten shades of red. She needed to ignore the fantasies. There was only one way this relationship could go, and that was down a dead-end street. Jason’s actions reeked of déjà vu. Ari’d had his reasons for using Cherry too.

Misguided reasons and no scruples.

Even while her mind protested, her body began moving. No way would she leave the kids or her friend hanging at such a crucial time.

“Cherry?”

Sleep, she desperately needed more sleep. She could do this. One more interview. Get in, get it done, and get out. No drama. Grumbling, she swung her legs over the side of the bed; the cold of the wood sent a quick hello through her body, and she rubbed the grit from her eyes. “I want pictures of the baby, and give Emma hugs for me.”

“Thanks. I get off at noon. Why don’t you meet me for some shopping, and then we’ll do lunch so you can tell me all about it.”

She looked around her cozy bedroom for Tucker to find him fast asleep in his miniature four-poster bed, clearly not ready for the day either after their late night. “Tell you what?” Letting her pup catch a few more winks, she turned the shower on to heat up the water, ignoring the familiar clicks and accompanying hisses and went to the closet to scan its contents for interview-worthy clothes.

“What’s bothering you? How things went with Jason Valentine last night? The interview? The meaning of life? Pick one,
Mija
. See you in a couple of hours. I’ve got to run. Hey, wear the turquoise blouse with your black skirt and peep-toe heels. You’ll look great. Bye.”

Fifty-five minutes later, standing at the entrance to the center Cherry had thought of a half dozen reasons why she should call the reporter and cancel, starting with the fact that her stomach was doing nonstop topsy-turvy somersaults. Cherry didn’t know if the cause was waiting to see Jason again or dealing with the press. Seconds later, Jason’s truck pulled into the parking lot. He and Dave crossed the pavement and stopped in front of her. In his worn-out jeans and faded black T-shirt, with a day’s growth darkening his cheeks, he looked like a poster model for Bad Boys“R”Us. Sexy, sinful, and irresistible.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Dave greeted her. “I’m going to head in and start taking a look around.”

“Does he always flirt?”

“If you’re female and breathing, Dave considers it his duty. I’m surprised to see you here this morning,” Jason said.

Cherry leaned back against the door frame, trapping her hands behind her. Faint shadows marred the skin under those striking blue-green eyes. Perhaps she’d haunted his night as he had hers. “I drew the short straw. The interview shouldn’t take long, and we’ll be out of your way in no time.”

“No worries. We can work around you.”

A second car pulled up, and Cherry’s stomach dropped out from under her like a hundred-foot drop on a roller coaster.
Here goes nothing.

Jason reached out to steady her as she stepped away from the wall, and she leaned into him for support. “You okay? You look a little shaky.” His eyes darkened and she found herself holding her breath. Simultaneously they both stepped back.

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.” She laughed and assured him she’d be fine. He took one last look and excused himself to start work.

Cherry pushed all thoughts of Jason aside as she spotted the reporter from
News Today
walking toward her, along with his photographer.

She really needed to work on her issues with the media: They were probably nice guys with lovely wives at home and two point five kids, a dog, a cat, and who knows what else waiting for them.
They look like nice guys
, she argued to herself, one in a suit and tie, the other more casual, as most photographers were. Then he snapped a picture of her.

Vultures
.

Keep smiling, that’s it, smile on the outside and they never know what’s really going on inside where it matters
. One of the producers, Steve, had given her that bit of advice during their second week of filming and it had become her mantra ever since.

She greeted both men, and after a brief internal debate agreed to allow them to take her picture in front of the rec center sign before handing them hard hats and leading them into the ruined building.

“Ms. Ryan, it is still Ms. Ryan, correct?” At her nod the reporter went on. “How did you become involved in the efforts to rebuild the community center?”

She stepped to the side of one of the former classrooms, letting the photographer in to do his job. “My co-chair, Tawny Torres, and her boss, Mr. North, who is on the center’s board, were having a discussion one day about the future of the center. When she learned there were plans to tear it down and sell the land, she approached me and together we came up with the idea of raising the money to rebuild. The board approved our idea, a committee was formed, and here we are today.”

What Cherry wouldn’t talk about was the months of counseling she’d gone through at the center to deal with her parents’ disappearance. Or Tawny’s personal reasons for getting involved—those were hers to share or not to share.

They continued to walk from room to room and section to section without running into Jason and Dave. At first, she thought they’d already left, but every now and then she’d catch a snippet of far-away conversation or the scrape of a boot on the concrete floor.

“So the gala dinner was a big success, raising enough to cover all your needs?”

“Yes and no. While it was a success, the money we raised won’t pay for everything. As you can see, the building suffered extensive damage from the hurricane last fall. There’s also the damage to the playground and the ball fields. The insurance will pay a good portion, but I’m afraid with the rising costs of supplies, we’re still a little short of accomplishing all of our goals.”

They stepped into the main room, which would house pool tables, foosball, board games, puzzles, and a complete Wii setup. All of the windows on the east side had been blown out and were now covered with wood. The furniture had followed, taking out most of the frames, which in turn affected the surrounding walls. A section of the roof drooped near the middle. The reporter’s eyes widened and he instructed his photographer to get as many shots as he could from every possible angle.

“What’s next on the fund-raising committee’s agenda?” The man stood with a dumbfounded look on his face, probably thinking it would have been easier to raze the place and start from scratch.

“At this time, we don’t have any firm plans we’re ready to announce, but when we do, you’ll be the first to know.” She flashed him one of her most sincere smiles.

“Would you consider participating in
Love in Shangri-La
to raise the money?”

Give the man a brownie point. He actually made it more than three whole questions before bringing up the freaking reality show. Well, three if she ignored his snarky question regarding her marital status at the beginning. Yeah, she’d been asked to participate on the sister show of
Finding Mr. Right.

Sure, she’d like to find that someone special, but hanging out at the beach (where she’d be lobster red in a day) with a camera on her 24/7 wouldn’t help the center. Not to mention she didn’t want to be back in the spotlight, her every move, every word scrutinized by the millions who tuned in to watch, hoping for a scandal. She still believed in the process, in the show, and that it worked for some, just not for her. Not that she’d share any of those thoughts with a reporter.

“No.”

End of discussion. Moving on.

A scrape of boots on concrete had her craning her neck to see if she could spy Jason. It was silly and made no sense, but his presence gave her a small measure of calm. She didn’t know how to explain it, even to herself. She just knew if she needed help, he’d come.

“Would you like to see the exterior? We’ve awarded the contract to Valentine Rehab Services, and Mr. Valentine is around here somewhere. Perhaps you’d like to speak with him as well?”

“I heard they’ve asked you several times to try
Finding Mr. Right
again, as well as participate on
Love in Shangri-La
. Is that true?”

No and yes. She’d been on the main show twice, which was the limit. The second show was new, and yes, she’d received a couple of invites to participate. More information she had no intention of sharing. She was not the point of this interview.

“Mr. Ford, the families in the west end are working-class people struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have extra to send their children to day camps or off to summer programs. Some don’t have the money for day care and many don’t even have the means to feed their children lunch when school is out of session. The center fills those needs for them. We offer our programs to lower-income families free of charge. No child is ever denied lunch. We give them a safe haven.”

The reporter stepped in her path, blocking her from exiting the room. “Wouldn’t being a contestant on the show solve all your problems? I hear they pay fifty thousand dollars for every episode and the winner gets a million on top of what they’ve already earned. Think of everything you could do for the center with all of that money, not to mention your personal situation.”

The man was so far out in left field he wasn’t even in the game. A million dollars—she wished they paid that much money. “Oh, look, there’s Mr. Valentine now. I’m sure he’d love to discuss his plans for how he’s going to save our center.”

Jason and Dave went through the building, reinspecting each room, jotting down everything they’d need to get the job done, and discussing where to start. But the entire time, Jason was fully aware of Cherry and company’s whereabouts. Too aware. The last thing he needed in his life was a husband-seeking woman who kept him up all night long with fantasies of her soft curves.

As the trio approached, Cherry once again wore the plastic smile from the gala, with little lines etched deep into her forehead. What would it take to wipe away the tension marring her pretty face? He wanted to see the look of joy she had at dinner. She made the introductions all around, not leaving anyone out, her tone and manner professional and friendly, even if her eyes were shooting little daggers at the reporter every time she looked at him. The lady had spunk.

“Elmo Ford,
News Today
.” The guy shoved his hand into Jason’s and squeezed as he reintroduced himself. He must be used to people forgetting him. “Congratulations on snagging this little beauty of a job. Care to answer a few questions for us?”

The guy fit his name. He was small, with a high-pitched, annoying voice. “Sure, I’m happy to help, as is my business partner, David Farber.” Secretly, he hoped Dave would do his thing and take over the interview, charm the reporter and get the guy out of his hair. He had work to do. He needed to talk to Cherry about that kiss in front of the fountain. What he wanted was a repeat performance.

“Why this project? There’s lots of rebuilding going on in Providence, why did you want to work on the community center? Anything make it particularly special?” The guy rattled off the questions fast enough to make Jason wonder if he expected them all to be answered.

“Both Dave and I are from the west end and consider this our chance to give back to the community that gave so much to us.” There, he’d delivered it, the line they had worked up with Brody’s help to put them out there as the hometown boys.