Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) (33 page)

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.

“That’s right,” Justine confirmed. “Last week, all
of them interviewed potential partners from a pool of prescreened, preapproved
applicants. They each handpicked someone for their single parent to go out with
on one or two dates arranged by and recorded for a future episode of
Let’s
Talk
. Their choices are here to meet you today.”

“What kind of dates?” Annabel asked.

“Whatever you and your arranged partner want.
You’ll each get to name your perfect evening, and the show will foot the
bills—within reason. No flying to New York or Paris, but anything local will be
fine.”

“I plan on going to The Precinct,” GI Joe chimed
in. Although the steakhouse wouldn’t be Annabel’s choice, a flurry of laughter
and hoots of agreement followed the mention of one of Cincinnati’s most
expensive restaurants.

“You can decide on your destinations later.”
Justine’s gaze flicked to the clock on the wall and then settled on the monitor.
“But you’ll need to make up your minds quickly about appearing.”

Out in the studio, the camera panned the line of
fledgling matchmakers. Just as Annabel opened her mouth to refuse, the camera
zeroed in on Carly and focused on her blonde good looks. In that moment,
Annabel forgot the trick the girl had played and felt a thrill of pride at her
stepdaughter’s composure. She glowed as Carly spilled the beans about Annabel.

“She’s my stepmom. My dad got custody of me when
my biological mother left us. He married Annabel when I was nine, and after he
died three years ago, I stayed with her. My birth mom is awesome in a fairy
godmother kind of way, but she’s not very good with, um, details.” A smile
curled the corners of Carly’s mouth. “Annabel’s the one who’s always tucked me
in, taken me to the dentist, soccer games and piano recitals. You know, all
that Mom-and-responsibility stuff.”

“Does she work outside the home?” Tess asked.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a documentary editor for a local
production company. A project she worked on is nominated for some big award.”
Carly paused before confiding, “She’s so proud that I plan to go to medical
school eventually, but except for me, her work’s all she’s got. I’m afraid
she’ll use it as an excuse not to get a real life after I leave for college
next fall.”

Not true!
Annabel had lots of other things
and people in her life.
Didn’t she?
Hmmm, maybe not.

She cringed as the little blabbermouth ratted her
out to the entire tri-state area. Maybe if she’d informed Carly about her plans
for the future, this fiasco could have been avoided.

Truthfully, after all the responsibilities she’d
handled over the years, Annabel yearned for an exciting, carefree life of her
own.

She loved her stepdaughter and enjoyed her
company, but Annabel looked forward to the graduating teen’s departure with
more anticipation than dread. As soon as Carly left for Ohio State, Annabel
planned to cut loose and make her own dreams come true.

Some of her plans involved work goals, sure, but
they also included increasing her social life. All right, make that
developing
a social life. With an all-new, daring, and spontaneous attitude, she wanted to
flit off to a weekend in Belize… go skydiving… date guys with tattoos.

Since she didn’t want Carly feeling as if Annabel
itched to get rid of her, she hadn’t mentioned any of her secret desires to her
stepdaughter. But now Annabel could see the advantages of opening up a bit
more. She’d remedy that issue immediately after today’s show.

Carly’s sweet gesture revealed a misguided need to
repay Annabel for her love, and Annabel would never hurt the girl’s feelings by
refusing the gesture. She considered the possibility of easing herself into her
new ready-for-anything persona with two vetted, chaperoned, on-camera dates.
How
bad could they be?

Smothering a sense of impending doom, she summoned
her courage long enough to sign the release forms Justine handed to her. Within
moments, she found herself taking a deep breath and stepping center stage. Her
eyes adjusted to the glaring lights while she waited for her cue.

“Carly took great care in choosing a man who
shares common interests with her stepmother. You’ll recognize him as WKLK’s
most popular and handsome investigative reporter. These two already know one
another, but let’s see if sparks fly when they’re paired up for romance.” Tess
and the camera turned toward Annabel. “
Let’s Talk
is pleased to welcome
Annabel Morgan and her lucky date, Max Williams!”

The introduction barely registered in Annabel’s
head before a tall, muscular form bounded out from stage right. He turned her
with a hand on her arm and planted a kiss on her check.

Stunned, she reared back to confirm her
misfortune. The shock in his eyes mirrored hers.

Under cover of the applause, they objected in
unison, “Not you!”

The following Saturday night, Max arrived on
Annabel’s front porch in Hyde Park. With his favorite cameraman in tow, he looked
around at one of Cincinnati’s oldest and stodgiest neighborhoods. Sturdy brick
houses lined the quiet, residential street. Subdued shutters bordered windows
with overflowing flower boxes. Tidy yards sported geometric mower grids.
Traditional, conservative, established, and settled. All things Max preferred
to avoid.

Grinding his teeth, he cursed his current
circumstances and the unapologetic people responsible for it. If given the
chance, he’d banish meddlesome teenage girls to a world without cell phones or
teenage boys.

He’d blast Tess Hartley to an unending life of
flat hair, tabloid journalism, and bad ratings.

He’d send all judgmental, uninteresting women to
an island far, far away, where they could bore one another to death with their
rules, restrictions, and lack of original thoughts.

And he’d reserve a special circle of hell composed
of angry advertisers, prolonged power outages, and drunken weathermen for
Charley Asherton, the usually-sensible station manager who had included Max’s
name in a pool of eligible bachelors for
Let’s Talk
without notifying
him first.

How he’d let Tess and Charley talk him into
participating in such an asinine waste of time, Max couldn’t explain. He’d
thought it a joke when he received the message to appear for the first-round
interviews. But he hadn’t stood a chance against the innocent wiles and
harmless demeanor of the young girl who singled him out. If he’d known she’d
matched him up with Ms. Frostbite of Cincinnati, he would have pulled a no-show
for the actual program.

Tess would pay for this. Due to their brief,
steam-up-the-sheets, personal history half-a-dozen years ago, he’d expected her
to let him out of his arranged date. When a conspiratorial smile and the
promise of a future favor hadn’t worked, he explained that Annabel didn’t want
to go out with him any more than he wanted to go out with her.

The ratings-minded diva just laughed and insisted
he keep his part of the bargain. She’d even had the nerve to goad him over the
fact that he’d finally met a woman who didn’t worship at his feet. Tess had
also suggested he look on winning Annabel over as a challenge—one the show
would pay for and record—as the “relationship” unfolded. Relationship, hell.
Disaster was more like it. And Tess had licked her glossy lips over the
possibility.

Ever conscious of the camera, the reporter in Max
erased the scowl and put on his game face. He shot the sleeves of his suit into
place, then smoothed his hair and straightened his frigging tie.

“Quit primping, Casanova, you look fine,” Roger
said from behind him. He lifted the video-camera to his eye. “Now, ring the
bell. No, wait. The doorknocker seems more forceful, more masculine. Use that.”

“More masculine.” Max snorted but banged the
knocker as instructed. “Masculinity’s wasted on Annabel. Why do smart women
like her favor those limp-wristed sensitive types who drink lattes and go to
poetry readings?”

“Why do you care what kind of men she likes?”

“I don’t. I’m just saying, she’s not my type.”

“Yeah, I can see why the combination of smart,
nice, gorgeous, and talented wouldn’t work for you,” the cameraman muttered.

When the door swung open, Max faced the beaming
teenager who’d gotten him into this mess.

“You’re here!” Carly clapped her hands.

Despite his annoyance, Max grinned at her
enthusiasm. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

She peered over his shoulder to the street, then
leaned out the door to view the driveway. His Jeep Cherokee elicited a frown.
“Where’s the limo?”

With the Porsche in the shop, he’d been tempted by
the station’s offer of transportation, but he hated that kind of fancy crap.
Besides, he and Annabel weren’t two pimply-faced, sweaty-palmed teenagers on
the way to the prom. “I prefer to drive myself.”

Carly planted her hands on her hips. “But what
about what Anna prefers?”

“When we talked yesterday, I asked her if she
wanted to show off with a car and driver.” He shrugged. “She said she didn’t
care.”

“Well, if you put it that way, what else could she
say?” She glared at him with disapproval. “Besides,
I
care. I want this to
be so special for her.”

“Maybe next time, kid.” Of course, there would be
no such event. The terms of the show indicated he could dictate when and where
they went on their second date, if he wanted to see her again. In a rare moment
of agreement, he and Annabel had decided this would be a one-shot deal. She
would have to be the one to break the news to Little Ms. Blue Eyes here.

Carly accepted the disappointment with a grudging
sigh. “Come on in, then. Anna’s almost ready.”

He stepped across the threshold of the Morgan
home, suppressing the urge to sneeze. The place smelled like a damn flower
shop. Fresh roses decorated a table in the foyer. Potpourri sat in little
dishes around the living room. They probably even sprayed the air with floral
perfume.

In about two minutes, he’d break out in hives from
the cloying scent combined with the rampant middle-class-values decor. Family
pictures lined the mantle in the living room. Knick-knacks rested on frilly
lace things. He’d bet his Porsche that coasters bloomed automatically under
every beverage.

Structured, neat, and fragrant, a reflection of
Annabel herself.

Everything in the house whispered its good taste
in monotonous neutrals. Nice, he supposed, if he went in for this sort of
Boy
Meets World
, mom, and apple-pie hominess.

Which he didn’t.

Not that he had any reason to dislike
sitcom-perfect domesticity. But growing up without a mother present, he’d never
experienced it. This whole scene existed as the polar opposite of his childhood
and adulthood. Both had teemed with loud and boisterous chaos.

He’d never lived anywhere that remotely resembled
this house or neighborhood, and he’d never dated a woman with as little fire
and flash as Annabel.

Roger trailed him inside. “Would you go out and
come back in again? The lighting in here isn’t what I expected.”

“Forget it,” Max said. “We’re not staging anything
or doing any retakes.”

“If you’re willing to settle for a pasty image
that makes you look like one of
The Walking Dead
, fine by me.”

Annabel’s stepdaughter chewed on her thumbnail and
creased her forehead as she eyed Roger from head to sneaker. Max empathized
with her concerns about the two-hundred-twenty-pound free spirit sporting a
ponytail, eyebrow piercing, forearm tattoos, scruffy jeans, and a concert
T-shirt. He attempted to set her at ease. “Roger’s the chaperone-slash-shooter
for tonight. Even though he’s misguided enough to worship the Dave Matthews
Band instead of real rock ‘n’ roll, he’s harmless when he’s not obsessing about
things like camera angles and lighting.”

“If you say so.” Carly took a small step back, as
if reluctant to give them the benefit of the doubt. “Please take a seat in the
living room. Anna said to offer you something to drink and let her know when
you got here.”

A footstep at the top of the stairs alerted Max to
his date’s presence before he could decline the offer. In spite of himself, he
watched Annabel descend.

A nervous smile flickered and softened her
expression before it dimmed and faded into the more familiar lines of stern
disapproval. And he hadn’t even done anything to annoy her yet. That he knew
of.

Roger stepped forward. He adjusted the camera to
zoom in and capture her entrance.

Waiting at the foot of the stairs, Max assessed
her appearance. She’d reverted to full-on Ice-Princess mode. Black suit jacket
buttoned up to her chin, and skirt hem hanging down past her knees. Sensible,
boxy looking shoes. Hair slicked back so tightly at the nape of her neck he was
surprised her eyes didn’t cross.

“Anna, I thought you were going to wear your hair
down.” Carly’s artless comment inserted a drop of sweetness into the awkward
moment.

Annabel smoothed her fingers over the sides of her
hair, as if to harness any rebellious strands that dared to escape from their
prison. “I’m more comfortable with it up.”

“You look gorgeous.” Roger panned the camera
between the woman and girl. He nudged Max in the ribs, then pulled back to
record Max and Annabel’s first greeting. “Doesn’t she look gorgeous? Give her a
little kiss.”

Max’s gaze skimmed over Annabel’s body again. The
classy, understated style suited her.
Too prim and proper for my taste.
Although the suit did hug her figure nicely. The slit up one side of her skirt
showed an enticing bit of shapely leg and thigh when she walked. And that mouth
with the peek-a-boo smile playing around the edges almost begged for a kiss.

But the expression of alarm that crossed her face
sure didn’t. Or the backpedaling she employed as he reached for her.

“Oh, my.” She fluttered her fingers like crazed
bats. “I guess I’m not very good on this side of the camera.”

“Just pretend I’m not here,” Roger said as if it
would be possible to overlook a supersized gorilla with a forty-thousand-dollar
camera glued to his face.

“Then quit trying to direct everything,” Max told
him. “Just let things happen. And don’t worry,” he said to Annabel. “I’ll make
him stay ten paces behind us at all times.”

“No, no, he’s fine. He’s just doing his job.
Getting a taste of my own medicine will make me more sympathetic to my subjects
in the future.” She flashed the cameraman an elusive smile.

She excluded Max from the offering of goodwill.
Okay, he got the message. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You ready to
go?”

“Yes.” She turned to retrieve some kind of flimsy
wrap from the closet. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Nope. I was only told where and when to show
up—and what to wear.” He pulled at the knot on his necktie again. Damn thing.
He hated having to wear one on his day off.

“We have a reservation at Ernesto’s at six.”

Ernesto’s
. The kind of restaurant Max
tended to dodge. A stuffy, over-priced, pretentious place in Mt. Adams that
served prissy little portions of nouvelle cuisine. Sighing, he resigned himself
to the choice and tried not to yawn.

“From there, we’ll go to the symphony. I hope you
like Wagner.”

He chuckled, assuming she was kidding. But when he
checked, her expression revealed nothing but seriousness. “Wagner? Really?”

“His music’s quite stimulating. My husband and I
used to have season tickets for the symphony. I gave them up when he—” She
stopped and bit her lip. “I gave them up a few years ago.”

The symphony. Stimulating? Ri-ight. She must be
older than he guessed. What decade had she been born in anyway? Oh, well, maybe
he could catch up on his sleep.

And he’d given up his poker night for this.

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