Game Changer (20 page)

Got another mock-up for you
.
I like this one better than
People
.
Accompanying the text was a photograph of an entertainment magazine cover showing him in a perfectly tailored tuxedo standing in front of a line of candles, probably meant to evoke
Meet the Groom
's candle ceremonies that ended each show, when the prospective brides found out who was being cut that week. Rather than smiling, he smoldered at the camera, the artful lighting highlighting his cheekbones and darkening his features. He looked incredibly handsome. Devastatingly so.

Kayla nudged her shoulder. “When you get that look, that means you're texting with Brandon.”

“What look?”

“Nothing. Don't worry about it. What did he text you?”

Harper turned her phone around and showed Kayla and Presley his photo.

“Oh, wow,” Kayla breathed. “That's sexy, but I think I like him better shirtless.”

Presley smacked Kayla. “You can't say that! We're supposed to tell Harper that he looks like dog meat. Totally not worth pining over.”

“I told you. I don't pine over him anymore. I wish you guys would give it up. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me when it comes to him. I'm over it.”

“Sorry. It's hard to know the right thing to do or say when it comes to you two,” Presley said. “It's so complicated.”

“Not anymore. It's easy now that we're friends.” She texted him back as Presley and Kayla changed out of their skates.

Kayla thinks you look better shirtless, but I like you in a tux. Very groom-worthy.

She took another long look as his image, then clicked the button that turned off her phone's screen and tossed it back in her purse. “Not to change the subject, but Presley, Kayla, and I were talking about my bliss list earlier, and I've got an idea of something we can do before she leaves.”

“I'm game. What are we doing?” Presley said.

“When was the last time you went to New York City?”

Presley rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, thinking. “Years.”

“Same for me,” Kayla said. “This is about the Empire State Building, isn't it?”

“Yep. Do you two want to go next week, my treat?”

Presley waved away the offer. “You don't have to treat us.”

“You're my accountant. You know perfectly well that I'm still working through the multitude of inheritances I've received over the years. This is the perfect way to spend it.”

“In that case, I'm in.”

Kayla clapped her hands. “Heck, yeah. Let's paint that town.”

“How does Tuesday sound?”

“Just a sec. Let me check my calendar,” Presley said, scrolling through her phone.

“Tuesday, huh?” Kayla said, her lips twitched and her expression turned sage, almost teasing.

Harper shifted, uncomfortable that she'd been so obvious. “Tuesday is the slowest day of the week at Locks.”

“Schedule's clear,” Presley said. “I'm in.”

“So, this has nothing to do with the fact that Tuesday is Bran—”

Harper covered Kayla's mouth with a finger. “If I'm going to spring for an all-expense paid trip to New York City, then you're going to have to play along.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“That's more like it. New York City, here we come!” Harper strapped on her helmet, then handed Kayla her phone. “Take my picture.”

“You're going to send it to him, aren't you?”

“I am,” Harper said. “Because you know what's weird? Sometimes it feels like the fun I have and the adventures I go on don't really happen until I share them with him. Besides, he sends me all kinds of pictures of himself looking sexy and sophisticated, so it would only be fair to return the favor.”

Since there was no way she could look legitimately sexy anymore—and not just because she was wearing an enormous red sweatshirt and a little plastic helmet—Harper decided to go for irony. She stuffed her hands back in her gloves, then struck an action pose with her hockey stick, baring her teeth like the most fearsome player on the defensive line.

“Yeah, baby. Work it, you sexy beast,” Kayla deadpanned as she snapped the shot.

Presley chuckled and shook her head. “The crazy thing is that I think he'll be jealous of this photo. I think he'll hate that he's not here to play hockey with you.”

“We've played before, a one-on-one game.”

“Who won?” Kayla asked.

Did either of them win that night? At the time, it'd felt like they'd both lost, but that turned out to be the furthest from the truth. “We both did.”

And before they could ask her to clarify, she gave them a wink and took to the ice again.

***

“A new season, a new opportunity for love, this time in sun-soaked Miami. Decorated army veteran and American hero Brandon Theroux has come to one of the most passionate cities in the world in search of a woman to spend his life with.”

Brandon remained perfectly still, as he'd been directed to, a slight smile on his lips as the camera panned around him and the announcer standing next to him attempted his opening remarks for the fifth time.

“We've scoured the country and brought together twenty of America's most beautiful, accomplished women who are each in search of their own hero. Will one of them capture Brandon's heart? Twenty candles, twenty prospective brides. Is love the answer? Find out in tonight's episode of . . .
Meet the Groom
!”

Brandon stifled a groan. That was even worse than Will's rendition of the announcer's opening lines.

“Cut!” the director called.

Last night, the first night of filming, had been an exhausting parade of women emerging from limousines. The first lesson he learned about filming a reality TV show was that it takes forever. Setting up shots and filming multiple takes of the same scenes made the filming of even the shortest segments a slog.

The second thing that had surprised him was how much is rehearsed. Very little of reality television was spontaneous, as it turned out. Before he'd been allowed to meet a single prospective bride, he'd had to rehearse with Lucinda the choreography of helping the ladies out of the limo and onto the front walk next to the circular driveway of the beachfront mansion being rented to film the show.

From where he stood, to how he walked, to offering the lady his hand and how he tucked her arm in his, everything was perfectly planned. And when he screwed up, they had to film it again. The only thing he was allowed to improvise were his words, and even then, Lucinda was often off-camera feeding him prompts. Go figure.

Today, Brandon and the announcer were standing along the railing of a pool deck for a cabana party at a hotel overlooking the vast white sand of Miami Beach, where he and the prospective brides would be having a beach party later that night. There wasn't much that Brandon didn't like in life, but the beach was one of them. Sand was tough to walk in and always seemed to sneak into his the sleeve of his prosthesis.

He'd told the producers when he'd signed on that he wasn't crazy about beaches or sand, but they'd been insistent. Miami, the beach, the sand—it all went hand-in-hand. So he'd worked with his prosthetist to customize a sand-and-waterproof foot and sleeve that had been originally designed for surfers. It was a cool design, and the show was footing the bill, so he kept his distaste for the beach to himself.

As the announcer and his camera crew prepped for their next shot, Brandon's handler on the show hurried out from the shade of the building. “We're right on schedule. Today you'll be having a mixer with your prospective brides,” she prompted, as though she hadn't already prepped him on that same information three times. “Just be yourself and have fun.”

“There's more to it than that. You told me earlier I had to talk to every contestant.”

Lucinda tipped her head to the side, frowning. “Yes. That too. Of course. How else are you going to get to know them?”

Good question. “What if I don't care about getting to know them all?” he teased.

She dropped her arms to her sides and blinked at him.

“I'm kidding.”

Brandon had yet to warm up to Lucinda. She seemed competent at her job, though he didn't get the feeling that she particularly liked it. She looked to be about his age, except older, somehow. She wore her brown hair loose and straight and had on minimal makeup. She was slim, but with a boxy frame. Or maybe she had a nice figure, and the trouble was that her skirt suits were ill fitting. Or maybe it was just that, compared to twenty prospective brides largely made up of former models, beauty pageant contestants, and wannabe starlets, she seemed dowdy. He couldn't decide.

“You can decide which group of contestants to chat with first,” Lucinda continued, walking him to the edge of the party area. “When you get to each station, try to learn what they're learning or play what they're playing. Just relax and get into it.”

Brandon surveyed the pool area. The contestants were clustered into groups, each pretending to keep busy performing various pool party–related activities. The scene was oddly quiet, free of music and other hotel patrons. He supposed that was so everyone's voices could be heard loud and clear. Of course, all the girls were all wearing bikinis, which was a nice touch.

While he and Lucinda stood there, the costume lady barged between them and removed Brandon's button-up shirt, leaving him in blue-and-white board shorts. All right. Lucinda could've prepped him for that. But whatever. He was used to being shirtless on camera and this was a great chance to work on his tan.

As soon as the costume lady left, the makeup and hair ladies hovered around him, touching him up.

When they'd finished, Lucinda gestured with her clipboard to the party. “All right. Whenever you're ready. Remember: relax and have fun. Smile.”

In his pocket, he felt his phone vibrate. He wasn't sure if having his phone on him was allowed, but it sure came in handy between shots. He took the chance of being chastised by Lucinda and pulled it out to have a look at who'd texted or called him.

He found a text from Harper.
Me, seizing the day.

Accompanying the text was a photograph. In it, she was standing on what looked like an observation deck, a huge, bright smile on her face and her hair whipping behind her. In both hands, she held a blue napkin. He didn't bother zooming in; he knew what it said. She'd crossed the Empire State Building off her bliss list.

He raised his finger toward the heavens, adding another hash mark to the cosmic tally he was keeping for her. Damn, he was proud of her for getting out there and grabbing life by the balls. With every photo she sent to him, he felt stronger himself, more sure he was on the right path with
Meet the Groom
. He loved that he'd inspired her to start living and he couldn't wait to inspire more people once the show began airing. The world was such a crazy/wonderful place. Maybe he'd even learn to appreciate the beach and its loathsome sand, like he had before he'd lost his leg.

He turned off his phone and pocketed it. Lapsing into playboy mode, he added a slight swagger to his walk and decided to start at the bar where Chastity, Danielle, and a few others stood, presumably practicing how to make mixed drinks, though Brandon had the sneaking suspicion the activity had been designed to jiggle their tits on camera as they shook tumblers filled with ice. Not that Brandon had a problem with that.

He was trailed by Mac, one of the principal cameramen who never stopped filming, it seemed. Brandon wasn't exactly sure what the other side of the guy's face looked like since he kept his eye glued to the camera so much. But the rest of him looked like a mid-life crisis incarnate, from the tiny ponytail, to the graying goatee, to the single hoop earring in his left ear and his pack-a-day voice.

“Ladies, hello. Looks like you're having some fun here. Mind if I join you?” Brandon said.

Of course they didn't mind. In fact, all of them but Danielle fell all over themselves to get nearer to him, pushing drinks at him like a green-and-red umbrella cocktail might save his life. He gamely took a small sip of the drink that Chastity handed to him and had to grit his teeth against a shudder. He didn't often include sugar in his diet, and he felt like he'd just been sucker punched by the stuff.

“Sweet. I like that,” he same gamely. “Teach me how to make it, would you?”

Two hours later, Brandon was all pool-partied out. He'd pretty much gotten all the girls' names, but putting their names with their faces and bodies was going to be a real challenge when the next time the show required them to wear more than skimpy scraps of fabric.

After spending time with them all the night before, and then today, his main takeaway was that most of the ladies who'd signed on as prospective brides for
Meet the Groom
weren't crazy or stupid. They were decent and well spoken and reminded Brandon a lot of Miss America contestants—the smarter, articulate ones.

His seasoned eye helped him pick out who the easy lays would be, who the few unstable ones were, and who he could see himself having conversations with. A few he could even see himself having a bona fide great time with throughout the show and the press junket that would follow. Did any of them make him want to denounce bachelorhood in favor of matrimony? Eh. Not really. But that hardly mattered.

He hadn't been the only one with a trained eye for sizing up women. Harper had been right in her assessment of just about all of them, too.

So many times during these first two days of filming, he thought of something funny or newsy to text Harper, but every time he thought about it, he was being whisked away by one of the show's assistant directors or Lucinda. So instead he ran an ongoing conversation with her in his head, hoping he remembered all the details to share with her when she called him that night from New York City, where she was vacationing with Kayla and Presley.