Marrying Mister Perfect (2 page)

“It wasn’t originally meant to be a long-term
arrangement, but it really is the best thing for all of us. Jack
doesn’t have to worry about hiring some stranger to look after Emma
and TJ while he’s at the hospital and I have a free place to stay
while I’m getting my Masters.” Though she hadn’t taken many classes
lately—amazing how much time a four-year-old and a six-year-old
could take up.

But she loved her life—right up until she had
to explain their situation to anyone on the outside. Then her
purely platonic pseudo-nanny relationship with Jack always seemed
somehow pathetic rather than ideal.

Lou’s shoulders tensed defensively as she
looked across the table at Miranda—who had shot out of town for USC
at eighteen as if she was rocket-propelled and didn’t look like she
understood the meaning of the phrase stuck-in-a-rut. Her once brown
hair was now a stark platinum blonde, cut short and asymmetrically
so it was all sharp, jagged angles and attitude—but somehow still
accentuating the shape of her face and the slight upward slant of
Miranda’s brown eyes.

Her nails were short and black—just like her
skirt. Dark, patterned leggings hugged her thighs and disappeared
into snug knee-high black leather boots with heels that would’ve
had Lou breaking an ankle in record time if she’d attempted to walk
in them. Miranda’s top half was layered with a funky mix of shirts
and light-weight sweaters and scarves in clashing colors that
somehow managed to come together into a look that was terrifyingly
sophisticated. As sophisticated as the knowing twinkle in the eyes
that peered at Lou from behind thick, black-framed glasses—glasses
Miranda wouldn’t have been caught dead in back in high school.

But this wasn’t high school—even if Lou’s
feeling of being hopelessly outclassed was eerily familiar.

“I’m sure you’re amazing at it and you look
super happy,” Miranda said. “I’m just surprised. I kind of figured
you’d be a simultaneous translator for some fancy French diplomat
by now. Or living in Milan or something. The way you always talked
about Europe…”

“I know.” Lou picked at a splotch of dried
Go-Gurt on her cuff. “But I’m crazy about the kids. I can’t imagine
leaving them now.”

“Wait, so Dr. Hottie pays the bills, you stay
home to look after the kids, and there’s absolutely no sex?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds a lot like marriage to me.”

Lou rolled her eyes. “Har har.”

“Seriously, though, hon, you seem like a
kick-ass mommy type, and I was genuinely happy for you every time I
read another sickeningly cute post—but that was when I thought the
hot doctor was taking care of your needs on a nightly basis. A girl
needs orgasms, Lou-Lou. Are you even dating?”

“There’s more to life than sex.”

“Spoken like a woman who’s never met a man
who can rattle her blinds.” Miranda took a long sip of water,
studying Lou over the rim of her glass. “You aren’t still hung up
on Dr. Jack, are you? That isn’t why you’re…”

“Of course not!” Lou’s blush reached critical
levels. “God, that silly crush was a lifetime ago and it was
nothing. A blip. I don’t know why I even told you about it. Thank
God he never found out. Can you imagine? If he even dreamed I was
ever interested in him like that? Our friendship is so important to
both of us and introducing sex into the equation would ruin
everything—”

“You about done? Or do you want to keep
protesting how little interest you have in Sexy Jack? Not that I
would blame you. After I saw that picture you posted of him
shirtless on the beach last month, I needed a freaking cigarette.
Honey, I’d be more surprised if you
weren’t
lusting after
him.”

“We’re
friends
.”

“With absolutely no benefits? You’re never
tempted to jump on that? Because you live with the hottest man I’ve
ever seen in real life. And that’s saying something. I work in
television.”

Lou lunged for the topic change with
embarrassing desperation. “And how is life as a hotshot TV
producer?”

“Subtle transition,” Miranda said dryly. “But
I’ll allow it because now we get to talk about me.” Her wry grin
took the narcissism out of the comment. “Life in TV? I love it.
It’s a constant competition. You kill yourself to get to the top.
Then you kill whoever you must to stay there.”

Lou sent her an arch look. “Murdered anyone
lately?”

“Not that they can pin on me. But this season
is going to be even more cut-throat than usual. We just lost our
Mister Perfect and now in the frenzy to replace him there’s blood
in the water and we can all smell it.”

“You make it sound like Jaws. I thought you
were all lovey-dovey hearts-and-flowers.”

“Honey, it’s about so much more than the
romance. America wants a man they can fall in love with, a minimum
of two women they can root for, at least one woman they can hate, a
cat fight or two, buckets of tears, no less than three betrayals,
an ambulance is always good for ratings and there still has to be
that something else. That something
new
and unique that
keeps it from feeling like the same show they’ve been watching for
twelve seasons. I need a twist.”

“How can it be new? It’s the oldest story in
the world, isn’t it? Boy meets girl, falls in love, and they live
happily ever after?”

“Yes, couples have been falling in love on
national television since the days of Adam and Eve.” Miranda
flashed a self-deprecating grin and Lou laughed.

The waiter appeared with their food and they
were temporarily distracted by the orgy of deliciousness on the
table.

“I wish I could help you find your twist,”
Lou said, dragging a fry through her mustard. “But I’m just a
housewife who isn’t even a wife.”

Miranda’s fork froze, suspended between her
plate and her mouth, and a terrifying gleam entered her eyes. “What
if I could help you with that?”

Lou fought down a sense of dread. “What do
you mean?”

“What if I could free you up to see the world
by finding Jack a new wife? Widowed heart surgeon with a heart of
gold, abs of steel, and two of the cutest kids on the planet? I can
work with that. Oh honey, can I ever.”

“Oh no.” Lou put down her Monte Cristo before
she choked on it. “No, no, no, no.”

She could see why Miranda would want Jack for
the next season of
Marrying Mister Perfect
. He was certified
fantasy-bait. God knew he’d been Lou’s personal fantasy since they
were fourteen, though she’d take that secret to her grave.

Six-foot-two, with the body of an Olympic
athlete. His thick brown hair had just the right amount of curl and
a tendency toward sexy disarray—complete with a single lock that
always fell over one eye when he was concentrating. A heart
surgeon, a fabulous father, and an all around nice guy, Jack was
the kind of man who helped little old ladies and held car doors.
And then there was the
piece de resistance
—the eyes. Laser
blue Paul Newman eyes edged by crinkly little laugh lines and
filled with a constant twinkle. Those eyes were lethal to the
female equilibrium. Lou knew that better than anyone.

“He would never agree to it. He hates shows
like that. No offense.”

“None taken. I hate them too. Almost as much
as I love them. But just think of it. Dr. McHottie with a
ready-made family and a hole in his heart just waiting to be
filled. I could market the hell out of him.” Miranda paused,
swirling her straw through her shake as she eyed Lou. “Unless you
still have a thing for him... I’d never cock-block one of my
oldest, bestest friends.”

A thing for him? Try a torch the size of the
Statue of Liberty’s that she’d been carrying for the oblivious man
for the last
decade
.

“No, I’ve got no claim on him. But you’re
nuts if you think you can make Jack your next Mr. Perfect. As
flattered as I’m sure he would be, you’d never get him to agree to
it.”

The terrifying gleam got brighter and
Miranda’s grin turned wicked. “Don’t challenge me, Lou. You know
I’ve never heard a no I couldn’t turn into a yes.”

Lou just smiled. She knew Miranda was
determined, charismatic and persuasive as hell—you didn’t get to be
a producer on the highest rated dating reality TV show at
twenty-nine without all those traits—but no one knew Jack the way
she did. “Trust me. He’ll never agree.”

And thank God for that. She might have
accepted that they were never going to be anything but friends, but
the thought of Jack picking his new wife from a bevy of
oh-so-eligible women on national television? Nightmare. Pure and
simple.

“So I have your blessing to talk to him about
it? You’d be okay if Jack said yes?”

“Go for it,” Lou said. Confident in her
certainty that Jack would never in a million years say yes.

Chapter
Two

“Absolutely not. No offense.” Jack rocked
back in his chair, putting as much distance between himself and
Miranda’s suggestion as possible.

She just smiled. “None taken, but hear me
out.”

She’d cornered him in his office between
surgeries. The room wasn’t large, but the force of her presence
made it feel even smaller.

“Look, I’m sorry, Miranda. I like you and you
were always a good friend, but I’m not going to embarrass myself on
national television just so you can get a promotion. You’ll have to
find another monkey to dance for you.” He stood, hoping she would
follow suit.

She didn’t even blink. “But another monkey
wouldn’t have your built-in marketing appeal,” she said with a
smile, completely unmoved by his rejection.

Jack wondered how hard it would be to bodily
remove her from his office. She was small, but tenacious. Like a
platinum blonde terrier.

“Sit down, hot shot.” Miranda crossed her
legs, settling in. “I’m not asking you to do it for me. I’m telling
you to do it for Lou.”

That got his attention. Jack sank back into
his chair. “What does Lou have to do with this?”

“You going to listen to me now?”

He shot a look at the clock. “I have to prep
for surgery in fifteen minutes. I’ll listen until then.”

“Deal.” Her grin was shot through with
triumph. As if his capitulation was a foregone conclusion. Miranda
had never lacked for confidence. “When was the last time you went
on a date?”

He frowned. “I thought this was about
Lou.”

“It is. Humor me. When was your last
date?”

He glared at her. “I have two kids and a job
that sucks up my life. When do you think?”

“I’m guessing college.”

“A few months,” he snapped. “A year maybe.”
More like two.
Or three. He seemed to remember the last time
he went out with someone Emma was still in diapers.

“And when was the last time Lou went out with
someone?”

He felt his face heating, though he couldn’t
figure out why. “She can go on a date any time she wants. Stuff
like that isn’t a priority for her.”

“No. Of course not. What red-blooded female
approaching her thirtieth birthday doesn’t want to spend all of her
nights at home with someone else’s kids and someone else’s husband
in an orgasm free zone?”

“So because Lou and I are a little
platonically codependent and in a dating rut, I should go on a
reality dating show? Doesn’t that seem like a pretty big leap?”

Miranda steepled her hands in her lap.
“You’re a busy man. I get that, believe me. The career, the kids.
You don’t have time to mess around dating girl after girl after
girl, trying to decide when they’re committed enough to be
introduced to your children only to discover they were only after
your money and have to start all over again. Finding the right
woman can take
years
of concentrated dating. I’m offering
you the chance to meet twenty carefully vetted females—the cream of
the American crop—”

“All of whom just want their fifteen minutes
of fame.”

“Not the twenty. The original thirty
Suitorettes will include ten who are backstabbing fame whores
because hating them is what keeps audiences invested until they can
fall in love with the front-runners—but those twenty will be pure
Grade-A premium quality American female. You want a fellow doctor?
How about an oncologist who put herself through med school modeling
for Vogue? Maybe you’d rather someone more maternal? We have a
kindergarten teacher with a Masters from Harvard in early childhood
development. You want a heart of gold? I’ll give you a girl who
started her first philanthropic organization when she was
fifteen.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with
Lou.”

“Why do you think she sticks around, hot
shot? Because you fulfill all her physical and emotional needs?
Please. She stays because Lou loves you to bits and could never
leave you in the lurch when you needed her. You’ve chained her to
your stove with her affection for you and her
too-good-for-her-own-good heart. And the only way to unlock those
chains is to show her that you don’t need her to be your safety net
anymore. You need a wife, Jack.”

“I don’t want—”

“Sex? Companionship? Love? Fine. You don’t
want them. But what about what Lou wants? What she deserves? How is
she ever going to find the man of her dreams if she’s busy being
your stand-in, doing all the work without any of the benefits?”

“We’ll work something out.”

“Like you have been? Join Match.com maybe?
Don’t let the inertia hit you in the ass on your way out,
champ.”

He ground his teeth. “Even if I needed a
wife—and I’m not saying I do—national television? Jesus, Miranda.
Are you kidding me?”

Miranda lifted her hands placatingly. “Yes,
it’s unconventional and yes, we package it for entertainment value,
but that doesn’t mean it can’t work, for people who go into it for
the right reasons. This process can genuinely lead to love, if you
trust it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Casey and Joe are deeply,
nauseatingly happy together. The show is intense, but it’s
efficient. Dating, courtship, romance, and happily ever after all
distilled into eight weeks of filming. And yes, certain things
about it will be for the benefit of the cameras only—but the
emotions are real. The
women
are real. And if none of the
girls are right for you, you put the check into a college fund for
your kids and go back home, none the worse for the experience, but
having sent Lou the message that you’re ready to move on and build
your future—and she should do the same.”