The Dating Game. Shirley Jump
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gesturing toward an ornate love seat with some curlicue fabric on it. She knew there was a name for the pattern—a name she’d never bothered to learn, much to the consternation of her mother, who thought living well was the only way to live.
Mattie, who’d spent her life with scraped knees and grass-stained socks, believed in playing hard and winning well. Curlicue fabrics didn’t fit into that equation.
The butler cleared his throat. Mattie regarded the chair. It looked more like dollhouse furniture than people furniture. Still, the butler seemed convinced it would make a suitable seat.
“May I take your, ah, bag, ma’am?” He eyed her Lands’ End backpack with a little confusion. She’d be willing to place odds on the number of people who came into a house like this ready for outdoor adventures.
“I’ll keep it with me, thanks.” On the other network’s show, Mattie had seen what happened to people who made the mistake of giving up their stuff. They ended up stuck on some island with nothing while their smarter competitors remained fully equipped. That wasn’t going to happen to her. She intended to win, and if that meant keeping her backpack away from the mortician over there, so be it.
She tucked it on the floor beside her feet and lowered herself to the love seat. No matter what it was called, the chair certainly didn’t hold a lot of love for her rear end. The seat felt stiff and uncomfortable, as if it was layered with concrete beneath the fabric. She hoped she wouldn’t be here long. Mattie Grant was about as well suited for an environment like this as a cheetah was for a cat carrier.
The butler backed out of the room, shutting the double doors without a sound. Mattie fished out the letter again from her back pocket. The single piece of stationery from the Lawford television station was simple and to the point, telling her she’d been selected as a contestant on their new reality show. The letter hadn’t been very detailed, which she’d expected. When she’d gone to the tryouts for Survival of the Fittest, the producers had warned her they’d keep as much information secret as possible, but still…
This letter was taking subterfuge to a whole new level. It said little more than “Congratulations on being selected as a contestant on Lawford Channel Ten’s newest reality show,” the address to which she was supposed to report and the day, Tuesday. Nothing else specific at all, except the prize money amount.
Fifty thousand dollars.
“Fifty thousand dollars.” Even aloud, the number sounded huge. She needed that money. She had to win. Even if it meant putting up with this environment for a while before she got to the place where she felt most at home—the great outdoors.
The doors opened again and in walked a man. Okay, not a man. A demigod. At least six feet tall, he had the dark good looks and deep-blue eyes that made grown women trip over themselves in order to get a better look. Sort of a Pierce Brosnan type, only younger.
Mattie figured she could take him. No problem.
A guy like that wouldn’t last long in the woods. He’d be too worried about what gathering a few sticks of kindling would do to his manicure. Good. One competitor she didn’t have to worry about.
“Am I in the right place?” He paused, adjusting his maroon tie.
What kind of guy wore a suit on a survival show? Well, there had been that lawyer on the other network’s show two or three seasons ago. Maybe this guy had some crazy ideas about using his navy Brooks Brothers suit for a makeshift sleeping bag.
“Depends on where you’re supposed to be,” she said.
“Touché.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. I probably should have started by introducing myself. I’m David Simpson.” He took a step toward her, putting out a hand. “And you are?”
Mattie rose and shook with him, grinning. “Your worst nightmare.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. I’m Mattie Grant.” She broadened her smile. “And I don’t intend to lose this game.”
He grinned. “And neither do I.”
She gave his three-piece suit and polished shoes another glance. “I don’t think you’re quite cut out for this competition.”
“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.” He gave her the once-over, his gaze lingering on her shorts and flip-flops. “Aren’t you a little…underdressed?”
“I’m not here for a beauty pageant. Who cares what I look like?”
He chuckled. “I like you, Mattie Grant. You aren’t what I expected. This is going to be one interesting show,” he said. “Very interesting.”
He had a way of looking at her that was both direct and intent. Like he was sizing her up. Well, two could play that game. She circled the room in an idle pattern. “Why do you think they’re doing a show like this in Lawford, of all places?” Mattie asked. “I’m not complaining, and Lawford is a good-size city, but this is usually the kind of thing the big networks do.”
“Well, reality TV is low budget, big viewership. To the head honchos at Channel Ten, this was a no-brainer. The new station owner is hoping to make a big splash in this marketplace. Lawford Channel Ten isn’t exactly the shining gem in the Media Star conglomerate.”
Mattie cocked her head and studied him. “How do you know all this?” She didn’t remember reading much more than a press release announcing the new station ownership in the Lawford Sun. Apparently David Simpson knew something she didn’t know.
He had an edge. And Mattie didn’t like that at all.
“I, ah, heard about it at work.” David turned away and moved across the room to study a spring landscape hanging on the wall.
“Do you work in TV?” She tried to keep her tone casual, friendly. This not being a girly-girl thing made it tough, though. Even to her own ears she sounded like an FBI interrogator.
“No.”
He didn’t elaborate. She shouldn’t fault him for that. They were, after all, competitors. Personal knowledge could be used to someone else’s advantage. She wasn’t about to share anything, either. No one here needed to know who Mattie Grant really was or why she was on this show.
However, that didn’t mean Mattie couldn’t find a way to soften her approach. How she’d do that, she had no idea. Her best interactions with men came when she battled them for a black-and-white ball on a hundred-yard field. This small talk in the parlor thing left her feeling like a cow trying to perform “Swan Lake”.
Behind them another door opened and a woman in an evening gown—most likely Dior, said another part of Mattie that used to live a life where those kinds of names mattered—slipped into the room, her movements lithe and graceful. Her auburn hair was perfectly coiffed, her nails impeccably done, her presentation flawless.
What was with these people? Didn’t they realize this was an outdoor adventure show? She’d never seen a survival show where everyone came dressed for the Oscars.
Either the producers for the Lawford television station had zero idea what a show like this comprised or…
For the first time that day, Mattie began to feel a little worried. Had she stumbled into the wrong place somehow? Had there been a mistake?
“Oh! I see you two have already met,” the woman said, glancing at Mattie, then at David. “The butler was supposed to bring you to the dining room with the other men, but I suppose this one mistake won’t mess things up too badly.”
“Are you the owner of the house?” Mattie asked. Why wasn’t she supposed to meet David? And what was up with this “other men” thing?
“Oh no! I’m Larissa Peterson, the host of the show.” She put out her hand to Mattie and then to David. “The owners are in the Caribbean and graciously allowed us to use their home for the show.” She looked around the room, empty except for the three of them.