The Dating Game. Shirley Jump
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turned to David. “Ever get the feeling they’re seeing you as the goose who laid a ratings egg?”
“You going to stay?”
“Nope. This isn’t for me.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder.
She was going to bolt again. He needed to do some fast talking if he wanted her to stay, for the sake of his story.
“The prize money is the same, you know,” he began. “And you don’t have to eat bugs.”
“There’s prize money on this show?”
“Yep. Fifty thousand to the Average Jill just for suffering through all the dates and then a hundred-thousand-dollar purse for her to split if she falls in love and gets engaged at the end.”
“Another fifty thousand if she falls in love?” Mattie’s eyes grew wide. For a second David had to remember to breathe. It wasn’t fair that one woman should have eyes that captivating. “With who?”
“With me, of course.”
“You?”
He cleared his throat. Whoa. That hadn’t come out as he’d intended. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted it to come out. He wanted to last to the end of this game, to get the maximum bang out of his story, but he hadn’t planned on broadcasting his strategy to everyone, least of all Mattie.
Besides, he wasn’t here to fall in love. He wanted the story—not the girl. Work was what he’d always focused on, not relationships. Work was permanent, relationships were…not. “I meant with me or any of the other bachelors.”
“Do I have to date all of them?” She pressed a hand to her stomach as if she were going to be ill.
“Do you have something against dating?”
“It’s not something I do much of, as a rule.”
They had that in common at least, though he didn’t say it. “Why not?”
Mattie recovered her composure and parked a fist on her hip. “That’s none of your business.”
He grinned. “Well, it will be. Mine and, very soon, all of Lawford’s.” He gestured toward the doorway, where a cameraman stood, a camera over his arm. “Get ready for your moment in the sun, Miss Grant.”
This was not what she wanted. She’d expected to be in the woods somewhere, in a state forest or on an undeveloped lake, fending for herself with a group of other competitors, using the skills she’d honed over years of Girl Scouts, camping and cross-country bike rides.
She had lived this fancy life a long time ago, until she’d left home, and then her mother’s divorce had taken it all away for good. The mansion. The clothes. The silly focus on one’s self.
She would have preferred to be in the middle of a forest with nothing but a pack of matches and a working brain to rely on. But there was the money to consider. Not to mention the good she could do with it. She didn’t have to fall in love. She’d have fifty grand just for sticking it out.
It was survival, as Larissa had said. Just another kind. And besides, it appeared someone else had been sent to take her place on Survival of the Fittest, leaving her with one option.
Love and the Average Jill.
“Let’s begin.” Larissa moved to the center of the room, a wide, excited smile on her face.
“Already?” Mattie’s voice came out like a squeak.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re perfect. The quintessential Average Jill. So much better than the former Miss Indiana.” Larissa cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned toward Mattie’s ear. “Who was about as average as a hibiscus.”
Mattie wasn’t exactly sure that was a compliment. After all, if the other woman was a hibiscus, what did that make her? A weed? “What do I have to do?”
“Enjoy yourself. The cameramen will follow you around all day but we only show an hour of the day’s highlights each night and broadcast the elimination part live.” Larissa gave her a wide smile. “Stick it out for a week. That’s it.”
“No strings?”
“No, none at all.”
Mattie bit her lip. She glanced at David across the room, now talking to the producer. David hadn’t seemed so bad. If he was the type of guy she had to deal with for the next seven days, she could make it through.
Heck, she could start a fire without a match and concoct a meal out of wild vegetables. How hard could this dating game be?
If she had known they’d be sticking her in a chair and putting makeup on her, she’d have backed out. Two hours later, Mattie found herself surrounded by the show’s dream team—a hairdresser, makeup artist and clothing consultant, all assembled from the show’s “headquarters” in the pool house behind the mansion to take her from average to…
Well, not average.
“Ouch! Don’t do that,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Tweezing,” the hairdresser, Pepper, said. He hovered over her with the torture implement, his bright-turquoise shirt and floral-pattern jeans a blinding combination. “Most men prefer a woman with two brows, you know.”
“I’m not that bad.”
Pepper took a step back, tweezers at the ready between his fingers, and analyzed her. “Not anymore, honey.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be about an average woman?” she said to Steve. He’d hovered in the corner the entire time, chomping on fast food and offering his input on everything from lipstick colors to heel height. “I’m not average if I’m all made up like this. Besides, this isn’t even me.”
And it hadn’t been, not for a long time. At eighteen, when she’d walked away from the life of Chanel suits and Lancôme makeup, she’d vowed never to return. And now, here she was, starring in a bad sequel of her own past.
“This is TV. No one wants to see the real you.”
“But—” Then she was cut off by Salt, the makeup artist and Pepper’s partner in business, who had honed in on her with eyeliner. “Isn’t this making me the exact opposite?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Mattie, do you think anyone is going to tune in every night over the next week to see some soccer player get hooked up with Adonis? You may be cute in your cleats, but that’s not what builds Neilsens.”
She started to add to her argument, but Salt was coming at her with an eyelash curler, clamping it onto Mattie’s eyelashes and warning her not to move.
She hadn’t bought this many cosmetics in her lifetime, never mind worn them. And the clothes…
She cast a glance at the wardrobe hanging on the silver rod to her right. Some minion of Steve’s had been sent scurrying to the Lawford Mall to come up with a bunch of suitable evening gowns when the producer had realized all Mattie had in her backpack was two pairs of denim shorts, a couple of T-shirts and a plain blue Speedo.
Apparently bachelors didn’t go for women in Speedos. They wanted hot pink bikinis. Strappy gowns. Glittery tops and silky pants.
In other words, everything in Marshall Fields that made Mattie recoil in horror.
She endured Salt’s eye makeover and told herself she could last through this. It was only a week. If she could stick it out until the end of this ridiculous dress-the-Barbie game, she’d get her money and she could finally take care of the people who needed her.
Then her mind went back to David Simpson. He seemed nice. Actually interested in her. As if he might want something more than simply winning the title of best bachelor and half the hundred grand.
Either way, if he, or any of the other guys, got any ideas about rounding