Fuck, looking at her gorgeous smile, I can’t help it. I have to say something. Before I can speak, the man motions me sharply down the hallway.
“Uh-uh, honeybuns. You gotta wait your turn for Miss Thing here, I don’t care how hot you are. Now move along!”
Obviously dismissed, I watch as they continue down the hall away from me, the gay guy swishing his hips as if he’s in competition with the two women next to him. I’m forced to laugh a little at the ridiculousness of it all. Shaking my head, I smile. Hopefully, I’ll see Miss Thing again if I don’t get sent home immediately. Maybe this trip will be worth it, after all.
As soon as I step through the door to the den, the smell of cologne assaults my nostrils. Lots of it, to the point that I want to either gag or sneeze. The room must be filled with at least forty other dudes, all seated in chairs, waiting. They’re all primped, dressed in their best, and dandied up to the point that it’s nearly eye-rolling for some of them. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb, but maybe that’s a good thing.
With so many here, it’s not a sight that I welcome. It means more competition for me in some form or another, but I’m used to it. I figure this is going to be just like any other cattle call I’ve been on. I just need to make the most of it and do my best.
I find a chair and settle in to wait my turn as the men around me chatter, a lot of them boasting about their accomplishments. After listening for a bit, I engage in the small talk, wanting to find out who my competition is. I’m sure most of them are just here for the opportunity of being on TV. But the more I talk, I’m surprised that there’s a few other than me who don’t seem to be braggarts looking for a quick fifteen minutes of fame.
It’s not long before we’re getting called to the back, one by one. I sit patiently as each name is called out, watching the reactions of the men who come out. Some of them come out after a few minutes and sit down with smiles on their faces, while others come out with grim expressions and leave without saying a word.
After what seems like an eternity, my name is finally called.
“Hayden Bishop.”
I get up from my seat and walk into the adjourning office. Inside, there’s an impeccably dressed woman who reminds me of Meryl Streep standing before a table that seats a group of men and women. They must be the producers or other execs.
The woman’s face lights up when she sees me, and she gives me a warm smile. “Hello, Hayden,” she greets me. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Meredith Ward, executive producer of the show.” She gestures to her side. “And these are my wonderful colleagues.”
I nod at everyone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
Meredith grins. “That it is. Shall we get right to it?”
“Of course.”
Meredith starts by asking stuff she should already know based on my resume, but I answer each question with a confident smile. I make sure to flash the dimples Jay said would be my ticket in the door. I don’t usually use them intentionally, but whatever. If it works, it works.
“And how is your modeling coming along?” Meredith asks. “I understand you’re in high demand.”
I don’t bother to correct her about my popularity. It must be something Jay added to my profile. “I just finished a shoot before coming here, actually. It ended up being a little more full-throttle than what I was expecting, honestly.”
Meredith and the other executives laugh and I grin. After, she grows quiet and I feel a little twinge of anxiety returning as she looks to her colleagues. They don’t say anything but their faces are expressive.
After another moment, Meredith walks over and picks up a piece of paper off the desk and hands it over to me, along with a pen. “All right, Hayden,” she announces with a smile. “I think you are what we’re looking for. Please sign the NDA and we’ll get down to the details.”
A sense of relief washes over me as I take the paper. Excited to find out what the big secret is, I hastily sign. Besides, this is just a standard one-page NDA. It’s not like I’m signing my life over.
Meredith smiles in approval as she takes it back and slides it over to one of her colleagues. Then she picks up another form, this one multiple pages. She fingers it with one manicured nail as she speaks. “So in case you’re wondering, you’re here for a show called Matchmaker.”
She explains about how it’s a new game show-meets-love connection-type reality show and that I would be one of many male suitors. Hearing it, I frown. I definitely wasn’t expecting something like this. I’ve always thought these shows about finding love on TV were pretty much bullshit.
If I do this, I can only picture the shit my parents will get back home. Dad will probably laugh his ass off at me, and Mom will talk about how tactless it is.
Meredith appears to notice the distaste on my face. “Think about it. You do well here and you’d have a name in the industry. You won’t be kissing up to pervy photogs or scrabbling at cattle calls for runway work.” She grins. “Just think of it as a platform to promote yourself. A form of free advertisement.”
I feel the weight of all eyes in the room on me and I scratch the back of my neck. Shit, I’m being put on the fucking spot. The only thing that sounds fun about this right now are the adventures. When else am I going to get to travel for free? When I don’t reply right away, Meredith speaks up. “Don’t you want to at least see her?”
Taken out of my reverie, I focus my eyes on Meredith’s face. “Huh? Her?” I ask in confusion.
Meredith smirks. “The lovely lady you’ll be competing over.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, walking over and grabbing a glossy piece of paper from the end of the table and handing it to me.
My heart jumps as my eyes fall on the same face of the girl I saw in the hallway. The hair isn’t the same and she doesn’t have on the gallons of makeup, but it’s definitely her. I’m slack-jawed as I stare at the photo, transfixed by her beauty. She looks even more gorgeous without all the face paint.
“Hayden?” Meredith asks when the silence stretches on for far too long. She’s looking at me with a confident grin like she knows what my answer will be.
I can’t believe I’m doing this . . . but fuck it. I don’t have anything else going on anyway. I’m in.
I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at the papers in Meredith’s hands. “Where do I sign?”
Emily
“God, I’m so nervous!” I hiss.
I grip the fabric of the blue cocktail dress the producers chose for me, my heart beating a mile a minute as I try to calm myself. I’m totally freaking out right now, somewhere between overwhelmed and excited and maybe about to puke. After two days of weirdness as I’m made “familiar” with the mansion via highly regulated escort, today’s the day we officially start filming. The reality of my situation has suddenly become all too real. I’m excited, but butterflies are still swarming in my belly.
“Chill, chica,” Brad whispers to me as he sees my right foot nervously tap-dancing to its own tune. We’re standing with McKayla in a prop room that’s going to later serve as the cocktail room for my suitors, waiting for filming to start. There’s a hubbub of activity going on, the production crew running to and fro, moving props and shouting orders. For the past half hour, I’ve watched the commotion and done nothing but fret over all the little things that could go wrong. Brad notices and pats me on the back. “Everything is going to be fine. You look absolutely stunning.”