Bachelorette for Sale (4 page)

“That was my reaction too. We might need to extend the deadline, rerun the ads for the job and see if we can get any other qualified bidders. I know RIB is good, but simply being around the longest doesn’t make them the best at what they do or the perfect candidate. Maybe we undercalculated.”

Tawny gave her the steely-eyed stare of death. Yes, how dare she question Miss Math, what on earth was she thinking?

“Since we’re on the topic of bad news, now seems like the time to bring these up.” Tawny held up the newspaper and stack of papers she’d dropped in the chair. “I was looking for write-ups on the fund-raiser. I’m sorry, if I’d thought this would happen . . .”

Cherry took the proffered stack. Front page, above the fold, the headline screamed “Providence’s Sweetheart for Sale.” Quickly she scanned the printouts from the various websites: “She’s Back!” and “Man Wars,” and other similar titles.

Her head dropped to the desk. Thank goodness her gram didn’t see these. The titles were tame compared to the less-than-stellar comments in the article. Never mind that she’d spent months working—for free—to put the event together. Did any of them mention her role as co-chair? Nope, not one word. As far as the one reporter in attendance was concerned, her stepping onstage made her an attention-seeking whore, and the rest of them ran with it. Man, she hated the media. And when would they learn to take a decent picture? Every shot got her at the worst angle and revealed her hidden love affair with the Pillsbury Doughboy and his chocolate chip cookies.

Cherry mumbled, “I look like a fat slut. Did your mom see these?”

“Who do you think gave them to me?”

Cherry peeked with one eye, waiting, knowing there was no way Mama Katia didn’t have an opinion on the pictures.

“She was shocked with that dress you only brought in fifteen hundred and said your date better take you somewhere nice and treat you like a lady or he’d answer to her. Think junior prom all over again. I, on the other hand, got an earful for not bidding on either the sexy cop or the fireman. As she put it, I’m not getting any younger. When did twenty-eight and single become an old maid?”

Seeing herself as now the entire world saw her, Cherry thought about burying her head in the sand or locking herself away in her apartment for the next five or ten years. Just long enough for people to forget the strumpet on the front page. She couldn’t believe she’d let Tawny talk her into wearing a dress two sizes too small, leaving her highly exposed. Her so-called date probably thought he was going to get a lot more than dinner, and really, she couldn’t blame him, given how she looked. Initially, her plan had been to dress the part of the TV star, play the diva card, and give him a few hours to brag about to his buddies. Now, the idea didn’t sound like a wise option.

Cherry folded the papers up and stuck them in the trash where they belonged. Nothing she could do about it now. Instead she focused on her friend. “Don’t let her pressure you, she only wants grand-babies.”

“What, four from my sainted brother George aren’t enough? Never mind, I know with my mom there is no such thing as enough grand-kids to spoil. She could at least nag Mateo and Dante once in a while. They’re both over thirty now, and neither are married. She should be worried about them, not me.”

Running her finger around the edge of her coffee cup, Cherry glanced at her friend. “Let’s look at your options. A: You could hang out in the bars after work and try to meet Mr. Right, but chances are pretty high he’d turn out to be Mr. Married and Looking for a Fling. B: You could troll the aisle at the grocery store, scope out single guys shopping. Not a terrible idea, as you could automatically weed out those who live on nothing but junk food and cheap beer. C: Let your friends and family fix you up on a blind date.” A shudder ran through Cherry at the mere thought, reminding her of her own upcoming date. “D: You could apply to
Finding Mr. Right
.”

“Been there, done that, and Mom still hasn’t forgotten how I asked to go home.”

“Edward was all wrong for you. As it turned out, he was all wrong for all of us. There is one more option. You could go on my date with Jason Valentine.” Cherry held her hand up to stop Tawny’s argument. “It’s not like he’s even the one who did the actual bidding. He probably won’t remember what I look like or even my name, and technically you were on the show for three episodes, so that does make you a reality star too.”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure going in your place would fall under the same category as false advertisement or bait-and-switch or breach of contract or something.” Tawny stood, gathered up her belongings, and turned for the door, but hesitated. “Are you mad at me about the auction? I know you hate being in the public eye. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“If I say yes, will you go on my date?”

Tawny’s big brown eyes glistened.

Rounding her desk, Cherry enveloped her friend in a quick hug. “No, of course I’m not mad. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would have done the same thing.”

 

Jason cursed the broken tile, then apologized to the Big Man above for disrespecting the church, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’d already replaced the same square twice before. Just when he thought he could tell the good padre the new floor in the kitchen was done, he’d have to wait. Again. Not that he had anything pressing or urgent to get to, as this was the last job lined up on the books. For now. However, he’d promised Pastor Perky the job would be done by today, and Jason always kept his word. If the damn tile wasn’t in the middle of the kitchen it wouldn’t be a problem, but seeing as how tonight was the church social and dinner to celebrate the end of the renovations, it was a problem. Or rather a pain in his ass, kind of like a certain friend of his.

Dropping to his knees, he pulled a chisel out and went to work removing the broken piece so he could level out the space and try again. A quick glimpse at his watch told him lunch came and went hours ago, which explained the loud grumbling from his stomach. “Where the hell is David?”

“That’s probably a strike against you, Jase,” said Dave from directly behind him. “I’m fairly certain only ministers are allowed to swear in church.”

“Where have you been and where’s my fu . . . freaking lunch? I’m starving.”

Dave tossed a bag his way before taking up residence on the only stool in the room. “Bad news, bro. We lost the bid on the restaurant.”

“Who to?” Jason asked around a mouthful of stale sandwich.

“RI Builders, and I hear they’ve put in for the community center too.”

Jason’s hand holding the sandwich dropped to his leg. “No way they underbid us. They charge extra for their name alone. Shit . . . shoot. How do we keep losing to them? Do they have everyone in town on their payroll?” Looking skyward, Jason said yet another apology and a prayer.

“Rumor has it they’re not above giving kickbacks, which is why we need an ally when they go to vote on this project.”

At the rate things were going, Jason would be making the chain sandwiches instead of buying them, and his business would be a forgotten dream. “All the more reason why you or Brody should take what’s-her-name on this date.”

“Her name is Cherry, Cherry Ryan. You have the most well-rounded knowledge for the job. I’m just the electrician and Brody only knows how to talk contracts. Be on your best behavior. Compliment her. Tell her she looks amazing, you love her outfit, shoes, hair, all that junk. Ask her about herself—women love to talk about themselves. Don’t bring up the proposal for the rec center at all. Hand-deliver it to her the next day. Tell her you were going to courier it over, but wanted to see her. You’ll have her eating out of your hand.” Dave stopped talking, a miracle in itself. His eyes opened wide before turning to a squint. “Dude, you look like a dog about to attack. Is there a reason you’re snarling at your sandwich?”

The food tasted like sawdust. Tossing it in the trash, he walked over to his worktable and prepared the mortar, shoulders slumped. He knew Dave was right. He had to do whatever it took to get the diva on their side. “You know I hate playing effing mind games.” Score a point for him, he didn’t curse.

“The whole world is a giant chessboard. You should know that by now.”

“Never did learn to play chess.”

“Maybe it’s time you did.”

Slapping the mortar on the floor, Jason scraped it back and forth. “I’ll leave that talent to the fairer sex.”

“You’re talking about Stephanie, aren’t you? Bro, not all women are as evil as your ex. Yeah, I know she screwed you over big-time. I mean, dedicated fiancée by night,
full-service masseuse
by day. It doesn’t get much worse, but I’m not talking about sleeping with Cherry.”

“Good, cause it ain’t happening. I need to concentrate on the business.”

Wadding his sandwich wrapper up into a ball, Dave took a free throw and scored as the wrapper went into the trash. “Okay. She was on the show twice, first as one of twenty-five women all dating one guy. She was one of the last four when she went home, and a fan favorite. They invited her back, this time with her dating twenty-five guys. In the end, the guy she picked broke up with her by the time the final show aired.”

Jason stood staring.

“What?”

“When did you turn into a wuss and start watching chick shows? Next you’re going to tell me your favorite show is
Project Runway
and start crying over Hallmark Channel movies.”

Dave threw his empty chip bag at him. “Brody’s secretary, Angie, brought me up to speed on Cherry Ryan when the proposal was sent out. And it’s called doing your homework, dipshit.”

“Keep talking and I won’t be the only one going to the eternal basement when this life’s over.” Jason shot him a lopsided grin before laying the new tile in place. “I’ll go on the freaking date, but we need to start drumming up some new business or you and I will be asking people if they want fries with their burgers real soon.” He’d worked too hard for too long to pull himself out of the gutter he’d grown up in and make something of himself. Not that Stephanie could see his efforts paying off. Didn’t matter. She was gone, and he’d do anything to not land back where he started.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to swing by my mom’s place and do some rewiring for her. I’ve got a good feeling about this. Hang in there and have some faith.”

Jason snorted. Yeah, faith hadn’t gotten him squat in this world. Hard work and learning early on you could only count on a few select people got him where he was today. Dave’s footsteps faded along with the tune he whistled, leaving Jason alone with his dark thoughts as he cleaned up his mess and double-checked everything they’d worked on throughout the church. He had plenty of time to worry about charming a princess later; right now he needed to focus on pleasing a pastor. The church had a healthy number of parishioners, and possibly a few might be impressed with the changes and refer their services or hire him straight out.

Footsteps brought him out of his reverie. Jason turned to see a man in jeans and a button-down shirt headed his way. The pastor was only about fifteen years or so Jason’s senior but had a soul and aura about him that went years beyond his physical age. If the man’s smile and lively step were anything to go by, Jason would say the pastor was very pleased about something. Hopefully his work.

“Ah, there you are, my boy. The church and the community room look wonderful. I hope you and David will join us tonight as we celebrate your accomplishments.”

Step one down. “Thanks, Pastor Perky. We’ll try to be here.” Jason walked over to where he’d placed the stepladder. “I did have to replace this tile again. Not sure why, I’ve never had one break twice before in the same spot. Keep an eye on it and let me know if it cracks again, please.”

The pastor patted him on the shoulder as he looked around the room, a satisfied expression on his face. “You know what they say, third time’s the charm. Have a little faith, my son.”

He sure hoped the pastor was right. Otherwise this would be the third proposal turned down this month for his company.

C
herry stood in front of the fountain at Piazza di Amore, the Plaza of Love, with no date in sight. Digging a penny out of her purse, she closed her eyes and mouthed the words she’d said since she was a child. So silly after all these years, but she made the wish anyway.

The coin flew through the air, her wish cast, and it gently slipped below the surface of the water in the fountain as a hand landed on her shoulder. Spinning around, Cherry stumbled smack dab into the middle of Jason Valentine’s rock-solid chest.

Drat, I was hoping he bailed
.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused tilt to his mouth. Tonight his eyes looked more green than blue, and with him this up close and personal, she realized he stood about a foot taller than her.

He held her upright with strong, warm hands wrapped around her upper arms making her feel safe, protected. A quizzical look was on his face as he asked, “What did you wish for?”

“Nothing important.”
Nothing I’d share with a stranger
.

“Then why wish for it?”

Because to stop wishing means I’ve lost hope
.

His hands slipped down her arms, letting her go, and the cool air urged her to step closer, to seek the warmth that had just been there.

“A silly habit left over from childhood.” Instead of stepping into the warmth, she stepped away, crossing her arm over her middle, clasping her other arm. “I’d given up on you and was on my way home.”

“Busy day, followed by a flat. When I went to leave, Bambishka wasn’t too thrilled and wouldn’t move from in front of the door. It took some bribery to coax her to move. I was halfway here by the time I realized I forgot my phone.” He stepped to the side, hand swept out. “The restaurant is still holding our table, if you’re not too mad.”

His tone of voice, the rueful expression on his face, and the fact that she was starving decided for her. She walked in the direction he indicated. “Who’s Bambishka?”

The smile morphed into one of genuine pleasure, reaching his eyes. “She’s my best girl. A fifty-pound Staffordshire terrier.”

“It’s an unusual name. What does it mean?”

“It’s Russian for baby, which was her mom’s name. She came with it and wouldn’t answer to anything else. I’ve finally got her to answer—when she feels like it—to Bam.”

A dog lover. Good, at least they’d have one thing to talk about, because she was here, which meant she’d make the most of the night. “Funny. I love Staffordshires. They’re a wonderful breed, and so smart and loyal. What are her markings like?”

He looked at her, brows drawn together. “I didn’t take you for a dog person. I would have guessed maybe cats, or if you did like dogs, you’d go for those small ones women carry everywhere. Bam’s black and white, kind of like an Oreo cookie.”

She stopped walking and looked at him, really looked at him. Still nibble-worthy, with serious eyes, but without the arrogant, impatient attitude he’d exhibited at their first meeting. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a date with the devil after all.

“Actually, I like most animals. With dogs, it’s not necessarily the breed—almost all have good and bad qualities—it’s their personality. When I went to the Humane Society to get Tucker, my beagle, he was the only one not barking and jumping up and down. He sat there staring at me with those big brown eyes, and I was a goner.”

His laughter came from deep inside, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Sounds like a smart pup. We’re here.” He pointed to a glass door with red writing: Jorge’s Cocina.

Of all the tequila joints, he had to pick this one. Was it too late to claim a headache? Holding the sigh in, she smiled and stepped into the familiar festive lobby. Would it be asking too much of Lady Luck for Jorge to be off tonight, she wondered. Probably. The hostess sat them at a cozy table for two in the back corner, lit by flickering candles and dim sconces on the walls. A waitress appeared within seconds. The place was hopping. Not unusual. From the looks shooting their way from a few diners, she’d guess the quick service wasn’t universal. Great, she didn’t need the diva card played.

The night’s specials were rattled off and the pert little thing took their drink orders: Corona for Jason and a strawberry margarita for her. Suddenly she felt the need for a little liquid courage.

The waitress walked away and she and Jason looked at each other, waiting to see who would go first. Man, she hated blind dates. At least on the show she knew a little about each guy before their individual dates. Even with real blind dates your friend or whoever set you up gave you some kind of run down of the person. Tonight was all one-sided, Jason knew all about her. Well, what he might have seen on the show and then the lies told by the tabloids. Still it was more than she knew about him, which was his name and that he liked dogs.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.

“Thanks. Have you ever eaten here before?” She had no idea what to say, so she blurted out the first thing to come to her mind.

Jason’s gaze was focused on the table. His hand slowly spun the coaster around and around, but the edges of his mouth turned up. Yeah, as far as opening conversation lines went, it was lame. At least she tried.

Those oh-too-serious eyes met hers. “No, actually this was Dave’s recommendation. I was fine with Taco Bell.” He held her look, steady fingers never missing a beat in their slow rotation of the coaster.

Sensing more behind the statement than mild teasing, she maintained eye contact and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell the owner I said so, but while this place is excellent, I would have been happy with Taco Bell.” Looking around to make sure no one was in hearing range, she continued, “I’ll let you in on a secret, TB and I have been carrying on a secret affair for years.”

“Why the secret?”

“Because of my best friend, Tawny. Her mom would kill us if she knew we ate that ‘garbage.’ And it’s not like her mom’s an awful cook. She’s amazing. Her tortillas melt in your mouth and her salsa is addictive. There’s just something about TB that keeps calling me back, and I can’t walk away for long periods of time. So there, you know my darkest secret.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks, salsa, and fresh-baked chips hot from the oven and still steaming. Jason ordered shrimp fajitas. Turning to Cherry, the young girl waited, pen poised.

“I’d like the enchiladas banderas, please. Hold the beans and rice. Instead, I’d like it served with a mix of lettuce and tomatoes with a small side of sour cream and pico de gallo. Also, no onions, guacamole, or jalapeños. Shredded chicken only and please ask the cook to use flour tortillas, not corn.” The waitress mumbled she’d try and started to step away. “Oh, wait, on second thought, can you ask the chef to skip the white sauce and make two with green sauce and one with red?”

She turned back to Jason, who sat with his beer halfway to his mouth, eyes wide, an eyebrow cocked, and a strange tilt to his lips. “Did you enjoy being on a reality show?” he asked.

Le Sigh
.
Here we go
.

He took a long pull on his beer. The muscles contracted as the liquid slid past his lips and down his throat, taking her mind on a pleasant side trip imagining the feel of his cool mouth on her hot flesh.

Whoa
.
Chill
,
girl
. Giving herself a small shake to clear her mind, she focused on the question at hand. “Yes and no. Are you from Providence originally?” Pulling her margarita closer, she sipped the sweet drink while studying him over the rim of the glass.

“From the west side. I bet being on a TV show was exciting, having all those people waiting on you, taking care of your every need, traveling to exotic locations. Tell me the truth, do they stage some of it, you know, tell you what to say or do?”

She threw back the rest of her margarita in one swallow before signaling the waitress for a refill.

“I’m curious”—she accepted the new drink with a polite thank-you before continuing—“if Mr. Farber did the bidding, why are you here tonight instead of him?”

Another long pull on his beer had her fascinated with his throat muscles as they worked, not so much that she didn’t notice the deliberate stall tactic or the sudden shift of eye contact away from her. Puh-lease, she didn’t date twenty-five guys and not learn a thing or two about reading the opposite sex. Mr. Jason Valentine was about to tell tales. The question was, would it be a little white lie or a big fat fib?

“I was answering Mother Nature’s call when your bid started and asked him to stand in for me if I didn’t return in time.” His mouth might have curved upward, but the muscles remained relaxed, and she sensed the man was a skilled poker player.

Temptation urged her to call him on his bluff, to lay his cards on the table because from the first moment they met, he’d showed anything except interest in her. “Why? Why me?”

She watched as he choked on his beer.
Didn’t see that one coming, did you, big guy?

He sat the bottle down and looked up to meet her gaze. “I was really rude to you at the registration desk and wanted a chance to make up for it. I have no excuse except there was someone I needed to speak with and we were running late.”

“At the gala?”

“Yes. It didn’t turn out how I expected.”

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate. So what do you do for a living?” Yep, nice safe topic. All guys loved to talk about their work.

He swirled his beer around before bringing his gaze up to meet hers. She caught her breath—the look he gave her felt like he could see straight to her soul. “I’m self-employed. Nothing exciting. Were you a model or actress before you went on the show?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“You’re very beautiful. With your creamy skin and red hair, I’d think the camera would love you.”

Heat stole across her cheeks. It’d been a while since she’d been on the receiving end of compliments. “Thank you. So what type of business are you in?”

“You should think about it,” he said.

Warning bells went off. She’d been down this road before. Which bachelor had that been? Twelve, thirteen, whatever. He didn’t want to answer any personal questions either, kept steering all conversation back to her, claimed to own his own business. Turned out he made low-quality, home-made porn movies and saw the show and Cherry as his ticket to stardom.

“I’m not a fan of cameras.” Cherry looked around for the waitress. Hopefully dinner would arrive soon and she could get this night over.

“I’m surprised. I mean with your looks, I’d think it’d be easy for you to break into the movies or modeling. You wouldn’t even have to move to LA, there’s lots of small, independent production companies located on the East Coast now.” His gaze dropped to her chest as he talked.

A code red alarm slammed into her head. Wasn’t that what Bachelor Whatever said too? He had a small, independent production company. Dear Lord, weren’t there any nice guys left? Did she have to attract all the psychos? All the good ones were married, taken, or batting for the other team. She downed the rest of her second margarita, realizing for a split second she was a little tipsy, which was okay, because before this night ended she planned to be a lot drunk. Goodness knows she’d earned it.

“Mr. Valentine—” She slammed her glass on the table, her voice rising.

His head shot up, brows drawn together. Good, she had his full attention finally. “Are you interested in appearing on
Finding Mrs. Right
?”

“No.”

“Are you involved in the film, video, or magazine industry?”

“Nooo.”

“Good and before this night goes any further, let’s get a few things on the table, shall we. One”—she held up her fingers, ticking off her points—“I do not have any Hollywood connections. If you’re interested in getting on the show, the application is on their website. Nor do I know any other producers or agents. Two, I am not interested in being in any type of film production, artistic or not, and no, I don’t care if you’ve been recognized by any industry or at the Sundance Film Festival. Three, I don’t allow anyone to take my picture, especially without clothes on—”

“What? Wait, you think I’m some kind of . . . of . . .”

She’d give him credit, the shocked look on his face seemed genuine. “Yeah.”

Running his hand through his hair, he mumbled something under his breath before he let out a laugh, a good deep sound straight from his gut. “I’m going to kill David.”

Intrigued by his response, she scooted to the edge of her chair, resting her chin on the back of her hands. “So, you’re a creep and a homicidal maniac?”

Wiping the corner of his eyes with his thumbs, he glanced at her with a carefree, mischievous smile. Mama mia, the combination of those oh-too-serious blue-green eyes glinting with humor and a lopsided trouble-seeking grin just about melted her panties right off.

“No on the first and not yet on the second. How about we try this again and forget all preconceived notions and any advice from friends?”

There was something about Jason, the sincerity in his voice, along with the whole panty-melting ability, that intrigued Cherry. Also, she was starving and looking forward to Jorge’s enchiladas, ones almost as good as his mom’s—and she should know, as she’d been eating them her whole life. So he’d get a second chance. She studied him for a few moments and then stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Cherry Ryan, and thanks for saving me from having a date with a drunk.”

“Coming to the aid of a beautiful lady? Definitely my pleasure. However, I get the feeling you’re more the kick-ass-I’ll-do-it-myself heroine than a damsel-in-distress. Am I wrong?” Jason cocked his brow almost as if he dared her to deny it.

“If I had a choice, I’d much rather be Black Widow than Sleeping Beauty. What would that make you? Not Prince Phillip, although he did slay Maleficent for Aurora. Would you slay the beast to save your true love?”