Falling for Mister Wrong (11 page)

“That explains the vodka at the bottom of the
wall,” he said. “We thought you’d just dropped it when you
fell.”

“What?”

She looked up to find him watching her, a
strange tightness across his features, like he was trying very hard
to keep a straight face. “I’m pretty sure you missed.”

“What?”

“You threw the vodka at the foot of the wall.
You missed the fire by a good two feet.”

“But it went
fwhoosh
.”

“Yeah, the fire started in the wires behind
the wall. The
fwhoosh
was when the drywall caught. So it
really wasn’t your fault. I’m not surprised your memory of it
wasn’t the clearest though. You’d definitely tied a few on. When I
asked you if there was anyone else in the apartment, you told me to
save the piano.”

Her blush was going to be permanent at this
rate. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it was kind of cute. In retrospect. At
the time I thought you were a crazy person.”

“That isn’t me,” she swore. “I don’t drink
like that. Ask anyone.”

“I believe you. But I have to ask. What was
with the veil?”

There was something in his eyes, something
that was so ready to be understanding—as if he expected her to have
a good reason for putting on a massive wedding veil and going on a
bender in her own apartment. And she did have one. She could tell
him the veil was a joke—which it was. She could tell him she was
self-medicating her way though her first reality television
experience—which was true, too. She just couldn’t tell him the
biggest part—that she was engaged and freaking out about it.

The half-truths would paint a very compelling
picture, but the second she drew breath to tell him about
Marrying Mister Perfect
, the words caught in her throat.
She’d been nervous about going on the show before, excited and
afraid of making a fool of herself, but she hadn’t been
embarrassed. Now the idea of telling this gorgeous man that she
needed reality television to make someone want her was beyond
mortifying.
Yes, I am
that
pathetic.

She didn’t want his incipient understanding
to morph into a pitying
oh-you’re-one-of-those-desperate-Suitorettes. Though, was that
really worse than being caught playing Miss Havisham in her living
room?

“Gag gift,” she managed to mutter.

His eyebrows lifted and he leaned in,
murmuring conspiratorially, “I have a feeling there’s more to the
story than that.”

Oh my
. When he looked at her like
that, every self-preservation impulse she had gave up and left the
building. She could tell him anything, his eyes promised. Or she
could just lean in a little more and stop the conversation a
different way. The tangle of want that never seemed far away when
he was in the room was tight around her now. It would be so
easy…

“Will?” The shout carried through the open
doorway.

“Saved by the electrician,” Will said for her
ears only. Then, louder, “Up here, Rico.”

Caitlyn let herself breathe again when Will’s
depthless eyes finally turned away from her.
Saved,
indeed
.

Chapter
Eleven

Miranda dialed the number for the
unregistered cell from heart, tension coiling around her. She
hadn’t heard from Caitlyn in over two days, not since Tuesday
night, and now one of her minions—as she really ought to stop
thinking of the production interns—had just handed her a report
with a very disconcerting story highlighted.

“Hello?”

Caitlyn’s voice came over the line, muffled,
as though she was trying to avoid being overheard, but definitely
her. She was fine.
Thank God
.

“Would you care to tell me why I’m looking at
a report that says you burned down your house on Tuesday night
after the show?”

Her tone may have been a touch more biting
than usual, but she hated being blindsided. Especially by
disasters. Miranda reached for her stress ball, squeezing it and
breathing through the tension unknotting from her shoulders.

“That is a wildly exaggerated version of the
story,” Caitlyn protested. “There was a slight electrical fire at
my place on Tuesday, yes, and I meant to call you about it, but
I’ve been very busy getting repairs taken care of so it doesn’t
disrupt my teaching schedule and I just forgot. Sorry.” A momentary
pause. “How did you find out anyway?”

“I have interns scouring the net for any
mention of any of you girls. Apparently a report was filed this
morning about the fire.”

“Aren’t things like that sealed?”

“I don’t know and I have interns who are
trained not to ask whether or not they are allowed to get the
information. They just get it.” She dropped the stress ball and
flipped idly through the report—no other mentions of Caitlyn. “Does
Daniel know?”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk and I didn’t
think it was the kind of thing you left on a message.”

“No, probably not.”

She could hear the disenchantment in
Caitlyn’s voice. Crap. Daniel was screwing it up already and they
hadn’t even gotten to the part of the show where he started making
out with other girls. He was so busy running around being Mister
Perfect that he seemed to have forgotten he needed to make Caitlyn
feel like
she
was perfect or there wouldn’t be a happily
ever after. Dumbass. Men were so unbelievably useless.

“I know it’s been hard so far, with him so
busy with the publicity, but that will be dying down this week. Now
that the initial push is over, we won’t have to trot him out again
until the final weeks. You guys should get a chance to
reconnect.”

Caitlyn hesitated and her words, when they
came, were hesitant and soft. “Miranda, if I were having second
thoughts…”

Oh shit.
This was so much worse than
she’d thought it was. “Jitters are perfectly normal, hon.
Especially at this phase when you feel disconnected from him. I
know your relationship came on fast and then you didn’t have time
to settle into it before he was whisked away, but don’t make any
hasty decisions until you see him again. Give him a chance to
remind you why you love him. Focus on that mid-season getaway.
Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They said their goodbyes and Miranda
disconnected the call, not wasting a second before texting Daniel.
Call your fiancé.

She somehow resisted the urge to add
“dumbass” to the end.

The first marriage on a reunion show in
Marrying Mister Perfect
history. It could still happen. The
social media reaction would be epic. And it would be a good thing.
A mark in Miranda’s karmic plus column.

Provided Daniel didn’t screw it up.

Her desk phone bleeped, her assistant Todd’s
voice following. “Bennett Lang on line one for you.”

Her heart thudded hard. Shit. What did he
want? Two months of nothing and now… what? They hadn’t exactly
parted on good terms, but calling her office line when he could
just text her cell… what did that mean? Was this how he meant to
apologize? If it wasn’t, did she even want to hear what he had to
say?

Miranda depressed the button, keeping her
voice ruthlessly calm. “Take a message, please.”

She waited, her thoughts racing around her
brain like a mice in a maze. She got nothing done for the next ten
minutes, but forced herself to wait that long before gathering up
her tablet and heading to the editing bay, stopping at her
assistant’s desk right outside her office and asking with studied
casualness, “Was there a message?”

“He didn’t leave one.” Todd looked up, eyes
gleaming. “That’s a name I haven’t heard around here in a while.
You two getting back together?”

Miranda frowned repressively at her
gossip-hungry assistant—even though she knew it would do nothing to
quell his curiosity. “I don’t know what you think you know, but our
relationship was always strictly professional.”
If you don’t
count the hot monkey sex we had for a few months before he decided
I was morally beneath him and needed to be fixed.
“He was
probably calling about some cross promotion for the shows. If it
were personal he wouldn’t be calling the office line, would
he?”

“If you say so.”

But Todd’s expression showed he wasn’t buying
what she was selling. Not that she blamed him. MMP and ADS were on
different networks. Cross-promo was highly unlikely.

“Do you want me to put him through next time,
since the great Bennett Lang is apparently above messages?”

“No. Keep screening his calls. Eventually I’m
sure he’ll deign to leave one.”

Todd’s brows arched and his lips curved
cattily. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be in the editing bays.”

Trying to make a show that is entertaining
enough to satisfy the ravening hordes without destroying the
relationship of our happy couple. Lucky me.

Chapter
Twelve

Daniel called so soon after she got off the
phone with Miranda Caitlyn was certain the producer had told him he
had to—which pretty much ruined any romance attached to the act.
Caitlyn grabbed the phone and snuck back out onto the dingy
landing, letting the newly hung door fall shut behind her and block
out the sounds of the three man crew, including Will, working on
the wall.

The electrician had given them the all clear
to turn the power back on—and it turned out he was the same guy
Will’s brother-in-law used for electrical work, so he’d come back
this morning to redo all the wiring in the wall that had fried, and
any other areas that looked suspect. Will’s brother-in-law had
given her a ridiculously low bid and agreed to begin work
immediately, but give her a few weeks to work things out with the
landlord before demanding payment—all part of the friends and
family package, he declared, doing a terrible job of hiding the
speculative glances he kept flicking between her and Will.

Glances which had her wondering if Will might
be single after all. Not that it made any difference. She was
engaged. And her fiancé was calling.

“Baby! It’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve
been missing you so much.”

She wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting.
The fact that she didn’t actually believe the man she was going to
marry missed her, or the fact that for the last several days, she
hadn’t missed him. “Daniel, this isn’t really a good time. I’m
having some work done on my place.”

A completely empty excuse. The guys were more
than capable of proceeding without her input—in fact, if she tried
to help, she would probably only be in the way. Though she had
certainly been enjoying “supervising”—which had consisted mostly of
watching Will swing a hammer and trying to develop mind control so
she could convince him to take off his shirt. The man looked good
with a hammer.

“Why?” Daniel asked. “Baby, just sell it as
is.”

“I rent. And could you please stop calling me
baby?”

It was only after the words were out that she
realized she’d never spoken so sharply to him before. He’d always
seen her with her “company manners” as her mother called them. But
sometime in the last week, her desperate desire to hear from him,
to be reassured that she hadn’t imagined everything they’d shared,
had turned a corner and now she didn’t even want to hear his
voice.

A long pause stretched as he digested what
she’d said.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally—rotating
through endearment lottery. “I wish I could say your name aloud,
but someone could overhear me and we can’t risk that.”

And just like that, she felt like a heel. He
had to be understanding and logical, didn’t he? She sank down to
sit on the steps. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Are you all right? I’m sorry I’ve been so
terrible about keeping in touch. I know this is a hard time for us.
Every day I wish I could be with you. You’re my everything. And I’m
sorry I’ve been so caught up in work that I’ve neglected you. Will
you forgive me?”

The urge was strong to hold her grudge. To
tell him that shilling for a reality TV show wasn’t
work
.
But she was doing it again—not giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Running away and sabotaging their relationship, just like she
always did.

“Of course. I’m sorry too. I’m just cranky.”
She plucked at the ratty carpet beside her hip. “The workmen are
because there was a little electrical fire at my place.”

“Oh my God. Sweetheart, why didn’t you call
me? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured. Though she might
start hating
sweetheart
as much as
baby
. “It was
scary, but a neighbor helped me and now we’re getting things put
back together.”

“You know, maybe this is a good thing.”

“I’m sorry?” She couldn’t have heard that
right.

“It could be good exposure for you.”

“A house fire is good exposure?”

“If the networks pick up the story. Or even
if they don’t, it’s the perfect excuse to get out of there. You
could move to LA. We won’t be able to be seen in public together,
but you can get started on your new life. Make contacts with music
people in the area. This could be a great opportunity, bab—ah,
sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to move.”

His voice grew more persuasive, slathering on
the charm. “It would only be a couple months early. And we might
even be able to work out a system for a secret rendezvous or
two.”

She’d always let him guide the conversation
when they were talking about their future, but now that she was
home, it felt different. “I don’t think I want to move, Daniel. I
love it here. This is my home.”

“Hey, it’s my home too. Home is where the
heart is, right? And my heart is there.”

It was sweet. Romantic. The kind of line that
would have worked a few weeks ago. Hell, maybe even a few days ago.
But now it just felt like a cheap ploy to get what he wanted
without having to take her wishes into account. Like he could throw
but I love you so much
into any argument he wanted to
win.