Falling for Mister Wrong (3 page)

“I guess I’m lucky it was Daniel then. I
never would have made it without him. And now we really do get our
happy ending.”

Miranda blinked. “Lucky.” But her tone didn’t
make it sound lucky at all.

Caitlyn frowned at the producer who had
become the closest thing she had to a friend here in the last few
weeks. “You know, as pep talks go, this one sucks.”

Miranda grimaced as the elevator doors
opened, waving her forward with one arm. “I’m supposed to be
reminding you of all the non-disclosures you signed. No discussing
the show—either in interviews or casual conversations with friends
or family. No admitting to a relationship with Daniel—not even to
the other Suitorettes, if they should contact you. Basically, the
network will sue you into the ground if you do anything to spoil
the ratings of the big finale.”

“Understood.”

“Telephone conversations between you and
Daniel are permitted only if you use the cell phones we have
provided for you for that purpose. You are not to use that phone
except to call me or Daniel. You are not to be seen together—no
matter how casually. At about the halfway point of the season,
we’ll arrange a weekend getaway for the two of you, but you aren’t
to tell anyone where you’re going or who you will be seeing.”

“Miranda, I get it. I read everything I
signed.”

They’d reached the black SUV waiting in the
valet lane at the hotel—one of a fleet of such vehicles that the
show used. Miranda stopped beside the rear passenger door,
fidgeting with her tablet—which only reinforced Caitlyn’s
impression that Miranda was avoiding whatever she’d really wanted
to talk to her about.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Caitlyn said. “The hard
part is over.”

The executive producer grimaced and glanced
back toward the hotel, not meeting Caitlyn’s eyes. “When you watch
the show,” she said haltingly, “try to remember that everything is
exaggerated for dramatic effect. There may be times when things
seem worse than they are. Try to focus on your experiences and
trust your own memories.”

Caitlyn frowned. Miranda had seen all the
footage. She knew what kind of show it was going to be. Caitlyn
only had her own little piece to go on. Love in a vacuum. “Is there
something specific I should know? About Daniel?”

“No. Nothing like that. Just…” Miranda
hesitated, flipping the tablet between her hands. “Well. You have
my number. You can call me if you need anything. Travel safe,
Caitlyn.”

#

Miranda watched Caitlyn’s car pull away,
smashing down the flare of guilt that tried to rise. The girl was
too delicate for this business by half. Too hopeful. Too trusting.
And too damn sweetly optimistic. She actually thought the worst was
over. Miranda cringed in spite of herself. Too naïve by half.

The filming was rigorous, but it was the
airing of the show that really changed people. For the last several
weeks, Caitlyn hadn’t been able to walk down the street without a
camera crew tracking her every move, and perhaps a few curious
glances wondering why she was being filmed. In the next two months,
as she became more and more of a featured player in the reality
drama that was about to play out on national television, she
wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without being watched by
every eye, pointed at, and stopped for her autograph or a photo.
Camera phones would be sneaking pictures of her in the produce
section at her grocery. Bloggers would discuss every minute detail
of her life—on screen and off. Privacy was a thing of the past.

Not to mention the experience of everyone in
America watching her fiancé make out with half a dozen other
girls.

And she thought the worst was over.

Miranda winced. She felt sorry for Caitlyn.
For what she was about to go through. And she didn’t like feeling
sorry. She liked her job. She was damn good at her job. And she
hated the stupid rumblings of her stupid conscience.

Damn Bennett anyway. It was his deep voice
she heard grumbling in her head about the morality of using people
like Caitlyn for America’s entertainment.

Of course the griping was only in her head
because he’d stopped speaking to her weeks ago. He’d been her
mentor, then her lover—which had, in retrospect, probably been a
colossal mistake, no matter how huge a crush she’d always had on
him—but he’d been the one constant in her life and now he was…
what? Her ex? It felt wrong to think of him that way.

Things had been so good at the beginning of
the season. She’d thought they were over the disagreements about
her work on
Marrying Mister Perfect
and his need to tell her
what she should be doing with her life. She’d said the L word, for
crying out loud, and he hadn’t exactly said it back, but it had
been implied.

But it hadn’t been a cure all pill. Two weeks
into the new season of
Marrying Mister Perfect
, he’d begun
bugging her to quit and go back to work for him at
American
Dance Star
. The fights had only gotten worse and when she’d
decided to travel with the show again, rather than stay in Los
Angeles with him… well, the result was predictable. Angry
silence.

She swallowed back her anger at his
abandonment. She’d told him she
loved
him, damn it. Not
something she confessed lightly. And he’d just kept trying to turn
her into who he wanted her to be.

And the worst part was, she still missed the
bastard.

She hadn’t been able to talk to him about her
concerns for Caitlyn as the show progressed. She hadn’t had anyone
to talk to when she worried she was pushing Caitlyn too hard,
coaching Daniel too much, or pulling too many strings to force the
outcome that would get the best ratings. She missed her sounding
board, but she wasn’t about to apologize to him. He was the one who
owed her an apology—

“A glorious day, isn’t it, Miranda?” Daniel
called jovially, jolting her out of her thoughts as he strode out
of the hotel, golden and beaming.

“Glorious,” she echoed direly, then grabbed
hold of herself and put on her professional face. “Are you ready
for the masses, Mister Perfect?”

Daniel grinned as another black SUV slid into
the place Caitlyn’s had vacated. “You know. I’m young, healthy and
in love. Today I do feel like I deserve to be called
‘perfect’.”

Miranda laughed at his enthusiasm. “Save it
for the interviews, you ham.”

He winked and ducked into the SUV—and she
scolded herself for worrying. The mild-mannered school teacher from
Indiana might have morphed into a spotlight seeking attention
whore, but he was still a good guy underneath it all. And she
wanted to believe he really loved Caitlyn. If he did, maybe it
wasn’t naïve of Caitlyn to believe in their happy ending. And maybe
Miranda wasn’t the devil incarnate for throwing them together and
exploiting their romantic drama on national television.

They just needed a happy ending. Miranda
watched another SUV pull away, airport-bound, and vowed to do
everything in her considerable reality-TV power to make sure
Caitlyn and Daniel got their happily ever after.

If only so she would finally stop hearing
Bennett’s deep voice scolding her in her head.

Chapter Three

After over fifteen hours of planes and
airports and another hour’s drive west into the mountains from
Denver, Caitlyn watched, punchy with jet-lag, as the driver the
show had arranged for her ferried her bags up to the shadowy second
floor landing of her apartment building, neatly stacking them
beside her door. This would be the last time for quite a while that
anyone catered to her needs—a realization that met with an odd
blend of nostalgia and relief as she pressed a tip into the
driver’s hand.

He said something about waiting to see that
she got into her place all right, but she waved him off. This was
Tuller Springs, not Manhattan. She was too tired to argue the
point, but with a glance at his surroundings he seemed to agree
with her, grinning and tipping an imaginary cap before heading down
the stairs with an insulting amount of energy.

God, she was exhausted.

Caitlyn was tempted to sink down to the floor
and just hang out there until she got her second wind. With all the
travel they’d done over the last several weeks and her own
jet-setting childhood, she ought to be used to it, but she still
got off a plane and felt like she’d been flattened by a
steam-roller. And that didn’t even take into account time zones and
sleep deprivation.

The dingy faded burgundy carpet on the
landing looked remarkably comfortable. But her bed would be a
thousand times better, so she forced herself to rummage in her
carry on, feeling around for the apartment keys she hadn’t needed
in over two months.

The contents of her bag seemed to have done a
full one-eighty rotation during take-off and landing. She fumbled
for a good five minutes before her fingers brushed against a bit of
metal and she heard the muted jangle.

Yanking out the keys, she unlocked and shoved
open her door. Light immediately streamed onto the landing,
blasting through the giant windows that dominated the apartment’s
main room. Her body might not know what time it was and all the
clocks in the kitchen might be blinking from a power outage while
she was away, but the angle of the sun told her it was early
afternoon on this side of the world.

She’d dozed in the car, not really
registering the familiar scenery, but now, with the sunlight
greeting her, Caitlyn felt a weight lift off her chest. She could
get a full breath again—and it wasn’t until the weight was gone
that she realized it had been pressing on her for the last two
months straight.

Feeling lighter but still exhausted past
reason, she began shoving and kicking her bags into the apartment,
piling them haphazardly inside the door with just enough room for
her to squeeze past and shut it.

The apartment wasn’t particularly new or
chic. Built at the base of one of Tuller Springs’ three ski resorts
back in the eighties when the town was trying desperately to
compete with Aspen and Vail for tourist dollars, the A-frame chalet
had been broken up into a pair of independent apartments over a
decade ago. The lower-level featured a ski-out deck when the snow
piled up in the winter, but Caitlyn got the giant triangular
windows, exposed beams, and insanely gorgeous views.

The apartment was primarily one open room.
She’d set up a little sitting area closest to the windows to
capitalize on the views of the mountain and the warmth of the fat
little potbelly stove. The kitchen was tucked into a corner on the
wall farthest from the windows, home to a tiny café table and two
chairs she’d picked up at a yard sale.

Where most people would have set up a proper
dining room sat Caitlyn’s pride and joy—a gorgeous sprawl of
gleaming ivory, polished wood, and strings. Her Steinway grand
piano. Her mother liked to brag about the Bosendorfer Caitlyn had
been raised playing, but for her money nothing compared to the
sweet bell-like tone of the Steinway.

Beyond the piano was the apartment’s single
tiny bathroom, always kept scrupulously tidy as her students often
asked to use it as a stalling tactic when they hadn’t practiced.
Shower only, no tub, but those were the sacrifices one made for
gorgeous views and heavenly acoustics.

Beside the bathroom door was the
steeper-than-code staircase leading up to the loft. It wasn’t
large, just enough room up there for her double bed, a dresser, and
a clothes-rack, but the loft was open to the room below and shared
the view out the giant windows of the snowy mountain.

“Be it ever so humble,” she murmured,
automatically slipping the key ring onto the little quarter-note
hook beside the door.

A fine layer of dust had settled over
everything in her absence—more the impression of neglect than
anything else. She hadn’t been gone long enough for actual dirt to
accumulate. Two months.

Time had been distorted on the show. A “week”
in show parlance referred to an episode and was rarely an actual
week, since some episodes were filmed over three days and others
could take as many as ten, depending how far they had to travel.
Everything revolved around maintaining the illusion for the home
audience, and it was like being in a sensory deprivation chamber—no
watches, no cell phones, no real sense of how long anything was
taking.

But now, she was back in the real world,
where two months had passed. Two months that changed
everything.

Would Daniel be so quick to tell her to pack
up her life if he saw how charming her little chalet was? If he had
met her students and heard the promise of their burgeoning talent?
Admittedly, the apartment was too small for two—it barely fit her
and her Steinway.

It didn’t matter what he might have thought
if he’d seen the peaceful charm of Tuller Springs. Her “Meet the
In-Laws” date—the one chance the show gave for him to see into her
life—had been in Manhattan. Concert-for-one at Carnegie Hall,
strolling hand-in-hand through Central Park, and a formal meal at
her mother’s posh, glacial Upper East Side apartment. The producers
had loved it, Daniel had been enchanted, and even her mother had
been on her best behavior—only throwing out barbed comments about
her absent father twice.

She should call her mother, let her know she
was back safely. Touch base with her father for the first time
since she left for the show—if she could figure out where he was
this month. Call her best friend Mimi and let her know she was back
in town.

Her cell phone sat on the charger in the
kitchen, right where she’d left it. But as soon as she picked it
up, she’d be officially opening the floodgates to let real life in
and she was too tired to even consider it. Caitlyn walked over to
flop on the couch facing the window. Its cushy depths instantly
enfolded her and she groaned with pleasure, toeing off her
shoes.