Who's Calling The Shots?

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

ONE (#ulink_2c1a8bed-540d-5e98-9a00-0f5d9806f847)

Twelve pairs of long eyelashes blinked at Jack Douglas. Some of the women were smiling, and some looked as if they were about to burst into a blubbering mess of tears. It was time.

‘Congratulations, ladies. You’ve all made it.’

Squeals, screams and loud relieved sighs followed his announcement.

This day had started like the previous seven. A hundred women at his door, all wanting the same thing. A chance to meet their Perfect Match.

‘Excuse me.’

The squeals were subsiding and being replaced by excited chatter. Jack watched as the women—virtual strangers this morning—hugged each other. How did women do that? Go from open disdain to long-lost best friends in hours? He had known people for years without knowing their last name, let alone throwing his arms around them.

One of the lip-chewing women was in front of him, not hugging anyone. She was standing too close. He looked down. She was a petite woman—tiny, actually. So small he could possibly pick her up and carry her under one arm. Pretty. With a hopeful look in her big green eyes. He swallowed and gave himself a mental uppercut. Not your problem.

‘Yes?’

He waited for it—the feeling of her tiny little arms around him. He took a step back. She stepped closer. Not only was she going to touch him without permission, she was a close talker. He folded his arms and lifted his chin. Message couldn’t be clearer.

‘I think there’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in one of the other rooms, with the losers.’

She batted her long eyelashes and pulled her lips back into a thin line. She had a wide mouth with full lips, so it looked strange all puckered like that. Jack let his forehead furrow.

‘There’s no mistake. You’ve been chosen as a contestant. You’re one of the lucky ones.’ He smiled, hoping that would satisfy her and she’d step away.

She smiled and a deep dimple formed in her cheek.

‘The thing is, I only came here for my sister. She was the one who wanted to get on the show. I’m only here for...support. You should probably check your list. Her name is Madeline Wright—not Brooke Wright.’

Her hands waved as she spoke, and because she was so close the hand holding her phone hit him on the arm. He flinched, but refrained from letting it show on his face.

‘The names are correct. Everyone in this room is a winner.’

‘But I don’t want to be here!’

Jack’s eyebrows shot up at her fierce announcement. She didn’t want to be here? Jack let his eyes run the length of her body. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a black skirt to her knees. Clearly she was trying to look professional, but her slightly messy hair and killer body made her look anything but. She looked sexy. Tanned and athletic. As if she didn’t belong in those constricting clothes but outside in the sunshine.

Which was where he’d rather be right now. But he was here, trying to get this show off the ground. He wished he was more excited about it. He needed to be—this show was his ticket out—but something was niggling at him. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

It wasn’t the format: twelve women competing in a number of challenges in order to win the chance to go on a date with one of the twelve men who had been chosen to match them perfectly. The more challenges they won the more dates they went on. By the end the audience would find out if the man chosen to be their match was the man who had been pegged as their Perfect Match. It was fun and interesting and fairly straightforward.

And it wasn’t the contestants that bothered him. He’d hand-chosen them all. Even this one. The woman who didn’t want to be here. He remembered her audition tape. She’d seemed funny and smart, and he remembered her eyes. A strange dark green. He remembered choosing her. Her eyes had attracted him, but it was her smile that he remembered. A smile that was definitely not present on her face now.

‘Did you sign the contract that all the ladies signed before being interviewed by our producers?’

‘Well...yes.’ The dimple disappeared and colour slashed across her cheeks. ‘But...’

‘Then you’re on the show. We start filming the day after tomorrow.’

Jack pushed a foot back. She was too close and he didn’t like close. But she was quick. She reached out and grabbed at his forearm. He stilled. His whole body stiffened. She was touching him and it felt intimate. Wrong. Too personal. His body remained still as the warmth from her fingers spread across his forearm and up past his elbow. Warm and soft, with a firm grip. The back of his neck prickled with heat.

‘No,’ she said, those eyes of hers narrowing. ‘There’s been a mistake. I can’t go on the show. I’m only here as a reserve. I would be hopeless. I’m not even looking for a husband. I’m marriage-averse. Like, really averse. I’d rather chew my own arm off than walk down the aisle.’

Jack tried to move, but her arm was still on his arm and it was all he could think about. He forced his mind into gear. Slowly, carefully, he reached over and gripped her hand. It was as small as the rest of her. Dainty. Slight. But her grip was firm. He prised her fingers clear of his arm and relief swam across his shoulders immediately.

Her eyes opened wide. She was clearly not appreciating being manhandled. But he pushed her hand away and stepped back. Her big green eyes stared at him. Her head cocked to one side and something in her gaze changed. First to confusion, then something else. Something more smug.

‘Is my hand bothering you?’

‘No.’ He smiled. Charm. Time to turn on the charm. It always worked. ‘As much as I appreciate a beautiful woman touching me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you for your perfect match. After all—that’s what you’re here for. Perfect Match—the only show on TV where we make sure the man you marry is the man of your dreams!’

His marketing team would be proud of that speech.

Jack pulled his face into a wide grin flashing the set of teeth his father had paid thousands of dollars to fix. And reminded him about frequently.

Her hands folded tightly across her chest. ‘Look...Jack, is it?’

He nodded tightly. They were definitely not on a first-name basis, but he had to keep the peace here. Nothing could go wrong this time.

‘Jack...’ Her smile changed. Dimples formed in her cheeks and she fluttered her eyelashes.

She was good. But she wasn’t that good. She was trying to use her looks and her charm to get her own way—that much was obvious. Little did this twittering sparrow know that he’d written the book on that game.

‘I understand that it’s probably a pain to change things now, but I have to tell you I really can’t do this. I’m not great around cameras and I’m quite shy—and to be honest there’s not really much interesting about me. I’m dull. I’ll send your viewers to sleep. Wouldn’t it be better to give the spot to someone more exciting? My sister Maddy ticks all those boxes. Seriously—you really should reconsider.’

Jack blinked. Her speech had been a passionate one. His mind wandered back to that audition tape. She’d made fun of herself, pulled faces, clearly not taking it too seriously. She’d smiled that amazing smile a lot on the tape, but she wasn’t smiling today.

Mick had said no to her straight up—said she’d be trouble. But there had been something about her...something that had caught his eye. Something that had made him keep watching. She said the viewers wouldn’t want to watch her, that she was dull, but he couldn’t disagree more. Those eyes, that smile...that body. She’d make perfect viewing. Especially now he knew she didn’t want to be here. People out of their comfort zone always made excellent reality TV.

‘Our decisions have been made and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You don’t seem dull at all. A little pushy—but definitely not dull.’

Her brows furrowed. ‘Pushy? I’m not pushy. I’m just telling you the facts.’

‘Then let me tell you some facts. You’re on the show. You signed a contract. We’ll see you back here at nine a.m. the day after tomorrow.’