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
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
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