Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex. Nicola Marsh

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      Gesturing to a waiter, she placed an order for sparkling mineral water with lime, before squaring her shoulders, a fighting stance as familiar as the tilt of her head.

      ‘Before we begin this discussion, let me make a few things clear. One, I’m here under sufferance. Two, I’m doing this for the money.’

      She held up a finger, jabbed it in his direction. ‘Three, this island better be big enough for the both of us because I’d rather swim back to the mainland than be cooped up with you for a week.’

      Elliott’s head swivelled between them, curiosity making his eyes gleam.

      ‘You two know each other?’

      She jerked her head in his direction. ‘Didn’t his lordship tell you?’

      Elliott grinned. ‘Tell me what?’

      ‘We know each other,’ Jared interjected calmly, well aware Elliott would want to know exactly how well they knew each other later. ‘Old friends.’

      Kristi muffled a snort as he shot her a wink. ‘Getting reacquainted is going to be loads of fun.’

      ‘Yeah, like getting a root canal,’ she muttered, her glare mutinous.

      After another dreary rehab session with Madame Lash, the physio from hell, Jared had trudged in here, ready to talk business with Elliott, not particularly caring who he’d be stuck with for a week.

      Now, the thought of battling wits with a sassy, smart-mouthed Kristi for seven days brightened his morning considerably.

      Struggling to keep a grin off his face, he folded his arms, faced Elliott.

      ‘Us knowing each other shouldn’t be a problem?’

      Elliott shook his head. ‘On the contrary, should make for some interesting interaction. The documentary is about exposing the reality behind reality TV. How you talk, react, bounce off each other, when confined for a week without other social interactions should make for good viewing.’

      Elliott paused, frowned. ‘Old friends? That didn’t mean you lived together for any time?’

      ‘Hell, no!’

      The flicker of hurt in Kristi’s memorable blue eyes had him cursing his outburst, but in the next instant she’d tilted her chin, stared him down, making him doubt he’d glimpsed it at all.

      ‘Cohabiting with a child isn’t my idea of fun,’ she said, her hauteur tempered with the challenging dare in her narrowed eyes.

      She wanted him to respond, to fight back, to fire a few taunts. Well, let her wait. They had plenty of time for that. An entire seven days. Alone. With no entertainment other than each other. Interesting.

      Oblivious to the tension simmering between them, Elliott rubbed his hands together.

      ‘Good. Because that would’ve changed the status quo. This way, your reactions will be more genuine.’

      He plucked a folder filled with documents from his pile and slid it across the table towards Kristi.

      ‘I’m aware your boss put your name forward for this, so you need to look over all the legalities, sign the forms where asterisked, we’ll go from there.’

      She nodded, flipped open the folder, took the pen Elliott offered and started reading, the pen idly tapping her bottom lip. A bottom lip Jared remembered well; for its fullness, its softness, its melting heat as it moulded to his …

      Having her read gave him time to study her, really study her. She’d been a cute, perky twenty-one-year-old when they’d dated, her blonde hair wild and untamed, her figure fuller, her clothes eclectic. She’d always been inherently beautiful and while her nose might be slightly larger than average, it added character to a face graced by beauty.

      Now, with her perfect make-up, perfectly straight blow-dried hair, perfect streamlined body and perfect pink designer suit, she intrigued him more than ever.

      He liked her tousled and ruffled and feisty, and, while her new image might be all corporate and controlled, he’d hazard a guess the old Kristi wouldn’t be lurking far beneath the surface.

      ‘All looks okay.’

      She signed several documents and, with a heavy sigh, handed them to Elliott. ‘Everything I need to know in here?’

      Elliott nodded. ‘Do you know anything about Stranded??

      She shook her head. ‘My pushy boss didn’t go into specifics.’

      Jared leaned across, held his hand up to his mouth, his loud conspiratorial whisper exaggerated. ‘Now you’re in for it. He’ll give you the hour-long spiel he gave me.’

      Her mouth twitched before she returned her attention to Elliott, who was more than comfortable to elaborate on his favourite topic.

      ‘While it’s basically a competition for the prize money, which will go to the participant who nails the challenges and gains the most hits on their Internet networking sites, I want this documentary to make a social statement on our TV viewing and the way we network today.’

      While her heart sank at the conditions imposed on winning the prize—she’d always been lousy at sports and no way could she beat Jared in the popularity stakes on the Net—Elliot continued.

      ‘There’s a glut of reality TV at the moment. Cooking, dating, singing, dancing, housemates, you name it, there’s a reality show filming it. I want Stranded to be more than that. I want it to show two people interacting, without social distractions, without direct interference, without the fanfare, without judges, and see how they get along. I want honest feedback.’

      She nodded, gestured to her folder. ‘That’s where the daily blog and Twitter updates come in?’

      ‘Uh-huh. It’ll give the public instant access to your immediate feelings, build anticipation for when I screen the documentary a week after you return. Building hype and viewer expectation makes for more interesting viewing.’

      ‘So we’re filmed all the time?’

      She screwed up her nose, as enthralled with the idea as he was.

      Elliott steepled his fingers like a puppet master looking forward to yanking their strings.

      ‘No, the cameras are motion-activated, and only situated on certain parts of the island. If you want privacy or time out, there are designated areas.’

      Her relief was palpable, as Jared wondered what would make her desperate enough to do this. Sure, she’d said the money, but she’d never been money-driven so there had to be more to it. Then again, it had been eight years. How well did he really know her?

      It was different for him. His life had been laid out for public consumption the last seven years, what he ate, where he went, what car he drove, all open to interpretation.

      He’d learned to shut off, to ignore the intrusion, was now using it to his advantage for the rec centre.

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