Who's Calling The Shots?. Jennifer Rae

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.’

      She didn’t say anything, but he watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed deeply.

      ‘I don’t think you understand—I can’t go on this show.’

      ‘Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you applied.’ Her eyes were big and her shoulders slumped. He felt himself falter. No. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t feel sorry for her. This was her problem—not his. His job was to make this show a success—not to get her out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

      ‘Think of this as an opportunity. What do you need? Publicity? Money? Hell—you may even meet your perfect match. What woman doesn’t want that?’

      As soon as he’d said it he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Her cheeks pinked. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her arms unfolded and she stood with feet shoulder-width apart, fists clenched.

      ‘That’s not what I’m here for,’ she said tightly, clearly trying to stay controlled. ‘I don’t want to be here. My sister can take my place; she’s the one who wants to be here. She’s the one who’s looking for love. She’s wanted to marry since she was five years old. Trust me, you don’t want me. Like I said before—I would not make very good viewing.’

      ‘You’re making good viewing right now, beautiful.’

      Jack let his eyes sweep over her. A compliment always calmed the savage beast. Compliments rolled off his tongue easily, but this time there was a bit of truth in his hollow words. She was a beautiful woman. A nice heart-shaped face, and those perfectly placed big green eyes. She looked healthy, tanned and fun, and she was making his body stand still and take notice. Their male audience would love her.

      He shifted his feet. Something grabbed at him. A strange, quiet pull inside him that he recognised immediately but pushed aside. No. He couldn’t feel anything. Not for her or anyone else. He couldn’t think of any of these women as different from each other. They were all the same. And none of them was anything to him—nor would they ever be. Especially not her.

      The way she looked up at him was starting to make something else shift. She stepped forward until her breasts were almost touching his still folded arms. Heat radiated from her but he didn’t step back. The scent of her perfume touched his nose and kept him still. Something rumbled inside him. He pushed it down. No. Not his problem. Not his anything.

      ‘I’m not here for your viewing pleasure. I’m not here for anyone’s viewing pleasure. And I’m not going on your stupid show.’

      Jack felt his smile falter; she was getting serious now and it was time he did too. She needed to know the rules of this game, and she needed to play by those rules.

      ‘Let me tell you a little about the TV business, darlin’.’

      She flinched when he called her darlin’, just as he’d thought she would. She didn’t like to be patronised—that much was clear. Smart woman. Smart women were much harder to deal with, but he’d done it before. He could deal with her.

      ‘When you sign a contract, your soul belongs to me.’ That was a lesson he’d learned years ago. When he’d first sold his own soul.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      Her voice changed. It became clipped, professional. The voice of a woman who could turn herself into someone else quickly. She straightened her spine and ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it as if trying to take the mess out of it and make it look neater and more businesslike. It didn’t work. She still looked young and fun and as if she belonged on a beach somewhere in a skimpy bikini.

      Jack’s producer’s mind kicked in. The beach. Perfect for the first episode. And no wetsuits—he’d make the girls dress in bikinis—what a first great ep. He’d open with a faux Baywatch running sequence. The girls running along the beach...chasing the men! Gold! It would rate its butt off.

      Her voice brought him back to the moment. It was tight and high and way too loud.

      ‘My soul does not—nor will it ever—belong to you. I signed a contract, yes. But now I choose to break that contract. What do I need to do? Pay you some money? Fine. But don’t assume that you own me—or that I won’t fight you to get what I want.’

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