Jennifer Rae - Who's Calling The Shots?

Dear Reader Dear Reader Dear Reader Title Page Dedication ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN Copyright Something that has always fascinated me is finding out why people make the choices they do and where their emotions stem from. Reality TV is supposed to be a fly-on-the-wall interpretation of real life, but often it’s not. It’s manipulated to increase drama and sex appeal. This thought led me on to social media, and the way people use that to manipulate the way people interpret life. Often it’s through a filter, and supposedly there are only ‘good hair’ days. Modern dating has become an exciting but scary place. All it takes is a ‘like’ on Instagram and a couple of Snapchats and next thing you’re tearing each other’s clothes off on the floor. Before you get to know each other. Before you consider the realities of spending time with that person. We live in an age of filtered reality—and it ain’t changing any time soon. But I’m old school. I’d rather meet someone in person and find out whether they’re a sandwich short of a picnic or if they exude a strange smell, rather than ‘like’ them on social media and think later. Brooke and Jack’s involvement in a reality TV show skews the way they look at life, love and each other. It takes time spent alone with each other for them to realise that the only way to fall in love —really fall in love—is to switch off, push aside pre-judgements and filtered realities and reach deep into each other’s souls. Love is not a filtered reality. It’s dirty and messy, heartbreaking and exhilarating. But when Jack and Brooke realise they need to experience it to feel it their lives can really begin. Jennifer Rae x www.jenniferraeromance.com

Title Page Who’s Calling the Shots? Jennifer Rae www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication To my sisters from other misters: Sonja Screpis, Carla Poole, Tiffany Steel and Julie Whittington. Without you I’d understand nothing and laugh a lot less. Massive love, my beautiful friends. x

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FIFTEEN

Copyright

ONE

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.