Falling for Mister Wrong (33 page)

“I don’t understand what happened.”

She was reminded of the first audition tape
she’d seen of him. Wholesome, laughing, unspoiled. Poor guy. “You
bought into your own image.”

His head lifted and he blinked up at her.
“What?”

Miranda sank down onto one of the set
couches, slipping her heels off her aching feet and tossing her
tablet onto the cushion beside her. “I could tell you that Caitlyn
just fell in love with someone else. That you were a pebble on her
road to true love or whatever bullshit. Or I could say that it was
the pressure of the show—being apart for months on end while it’s
airing and not being able to comfort her when she had doubts. I
could tell you that it wasn’t you, it was her, but I’m feeling
particularly honest today so I’m gonna give it to you straight,
Danny Boy. It’s you. You started out as a nice guy—the guy all of
America wanted to date, the one every mother in America hoped would
meet her daughter—and then you drank the reality show Kool-aid,
started reading your own press clippings, bought into your own hype
and became a royal, first class, grade A douche.”

His chin rocked back like she’d socked him
and Pretty Boy glowered at her. “Is this supposed to be
comforting?”

“I’m not here for comforting. Go to a club
after this and five girls will line up to comfort the hell out of
you all night long. I’m giving it to you straight—which is a rare
commodity in this town so you should take it as the manna from
heaven it is.”

His mouth tightened in anger. “So I’m a
douche.”

“You are. But the good news is you might not
be an irredeemable one. You were a genuinely great guy when you
came on the show the first time. And then the fame changed you. It
happens to a lot of people—some more severely than others.”

“I’m not famous,” he said, but something
about the way he said it convinced her that he knew it was a lie as
much as she did. And that he would lap up every drop of attention
that came his way.

“Sure you are. You’re famous for being the
one everyone wants—which is a dangerous kind of fame. Society is
busy screaming about how men are assholes and here you are—a
unicorn. The One Good Guy. But the second you buy into that crap,
you stop being the One Good Guy and become just another brand of
asshole. As soon as you believe you’re God’s Gift to Women, you
aren’t anymore. Catch-22.”

He grimaced. “I used to teach that book.”

“To second graders?”

“High school. I taught high school for a year
before I moved to fourth grade. I never taught second.”

She shrugged. “Until they’re old enough to go
on the show, they don’t exist to me.”

“And you think my reality is skewed?”

“I never said mine wasn’t.” Miranda liked her
glass house. “I just answered your question about how this
happened. You became an ass. The kind of man that a sensible girl
like Caitlyn would never choose to spend the rest of her life with.
It took her a little while to wake up and smell the asshole, but
when she did she had a big strong fire-fighter on hand to make sure
she got her happily ever after.”

“And that leaves me where?”

“Single and unemployed in Hollywood. Don’t
worry. It happens to the best of us.”

His head snapped up at that. “They fired
you?”

“Of course not, dummy. I’m amazing. I can
write my own ticket.” Literally.
American Dance Star
was
waiting. If she wanted it. “Believe it or not, you turning into a
dick on national television and then getting jilted was great for
the ratings because we were able to spin it. Everybody’s
happy.”

“Except me.”

“Well, yeah.”
And Elena.
She’d taken a
beating in the court of public opinion and Miranda still felt bad
about that. Not that Daniel seemed to care. “Were you really going
to be happy engaged to Caitlyn? You barely know her. And honestly?
Right now you barely know yourself. Maybe figure that out before
you go running into marriage with the first gorgeous, smart, sweet,
stable girl to come along.”

“I know who I am.”

“The teacher who doesn’t teach anymore. Mr.
Perfect who got jilted on national television because he wasn’t so
perfect after all. A self-professed country-boy living in LA. Yeah,
you sound like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“So I’m changing.” He sulked. “People
change.”

“They do. And I always hope it’s for the
better, but how often does that happen?” Miranda gathered up her
tablet and her shoes. “Just do me a favor. As you’re changing and
growing and finding yourself in LA, don’t go on Dancing With the
D-List. Have some freaking self-respect and stop chasing fame.”

She left him there. Security and his driver
would make sure he got home all right. Or wherever he wanted to go
after he left here. He wasn’t her charge anymore, but she wasn’t
going to toss him out into the night either. He’d been a good
Mister Perfect, in his own way. Good for ratings, anyway.

She ignored the little shiver of guilt that
she’d done that to him, ruined him somehow by picking him as Mister
Perfect. He’d been her call. Corn-fed country-boy school teacher.
How could she have known he’d turn into Fame-zilla?

“Miranda.”

That voice. Raspy sex and sin.
Shit shit
shit
. She turned slowly, adjusting her grip on her heels and
her tablet. “Bennett. How did you get in here?”

“I pulled some strings to get an invite to
the taping—”

And someone is getting fired for not warning
me you were in the building.

“I wanted to watch your finale. I’d never
seen one of these reunion deals before.”

She didn’t dare ask him what he’d thought of
it. She didn’t have the emotional energy to take his critique
tonight.

“I guess you’re here for your answers,” she
said instead.

“Yes and no.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. Was one
of the offers no longer on the table? Which one?

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.
About the show being the only thing on television that glorifies
love.”

“I didn’t say it was the only thing, just
that it’s not a bad thing to do.”

“Will you let me finish?” he asked, his lips
quirking in a way she hoped was promising. If he was giving her
that smirky smile, maybe…

No. She wouldn’t get her hopes up. “Is this
the moment when you tell me you’ve been wrong all along and beg my
forgiveness?”

His expression tightened.

Nope. Not that moment.

Strange. She was so good at orchestrating the
romantic futures of others, and yet could never seem to get the
romantic moments in her own life to play quite right.

She folded her arms defensively around her
middle, awkward with all she was carrying, but she managed it.
“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“You said we’re all idiots when we’re falling
in love.”

“That certainly sounds like something I would
say.”

“Miranda. Shut up.”

“Fine,” she muttered.

He took a deep breath, like he was about to
dive underwater. “You want me to treat you like an equal, but we’ll
never be equals.”

Irritation spiked hard. “Go fu—”

“You’re a thousand times better than me.”

Wait, what?
She’d been working up a
good head of steam, but the words slowly penetrated and her jaw
dropped.

“I never deserved you. The only thing I had
to offer—my experience in this business—was the one thing you kept
throwing back in my face. I freaked because I’ve never needed
anyone the way I needed you and you didn’t need me back.”

“I
loved
you,” she said, the words
echoing in the empty sound stage.

“But
why
? When you said the words, all
I could think was that I’d pulled one over on you and any second
you were going to wake up and realize what a mess I am. I’ve been
divorced three times, Miranda. I’m a decade older than you. If you
didn’t want what I could give you as a mentor, I couldn’t figure
out why a woman like you would be with me. Do you have any idea how
terrifying that is?”

“As terrifying as calling you from Italy to
tell you I loved you without any guarantee that you would
ever
say it back?”

“You’ve always been better than me. Braver.
Hell, that girl on your show tonight was braver than me. But if she
can do it, the least I can do is man up and say I’ve wanted you
back every second of every day and I understand why you won’t take
me because you’re too good for me, but I love you.”

Sound receded as everything slowed. “You
don’t say that.”

“I know.” He stepped forward, suddenly in her
space. She swayed back, but there was a camera boom and she could
only stand there as he loomed over her. And it was probably the
hottest moment of her life.

“You never say that,” she whispered, his face
so close. “Not with anyone.”

“I never meant it with anyone else.” He
groaned, swiping across her cheeks with his thumbs. “Shit, baby,
don’t cry.”

Was she crying? “You said yes and no.”

“What?”

“You said yes and no. Is the job no longer
available?”

He snorted. “Of course you want to know about
work when I’m trying to have a romantic moment.” But he was
grinning as he said it. “Yes. The job is yours if you want it. And
if you don’t… The show was good tonight. It was… sincere in a way I
wasn’t expecting. I’ll be honest, I’m still not in love with it so
I’m hoping you’ll take the
ADS
job, but if
Marrying
Mister Perfect
is what you want to do, I’ll try to be better
about understanding why. If you’ll have me. Can you forgive me,
Miranda?” His lips quirked, that sexy almost-smile. “I was an
idiot, but someone very wise told me we’re all idiots when we’re
falling in love. Probably me more than most since I came to it so
late in the game.”

She narrowed her eyes, which still seemed to
be leaking from the edges. “Don’t start making cracks about your
age again.”

“It is a substantial difference. You could
easily find someone closer to your own—”

“Stop. You’re the King of Reality Television,
Bennett Lang. You aren’t supposed to be insecure. I
love
you, you idiot. Even if you are decrepit and ancient.”

“Hey.”

“And I don’t need you to prove how worthy you
are with job offers.”

“That isn’t why I—”

“In fact, I can’t imagine working at
American Dance Star
without you.” But
with
him...
that would be a whole new adventure. “Are you sure you want to
retire?”

His eyebrows arched. “You mean co-produce?
You want to try living together
and
working together?” he
asked skeptically.

She looped her arms around his neck, her
tablet resting against one shoulder blade as her heels bumped
against the other. “So we’re living together, are we?”

“I just assumed—you said—look, I suck at this
stuff—”

“Relax, Romeo. I can see I’ll have to teach
you about milking a romantic moment.” She went up on her toes.
“You’re supposed to be kissing me now.”

And he did.

Maybe she wasn’t so bad at her own love life
after all.

Chapter
Forty-One

The silence from the apartment upstairs was
killing him. It had been two days. Two days since the finale aired
and he’d been given a second lease on life when he saw he might
still have a chance with her. But she hadn’t come back.

He was going nuts missing her. They’d had a
rash of freakishy warm weather, melting the snow so it was like
skiing through a slushee and he came home soaked to the skin every
day. It was miserable. Or maybe he was just miserable.

Thursday. His day off. Leaving him far too
much time to think. Taking advantage of the Sucker Spring weather,
he spent the morning working on the engine of the
Thunderbird—mostly as an excuse to be out in the parking lot,
watching for Caitlyn’s arrival. She had to come back today, didn’t
she?

His sisters had argued for hours about what
exactly he needed to do and say to convince Caitlyn he wasn’t a
complete waste of genetic material. About the only thing they’d
agreed on was that he needed to find some way to get closure on the
Tria and Andy situation.

They might be right.

Didn’t mean he had the first idea how to go
about doing that.

Normally if he and Andy had a falling out,
one of them would invite the other to go skiing and they’d forget
about whatever was bugging them on the slopes. But the dumbass had
gone and wrecked his knee. Suggesting they get together for
anything else just felt too weird. Especially when he wasn’t even
sure he wanted to see the man who had once been his friend.

Shit.

Maybe he could get closure by talking to him
on the phone. He could manage that much.

He went inside, wiping the grease off his
hands, and dialed the number he’d set up for the house when he and
Tria moved in, a weird mix of aggression and a sense of
inevitability rising up as he listened through the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Tria. I’m calling to talk to Andy.”

“Oh. Um. Andy’s at PT. I was about to go pick
him up, but I’m sure he’d love—”

He wasn’t there. Off the hook. “Right. Bye,
Tria.”

He hung up. And stood staring at the phone.
He’d been ready to talk. Ready to have it out. Now the fact that
Andy had thwarted him in his attempt at resolution was just another
nail in the asshole’s coffin.

He was barely aware of grabbing his keys and
storming out to the Jeep. He was three miles down the road to the
physical therapy center in the next town over before he even
realized where he was going.

Andy might not even be there. Tria was going
to pick him up. They might be gone already. His ex-fiancé and the
asshole who had—