The Hating Game (7 page)

‘
And your
general relationship with men?’

Matt
ie stared for a second. General relationship? What a stupid question. ‘I love men,’ she simpered. ‘They’re strong, they’re . . .’ – she wracked her brain – ‘they’re, um, supportive . . .’ She tried not to grimace. Those were the last words anyone could use to describe men like her father and Kyle.

Weasel
tapped the file. ‘It says here your father abandoned you when you were eight.’

How on E
arth had he found that out? Bloody Nate, digging into her background. What a silly word, ‘abandoned’. It was as if she’d been left at the side of the road or something, instead of – let’s face it, better off, as her mother kept saying.

Her dad’s face on the night he’d left flashed into her mind. He’d pulled her close and hugged her so tightly it hurt. She could still smell the spicy aftershave of that embrace, even today. He’d let her go only when her mother had come into the kitchen and told him to get out; that she never wanted to see him again. And although he’d tried to get in touch through countless phone calls and letters, Mattie never had.

She shifted in her chair and tucked the ballet flats beneath her, trying to keep her face from showing the jumble of emotions swirling inside.

Finally she lifted her head. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

Silence filled the room and Mattie
stared steadfastly at Weasel. If he wanted her to say more, he was going to have to ask.

‘
Well.’ Weasel
dropped his eyes to her chest then looked up at her. ‘I think we’re just about done here, Matilda.’ He patted his oily hair again and smiled. Mattie tried not to recoil even further from him. ‘But I’d love to talk to you some more; perhaps somewhere a bit more comfortable? Maybe over drinks tonight? Say, seven?’

What an absolute
wanker!
This
was why she didn’t dress like a sodding milkmaid or act like an idiot without brains. If she’d been her normal ballsy self – instead of a beaming bimbo – Weasel wouldn’t have even dared look in her direction. Mattie felt her face flame with anger but she covered it up by giggling and looking down coyly.

‘
Really?’
she said through lowered lashes. ‘Me on a date, with a real doctor?’ She widened her eyes, trying not to be sick as she took in the full horror of Weasel. ‘I’d love to! I just have to go to the Well Woman clinic first.’ She put a hand to her face, pretending to be embarrassed. ‘I can tell you, I guess, since you
are
a doctor.’ She met his eyes. ‘Gonorrhoea,’ she whispered.

Weasel jerked back
as if she’d slapped him. ‘Ah. Yes. Gonorrhoea. Dreadful thing.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You know, I just remembered I have a lecture to go to tonight. So another time . . .’ Before Mattie could reply, he stood up. ‘Thank you for coming in, Matilda. I’ll contact the producers today to tell them you’re fit for the show.’

Grinning
at his shocked reaction, Mattie forced herself to hold out her hand. ‘Thank
you
so much.’

Weasel shook it quickly and she turned to leave the office, nearly tripping over her feet in haste. Outside she gulped fresh air and shook her head.

Imagine, him having the nerve to ask her out on a date!

That’s
what happens when you give an inch, she reminded herself grimly.

A man will take about forty-five miles.

CHAPTER SEVEN

One in twenty relationships ends with a restraining orde
r;

one in two-hundred thousand ends in murder.

AS HE WAIT
ED FOR SILVER to deign to see him, Nate stared at the list of Mattie’s exes that Harry Horne, the private investigator, had given him. The list was long – it had about forty names on it – but with such a short timeline, Harry had only been able to provide contact details for four of the men.

There was a guy called Adam
Higgins, CEO of some gaming software company, who lived on the outskirts of London; Charlie Robbins, a British ex-pat in Ibiza; an Italian named Giovanni Costa (bit of foreign blood was good, mix it up a bit); and finally Kyle Cook, the man who’d apparently taken half of Mattie’s clients.

Nate wiped the
sweat forming on his brow. Was he supposed to just ring them up out of the blue and ask them to go on a game show? What if they said no? Thank God Silver had buried half of Mattie’s prize money in the contract as an incentive.

‘
She says go in,’ Ginny snapped, pointing at the door.

‘
Er, yes, thanks.’

He had barely made it inside before Silver swooped.

‘
Give me an update.’

‘
It’s going great.’ Nate tried to sound more confident than he felt. ‘I’ve got a list of names here. Just about to contact them.’

Silver grabbed the list. ‘Looks to me like you only have four real possibilities. I thought you said there would be loads of men to choose from.’

‘
We only have contact info for the four. But there are plenty of men, look at the list! If we had more time–‘

‘
Well, we don’t
have
time, do we?’ Silver interrupted. ‘Get on the phone. Now! Get those men signed up. Any less than four and the format’s not going to work. You’d better hope they all want to do it.’

‘
I’m sure
it will be fine,’ Nate said, pulling his face away from Silver’s menacing finger. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and he grabbed his BlackBerry.

‘
One more thing,’ Silver said before he started dialling. ‘You need to arrange a promo shoot for Mattie. You have talked to a photographer, right? Get her styled up, throw some pics to the media. Asap, Nate. And make her sexy. Make her someone men would
want
to go out with. Remember, these are the photos we’re using to sell the show to the public. And sex sells.’

‘
Of course, asap
,’ Nate echoed lamely.

‘
Well, get out then,
’ Silver ordered, patting the pile of papers on her desk, looking for leftover cocktail sausages.

Nat
e scurried away and headed for his cubicle, checking the time, panic rising. Christ, he hadn’t even booked the studio or the stylists for the promo – or told Mattie, for that matter. He cringed, thinking of her reaction. How was he supposed to do all this stuff at once? On
Jungle Jangle
the most stressful item had been booking the guest animal for the next day!

He took a deep breath. Calm down, Nate-o. This was what EPs did, juggle balls in the air.
First things first, call the men. Then get onto the promo.

Nate considered
the list. Who to start with? Italians were supposed to be friendly, right? And maybe this Giovanni bloke fancied a trip to England.

Nate punched in the numbers and listened to the foreign ring of the phone.

‘
Pronto
! Villa Costa.’

Villa Costa? Was Giovanni some kind of Italian royalty? ‘Um,
hola
,’ Nate stammered, before remembering
hola
was Spanish, not Italian.

‘
You wish to book? Make-
a de reservation?’

Ah, it was a hotel. Thank God they spoke English. ‘I’m looking for Giovanni Costa,’ Nate said.

‘
Si, sono
Giovanni Costa. I am he. How can I help?’

Nate
explained why he was calling as fast as possible before Giovanni could think to interrupt him.

‘
You want me to be on
the television programme? In
Londra
?’

‘
Yes, exactly.’

A long pause, then: ‘
Si
! No problem!’

Nate’s eyebrows flew up. T
hat was easy. Had Giovanni understood what was going on? Did he even remember Mattie?

‘
I will send you my portfolio,’ Giovanni was babbling. ‘You want da nude?’

‘
Nude?’

‘
Si
, how you say, fulla frontal? I send.’

‘
No, no.
’ Nate made a face. That was the last thing he wanted. ‘It’s a dating show, you know, with women.’

‘
You want I make sexy film with woman?’

Nate gave up. As long as the guy turned up, any misunderstanding could be sorted out later.

‘
Yes, sort of. Listen, do you have a fax? Good. I’ll fax you the contract. Just sign it and send it back, along with a photo or two. With clothes,’ he added. ‘We’ll be in touch with all the details.’

‘
Si, buona, fantastico
!’ He could almost imagine Giovanni kissing his fingers like a fat chef in a spaghetti advert.

Nate hung up
. There. That wasn’t so hard.

One down, three to go!

*

Back in her office, t
he shrill ring of the phone jolted Mattie from her catnap, head snapping up as she jerked awake. Jesus, dealing with Weasel and his moronic questions must have really taken it out of her. Fury snapped inside as the memory of that greasy-haired slime-bag asking her out came to mind.

‘
Yes?’ she barked int
o the BlackBerry, before remembering it could be a much-needed client. ‘How can I help?’ she added in a softer tone.

She listened incredulously as a timid voice squeaked out she’d been scheduled to do a photo shoot tomorrow, somewhere in godforsaken Shoreditch. Shoreditch! She’d expected Notting Hill, at the very least. Who knew what she’d catch all the way over in grimy East London? No wonder Nate had got some lackey to do his dirty work, telling her about the session.

‘
What kind of photo shoot?’ she asked, hoping Nate wouldn’t be pulling double-duty as a stylist. His ideal woman probably looked more gorilla than human.

‘
Just some head shots
for the media,’ the voice said. ‘A car will pick you up at two p.m. tomorrow.’

Mattie clenched her teeth. ‘Great. I’ll be ready.’ If Nate thought he was in control, he had another think coming. She’d show him who really called the shots.

*

It was almost
five and Nate’s day had been brilliant. After Giovanni, he’d rung Charlie Robbins in Ibiza. Nate had asked him question after question about his relationship with Mattie, but all Charlie said was he couldn’t wait to catch up with Mattie again after all these years. One mention of the potential prize money and Charlie was immediately on board – babbling non-stop about his plans to open a spa back in Ibiza.

Nate couldn’t believe how easy the
first two had been. Amazing how strong the lure of the television was for some people . . . and maybe, just maybe, the two of them really wanted a second chance with Mattie. Well, Charlie, anyway. Nate still wasn’t sure if Giovanni even understood Mattie was involved.

Adam had been a bit more difficult. No, not difficult
exactly, just
creepy
. Nate had paid a visit to Snake Software, Adam’s company headquarters in Staines. It was like walking into a video game. Everything was gleaming white and chrome; employees darted around wearing headsets. Nate had noticed several cameras tracking him as he crossed the vast lobby.

Dwarfed by his massive steel desk, Adam was a younger
, larger version of the Wiz, running the whole company through a bank of monitors and mics. With his jet-black hair and pale skin he looked as if he’d never seen the light of day, like some sort of pudgy vampire.

Even
though Nate was pretty sure it was a lost cause, he quickly explained the show’s concept. Why would Adam go on a dating show when he was clearly such a success, work wise? Sure, he wasn’t the best-looking guy, but Nate imagined his loads of cash attracted all sorts of girls. Women always liked rich successful men, didn’t they? Nate grinned. He’d know that feeling soon enough.

But
Adam had listened calmly, nodded his agreement and scrawled his signature on the contract within minutes. No smile, no grimace, no expression had crossed his face or entered his voice the whole time Nate had been there. He’d been downright robotic – even Stephen Hawking’s voice simulator sounded more human! Nate couldn’t figure out why the hell Adam would even
consider
going on a dating game show, but he wasn’t about to argue.

So with Adam signed up,
Nate was on his way to Charlotte Street to meet the last man: Kyle. Of the four, Kyle was the one Nate was most worried about. From all accounts, Kyle’s business was flourishing and whatever had actually happened with Mattie, chances were if you angered her you’d be lucky to escape with your testicles intact. But you never know, Nate thought, trying to be optimistic; he hadn’t bet on Adam signing on either, and he had.