Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (36 page)

“What’s going on here?”
she asked GI Joe.

He nodded toward a
monitor where the smiling face of Cincinnati’s answer to Oprah filled the
screen. “Watch and learn.”

Tess Hartley let her
lively theme song and the audience’s applause fade away before she introduced
the day’s episode. “Today on
Let’s Talk
, we’re going to meet a group of
caring teens who are concerned about their single parents.”

Concerned! The word
bounced around inside Annabel’s head like a loose basketball on a gym floor.
Why would Carly be concerned about her? Discomfort plummeted into downright
dread.

“Through death,
divorce, or abandonment,” Tess continued, “all of these high-school seniors
live in single-parent households. As they prepare to leave home for the first
time, they worry about their parents’ lonely futures. Isn’t that sweet?”

Tess’s audience agreed
with enthusiastic applause, but Annabel didn’t think
sweet
accurately
described it. In the green room, the knowing nods of some parents and the
shocked expressions of others who’d been duped confirmed her assessment.

“Please, join me while
they—” Tess paused and gestured for the studio audience to join in the
recitation of the show’s well-known tag line “—tell Tess about it.”

Justine reappeared in
the green room, buzzing along just as hyper and efficient as before. But now,
she looked more sheepish than capable. “In case you haven’t figured it out,
some of you are here under false pretenses. There’s nothing illegal or unethical
going on. The kids are really excited. But if any of you prefer not to
participate, you need to let me know now—before we get too far into the
taping.”

Well, that gave them
plenty of leeway. Annabel swallowed hard and found her voice. “What exactly
have they gotten us into? A televised ambush?”

“They’re playing
matchmaker,” the anorexic woman said, practically rubbing her hands together in
anticipation. “I can’t wait to see who I get fixed up with.”

“Matchmaker?” Annabel
picked up her purse, ready to head for the door.

“That’s right,” Justine
confirmed. “Last week, all of them interviewed potential partners from a pool
of prescreened, preapproved applicants. They each handpicked someone for their
single parent to go out with on one or two dates arranged by and recorded for a
future episode of
Let’s Talk
. Their choices are here to meet you today.”

“What kind of dates?”
Annabel asked.

“Whatever you and your
arranged partner want. You’ll each get to name your perfect evening, and the
show will foot the bills—within reason. No flying to New York or Paris, but
anything local will be fine.”

“I plan on going to The
Precinct,” GI Joe chimed in. Although the steakhouse wouldn’t be Annabel’s
choice, a flurry of laughter and hoots of agreement followed the mention of one
of Cincinnati’s most expensive restaurants.

“You can decide on your
destinations later.” Justine’s gaze flicked to the clock on the wall and then
settled on the monitor. “But you’ll need to make up your minds quickly about
appearing.”

Out in the studio, the
camera panned the line of fledgling matchmakers. Just as Annabel opened her
mouth to refuse, the camera zeroed in on Carly and focused on her blonde good
looks. In that moment, Annabel forgot the trick the girl had played and felt a
thrill of pride at her stepdaughter’s composure. She glowed as Carly spilled
the beans about Annabel.

“She’s my stepmom. My
dad got custody of me when my biological mother left us. He married Annabel
when I was nine, and after he died three years ago, I stayed with her. My birth
mom is awesome in a fairy godmother kind of way, but she’s not very good with,
um, details.” A smile curled the corners of Carly’s mouth. “Annabel’s the one
who’s always tucked me in, taken me to the dentist, soccer games and piano
recitals. You know, all that Mom-and-responsibility stuff.”

“Does she work outside
the home?” Tess asked.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a
documentary editor for a local production company. A project she worked on is
nominated for some big award.” Carly paused before confiding, “She’s so proud
that I plan to go to medical school eventually, but except for me, her work’s
all she’s got. I’m afraid she’ll use it as an excuse not to get a real life
after I leave for college next fall.”

Not true!
Annabel had lots of
other things and people in her life.
Didn’t she?
Hmmm, maybe not.

She cringed as the
little blabbermouth ratted her out to the entire tri-state area. Maybe if she’d
informed Carly about her plans for the future, this fiasco could have been
avoided.

Truthfully, after all the
responsibilities she’d handled over the years, Annabel yearned for an exciting,
carefree life of her own.

She loved her
stepdaughter and enjoyed her company, but Annabel looked forward to the
graduating teen’s departure with more anticipation than dread. As soon as Carly
left for Ohio State, Annabel planned to cut loose and make her own dreams come
true.

Some of her plans
involved work goals, sure, but they also included increasing her social life.
All right, make that
developing
a social life. With an all-new, daring,
and spontaneous attitude, she wanted to flit off to a weekend in Belize… go
skydiving… date guys with tattoos.

Since she didn’t want
Carly feeling as if Annabel itched to get rid of her, she hadn’t mentioned any
of her secret desires to her stepdaughter. But now Annabel could see the
advantages of opening up a bit more. She’d remedy that issue immediately after
today’s show.

Carly’s sweet gesture
revealed a misguided need to repay Annabel for her love, and Annabel would
never hurt the girl’s feelings by refusing the gesture. She considered the
possibility of easing herself into her new ready-for-anything persona with two
vetted, chaperoned, on-camera dates.
How bad could they be?

Smothering a sense of
impending doom, she summoned her courage long enough to sign the release forms
Justine handed to her. Within moments, she found herself taking a deep breath
and stepping center stage. Her eyes adjusted to the glaring lights while she
waited for her cue.

“Carly took great care
in choosing a man who shares common interests with her stepmother. You’ll
recognize him as WKLK’s most popular and handsome investigative reporter. These
two already know one another, but let’s see if sparks fly when they’re paired
up for romance.” Tess and the camera turned toward Annabel. “
Let’s Talk
is pleased to welcome Annabel Morgan and her lucky date, Max Williams!”

The introduction barely
registered in Annabel’s head before a tall, muscular form bounded out from
stage right. He turned her with a hand on her arm and planted a kiss on her
check.

Stunned, she reared
back to confirm her misfortune. The shock in his eyes mirrored hers.

Under cover of the
applause, they objected in unison, “Not you!”

The following Saturday
night, Max arrived on Annabel’s front porch in Hyde Park. With his favorite
cameraman in tow, he looked around at one of Cincinnati’s oldest and stodgiest
neighborhoods. Sturdy brick houses lined the quiet, residential street. Subdued
shutters bordered windows with overflowing flower boxes. Tidy yards sported
geometric mower grids. Traditional, conservative, established, and settled. All
things Max preferred to avoid.

Grinding his teeth, he
cursed his current circumstances and the unapologetic people responsible for
it. If given the chance, he’d banish meddlesome teenage girls to a world
without cell phones or teenage boys.

He’d blast Tess Hartley
to an unending life of flat hair, tabloid journalism, and bad ratings.

He’d send all judgmental,
uninteresting women to an island far, far away, where they could bore one
another to death with their rules, restrictions, and lack of original thoughts.

And he’d reserve a
special circle of hell composed of angry advertisers, prolonged power outages,
and drunken weathermen for Charley Asherton, the usually-sensible station
manager who had included Max’s name in a pool of eligible bachelors for
Let’s
Talk
without notifying him first.

How he’d let Tess and
Charley talk him into participating in such an asinine waste of time, Max
couldn’t explain. He’d thought it a joke when he received the message to appear
for the first-round interviews. But he hadn’t stood a chance against the
innocent wiles and harmless demeanor of the young girl who singled him out. If
he’d known she’d matched him up with Ms. Frostbite of Cincinnati, he would have
pulled a no-show for the actual program.

Tess would pay for
this. Due to their brief, steam-up-the-sheets, personal history half-a-dozen
years ago, he’d expected her to let him out of his arranged date. When a
conspiratorial smile and the promise of a future favor hadn’t worked, he
explained that Annabel didn’t want to go out with him any more than he wanted
to go out with her.

The ratings-minded diva
just laughed and insisted he keep his part of the bargain. She’d even had the
nerve to goad him over the fact that he’d finally met a woman who didn’t
worship at his feet. Tess had also suggested he look on winning Annabel over as
a challenge—one the show would pay for and record—as the “relationship”
unfolded. Relationship, hell. Disaster was more like it. And Tess had licked
her glossy lips over the possibility.

Ever conscious of the
camera, the reporter in Max erased the scowl and put on his game face. He shot
the sleeves of his suit into place, then smoothed his hair and straightened his
frigging tie.

“Quit primping,
Casanova, you look fine,” Roger said from behind him. He lifted the
video-camera to his eye. “Now, ring the bell. No, wait. The doorknocker seems
more forceful, more masculine. Use that.”

“More masculine.” Max
snorted but banged the knocker as instructed. “Masculinity’s wasted on Annabel.
Why do smart women like her favor those limp-wristed sensitive types who drink
lattes and go to poetry readings?”

“Why do you care what
kind of men she likes?”

“I don’t. I’m just
saying, she’s not my type.”

“Yeah, I can see why
the combination of smart, nice, gorgeous, and talented wouldn’t work for you,”
the cameraman muttered.

When the door swung
open, Max faced the beaming teenager who’d gotten him into this mess.

“You’re here!” Carly
clapped her hands.

Despite his annoyance,
Max grinned at her enthusiasm. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

She peered over his shoulder
to the street, then leaned out the door to view the driveway. His Jeep Cherokee
elicited a frown. “Where’s the limo?”

With the Porsche in the
shop, he’d been tempted by the station’s offer of transportation, but he hated
that kind of fancy crap. Besides, he and Annabel weren’t two pimply-faced,
sweaty-palmed teenagers on the way to the prom. “I prefer to drive myself.”

Carly planted her hands
on her hips. “But what about what Anna prefers?”

“When we talked
yesterday, I asked her if she wanted to show off with a car and driver.” He
shrugged. “She said she didn’t care.”

“Well, if you put it
that way, what else could she say?” She glared at him with disapproval.
“Besides,
I
care. I want this to be so special for her.”

“Maybe next time, kid.”
Of course, there would be no such event. The terms of the show indicated he
could dictate when and where they went on their second date, if he wanted to
see her again. In a rare moment of agreement, he and Annabel had decided this
would be a one-shot deal. She would have to be the one to break the news to
Little Ms. Blue Eyes here.

Carly accepted the
disappointment with a grudging sigh. “Come on in, then. Anna’s almost ready.”

He stepped across the
threshold of the Morgan home, suppressing the urge to sneeze. The place smelled
like a damn flower shop. Fresh roses decorated a table in the foyer. Potpourri
sat in little dishes around the living room. They probably even sprayed the air
with floral perfume.

In about two minutes,
he’d break out in hives from the cloying scent combined with the rampant
middle-class-values decor. Family pictures lined the mantle in the living room.
Knick-knacks rested on frilly lace things. He’d bet his Porsche that coasters
bloomed automatically under every beverage.