Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (9 page)

Finally, he’d developed Lissa’s character, Jenna. In Rand’s screenplay, she works as a waitress at a diner when she applies to be on
The Ant Farm
, and only admits that she’s planning to attend med school in her interview with Brad. Rand had them almost hook up but stop because Jenna’s too scrupled to sleep with a producer on a show she wants to win.

Which was funny, because in real life, Rand wasn’t sure Lissa cared about the money. Contestants try all the time to get some inside scoop on how the show works, what challenges would be on and so forth. Lissa barely seemed interested. Frankly, Jenna’s motivation made more sense in his screenplay than Lissa’s did. He was cool with that. As long as she didn’t get fished out immediately, he’d be happy.

Being fished out, that was the risk. It would screw up his screenplay. He had to keep her in the game without cheating.

Rand glanced around the office. While he could hear people nearby, the area where he, Debbie and the interns sat was empty. He got up and walked over to the whiteboard covered with architect renderings and interior designs for this year’s Fishbowl set. There were four bedrooms down the hall from the living room, plus the Shark Tank upstairs. One of the bedrooms had only two beds, which made it highly desirable. He could tell Lissa without much risk. It wouldn’t help her win the million dollars, but it might help her stay in the game. The first few Fish to leave were usually from the other bedrooms.

He stood up and headed for the door. Sure enough, one of the interns had slithered in while Rand’s back was turned. The appearance of the interns was a seasonal phenomenon, like the swallows returning to the mission at San Juan Capistrano. As soon as UCLA, USC and Pepperdine were out for the summer, a flock would be assigned desks in Rand and Debbie’s office. He never bothered to learn their names—his token protest to their presence.

“Hey,” he said as passed the intern. “I’m going out to grab a sandwich. You want anything?”

She didn’t even look up. “Nah.”

Rand shrugged and continued out the door.

As soon as he got to his car, he called Lissa. She answered in that cool voice he loved.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Rand.”

“Oh, hi,” she said in that higher, startled voice. He loved that one too.

Rand inserted the key but didn’t turn it. “Look, so I wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, great, really. I can’t believe it’s just a few weeks before the show starts.”

Rand caught himself holding his breath. He released it slowly to keep from whistling into his Bluetooth. “You’ll be here before you know it.” That was a potent thought. He shifted in the driver’s seat.

“So,” she said finally. “Was there something you needed to tell me?”

Like, I’m hot thinking about you and don’t want this to be a creepy phone sex call?
Rand leaned his head against the seat. “You remember I told you there’s a twist?”

“Sure.”

“I need you to grab the blue bedroom. When you get into the house, the hall leading to the bedrooms will be on the right, and the blue bedroom will be the second door on the right. Okay?”

She paused. “What’s special about the blue bedroom, or aren’t you allowed to tell me?”

He tried to think of a reason that fit in with what he’d told her about this season’s twist. Trouble was, he couldn’t think what he’d said. “Sorry, I can’t. Just run straight for the blue bedroom. Don’t worry about who gets the other bed—”

Lissa laughed. “Oh, it’s the bedroom with two beds? I get it.”

“Get what?”

“C’mon, everyone knows that the smaller the bedroom, the better your odds of staying in the Fishbowl.”

Rand sucked in his lips. Should have thought of that. He laughed ruefully. “I forget you guys watch the show,” he mumbled.

“Watch? My sister’s got me studying all the past seasons, and taking notes to boot!”

“Wait, your sister is a law student, isn’t she?”

Longer pause. Rand watched as a woman got into her car and drove away.

“What can I say? Li-Libby is quite the grind. She’s insisted I use the basement gym in my building. Every day,” Lissa said. Her voice registered fondness seasoned with a hint of bitterness.

Still, that was smart. Physical dexterity or a knowledge of past episodes featured in three-quarters of the challenges. Of course, that was true for previous seasons, too. No way anyone could think he’d fed her inside information.

Except for the bedroom. Rand instinctively checked the office building’s front door. No snoopy interns hunkered down behind the smokers’ bins. And it was after seven, for God’s sake. He was hardly on the clock.

“Hey, you still there?” Lissa asked.

“Tell me about your sister. Other than being a wonky law student, what’s Libby like?”

She laughed. “You planning a twin twist on the show? You guys did that already, three seasons ago.”

“I didn’t work here then. I’m just curious. I’m an only child,” he said, as if that explained his interest.

“Well,” she drawled. “Let’s see. It means I’m never really alone, which is mostly good. We get on each other’s nerves, but not nearly as often as we lean on each other. And she’s funny. I’d like her even if we weren’t related,” Lissa admitted shyly.

Shyness? Not what he’d come to expect from the woman who’d damn near propositioned him back in Philly.

“What was it like growing up as an only child?” she asked.

“The exact opposite. I was always alone.” Rand tried to make a joke of it, but the truth slammed into his chest. Shit. He clutched the steering wheel with both hands.

“Yeah, but at least when you reach into your closet, the shirt you’re looking for is there. Being virtually the same size has its drawbacks.”

He laughed, as she clearly had meant him to. “Libby steals your clothes?”

“Er, well, I steal hers more often.”

“Sounds like that works to your benefit.”

Lissa laughed. “I guess it does. Cross that off as a drawback, then.”

“So you’re identical twins?”

“Yup. Well, almost.”

“Almost?”

“Okay, this’ll sound silly, but we can’t swap bras, for example, and not all of her jeans fit me.”

Hunh. Tits and ass. Good thing Marcy didn’t know about the twin thing or she’d have wanted to use it in some fashion.

His memory of Lissa at the bar, wearing tight jeans and a baby tee bloomed in his mind. She was laughing at him, her gorgeous shiny hair sliding along her bare arms. Not hard to strip her in his mind so that hair fell on either side of her breasts.

“Whose breasts are bigger?” he asked. He wanted to drag the words back the moment he’d uttered them in a rough voice, but it was too late.

Silence. Then she said, “Libby’s,” her voice back to diffidence.

“Lucky law school students.” Wait. “Like those idiots who were at the bar back in March?”

“Yeah.”

“Fools. Your sister is wasted on them.”

She laughed. “They don’t see her appeal, it’s true.”

“Assholes.” Appealing to Lissa’s love and support for her sister felt like a key in a well-oiled lock.

Except that she didn’t say anything. Now it was his turn to ask if she was still there.

“Yeah,” Lissa said. “So, uh, where are you? Still working?”

“On a dinner break.”

“Must be really busy leading up to the show.”

Rand wanted to talk about it, all of it. The show, his screenplay, his future, the feeling of being unmoored from the dreams that had sent him to film school in the first place. The urge to blurt it out was pressing on his throat, as though the words he’d speak were trying to get through in a huge ball.

He swallowed. “I have to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I can’t talk about it,” he said, panicked and clueless how to deal with it.

“I get it. The show. I’m sorry I asked.”

That wasn’t it, but he couldn’t think of an explanation. “See you next month,” he whispered.

“Yes, you will. But I won’t see you.”

“We’ll be talking every day,” he reminded her.

“Right. Journal entries.” She didn’t sound excited.

“We’ll talk a bit more than that. It doesn’t all get taped.”

“Wait, you and I will be able to talk privately? Like this?” Lissa asked like she didn’t want to break the rules. Not a come-on at all, even if Rand reacted as though it was.

“Very privately. A darkened room, late at night, just you and me,” he replied.

“Oh, like phone sex without the phone.”

Phone sex?
Rand could feel her in his arms, warm and responsive. Electricity raced along his nerves. His fingertips and toes tingled. June couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

Libby had a panic attack as soon as Rand hung up. This was actually happening. In the rush to finish her second year at Franklin Law, she’d refused to think about it. And here it was. She was about to walk off a mountain into thin air. And unlike Wile E. Coyote, she didn’t bounce back from shit like this.

She needed Lissa to reassure her.

“I have to cancel this,” Libby said when Lissa picked up.

“What are you talking about? You already said you’d do this. You said, and I quote, that since you were prepared to be the happy, flirty bartender at the Cork for the summer, you might as well be the happy, flirty bartender in
The Fishbowl
.”

“I hate it when you remember everything I say,” Libby muttered. “I had to have been crazy when I said that. This isn’t us switching places for a school dance. This is huge.”

“Okay, break it down for me. What’s the problem?”

“Are you kidding, Liss? Problems, plural. Let me start listing them. Mom and Dad, Barney, Jack, everyone else who knows either of us, my legal career, the slight problem of you being in two places at once, and—oh, right, me disappearing for the summer when supposedly I’m working as an associate.”

“Okay. So?”

Libby rubbed her forehead. She could cancel. It would be awkward, but they had to have backups, right?

She spoke slowly. “Think of everyone who knows you’re in Alaska with Duke. Now think of the people who expect me to be working at a law firm this summer. Those people are going to notice when you’re not with Duke and I’m not answering the phone at some law firm.”

“Stop twisting this into pretzel shapes, Libby. You’re giving me a headache!”

“Join the club,” Libby retorted. “The point is, if I go on the show, I’ll be sequestered for the summer. No one could reach me,” Libby persisted. “What do we tell people? Do we tell Mom and Dad that we’ve swapped places?”

“Bite your tongue—Dad would lecture us to death. Mom would flat out forbid it and then pick up the lecture when Dad gave up. I hate when they double-team us. No way am I putting up with that.”

“So what’s the answer?” Libby asked.

“Oh, give me a minute. I need a beer if we’re discussing problems of this magnitude.”

Libby could hear the fridge door open and the clink of glass.

Lissa swallowed loudly, then sighed. “I told you, I have it all worked out. I clearly need to be you for the summer. You’ll tell the parental units that you got a summer associateship on the West Coast. They won’t check that. I’ll have your cell phone and password for email. You know I can pull off the harried law associate vibe.”

There had to be huge flaws in Lissa’s plan. Libby needed to find them so she could derail the Disaster Express.

“What about Duke?” she asked Lissa.

“Well, he has to know, silly.”

“Yes, I get that,” Libby said slowly. “That wasn’t the issue—what about his friends and family? Aren’t they going to ask him why his girlfriend is on a reality TV show dressed like a bimbo and flirting with skeevy guys for the chance to make a million dollars?”

“I doubt it. He isn’t that close to his family, and our friends here would totally get the joke.” Lissa chuckled. “And, no they wouldn’t tell anyone. C’mon, we’re in Alaska, which is like the island on
Lost
as far as most people are concerned.”

Lissa’s blithe assurances relied more on desire than a clear-headed assessment of the risk. There must be a flaw in this lunacy that even Lissa had to consider.
Think.

Then Libby saw it—“What about Duke’s political aspirations? Won’t it matter that he gets mixed up with all this?”

Lissa paused before answering. “Haven’t you heard? Politics already
is
a reality TV show!”

Libby let that go. “Okay, what else do we need to think of?”

Lissa was quiet for a while. Libby could hear her puttering around. Finally she said, “I know—come here after your last final!”

“Liss, I should be working the next three weeks,” Libby protested.

“No, wait, I’m serious. You come here, get ready for the show, then you go to L.A. and we tell everyone that I’m going to be on the show and you’re helping me prepare. That way anything you’re doing to prepare for the show won’t look suspicious, you know?”

“No, I don’t think I follow,” Libby said slowly, staring at her feet. Her shoes were scuffed.

“It’s going to look weird if you’re spending all day at the gym in Philly. Plus, I need to quiz you on the previous seasons. Have you watched all the DVDs I sent you?”

“Almost.” A lie. Which Lissa would divine in that way of hers.

“Well, watch them. I’ve got your strategy all worked out, including how you deal with the other Fish. Oh, and clothes. We have to get you the right clothes,” Lissa insisted.

Libby pulled her hair to the front, lifted the ends to check how ragged they’d gotten. “Let me guess—I need to get my hair cut, again.”

“Of course,” Lissa chuckled. “But I was thinking more about the bikinis. Trust me, sweetie—if you’re wearing my style of swimwear, no one will think it’s you.”

That image just doubled Libby’s headache. Unfortunately, Lissa was right—Libby was more of a one-piece girl. “What about Uncle Jack? He already knows I’m being you at the Cork.”

“Well, what about him? You tell him that you have a summer associate job in L.A.” When Libby didn’t say anything, Lissa said, “What, you think Blackjack McIntyre watches
The Fishbowl
?”