Jane Millionaire

“Wrong number, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Kind of odd for someone to be looking for a Dan Jones in this country, don’t you think?”

“Now that you mention it, you’re right. Still, that’s who he asked for.” She reached out and ran her finger down the front of his shirt, knowing she had to distract him before he pried the truth from her. “Wanna dance?”

Not that she knew how to dance to the wild rhythm music playing in the background, but she’d figure it out if he said yes. The prospect of being in Rob’s arms threw her heart into a wild rhythm of it’s own.

An odd look passed over his face, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her. “No, we don’t need to draw any more attention than two tables full of Americans in the middle of a European bar already does.”

She laughed, hooked her arm with his, and enjoyed the oncoming zings as they walked back to their tables.

“You think everyone in this tavern doesn’t know an American film crew rented that monstrosity where we’re staying?” Jill asked. “I promise you, they all do.”

“You think?”

“I know.” She winked at him. “Now, tell me about the bachelors and how they were chosen.”

“Eenie, meenie, miny, moe. Catch a bachelor by his toe.” Rob started with a gleam in his eyes.

She slapped his arm playfully.

“I bet you’ve chosen some real winners with that foolproof, scientific method.”

“Just wait. One of them will sweep you off your feet and romance you to the tune of twenty million plus viewers.

Yeah, that’s what she was worried about, because she’d already met the man she wanted to romance her. Too bad he was plotting for another man, actually a dozen men, to do the job instead.

Chapter Four

“The bachelors will be here tomorrow night. I’m so nervous. Will they like me? Will I be attracted to any of them?”

Rob watched the video clip of Jane contemplating the bachelors’ arrival. She sat next to him in the cluttered with equipment studio, leaning in as she pointed at her image on the screen. She wore jeans, a t-shirt, and one of the headsets so she could listen to the recordings. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail. She’d apparently scrubbed her face clean because she no longer wore a drop of the make-up Gregory had painstakingly applied prior to a photo shoot and filming the scene they watched. Most of the women he knew would rather be shot than be seen without their armor of paint.

Mandy sure hadn’t let him see her sans her war paint. Apparently, Jane couldn’t rid herself of Gregory’s artwork soon enough.

“I feel ridiculous watching myself think out loud,” she mumbled as she stared at the monitor in obvious distaste.

“Just don’t do it in front of the bachelors.” Rob grinned. JP was right. America was going to love Jane. And when they did, Gambler would really happen--if he could keep his hands off of his current star. Which he would. Somehow. No woman was worth losing this shot at success.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she assured. Something in her tone made Rob wonder what he’d learn if he could hear her thoughts out loud at this moment.

“Are you excited about tomorrow night?” he asked. Most of the crew had traveled an hour away to the hotel where the bachelors roomed for the evening. They were being filmed in the hotel’s bar discussing the princess.

She shrugged. “I’m meeting twelve men who are competing for my affections so they can dump me for a hundred grand. What’

s not to be excited about?”

“You’re too young to be so cynical.” Not that he necessarily believed his own words, but the phrase seemed like an appropriate response.

“What about you? Do you think one of these guys is really going to fall in love with me while all of America watches?” Her emerald eyes challenged him to be honest.

Rob adjusted the earpiece he wore. What could he say? He wasn’t an advocate for love or reality TV. Most of what he’d seen when researching this project was about as bogus as television got.

Love. Reality television. Ha, what was the difference?

He knew just how real love was. It lasted just as long as you could help a woman one more notch up the proverbial ladder of success. Once she’d clawed her way up your back, love lost all its allure.