Ready to Run (I Do, I Don't 1)

Forget The Bachelor.

Jordan’s network had taken the hit reality show and raised it a notch, focusing not just on sexy bachelors but runaway grooms—men who’d gotten darn close to saying vows, only to escape at the last minute.

To Jordan’s bosses’ thinking, a runaway groom represented the ultimate challenge. And, thus, being the one woman who could finally get a ring on his fourth finger represented the ultimate fairy tale.

As associate producer to the woman who’d pitched the TV show, Jordan had been tasked with candidate recruitment.

Trouble was?

While there were plenty of douchebags who ditched women at the altar, not many of t

hem were redeemable.

Or even appealing.

Jordan had spent the past six months looking for a runaway groom who wasn’t a grade-A asshole, an immature jerk, or suffering from some substance-abuse or mental issues.

Luke Elliott was her best shot.

She’d read about the guy in a tiny local Montana newspaper. He was a thirtysomething firefighter who’d left three women at the altar over the course of the last decade and yet somehow had still managed to maintain his status as his small town’s darling.

The details had been sparse, but she hadn’t needed details. Just the picture.

Granted, the photo had been black-and-white and grainy, but there’d definitely been the promise of attractiveness.

It was all the encouragement needed to stalk the man.

Or at least she’d tried to. He wasn’t on Facebook or any of the usual social media suspects. She’d found what she was pretty sure was his email address but had gotten nowhere with that.

She’d even sweet-talked her way into obtaining his phone number.

Nothing. Not a single response in three weeks.

And so…here she was.

Out in the middle of nowhere, hoping that a face-to-face meeting would convince this guy that he’d be the perfect star for the inaugural season of Jilted.

As far as how she felt about that? Somewhere between pissy and freaked out, landing somewhere in the middle zone of irritated.

Thank goodness for Simon’s company. In the four years she’d been working at CBC, he’d become both good friend and valued colleague. Simon was on the network’s legal team, known as their “on the ground” lawyer. He worked mainly with the network’s reality shows and was the guy they sent to answer contract questions from possible candidates, as well as to identify red flags and wild cards to be avoided.

Jordan sighed, and Simon shifted in his seat to study her, his blue eyes assessing. “What’s with you? You’ve been edgy ever since JFK. Is it because Starbucks was out of hazelnut syrup?”

She let out a little laugh. “We’d better hope that’s not the reason. There’s no hazelnut syrup where we’re going.”

“Yeah, no Starbucks in Lucky Hollow. I checked.”

So had Jordan. But it didn’t matter, because she had a plan: She’d get in, get out, and be back to her SoHo apartment by the weekend.

“For real,” Simon said, reaching over and poking her cheek to keep her attention. “What’s up?”

Jordan pursed her lips. “I just hate leaving the city.”

“You leave the city all the time.”

“Yeah, for other cities,” Jordan countered. “Big ones. Los Angeles and Lucky Hollow aren’t exactly the same thing.”

“So?”