How To Lose A Bachelor (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

G
rant groaned, carefully pulling the ice pack from the crotch of his boxers and placing it on the nightstand beside his bed. If he left it on any longer, his testicles would have been two ice cubes clinking around in his pants. Besides, the limo would be there in half an hour to pick him up and take him to the Friendship Ceremony, and though he still couldn’t move without feeling his last meal slide up his throat, he was determined to show up and exercise his right to eliminate a woman he’d never marry.

Forget Rochelle.

Forget her distracting smile and her bony knee and her accurate aim. Forget her false concern as he fell to the gym floor. Forget her innocent expression as she chattered worriedly with the other contestants while the medics fell upon him, ascertaining that his balls were, in fact, still intact. It had been
her
voice he’d heard over everyone else.
Her
voice that he couldn’t drown out even over the scurry of the camera crew trying to get ratings-worthy shots of his agony. “I thought he would protect himself,” she’d protested. “It’s the oldest trick in the book,” she’d added. “I thought for sure he would see that coming. He did say he was an expert, didn’t he?” she’d asked.

“Well, you were probably supposed to wait for his instruction,” someone had argued. Amber, maybe?

“Yeah, like, for him to count to three or something,” another had said.

“But he didn’t tell us that,” Rochelle maintained. “I thought I was supposed to be fighting for my life.” Between the hoard of people surrounding him, Grant could see her biting her bottom lip, looking horrified to the untrained eye. But none of it reconciled with the victory that had been swarming in her gaze.

“I’m sure everything will be okay.” That had been Maya in her soothing nurse’s voice. “He’ll just need a few days of rest.”

“Oh no,” said Sonia, her sophisticated Hispanic accent dripping with counterfeit sympathy. “That means the one-on-one date you won at the festival will have to be postponed, Rochelle. You really screwed yourself there.” And then she gave a small laugh, as if Rochelle were an idiot.

As if Rochelle Ransom hadn’t just achieved exactly what she’d hoped for.

So, now he had more proof that she wasn’t above humiliating him on camera. Only she’d graduated to inflicting physical pain instead of just playing incessant mind games. Was there anything she
wouldn’t
do to get eliminated from the show? What
else
should he be prepared to endure? And was it worth it?

His mind kept wandering back to their kiss at the festival—to the few seconds they’d shared where they were alone, just Grant and Chelle, kissing because that was the most natural thing in the world for the two of them. He thought of the way she’d kissed him back. The way she pressed herself into him, without letting the past poison the moment. The way she’d become Chelle again, and not some vicious beast with obvious disregard for the health of their future children together.

Was there anything he wouldn’t endure to have
that
Chelle back again? To have her in his arms, in his bed, in his life?

He couldn’t think of a single thing he’d let get in the way of having her, despite what he’d learned of the woman she’d become. He snorted. Maybe another kick to the balls would actually do him good. Because right now, he was still a pathetic, irrationally lovesick puppy who would probably follow her anywhere.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t protect himself from her. She was bent on making war; at the very least he needed to be on the offensive until she simmered down. With that thought in mind, he gently pulled on his slacks and slid on his button up shirt in preparation for the evening’s Friendship Ceremony.

T
he women were all lined up and waiting for him by the time he arrived at the mansion. Walking with slow, deliberate movements in order not to jostle his swollen testes, he made his way to his position for filming on the veranda. Nearby, the bouquet of sweet peas sat on a short stone pedestal, and it was this, rather than Grant, that the contestants seemed to focus on.

Chris Legend gave him a welcoming slap on the back, which made Grant grit his teeth.

“Still feeling tender?” Chris said.

“A bit,” Grant answered, glaring at Rochelle. She was oblivious though, chatting happily with Maya who, for her part, kept throwing concerned glances at Grant. Glances with questions in them.
She wants to know if I’m okay. Why can’t I be chasing after a woman like that?

“A lesser man wouldn’t have survived. You’re a good sport to shoot the ceremony tonight. Richie said we could give you a day or two to rest.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”

Chris leaned in. “I hope this little, uh, incident has offered you a bit of perspective, then?”

Chris obviously didn’t approve of his new plan to win Rochelle instead of get back at her. He’d been a good friend when Rochelle had broken his heart all those years ago. He’d always made sure to get him out of the house, made sure he was eating, made sure he had his pick of women even if his heart wasn’t in it. But if he didn’t approve of wooing Rochelle…Well, then, it was none of Chris’s business. “It certainly altered the way I feel about safety cups. And inviting women to attack me.”

Chris snorted. “You could end this tonight, you know. Then enjoy a smooth sail and getting laid for the rest of the show.”

“Richie would fire you on the spot if he heard you say that. What kind of show host wants a smooth sail?”

Chris shrugged. “Just looking out for you, man.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Chris made a show of eyeing his crotch and lifting a brow. “You need a freaking bodyguard.”

“You volunteering?”’

Chris shrugged. “Bro’s before ho’s right?”

The punch was reflexive and powerful, catching Chris in the nose with a hook he never could have anticipated. His friend stumbled back a few steps, until his calf hit the edge of the fountain. He teetered, and then sprawled into the water with a pathetic little cry of surprise. A few of the crew dashed to help him. Behind Grant, the women reacted in a collective gasp. Two of them—Sakiya and Cassandra hurried to his side.

“My God, Grant, are you okay?” Sakiya said.

Cassandra ran her hand along his forearm, pushing her breasts in his face. “What happened?”

Grant smiled at them, then looked at Chris, who was being helped to his feet, coughing and sputtering, his suit dripping wet and his nose solidly broken, tiny rivulets of blood leaking their way down past his lips and chin. “Just giving our gracious host a little perspective.”

He was in no mood for the Friendship Ceremony tonight as it was, and his balls still ached with a vengeance that could only be soothed by time and a regularly-applied cold compress. But Chris had overstepped his bounds, calling Rochelle a ho. It had to be done. His friend would come to realize that, and this would blow over. But for now, he just wanted this night, this entire day, to join the other bad memories he’d have of his experience on
Luring Love
. Sighing through clenched teeth, Grant motioned to the half of the camera crew still grounded in place by apparent shock. “Do we need our host to continue, or are we ready to get this ceremony over with?”

A small, fragile-looking man wearing a Nascar hat stepped out from behind one of the cameras, his expression grave. He removed his hat with reverence, as if someone had died. “Sir, I was already filming it.”

R
ichie leaned forward and steepled his fingers together, his glare shifting from Grant to Chris, then back at Grant. Chris stared at the ceiling, either to keep fresh blood from seeping through the cotton balls stuffed into his nostrils or because he’d already grown tired of the principal’s office feel of this conversation.

Grant couldn’t agree more.

“I’ve reviewed the film. Up until this point, I thought you two got along swimmingly. Chris, you referred Grant to the show!”

Grant focused on the rows and rows of bookshelves behind Richie’s grand desk chair, trying to remember the last time he heard someone actually use the word “swimmingly”.

“Some of the crew would have even called you friends,” Richie continued.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris shift in his chair then sniff, never looking up at Richie.

“Neither of you has anything to say? No explanation for the playground fight on studio time?” Richie said. When he was still met with silence, he leaned back in his chair. “Christopher, you’re sure you don’t want an apology from Grant? By all means, we can prove that his attack was not provoked. It’s all caught on tape, so to speak.”

Grant raised a brow but said nothing. He hadn’t noticed any sound guy hovering close to them at the time of the incident; he seriously doubted Richie could prove anything at this point. If Richie had known the words that were actually exchanged, Chris would have been in trouble for different reasons, such as suggesting Grant vote Rochelle off the show. And they certainly wouldn’t have been stuck in Richie’s office right now getting prodded with questions.
Probably just trying to make sure the studio itself won’t be sued.

“Nope,” Chris said, popping the ‘p’. But his stuffy nose made the word sound like “Dope.”

Richie turned to Grant, chastising him with a scowl. “Grant, would
you
like to explain
your
behavior?”

Grant tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, stubbornly pursing his lips. The more questions Richie asked, the more certain he was that the producer didn’t have a clue at all what had transpired on the veranda. But Grant and Chris had always had a code: Snitches get stitches. This was no different.

“Fine,” Richie said, finally throwing his hands in the air. “Don’t tell me what happened. But let me tell
you
something. Both of you. If it happens again, you’re both off the show. All bets are off. No pay, no prize money, no bride, no happily ever after. Understood?”

Grant nodded and assumed Chris did, too, because Richie waved at them in dismissal, an overreaching, condescending gesture that showed more of his annoyance than he probably intended. “Now get out of my office.”

Grant allowed Chris to lead, mostly because walking was still painful for him and his legs were stiff from keeping his manly parts arranged comfortably in the chair. As he was leaving, Richie called after him. “Grant, stay and shut the door, please?”

Chris had already made it into the hallway. He looked at Grant. “What do you think he wants now?” he whispered. But what he was really asking was if Grant was going to tell on him after all. The unspoken question lingered in the air between them, and Grant didn’t mind letting Chris torture himself with the answer.

Grant shrugged. “I’ll let you know. Good night.”

Chris’s face fell. “I’m sorry, man. I know Rochelle’s not a ho.”

Grant cocked a grin. “I’m sorry, too. I knew that would break your nose.”

“Bastard.”

Grant shut the door and turned to Richie, who by now had seated himself on the edge of his desk, a hideous smile curving at his lips. “Did it have to do with Rochelle?”

Grant shoved his hands in his pockets.
What
didn’t
have to do with Rochelle?
“What, are you going to call our parents?”

Undeterred, Richie’s smile widened. “Who were you going to vote off tonight?”

“Wouldn’t you rather wait and be surprised?” The ceremony was put off until tomorrow. Until all injuries were at an acceptable level of swelling.

“Just tell me it’s not Rochelle. She’s your other half, you know. Opposites attract—”

“Spare me the pep talk. It’s not Rochelle.”

Richie was still cackling when Grant shut the door behind him seconds later.

Chapter Thirteen

W
hen Grant handed Amber the bouquet of sweet peas at the Friendship Ceremony, Rochelle had to quash the urge to fling herself at him and finish the job she’d started in the gym. Her knee twitched to connect with his groin again. Over and over.

“I appreciate that you know how to defend yourself,” he was telling Amber, the gorgeous fitness instructor. “But when the substitute tried to assist you in learning a new move, you completely brushed him off. To me, that says you may not be open to trying new things.”

What absolute BS
, Rochelle thought, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. She’d even worn an evening gown again so she could be voted off tonight in style. But nooooo. Of course not.
Why would he vote me off? I only bludgeoned any hope he had of ever reproducing!

She glared at him, willing him to look in her direction. But he apparently knew better. He knew not to make that mistake. Especially while the cameras were rolling. There wouldn’t be an intervention for him if he provoked her tonight. Not now that Amber held the bouquet Rochelle had been so sure she’d receive. The bouquet she so desperately wanted.

“If I wasn’t willing to try new things, I wouldn’t have auditioned for this show,” a teary-eyed Amber said. “Please. Give me another chance. I’ll prove you wrong on that. I swear I will.”

Oh for the love of
…Had all these women lost their minds?
Grant?
They were groveling at the unworthy feet of Grant-Freaking-Drake?
Now I’ve seen it all.
He might look like something worth salivating over, but just wait until after the show and they got to know the real him.

As soon as Amber’s dramatic departure from
Luring Love
ended and “Cut” was yelled, Rochelle stalked off the set and to her room, as had become her custom. Practically tearing the gown from her body, she eyed with venom the woman staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. “You’re
failing
,” she informed her reflection. The disappointment echoed around her but not as loudly as it reverberated inside her.

What would it take to get Grant to vote her off? Mind games didn’t work. Physical assault didn’t work. Murder, perhaps? Public strangulation with his own necktie? Technically, that would still win her the money for Helping Hands…

“You’re still here,” Maya said from behind her. “I wouldn’t call that failing.”

Rochelle wrenched around to face her, giving her a frantic smile while she stalled for something non-incriminating to say. “I’m not exactly winning, either,” she finally countered. “I’m not as…
sociable
as the other girls, and I think that’s hurting my chances. I mean, sure, I didn’t get voted off tonight, but I have a feeling it’s coming. I mean, I kneed him in the rocks for God’s sake.” She could hardly suppress her smile at the thought. Still, doubt pirouetted in her mind. She was definitely running out of things to sabotage.

Maya crossed her arms. “
Sociable
.”

“Right. You know. Talkative.”

“You were sociable enough when you opened a kissing booth, don’t you think? And when you volunteered to go first for our self-defense class and for skydiving. I’d say you were plenty
sociable
then.”

An unfamiliar disdain rang in Maya’s voice and a measure of disgust spread across her face. Was Maya jealous? Or worse, had she figured out what was going on? Out of all the other women, Maya was by far the most observant. The most self-aware, yet the most selfless. Had she been playing the game all along? Was she playing it now?

“I know what you’re doing,” Maya continued.

Oh God, Maya knows? I’m screwed!
Rochelle imagined Richie tearing up a check in front of her face. Not getting voted off the show tonight was bad enough.
But not getting paid for all my hard work? Unacceptable
.

“Um. You do?” If Richie had to bribe Maya to stay on the show now that their cover was blown, then so be it, even if some of it had to come out of her own prize money. Just as long as she could retain most of it.

Rochelle wondered if someone as good and noble as Maya actually had a price, a bribing threshold. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d accept part of the prize money if she knew where the funds were going. A woman like Maya would probably even forfeit her own prize money for a cause as worthwhile as Helping Hands.

“I’ve heard of people like you,” Maya spat, bringing Rochelle’s concentration front and center. “People who audition for these shows just for the attention. The exposure. Let me guess, you’re trying to be an actress. Or is it a model? Whatever it is, if you had any shred of decency left, you’d bow out and let those of us who actually care about this competition, about the
man
in the competition, have their shot.”

So this is what everyone thinks about me
. And only Maya was brave enough to step forward and officially say it, probably because Maya was the only one too honorable to talk about her behind her back. All the rest of them would just sneer and whisper, but Maya would say her peace and have done with it.

A cocktail of relief and revulsion washed over Rochelle. Her secret was still safe, but everyone on the show thought she was a camera hog and apparently a low-life.
Gross.
But she decided it would be stupid to care what the others thought. They would never see each other again after this show. These were all strangers, and none of them were worth what she’d be losing if she truly got exposed. If she gave away what was really going on, Richie wouldn’t pay her a dime and all of this would have been for nothing.

Which left Rochelle with one unsavory option. “An actress,” she choked out. The words tasted like a mouthful of vinegar. She raised her chin, even though the urge to hang her head in shame was almost overwhelming. Her pride would go down easier if she had time to chew it first. But she never saw this coming. “So everyone knows?” She could hear a crack in her voice and resented it. This was all pretend, every bit of it. She should have known better than to let this dumb competition get inside her head.

Maya huffed. “How can they not? You’ve been a drama queen from day one. The stunts you’ve pulled…” She shook her head. “It’s very obvious, Rochelle.”

“Well, then I
am
accomplishing my goal after all,” she said, suddenly aware of a cameraman and sound assistant standing behind Maya, filming everything. Privacy was just a pipe dream in this place. Rochelle took the time to appear disappointed, sighing heavily. She allowed her lips to form what she hoped looked like a pout instead of duckface.

“I thought I was failing at getting noticed. Hopefully, Grant doesn’t realize what I’m doing. Then he’d surely vote me off.” It stung a little, that Maya obviously held her in such low esteem. And it was nauseating to be playing the part of a shallow attention whore, especially now that she knew America would see it. Richie would make sure, of that she was certain.
But I’ve already done things I’m not exactly proud of on this show.
Why stop now?
Keep playing the game and get what you came here for
.

“Maybe I should tell him,” Maya said. “Someone should.” But she looked doubtful. She had probably never snitched on anyone in her whole life.

Rochelle wasn’t sure how to play this. If Maya did rat her out, would Grant vote her off the show? She couldn’t count on that, since his motives for keeping her there were still unclear.
Would he believe I’m pursuing an acting career?
Probably not. But he
would
believe she was up to something. Still, at least the message would get through to him that she wasn’t here for
him.

But if Grant
did
vote her off after being informed of her acting endeavors, what should she make of that?
Why would he have kept me on the show this long?
Did Grant actually think they had another chance together? That they could somehow reconnect through a freaking reality show? That she would actually forgive him?

Calm down
, she told herself.
Grant’s feelings for you ended a long time ago, if they ever even existed in the first place. Play the game, get your money, and get out.
Not even Richie could fault her for this new turn of events. She did what she had to and got him his ratings in the process. He owed it to her to uphold their agreement if she got voted off for this. And getting voted off was still the goal, no matter how repulsive she had to be.

“Do what you think is best,” Rochelle said finally, examining her nails in an attempt at appearing disinterested. “I’ve got to get ready for my one-on-one date with Grant tonight.”

“Oh, and what will you be wearing for the occasion? A clown suit? A cheerleading outfit?”

Ouch. Under the assumed circumstances, Maya had every right to dig her claws in. But it wasn’t something Rochelle expected. Truth be told, she had considered Maya a friend. Not so much anymore.

“You’re risking his feelings, and you’re leading him on,” Maya said, angrier than ever. “But I don’t suppose you’ve ever been hurt before. I don’t suppose you know how it feels to be on the wrong side of a one-sided relationship.”

Rochelle felt the blood leaving her face, pooling in her feet and hands. She could have taught classes on how it felt to be on the wrong side of a one-sided relationship. And her mentor had been none other than Grant Drake, the object of Maya’s irrational affection. Was this really happening? “I have to get ready for my date now,” she said finally, pushing past Maya. More of the camera crew and some of the contestants had collected in the hallway to watch. Apparently they had expected—no, they’d
hoped
for—a catfight. She longed to tell them where they could shove their hopes and expectations but decided that she’d made enough enemies for the evening, especially if Maya had finally turned against her and become their spokesperson.

So instead, she made her way to the closet to prepare for her date.