Marrying Mister Perfect Page 2

  “Oh no.” Lou put down her Monte Cristo before she choked on it. “No, no, no, no.”

  She could see why Miranda would want Jack for the next season of Marrying Mister Perfect. He was certified fantasy-bait. God knew he’d been Lou’s personal fantasy since they were fourteen, though she’d take that secret to her grave.

  Six-foot-two, with the body of an Olympic athlete. His thick brown hair had just the right amount of curl and a tendency toward sexy disarray—complete with a single lock that always fell over one eye when he was concentrating. A heart surgeon, a fabulous father, and an all around nice guy, Jack was the kind of man who helped little old ladies and held car doors. And then there was the piece de resistance—the eyes. Laser blue Paul Newman eyes edged by crinkly little laugh lines and filled with a constant twinkle. Those eyes were lethal to the female equilibrium. Lou knew that better than anyone.

  “He would never agree to it. He hates shows like that. No offense.”

  “None taken. I hate them too. Almost as much as I love them. But just think of it. Dr. McHottie with a ready-made family and a hole in his heart just waiting to be filled. I could market the hell out of him.” Miranda paused, swirling her straw through her shake as she eyed Lou. “Unless you still have a thing for him... I’d never cock-block one of my oldest, bestest friends.”

  A thing for him? Try a torch the size of the Statue of Liberty’s that she’d been carrying for the oblivious man for the last decade.

  “No, I’ve got no claim on him. But you’re nuts if you think you can make Jack your next Mr. Perfect. As flattered as I’m sure he would be, you’d never get him to agree to it.”

  The terrifying gleam got brighter and Miranda’s grin turned wicked. “Don’t challenge me, Lou. You know I’ve never heard a no I couldn’t turn into a yes.”

  Lou just smiled. She knew Miranda was determined, charismatic and persuasive as hell—you didn’t get to be a producer on the highest rated dating reality TV show at twenty-nine without all those traits—but no one knew Jack the way she did. “Trust me. He’ll never agree.”

  And thank God for that. She might have accepted that they were never going to be anything but friends, but the thought of Jack picking his new wife from a bevy of oh-so-eligible women on national television? Nightmare. Pure and simple.

  “So I have your blessing to talk to him about it? You’d be okay if Jack said yes?”

  “Go for it,” Lou said. Confident in her certainty that Jack would never in a million years say yes.

  Chapter Two

  “Absolutely not. No offense.” Jack rocked back in his chair, putting as much distance between himself and Miranda’s suggestion as possible.

  She just smiled. “None taken, but hear me out.”

  She’d cornered him in his office between surgeries. The room wasn’t large, but the force of her presence made it feel even smaller.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Miranda. I like you and you were always a good friend, but I’m not going to embarrass myself on national television just so you can get a promotion. You’ll have to find another monkey to dance for you.” He stood, hoping she would follow suit.

  She didn’t even blink. “But another monkey wouldn’t have your built-in marketing appeal,” she said with a smile, completely unmoved by his rejection.

  Jack wondered how hard it would be to bodily remove her from his office. She was small, but tenacious. Like a platinum blonde terrier.

  “Sit down, hot shot.” Miranda crossed her legs, settling in. “I’m not asking you to do it for me. I’m telling you to do it for Lou.”

  That got his attention. Jack sank back into his chair. “What does Lou have to do with this?”

  “You going to listen to me now?”

  He shot a look at the clock. “I have to prep for surgery in fifteen minutes. I’ll listen until then.”

  “Deal.” Her grin was shot through with triumph. As if his capitulation was a foregone conclusion. Miranda had never lacked for confidence. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  He frowned. “I thought this was about Lou.”

  “It is. Humor me. When was your last date?”

  He glared at her. “I have two kids and a job that sucks up my life. When do you think?”

  “I’m guessing college.”

  “A few months,” he snapped. “A year maybe.” More like two. Or three. He seemed to remember the last time he went out with someone Emma was still in diapers.

  “And when was the last time Lou went out with someone?”

  He felt his face heating, though he couldn’t figure out why. “She can go on a date any time she wants. Stuff like that isn’t a priority for her.”

  “No. Of course not. What red-blooded female approaching her thirtieth birthday doesn’t want to spend all of her nights at home with someone else’s kids and someone else’s husband in an orgasm free zone?”

  “So because Lou and I are a little platonically codependent and in a dating rut, I should go on a reality dating show? Doesn’t that seem like a pretty big leap?”

  Miranda steepled her hands in her lap. “You’re a busy man. I get that, believe me. The career, the kids. You don’t have time to mess around dating girl after girl after girl, trying to decide when they’re committed enough to be introduced to your children only to discover they were only after your money and have to start all over again. Finding the right woman can take years of concentrated dating. I’m offering you the chance to meet twenty carefully vetted females—the cream of the American crop—”

  “All of whom just want their fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “Not the twenty. The original thirty Suitorettes will include ten who are backstabbing fame whores because hating them is what keeps audiences invested until they can fall in love with the front-runners—but those twenty will be pure Grade-A premium quality American female. You want a fellow doctor? How about an oncologist who put herself through med school modeling for Vogue? Maybe you’d rather someone more maternal? We have a kindergarten teacher with a Masters from Harvard in early childhood development. You want a heart of gold? I’ll give you a girl who started her first philanthropic organization when she was fifteen.”

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with Lou.”

  “Why do you think she sticks around, hot shot? Because you fulfill all her physical and emotional needs? Please. She stays because Lou loves you to bits and could never leave you in the lurch when you needed her. You’ve chained her to your stove with her affection for you and her too-good-for-her-own-good heart. And the only way to unlock those chains is to show her that you don’t need her to be your safety net anymore. You need a wife, Jack.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Sex? Companionship? Love? Fine. You don’t want them. But what about what Lou wants? What she deserves? How is she ever going to find the man of her dreams if she’s busy being your stand-in, doing all the work without any of the benefits?”

  “We’ll work something out.”

  “Like you have been? Join Match.com maybe? Don’t let the inertia hit you in the ass on your way out, champ.”

  He ground his teeth. “Even if I needed a wife—and I’m not saying I do—national television? Jesus, Miranda. Are you kidding me?”

  Miranda lifted her hands placatingly. “Yes, it’s unconventional and yes, we package it for entertainment value, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work, for people who go into it for the right reasons. This process can genuinely lead to love, if you trust it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Casey and Joe are deeply, nauseatingly happy together. The show is intense, but it’s efficient. Dating, courtship, romance, and happily ever after all distilled into eight weeks of filming. And yes, certain things about it will be for the benefit of the cameras only—but the emotions are real. The women are real. And if none of the girls are right for you, you put the check into a college fund for your kids and go back home, none the worse for the experience, but having sent Lou the message that you’r
e ready to move on and build your future—and she should do the same.”

  “I’m sorry, Miranda, but there’s a flaw in your do-it-for-Lou pitch. She wouldn’t want me to do anything that could harm the kids and plastering their faces on national television as some kind of bonus prize for the woman who gets me? There is no fucking way I would ever agree to that and neither would Lou.”

  “She might surprise you on that one. She already said she’d be down if you were. And when I said we were short a Mister Perfect she couldn’t stop singing your praises. Why would she do that if she didn’t want you to go?”

  She was watching him, her gaze penetrating. Jack squirmed.

  “You must have misunderstood.”

  Miranda shrugged. “Maybe. But Lou watches the show. She knows we’ve had single parents before and I think you’d be impressed by how well we handle the children. It’s never about exploiting them. Exploiting the girls, absolutely. Exploiting you, on occasion, yes, unfortunately that will be part of the promotional process. But never the kids. They’re very protected and we’d make sure you were able to see them frequently. Almost as often as you see them on a busy week here, most likely—only the work that takes you away from them will be having fun with beautiful women rather than poking through blood and gore with a scalpel.”

  “So I just quit my job here? All those years of medical school were fun and all, but why not just walk away from saving lives and go play on national television?”

  “I’ve already spoken to your head of surgery—nice guy—and he’s agreed to give you a two month leave of absence so you can film the show. The publicity of having one of this hospital’s doctors on national television is going to be good for charity fundraisers for the next decade. Just think of the endowments.”

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  “I’m the producer, sweetie. That’s my job. Any other questions?”

  “Why me?”

  “Beyond your movie-star good looks and status as not just a gifted heart surgeon but a doting father?” Miranda paused, for the first time not plowing over him with words. “Honestly, for Lou. We may not see one another as often as I’d like, but she is a friend. One of my oldest and best. And that means something to me. When I saw her today, I couldn’t help think of high school and where we all thought we’d be by the time we were thirty. You were going to be hot shot surgeon—well done. I was going to be ruling Hollywood—and I’m on my way. And Lou was going to be in Europe or working for the U.N. or something equally foreign and exotic. I just hate to think that she’s given up on that because she’s too nice to walk away from a friend in need.”

  “I never asked her to stay—”

  “You didn’t have to.” Miranda leaned back in her chair. “Do you remember in high school, how she worked all year bagging groceries at Osco to save up for a trip backpacking across Europe after graduation? And then in May there was that flood and she gave almost her entire savings to help the families who had lost their homes instead of going? And then worked with Habitat for Humanity all summer rebuilding the houses?”

  “You’re saying I’m a house she feels like she needs to rebuild.”

  “I’m saying Lou has always put herself last and I don’t want my friend to give up on her happily ever after just because she’s too nice to go after it. So I’ll do what I can to help her get her Prince Charming.”

  “Then why not put her on the show?”

  “Because she isn’t a marketing gold mine, hot stuff. We both know she’s worth twelve of you, but in terms of what I can sell, you’re the star.”

  Jack pictured Lou, her face as familiar to him as the one he saw in the mirror every morning. Big faded blue eyes, round, dimpled cheeks, and her hair in its perennial ponytail. She was too sweet, too trusting to ever survive a reality dating show.

  He, on the other hand…

  The idea was appalling. Ridiculous. Out of the question.

  But was Miranda onto something? Had he been essentially keeping his best friend prisoner in his house, using her own kind heart against her? He knew Lou loved him—in the same purely non-sexual way he loved her. She loved his kids as if they were her own—but was that stopping her from having a family of her own? From finding the man she was supposed to marry? From running away to Europe like she’d always dreamed? Was he really hurting her?

  He’d thought they were happy. He’d thought French Fridays where Lou would speak to the children all day in French were just an attempt to jump-start their language education, not a desperate attempt for her to reclaim the life she’d given up for him.

  He knew he could be oblivious—his late wife had certainly accused him of if often enough—but it was a little embarrassing to have the truth handed to him by a woman who trafficked in illusions.

  Hell, maybe it was time he started dating. And encouraged Lou to do the same. But was that enough?

  If he was going to date—well, a reality TV show wasn’t how he would have picked to do it, but it would certainly make a statement to Lou that he was serious, wouldn’t it? They were both such creatures of habit it was possible that nothing else would shake them out of their comfortable rut. He’d been too happy with her to shake the status quo, but she deserved better.

  “I need to think about this.”

  Miranda’s eyes gleamed. “Don’t take too long. The universe doesn’t hand you an opportunity like this every day. Pre-taping starts in three weeks.”

  “If I say yes.”

  The producer just smiled.

  Chapter Three

  “Aunt Lou! I was a space pirate today!”

  A tiny body smashed into her legs. Lou caught her with one hand and automatically smoothed back Emma’s dark curls as she smiled down at the beaming face tipped up to hers. “That’s awesome, monkey. Now get your backpack and coat, okay? We’re late to get TJ.” Every street between Mel’s Place and Emma’s preschool was apparently under construction at the same time and the drive had taken three times as long as she’d expected.

  Emma bounded off to the cubby holes and Lou waved absently to the mom of one of Emma’s classmates, who was herding her own chattering four-year-old out the door. Lou had never really bonded with the other moms, but then she wasn’t really a mom, just a placeholder, so she supposed that made sense.

  “Mrs. Doyle?”

  Lou turned toward the sweet, high-pitched voice of one of the teaching assistants in Emma’s class, not bothering to correct the misnomer. “Miss Amber, how are you?”

  “I’m great. I just wanted to talk to you about Emma’s day?” The girl managed to make even the most straightforward statement into a question—and to stretch “day” out to three syllables.

  “Oh?” Lou tried not to cringe. The last time one of the teachers had pulled her aside when she came for pick-up, Emma had started a hair salon for the other kids using safety scissors and Elmer’s glue. “Is everything okay?”

  “Of course! You know how we like to encourage creativity and all varieties of play, but I believe you’re aware of our strict no violence policy?”

  Lou’s gaze flew over to where Emma was hopping on one foot, jamming the other into her sneaker without untying it first—an attempt which inevitably led to her tumbling to the floor in a giggling heap. “Emma was violent?”

  Miss Amber pursed her lips, radiating concern as hard as she could. “We caught her using her finger as weapon.” It must be a grave offense. It wasn’t even a question.

  “Like poking the other children?”

  “No…” Miss Amber leaned closer, lowering her voice and using her body to shield the action as she demonstrated with her own hand. “She made her hand into the shape of a gun and made pchew noises.”

  Space pirates. Of course they would have laser guns. Lou fought the urge to laugh—Miss Amber didn’t look like she considered this a laughing matter. Unfortunately, the intense depth of concern Miss Amber brought to the finger gun offense only made the situation more farcica
l to Lou. She fought to keep a straight face.

  “So she didn’t actually attempt to hurt any of the other children?”

  “She shot them.”

  “With her imaginary finger laser.”

  “Mrs. Doyle. We’re very clear with parents about the pacifism policy?” The questioning lilt was back.

  Lou tried not to snort at the image of Miss Amber introducing an impartial mediator into Emma’s space pirate battle. “And you want me to…?”

  “Have a word with Emma about appropriate play?”

  Lou bit her tongue on the urge to tell Miss Amber where she could shove her over-regulated, hyper-structured definition of appropriate play. The preschool had an amazing reputation, cost a small fortune, and had a two year waiting list. If Emma loved it and was already showing off her sums at the dinner table, Lou could swallow her simmering annoyance at the micro-managed play.

  It wasn’t her place to stick her nose in anyway. She was only the pseudo-mom.

  Emma smacked into her legs again—this time from the side since she was facing Miss Amber. “I’m ready!” she declared—shoes on wrong feet, windbreaker inside out.

  “Great!” Normally she might make an effort to get the shoes on the right feet, just so Emma didn’t wreck them quite so quickly, but today she felt particularly defiant of any attempts to turn the sweet baby into a perfect Stepford child. “We’ll definitely talk that over, Miss Amber. Thanks. Say goodbye to Miss Amber, Em.”

  Emma obediently caroled her goodbyes and Lou hustled her out to the parking lot.

  “Is Miss Amber mad?” Emma asked as Lou opened the car door for her to clamber into her booster seat. TJ had always been magnificently oblivious to adult overtones, but Emma missed nothing.

  “Not mad, but she didn’t like the space pirate game.” She reached across Emma with the seatbelt.

  “I’ll do it!” Emma screeched in her ear, grabbing the seatbelt to click herself in.

  Lou winced, mourning the loss of her hearing. “Volume, Em. And please and thank you wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Thank you,” Emma parroted sweetly as she secured the seatbelt and dug into her bag for her ride home wheat thins. Lou had long since given up on having a spotless car, but she drew the line at anything sticky or gooey. “No more space pirates?”