Ineligible Bachelor (3 page)

But now she had him for the next month and a half. Sort of, anyway. There was the matter of the six probably gorgeous, model-thin bachelorettes the producers of the TV show had picked out
for him. And she did have to hand him over to one of them at the end of the show.

So why
did
she enter his picture in the stupid contest?

Because she had sensed him changing over the last couple of months. He missed more happy hours at The Huddle, seemed more focused on his job, and started talking about buying a home to put down some permanent roots. To her, he sounded like a man getting ready to settle down. She decided that if Logan was about to survey the playing field and find someone to share his future, she needed to make sure she would be in the game.

If somehow, she didn’t pick out his soul mate in the process.

After about ten minutes of a silence she had only experienced once before when she had tried a trendy sensory deprivation tank as a lark, she took a deep breath and spoke. “You mad?”

Logan slowly swiveled his head toward her and raised a brow as dark as his hair. He grabbed the magazine and held the cover toward her, saying nothing. Then his eyebrows drew down, as did the corners of his mouth. He looked at her in a kind of wordless challenge filled with a thousand questions.

“You have to admit, it is a nice shot,” she said, trying out her best smile.

“I look naked,” he countered.

While he didn’t return her smile with one of his own, she actually relaxed with the sound of his voice. He didn’t seem nearly as mad as he had at the office. For a while, she had thought she might be in for six weeks of silence. Logan could be pretty stubborn.

She took the magazine from him, angling it toward her eyes. “You don’t look that naked,” she said with a dismissing snicker.

But he did. She’d set the shot up through the bushes on purpose. She actually had to crawl underneath two thick evergreens and between some climbing rosebushes to have some low tree
branches at just the right angle to obscure his bathing suit from a point just below his navel. His six-pack abs and toned upper body did the rest.

“I can clearly tell you’re getting ready to take a swim,” she assured him.

“And where exactly does my bathing suit tell you that?”

She turned the magazine to him and pointed to the lower left corner. “Right here?”

“No, that looks like part of the climbing roses in your mother’s yard to me.”

“It does?” She flipped the magazine back toward her. “Well then, here.” She pointed again.

“Rhododendron.”

“Here?”

“Potted geranium.”

Rikka sighed and fell back onto the seat. “Okay, okay. I admit it. I took the picture like that on purpose.”

“Why?”

Logan could not have imagined the impact that one simple word had on her.

Why? Because he was a man, and she was a woman who appreciated it.

Why? Because she had had a crush on him since they were kids, and he never saw her as anything more than the girl who was cursed to be like a sister to him.

Why? Because she watched him take other girls to the prom, other girls to movies they had talked about seeing, and other girls to dinner and plays and concerts, all the time wishing he had taken her instead.

Why? Because she had it all planned. Enter his picture in the contest and wait for the so-sorry letter. Then show it to him and wait for him to feel flattered when she told him he should have
won. Mission accomplished and regrets letter in hand, he would surely notice that she had been noticing him.

“I did it because I think you deserved to win,” was all she finally said. “You work long hours. You’re a bachelor, and you’re eligible. I thought you could use a break and take some time to enjoy an adventure.” The lie felt like a knife in her heart.

But for the first time since the camera crew came onto the scene, she thought she saw Logan actually relax. “Thanks, I guess. But can you please explain exactly what you have gotten me into?”

She grimaced. “I thought it was just a little photo contest, but as it turns out, there’s more to it.”

“Apparently,” he agreed. “We’re on our way to some mansion for six weeks.”

“Did anyone mention to you that in six weeks and one day you’re going on a ten-day cruise with the girl of your dreams?” She actually flinched when she said it.

“I believe someone did.” Disbelief set in the square of his jaw and echoed in his words.

“I gather that part doesn’t make you very happy.”

“I have a sales pitch for a million-dollar account scheduled for”—he angled his watch toward his eyes—“an hour ago.”

“Your boss said your clients would be temporarily reassigned, remember?”

“There is no ‘temporarily’ in advertising and marketing, Fred. I could lose all my regulars in six weeks.”

She wished he wouldn’t call her by her old nickname. It added to the brotherly tone of their relationship. But old habits were hard to break, and she had been Freddy to him since she was twelve.

“I’m sure your clients will wait for you,” she assured. “It’s probably in the rules somewhere neither of us can lose our jobs because of this.”

Logan cut his gaze to her. “What else is in the rules?”

She blew out a long breath of air and waited until he finished brushing back the hair from his forehead. Any other time, the simple gesture would have made him seem casual, relaxed. But couple it with the fire she could see in his eyes that turned them to the color of good sapphires, and it seemed like he might be getting ready for a street fight.

“Actually,” she said with a grin she hoped made her look adorable, “I didn’t exactly read the rules.” The look on his face told her she hadn’t produced the desired effect.

“You didn’t read the rules.” He punctuated each word with a deliberate hesitation.

She threw up her hands in a friendly gesture of resignation, her laugh betraying the nerves she tried to control. “You’d think one would read the rules and especially the fine print before signing the entry form.”

“You’d think,” he agreed.

“The spokesman did tell me where we’d be going.”

When their gazes locked, the frustration in Logan’s body kicked up a notch. “And where might that be?”

“You are going to be so excited.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“We’re going to the Villa Soprano in Montville. Maybe you saw it on TV when it was featured on an episode of the
Sopranos
in 2006.”

Logan burst out laughing. “Yeah. Sure,” he said once he stopped. “But really. Where are we going?”

“No, honest. We’re going there. It’s been written up in lots of articles about the area, and it’s not far from home.”

“Wonderful.”

The tone of his voice settled on annoyed. She laughed, but more from another bout of nerves than anything else. She gave up with a shrug. “Try to go with it. We’re going to be on TV. It’ll be fun.”

Logan cut his eyes to her. “We’ll see.”

The car wound its way across the northern New Jersey countryside. The landscape changed from small towns to houses on acre-sized lots to rural countryside before it made a right onto a private road.

Rikka watched the meticulously manicured grounds pass by out the side window, trying to figure out how to make the best of things and marveling at the landscape. Ten feet back on either side of the road, the grounds were exquisitely kept. Beyond, the vista rolled perfectly into whatever natural ground it bordered, whether field or forest.

Admiring the view, she almost missed it when the limo driver passed through a set of decorative gates that opened to yet another winding road. The car passed a tennis court with a viewing gazebo and a small playhouse until it broke through the tree line and onto a paved driveway arching gently to the left, leading to the magnificent place she would be calling home for a time.

Though she never did see that particular episode, Villa Soprano certainly would have been a fitting home for Tony and the gang. Designed to offer privacy and security, the estate also offered opulence. A turret centered the building, with massive two-story wings extending from each side. The exquisite stone exterior reminded her of a Scottish castle.

A covered porch traced by three graceful arches brought her eye to the beautiful wood and wrought iron entry door. It looked to her like the ultimate dream house for a modern-day princess.

She waited until the limo driver rounded the car and opened the car door for her. Logan hadn’t waited. He stood beside the driver.

“Some house, huh?” she said to him.

“Impressive, to say the least.”

They walked toward the front door, and it burst open. An impeccably dressed man, hair more sculpted than styled, carrying a clipboard in one hand, spread his arms wide in greeting.

“Hello. Hello. Welcome to the Villa Soprano and
Eligible Bachelor
.” He sprang down the front steps. Behind him, a smartly dressed woman waited in the doorway. “I’m Roberto, one of the producers.” He pointed behind him. “And that’s Annie, my assistant. You’ll be seeing a lot of her. She’ll be more involved with the day-to-day necessities.” He held up the clipboard and shuffled through the papers attached. He pointed to Logan. “So you’re our bachelor.”

Logan extended his hand. “Apparently so.”

Roberto ignored the offer of a handshake and flipped the papers on the clipboard. He looked up, a note of disapproval on his face. “And you’re Frederika.” He tsk-tsked. “That name will never do. Too dated. We’ll have to rename you for the show.”

“How about calling her Freddy,” Logan offered, apparently seizing the opportunity for a little payback.

“No!” Rikka shouted.

“Yes!” Roberto agreed.

“No!” Rikka emphasized.

“But yes. That will definitely delineate between her and the contenders.” Roberto tucked the clipboard under his arm and clapped his hands together in approval. “Freddy it is.”

“You can’t change my name,” she protested.

“Oh, but I can,” Roberto returned. He retrieved the clipboard and found the page he wanted. “It says so right here in the contract. The producer,” he paused for emphasis, making sure he made eye contact with Rikka, “has the right to temporarily adjust any and all personal matters to make the show more attractive to the audience and prospective sponsors.”

“How does my name factor into attracting sponsors?” she asked, hand on hips.

Roberto angled the last paper on the clipboard toward her. “Is that your signature?” he asked, pointing.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s how it factors in,” Roberto said before turning and walking back up the stairs.

Rikka, now back to Freddy for six weeks at least, cast a quick glance at Logan. He was becoming more and more unsuccessful at suppressing the satisfied grin now residing where a frown had been on his face.

Logan caught her looking at him. His smile broke wide. “After you, Freddy,” he said with a flourish, stepping back.

Her shoulders slumped as she started up the three steps. “Do you know how long it took me to get rid of that nickname?”

“Nope,” Logan returned. “But in a few days that’s what millions of reality show junkies will be calling you for the rest of your life.”

Freddy glared at him. She guessed she deserved it. Then she pulled her brain out of its death spiral and followed Roberto through the front door. She may as well find out what else he had in store for her.

Her shoes tapped on the gray travertine floor tiles. Her head was on a swivel as she took in the elegant architecture and whiter-than-white walls of the entrance foyer. Enhanced with columns, it defined the entrance and separated it from the great room beyond.

I don’t belong here
, she thought.

Roberto shifted his clipboard and led them past the great room into the library. The room smelled of rich wood and lemon furniture polish, the ambience warmed by a fire in the stone fireplace that took up an entire wall.

“Sit, sit,” he said, taking his place behind a huge cherrywood desk. “We have a lot to cover in a short amount of time.”

Freddy plunked herself down on a dark maroon leather chair opposite him. “This place is amazing.”

“Yes, it is.” Roberto propped his elbow on the desktop. “Three floors are all built around center circles. The lower level has a media room, a wine cellar—of course.” He rolled his eyes and continued, “A rec room, exercise room, and access to a six-car garage.”

“I think I could live very comfortably down there alone,” Freddy cut in.

Roberto shot her a glance, giving her the odd feeling he could see every place she’d been since birth, none of them matching the elegance of the basement of Villa Soprano. She nodded her apology for interrupting him.

He continued. “This main level has six bedrooms with en suite baths to the right of the entrance and everything else to the left, including another media room and a conservatory.”

Freddy shifted on the leather chair, her movements making a squishing sound. “What is a conservatory anyway?”

“You like plants?” Logan asked with a lopsided grin.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll like the conservatory.”

“Oh,” Freddy said, drawing out the word. “A greenhouse.” She turned back to Roberto. “Why didn’t you just say that?”