Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1) (2 page)

“Please, join me while they—” Tess
paused and gestured for the studio audience to join in the recitation of the
show’s well-known tag line “—tell Tess about it.”

Justine reappeared in the green
room, buzzing along just as hyper and efficient as before. But now, she looked
more sheepish than capable. “In case you haven’t figured it out, some of you
are here under false pretenses. There’s nothing illegal or unethical going on.
The kids are really excited. But if any of you prefer not to participate, you
need to let me know now—before we get too far into the taping.”

Well, that gave them plenty of
leeway. Annabel swallowed hard and found her voice. “What exactly have they
gotten us into? A televised ambush?”

“They’re playing matchmaker,” the
anorexic woman said, practically rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I
can’t wait to see who I get fixed up with.”

“Matchmaker?” Annabel picked up her
purse, ready to head for the door.

“That’s right,” Justine confirmed.
“Last week, all of them interviewed potential partners from a pool of
prescreened, preapproved applicants. They each handpicked someone for their
single parent to go out with on one or two dates arranged by and recorded for a
future episode of
Let’s Talk
. Their choices are here to meet you today.”

“What kind of dates?” Annabel
asked.

“Whatever you and your arranged
partner want. You’ll each get to name your perfect evening, and the show will
foot the bills—within reason. No flying to New York or Paris, but anything
local will be fine.”

“I plan on going to The Precinct,”
GI Joe chimed in. Although the steakhouse wouldn’t be Annabel’s choice, a
flurry of laughter and hoots of agreement followed the mention of one of
Cincinnati’s most expensive restaurants.

“You can decide on your
destinations later.” Justine’s gaze flicked to the clock on the wall and then
settled on the monitor. “But you’ll need to make up your minds quickly about
appearing.”

Out in the studio, the camera
panned the line of fledgling matchmakers. Just as Annabel opened her mouth to
refuse, the camera zeroed in on Carly and focused on her blonde good looks. In
that moment, Annabel forgot the trick the girl had played and felt a thrill of
pride at her stepdaughter’s composure. She glowed as Carly spilled the beans
about Annabel.

“She’s my stepmom. My dad got
custody of me when my biological mother left us. He married Annabel when I was
nine, and after he died three years ago, I stayed with her. My birth mom is
awesome in a fairy godmother kind of way, but she’s not very good with, um,
details.” A smile curled the corners of Carly’s mouth. “Annabel’s the one who’s
always tucked me in, taken me to the dentist, soccer games and piano recitals.
You know, all that Mom-and-responsibility stuff.”

“Does she work outside the home?”
Tess asked.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a documentary
editor for a local production company. A project she worked on is nominated for
some big award.” Carly paused before confiding, “She’s so proud that I plan to
go to medical school eventually, but except for me, her work’s all she’s got.
I’m afraid she’ll use it as an excuse not to get a real life after I leave for
college next fall.”

Not true!
Annabel had lots
of other things and people in her life.
Didn’t she?
Hmmm, maybe not.

She cringed as the little
blabbermouth ratted her out to the entire tri-state area. Maybe if she’d
informed Carly about her plans for the future, this fiasco could have been
avoided.

Truthfully, after all the
responsibilities she’d handled over the years, Annabel yearned for an exciting,
carefree life of her own.

She loved her stepdaughter and
enjoyed her company, but Annabel looked forward to the graduating teen’s
departure with more anticipation than dread. As soon as Carly left for Ohio
State, Annabel planned to cut loose and make her own dreams come true.

Some of her plans involved work
goals, sure, but they also included increasing her social life. All right, make
that
developing
a social life. With an all-new, daring, and spontaneous
attitude, she wanted to flit off to a weekend in Belize… go skydiving… date
guys with tattoos.

Since she didn’t want Carly feeling
as if Annabel itched to get rid of her, she hadn’t mentioned any of her secret
desires to her stepdaughter. But now Annabel could see the advantages of
opening up a bit more. She’d remedy that issue immediately after today’s show.

Carly’s sweet gesture revealed a
misguided need to repay Annabel for her love, and Annabel would never hurt the
girl’s feelings by refusing the gesture. She considered the possibility of
easing herself into her new ready-for-anything persona with two vetted,
chaperoned, on-camera dates.
How bad could they be?

Smothering a sense of impending
doom, she summoned her courage long enough to sign the release forms Justine handed
to her. Within moments, she found herself taking a deep breath and stepping
center stage. Her eyes adjusted to the glaring lights while she waited for her
cue.

“Carly took great care in choosing
a man who shares common interests with her stepmother. You’ll recognize him as
WKLK’s most popular and handsome investigative reporter. These two already know
one another, but let’s see if sparks fly when they’re paired up for romance.”
Tess and the camera turned toward Annabel. “
Let’s Talk
is pleased to
welcome Annabel Morgan and her lucky date, Max Williams!”

The introduction barely registered
in Annabel’s head before a tall, muscular form bounded out from stage right. He
turned her with a hand on her arm and planted a kiss on her check.

Stunned, she reared back to confirm
her misfortune. The shock in his eyes mirrored hers.

Under cover of the applause, they
objected in unison, “Not you!”

The following Saturday night, Max arrived
on Annabel’s front porch in Hyde Park. With his favorite cameraman in tow, he
looked around at one of Cincinnati’s oldest and stodgiest neighborhoods. Sturdy
brick houses lined the quiet, residential street. Subdued shutters bordered
windows with overflowing flower boxes. Tidy yards sported geometric mower
grids. Traditional, conservative, established, and settled. All things Max
preferred to avoid.

Grinding his teeth, he cursed his
current circumstances and the unapologetic people responsible for it. If given
the chance, he’d banish meddlesome teenage girls to a world without cell phones
or teenage boys.

He’d blast Tess Hartley to an
unending life of flat hair, tabloid journalism, and bad ratings.

He’d send all judgmental,
uninteresting women to an island far, far away, where they could bore one
another to death with their rules, restrictions, and lack of original thoughts.

And he’d reserve a special circle
of hell composed of angry advertisers, prolonged power outages, and drunken
weathermen for Charley
Asherton
, the usually-sensible
station manager who had included Max’s name in a pool of eligible bachelors for
Let’s Talk
without notifying him first.

How he’d let Tess and Charley talk
him into participating in such an asinine waste of time, Max couldn’t explain.
He’d thought it a joke when he received the message to appear for the
first-round interviews. But he hadn’t stood a chance against the innocent wiles
and harmless demeanor of the young girl who singled him out. If he’d known
she’d matched him up with Ms. Frostbite of Cincinnati, he would have pulled a
no-show for the actual program.

Tess would pay for this. Due to
their brief, steam-up-the-sheets, personal history half-a-dozen years ago, he’d
expected her to let him out of his arranged date. When a conspiratorial smile
and the promise of a future favor hadn’t worked, he explained that Annabel
didn’t want to go out with him any more than he wanted to go out with her.

The ratings-minded diva just laughed
and insisted he keep his part of the bargain. She’d even had the nerve to goad
him over the fact that he’d finally met a woman who didn’t worship at his feet.
Tess had also suggested he look on winning Annabel over as a challenge—one the
show would pay for and record—as the “relationship” unfolded. Relationship,
hell. Disaster was more like it. And Tess had licked her glossy lips over the
possibility.

Ever conscious of the camera, the
reporter in Max erased the scowl and put on his game face. He shot the sleeves
of his suit into place, then smoothed his hair and straightened his frigging
tie.

“Quit primping, Casanova, you look
fine,” Roger said from behind him. He lifted the video-camera to his eye. “Now,
ring the bell. No, wait. The doorknocker seems more forceful, more masculine.
Use that.”

“More masculine.” Max snorted but
banged the knocker as instructed. “Masculinity’s wasted on Annabel. Why do
smart women like her favor those limp-wristed sensitive types who drink lattes
and go to poetry readings?”

“Why do you care what kind of men
she likes?”

“I don’t. I’m just saying, she’s
not my type.”

“Yeah, I can see why the
combination of smart, nice, gorgeous, and talented wouldn’t work for you,” the
cameraman muttered.

When the door swung open, Max faced
the beaming teenager who’d gotten him into this mess.

“You’re here!” Carly clapped her
hands.

Despite his annoyance, Max grinned
at her enthusiasm. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

She peered over his shoulder to the
street, then leaned out the door to view the driveway. His Jeep Cherokee
elicited a frown. “Where’s the limo?”

With the Porsche in the shop, he’d
been tempted by the station’s offer of transportation, but he hated that kind
of fancy crap. Besides, he and Annabel weren’t two pimply-faced, sweaty-palmed
teenagers on the way to the prom. “I prefer to drive myself.”

Carly planted her hands on her
hips. “But what about what Anna prefers?”

“When we talked yesterday, I asked
her if she wanted to show off with a car and driver.” He shrugged. “She said
she didn’t care.”

“Well, if you put it that way, what
else could she say?” She glared at him with disapproval. “Besides,
I
care.
I want this to be so special for her.”

“Maybe next time, kid.” Of course,
there would be no such event. The terms of the show indicated he could dictate
when and where they went on their second date, if he wanted to see her again.
In a rare moment of agreement, he and Annabel had decided this would be a
one-shot deal. She would have to be the one to break the news to Little Ms.
Blue Eyes here.

Carly accepted the disappointment
with a grudging sigh. “Come on in, then. Anna’s almost ready.”

He stepped across the threshold of
the Morgan home, suppressing the urge to sneeze. The place smelled like a damn
flower shop. Fresh roses decorated a table in the foyer. Potpourri sat in
little dishes around the living room. They probably even sprayed the air with
floral perfume.

In about two minutes, he’d break
out in hives from the cloying scent combined with the rampant
middle-class-values decor. Family pictures lined the mantle in the living room.
Knick-knacks rested on frilly lace things. He’d bet his Porsche that coasters
bloomed automatically under every beverage.

Structured, neat, and fragrant, a
reflection of Annabel herself. 

Everything in the house whispered
its good taste in monotonous neutrals. Nice, he supposed, if he went in for
this sort of
Boy Meets World
, mom, and apple-pie hominess.

Which he didn’t.

Not that he had any reason to
dislike sitcom-perfect domesticity. But growing up without a mother present,
he’d never experienced it. This whole scene existed as the polar opposite of
his childhood and adulthood. Both had teemed with loud and boisterous chaos.

He’d never lived anywhere that
remotely resembled this house or neighborhood, and he’d never dated a woman
with as little fire and flash as Annabel.

Roger trailed him inside. “Would
you go out and come back in again? The lighting in here isn’t what I expected.”

“Forget it,” Max said. “We’re not
staging anything or doing any retakes.”

“If you’re willing to settle for a
pasty image that makes you look like one of
The Walking Dead
, fine by
me.”

Annabel’s stepdaughter chewed on
her thumbnail and creased her forehead as she eyed Roger from head to sneaker.
Max empathized with her concerns about the two-hundred-twenty-pound free spirit
sporting a ponytail, eyebrow piercing, forearm tattoos, scruffy jeans, and a
concert T-shirt. He attempted to set her at ease. “Roger’s the
chaperone-slash-shooter for tonight. Even though he’s misguided enough to
worship the Dave Matthews Band instead of real rock ‘n’ roll, he’s harmless
when he’s not obsessing about things like camera angles and lighting.”