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“I don’t think this is very professional, Lees.”
“No, it probably isn’t.” She shrugs. “But you have a stack of potential finalists, and all of them are deserving. The meals they prepared during the first round were incredible. They are all just as qualified to be on this show as Tall, Dark, and Handsome here”—she holds up the headshot I just said yes to—“and they’ve all been investigated, vetted, and ready. So this is the easiest way to narrow them down to twenty-three.”
“It… doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“Lisa.”
“Sophie.”
Frustration pulls my lips into a frown. I’ve worked with Lisa for over three years; she’s been my assistant for the past nine months. We’re more than coworkers, more than a boss and employee; we’ve become friends.
Best friends.
Can I fire my best friend? Is that covered in the HR manual?
“You’re thinking about firing me, which usually means you know I’m right. So, moving on.” She holds up the next headshot. “Fuck or forget?”
“Jesus, Lisa.”
Lisa’s eyes widen dramatically. “Answer the question, Carmichael.”
With a sigh, I reluctantly say, “Forget.”
“Good. Look at you narrowing it down.” Lisa flashes a grin, then holds up the next headshot.
Blonde hair, blue eyes… the whole surfer-next-door vibe. “Where’s he from?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Lisa chides. “Yes, you would do the dirty with him, or no, you would not?”
My eyes roll so hard I think they might loosen and fall out by the time we finish this ridiculous game. But the answer is easy. “Yes.”
Lisa turns the photo around and her eyes flash with excitement. “Ooh. Yes, chef.”
With a laugh, I grab another small stack of headshots. “They can’t all be my type. We need some variety. So, your turn.” I flip the first photo toward Lisa. “Smash it or trash it?”
Lisa’s eyes widen in shock, then her laughter fills the room. “Now you’re talking! Smash. Definitely smash.”
Two hours later, the daunting stack of hopefuls is narrowed down to the final twenty-three contestants for my dream-come-true reality show. Tomorrow, the men will compete in the finals in front of me and my panel of hand-picked judges, painstakingly culled until thirteen lucky guys are selected to move forward. We’ll break for the holidays, then begin filming after the first of the year.
Leaning back in my chair and swiveling it side-to-side, I stare out at the Hollywood skyline draped in a red-orange glow from the setting sun.
I love this town. Love the energy, the possibility.
Love the way that, for a select few, dreams do come to fruition.
“You know what you need?” Lisa asks, pulling me out of my reverie.
I spin my chair back around to look at her. “Sleep?”
Lisa scowls. “Ew, no. A stiff martini.”
I mean, sleep sounds divine, but a stiff drink? Inclining my head, I concede. “Not a bad idea. You have the makings of a stiff martini in your desk drawer out there?” I jerk my head toward her desk right outside my office.
Lisa rolls her eyes. “No, silly, that would be against network policy.” She looks up at the camera in the corner of the office and wiggles her fingers playfully, then turns back to me, flattening her palms on the surface of my glass desk. “We’re going out.”
Ugh. I was really hoping she’d broken the rules and hidden a makeshift mini bar in her desk drawers. There’s just no way I can swing a night out, not with what the next few days look like. “We can’t, Lees. We have to be back at this first thing tomorrow—”
