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I suppose he has a point. “And you’ve decided to make the most of your time here and be a guest onMidwestern Matchmaker.” I say this like he just told me his hobby is killing baby minks.
“I was cast before I got this job.” I conclude in this moment that Chipwreck must be one of those oddballs who ruins perfectly good chocolate chip cookies by putting raisins in them. Heck, he probably uses prunes.
Before I can ask him why he’d commute for a TV show, but not school, Hallie interrupts. “Well, consider yourselves introduced.” To me, she says, “Paige, I was hoping you’d help Chip find substitutes when he needs them.”
Not in this lifetime.But instead of saying that, I offer, “I’ll see that he gets a printout of available names.”
“I already have one of those.” The man hisses like a snakewhich I’m guessing is an accurate comparison of his ability to charm.
“Super!” I stand up and smile at my boss. “Good to see you, Hallie. Please keep me posted on how Steve is doing.” Then I turn around and walk out of the office.
I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I’m now looking forward to being on TV less than I was after my spectacular interview with the producers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TIM
The intercom in my office buzzes. “The host from the television show is here, Mr. Ferris. She’d like to speak with you.”
I glance up at the clock and see it’s only nine a.m. Why is Trina here so early? She hasn’t come in before lunch all week, and even then, she’s only around long enough to check the progress of the sets being built.
“Send her in, Elsie. And please stop calling me Mr. Ferris. It’s Tim.” Elsie Schnapp was my father’s secretary for thirty years before I inherited her. As such, it’s weird to have her call me “mister,” especially when she used to refer to me as “Little Timmy.”
I stand up as the door to my office opens. Trina strides in as elegantly as a runway model. She’s so beautiful, she might have even been a model before she switched to television. “Tim!” she greets excitedly before telling me, “The sets are done and we’re ready for our first mixer tomorrow night.”
“That’s great.” I point to a wingback chair in front of my desk before sitting down. As soon as she joins me, I tell her, “The kitchen has the final menu for appetizers and the bar has created asignature cocktail called the ‘Matchmaker.’ I’ll email you the details in case you want to make any changes.”
Trina barely shows any recognition that she’s heard me, so I ask, “Is there something else I can help you with?”
“We have a small problem.” Her face falls, suggesting her bubbly demeanor was nothing more than a sham.
“What’s that?” I’m guessing she needs more linens or glassware or something.
“I just found out that one of our singles has been in a skiing accident, and he won’t be able to be on the show.”
“That’s too bad,” I tell her before asking, “But don’t you have backups? You know, the people you almost cast but didn’t for some reason.”
Her dark head tips from shoulder to shoulder. “We do, but no one was able to change their schedule at the last minute.”
“I guess you’ll just have to shoot without him then,” I conclude.
“We can’t do that.” Before I can ask her why, she explains, “Our whole formula revolves around us having eight couples.”
“Why can’t you just alter your formula?”And why is she telling me this?While I’m happy they’re renting the club, I’m not particularly interested in their day-to-day operations.
Trina sighs loudly as though irritated by my question. “Tim, our formula is a winner, and we never deviate from it. Our competitor,Blind Love, lost one of their couples early on last season because one of the women found out she was pregnant. The whole season tanked as a result. They were not renewed for another year.”
I still have no idea how this concerns me. “So, are you postponing shooting?” That wouldn’t work well for us because we get very busy with weddings the weekend before Valentine's Day, and they keep going throughout the summer.
“We can’t postpone!” She says this like it would be akin to forfeiting the Super Bowl.
Resting my elbows on my desk, I teepee my hands under my chin. “Trina, I have no idea what you want me to do.”
“I need you to take Decker’s place.” She says this like I should have already known.
I’m rapidly losing the thread of this conversation. “Who’s Decker?”
“The guy who broke both of his legs skiing.”
