Who's Calling The Shots?

In the darkness of the bar, with the slow, sexy beat of the music in the background, Jack was looking … delicious.

He saw her and smiled, and she steeled herself against the anxious flutter in her chest.

Don’t look at his smile … look at his teeth. White, straight—perfect. No, not helping. Look away.

His hair. Look up.

It looked thick and wavy and it was being held up over his forehead. Very nice hair.

Don’t look at his hair.

His eyes. Dark and velvety. Chocolaty. Sexy. Bedroom eyes.

Definitely don’t look there.

A lazy layer of dark stubble sat on his jaw. It made him look a little rougher, a little more manly—maybe even a little dirty.

Brooke swallowed hard and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She’d wanted to look sophisticated, in charge and in control. But now all she felt was exposed. She tried to cover herself up a little before pushing her lips into a wide smile and attempting to saunter towards him.

He smiled and said, ‘You look incredibly sexy tonight. Hot date?’

JENNIFER RAE was raised on a farm in Australia by salt-of-the-earth farming parents. There were two career options for girls like her—become a teacher or a nurse. Rather disappointingly for her dear old dad, she became neither.

All she’d ever wanted to do was write, but she didn’t have the confidence to share her stories with the world. So instead she forged a career in marketing and PR—after all, marketing and PR professionals are the greatest storytellers of our time!

But following an early mid-life crisis several years ago Jennifer decided to retrain and become a journalist. She rediscovered the joy of writing and became a freelance writer for some of Australia’s leading lifestyle magazines. When she received a commission to interview a couple of romance-writers for a feature article Jennifer met two incredible Australian authors whose compelling stories and beautiful writing touched her cold, cynical heart.

Finally the characters who had been milling around Jennifer’s head since her long years on the farm made sense. Jennifer realised romance was the genre she had to write. So, with little more than a guidebook borrowed from the local library and a you-can-do-this attitude, Jennifer sat down to release her characters and write her first romance novel.

When she’s not ferrying her three children to their various sports, musical endeavours and birthday parties, you can find Jennifer at the boxing gym, out to dinner with her friends or at home devouring books.

Jennifer has lived in New Orleans, London and Sydney, but now calls country New South Wales home.

Dear Reader

Something that has always fascinated me is finding out why people make the choices they do and where their emotions stem from. Reality TV is supposed to be a fly-on-the-wall interpretation of real life, but often it’s not. It’s manipulated to increase drama and sex appeal.

This thought led me on to social media, and the way people use that to manipulate the way people interpret life. Often it’s through a filter, and supposedly there are only ‘good hair’ days. Modern dating has become an exciting but scary place. All it takes is a ‘like’ on Instagram and a couple of Snapchats and next thing you’re tearing each other’s clothes off on the floor. Before you get to know each other. Before you consider the realities of spending time with that person.

We live in an age of filtered reality—and it ain’t changing any time soon. But I’m old school. I’d rather meet someone in person and find out whether they’re a sandwich short of a picnic or if they exude a strange smell, rather than ‘like’ them on social media and think later.

Brooke and Jack’s involvement in a reality TV show skews the way they look at life, love and each other. It takes time spent alone with each other for them to realise that the only way to fall in love—really fall in love—is to switch off, push aside pre-judgements and filtered realities and reach deep into each other’s souls. Love is not a filtered reality. It’s dirty and messy, heartbreaking and exhilarating. But when Jack and Brooke realise they need to experience it to feel it their lives can really begin.

Jennifer Rae x

www.jenniferraeromance.com

Who’s Calling

the Shots?

Jennifer Rae

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sisters from other misters:

Sonja Screpis, Carla Poole, Tiffany Steel and Julie Whittington.

Without you I’d understand nothing and laugh a lot less.

Massive love, my beautiful friends. x

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Copyright

ONE

Twelve pairs of long eyelashes blinked at Jack Douglas. Some of the women were smiling, and some looked as if they were about to burst into a blubbering mess of tears. It was time.

‘Congratulations, ladies. You’ve all made it.’

Squeals, screams and loud relieved sighs followed his announcement.

This day had started like the previous seven. A hundred women at his door, all wanting the same thing. A chance to meet their Perfect Match.

‘Excuse me.’

The squeals were subsiding and being replaced by excited chatter. Jack watched as the women—virtual strangers this morning—hugged each other. How did women do that? Go from open disdain to long-lost best friends in hours? He had known people for years without knowing their last name, let alone throwing his arms around them.

One of the lip-chewing women was in front of him, not hugging anyone. She was standing too close. He looked down. She was a petite woman—tiny, actually. So small he could possibly pick her up and carry her under one arm. Pretty. With a hopeful look in her big green eyes. He swallowed and gave himself a mental uppercut. Not your problem.

‘Yes?’

He waited for it—the feeling of her tiny little arms around him. He took a step back. She stepped closer. Not only was she going to touch him without permission, she was a close talker. He folded his arms and lifted his chin. Message couldn’t be clearer.

‘I think there’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in one of the other rooms, with the losers.’

She batted her long eyelashes and pulled her lips back into a thin line. She had a wide mouth with full lips, so it looked strange all puckered like that. Jack let his forehead furrow.

‘There’s no mistake. You’ve been chosen as a contestant. You’re one of the lucky ones.’ He smiled, hoping that would satisfy her and she’d step away.

She smiled and a deep dimple formed in her cheek.

‘The thing is, I only came here for my sister. She was the one who wanted to get on the show. I’m only here for...support. You should probably check your list. Her name is Madeline Wright—not Brooke Wright.’

Her hands waved as she spoke, and because she was so close the hand holding her phone hit him on the arm. He flinched, but refrained from letting it show on his face.

‘The names are correct. Everyone in this room is a winner.’

‘But I don’t want to be here!’

Jack’s eyebrows shot up at her fierce announcement. She didn’t want to be here? Jack let his eyes run the length of her body. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a black skirt to her knees. Clearly she was trying to look professional, but her slightly messy hair and killer body made her look anything but. She looked sexy. Tanned and athletic. As if she didn’t belong in those constricting clothes but outside in the sunshine.

Which was where he’d rather be right now. But he was here, trying to get this show off the ground. He wished he was more excited about it. He needed to be—this show was his ticket out—but something was niggling at him. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

It wasn’t the format: twelve women competing in a number of challenges in order to win the chance to go on a date with one of the twelve men who had been chosen to match them perfectly. The more challenges they won the more dates they went on. By the end the audience would find out if the man chosen to be their match was the man who had been pegged as their Perfect Match. It was fun and interesting and fairly straightforward.

And it wasn’t the contestants that bothered him. He’d hand-chosen them all. Even this one. The woman who didn’t want to be here. He remembered her audition tape. She’d seemed funny and smart, and he remembered her eyes. A strange dark green. He remembered choosing her. Her eyes had attracted him, but it was her smile that he remembered. A smile that was definitely not present on her face now.

‘Did you sign the contract that all the ladies signed before being interviewed by our producers?’

‘Well...yes.’ The dimple disappeared and colour slashed across her cheeks. ‘But...’

‘Then you’re on the show. We start filming the day after tomorrow.’

Jack pushed a foot back. She was too close and he didn’t like close. But she was quick. She reached out and grabbed at his forearm. He stilled. His whole body stiffened. She was touching him and it felt intimate. Wrong. Too personal. His body remained still as the warmth from her fingers spread across his forearm and up past his elbow. Warm and soft, with a firm grip. The back of his neck prickled with heat.

‘No,’ she said, those eyes of hers narrowing. ‘There’s been a mistake. I can’t go on the show. I’m only here as a reserve. I would be hopeless. I’m not even looking for a husband. I’m marriage-averse. Like, really averse. I’d rather chew my own arm off than walk down the aisle.’

Jack tried to move, but her arm was still on his arm and it was all he could think about. He forced his mind into gear. Slowly, carefully, he reached over and gripped her hand. It was as small as the rest of her. Dainty. Slight. But her grip was firm. He prised her fingers clear of his arm and relief swam across his shoulders immediately.

Her eyes opened wide. She was clearly not appreciating being manhandled. But he pushed her hand away and stepped back. Her big green eyes stared at him. Her head cocked to one side and something in her gaze changed. First to confusion, then something else. Something more smug.

‘Is my hand bothering you?’

‘No.’ He smiled. Charm. Time to turn on the charm. It always worked. ‘As much as I appreciate a beautiful woman touching me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you for your perfect match. After all—that’s what you’re here for. Perfect Match—the only show on TV where we make sure the man you marry is the man of your dreams!’

His marketing team would be proud of that speech.

Jack pulled his face into a wide grin flashing the set of teeth his father had paid thousands of dollars to fix. And reminded him about frequently.

Her hands folded tightly across her chest. ‘Look...Jack, is it?’

He nodded tightly. They were definitely not on a first-name basis, but he had to keep the peace here. Nothing could go wrong this time.

‘Jack...’ Her smile changed. Dimples formed in her cheeks and she fluttered her eyelashes.

She was good. But she wasn’t that good. She was trying to use her looks and her charm to get her own way—that much was obvious. Little did this twittering sparrow know that he’d written the book on that game.

‘I understand that it’s probably a pain to change things now, but I have to tell you I really can’t do this. I’m not great around cameras and I’m quite shy—and to be honest there’s not really much interesting about me. I’m dull. I’ll send your viewers to sleep. Wouldn’t it be better to give the spot to someone more exciting? My sister Maddy ticks all those boxes. Seriously—you really should reconsider.’

Jack blinked. Her speech had been a passionate one. His mind wandered back to that audition tape. She’d made fun of herself, pulled faces, clearly not taking it too seriously. She’d smiled that amazing smile a lot on the tape, but she wasn’t smiling today.

Mick had said no to her straight up—said she’d be trouble. But there had been something about her...something that had caught his eye. Something that had made him keep watching. She said the viewers wouldn’t want to watch her, that she was dull, but he couldn’t disagree more. Those eyes, that smile...that body. She’d make perfect viewing. Especially now he knew she didn’t want to be here. People out of their comfort zone always made excellent reality TV.

‘Our decisions have been made and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You don’t seem dull at all. A little pushy—but definitely not dull.’

Her brows furrowed. ‘Pushy? I’m not pushy. I’m just telling you the facts.’

‘Then let me tell you some facts. You’re on the show. You signed a contract. We’ll see you back here at nine a.m. the day after tomorrow.’

She didn’t say anything, but he watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed deeply.

‘I don’t think you understand—I can’t go on this show.’

‘Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you applied.’ Her eyes were big and her shoulders slumped. He felt himself falter. No. He couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t feel sorry for her. This was her problem—not his. His job was to make this show a success—not to get her out of the hole she’d dug for herself.

‘Think of this as an opportunity. What do you need? Publicity? Money? Hell—you may even meet your perfect match. What woman doesn’t want that?’

As soon as he’d said it he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Her cheeks pinked. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her arms unfolded and she stood with feet shoulder-width apart, fists clenched.

‘That’s not what I’m here for,’ she said tightly, clearly trying to stay controlled. ‘I don’t want to be here. My sister can take my place; she’s the one who wants to be here. She’s the one who’s looking for love. She’s wanted to marry since she was five years old. Trust me, you don’t want me. Like I said before—I would not make very good viewing.’

‘You’re making good viewing right now, beautiful.’

Jack let his eyes sweep over her. A compliment always calmed the savage beast. Compliments rolled off his tongue easily, but this time there was a bit of truth in his hollow words. She was a beautiful woman. A nice heart-shaped face, and those perfectly placed big green eyes. She looked healthy, tanned and fun, and she was making his body stand still and take notice. Their male audience would love her.

He shifted his feet. Something grabbed at him. A strange, quiet pull inside him that he recognised immediately but pushed aside. No. He couldn’t feel anything. Not for her or anyone else. He couldn’t think of any of these women as different from each other. They were all the same. And none of them was anything to him—nor would they ever be. Especially not her.

The way she looked up at him was starting to make something else shift. She stepped forward until her breasts were almost touching his still folded arms. Heat radiated from her but he didn’t step back. The scent of her perfume touched his nose and kept him still. Something rumbled inside him. He pushed it down. No. Not his problem. Not his anything.

‘I’m not here for your viewing pleasure. I’m not here for anyone’s viewing pleasure. And I’m not going on your stupid show.’

Jack felt his smile falter; she was getting serious now and it was time he did too. She needed to know the rules of this game, and she needed to play by those rules.

‘Let me tell you a little about the TV business, darlin’.’

She flinched when he called her darlin’, just as he’d thought she would. She didn’t like to be patronised—that much was clear. Smart woman. Smart women were much harder to deal with, but he’d done it before. He could deal with her.

‘When you sign a contract, your soul belongs to me.’ That was a lesson he’d learned years ago. When he’d first sold his own soul.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Her voice changed. It became clipped, professional. The voice of a woman who could turn herself into someone else quickly. She straightened her spine and ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it as if trying to take the mess out of it and make it look neater and more businesslike. It didn’t work. She still looked young and fun and as if she belonged on a beach somewhere in a skimpy bikini.

Jack’s producer’s mind kicked in. The beach. Perfect for the first episode. And no wetsuits—he’d make the girls dress in bikinis—what a first great ep. He’d open with a faux Baywatch running sequence. The girls running along the beach...chasing the men! Gold! It would rate its butt off.

Her voice brought him back to the moment. It was tight and high and way too loud.

‘My soul does not—nor will it ever—belong to you. I signed a contract, yes. But now I choose to break that contract. What do I need to do? Pay you some money? Fine. But don’t assume that you own me—or that I won’t fight you to get what I want.’

Jack’s cheeks heated. Her fire was surprisingly sexy. She’d gone from twittering sparrow to swooping eagle in seconds, but those green eyes remained the same. Strong, wide, green as an open ocean and beautiful.

Jack shook it off. He couldn’t think of her as beautiful. He couldn’t think about her at all. That was when things got complicated and he got into trouble. This woman was definitely one who could cause trouble. Too smart. Too pretty. And she knew what she was worth, which made her dangerous. He didn’t need dangerous. He needed this show to be a hit.

Maybe Mick was right and she would be too much trouble. But, then again, that was exactly what the show needed. She was perfect. Bad-tempered, unwilling and impossible to control. That was what this show was lacking. He knew she was a risk, but he needed to take some risks. If he didn’t he’d continue to be the man who’d got his job through nepotism rather than because he deserved it. He should leave. Get a job as a garbage man. Far away from his father and far away from all the talk of him not deserving his job. But the truth was this station—and by extension his father—owned him. Until he proved he could finally produce a hit show he was stuck. And so was she. And as long as he didn’t get sucked in to her sob story he was out of danger.

She stepped forward and he stepped back—away from her—but she managed to step forward again.

‘Don’t you run away from me. I need this sorted. I cannot stay.’

Jack felt the air thicken and his breath shorten. Her eyes sparked and he felt it deep in his core. Her pretty eyes were ready for a fight. She might be small, but this one didn’t need his protection. She was doing a good job of protecting herself.

He let out a breath and sucked in another big one. He could read the way she felt on her face. Trapped. He knew the feeling well. But, like him, she would have to figure it out for herself. Like him, she was on her own. A strange feeling of solidarity with this woman crept over him. Two independent souls. Two people who could take care of themselves. Two people who came up swinging no matter how many times they were knocked down.

‘I’m afraid you have no choice, Ms Wright. You are now a lucky contestant on Perfect Match!’

* * *

‘Are you kidding me? This is great news!’

Brooke stared at her boss, who was also her sister. Her mad sister. Who had convinced her to join in with this ridiculous, absurd scheme. A scheme that was so bonkers Brooke wondered if she’d actually lost all sense of reality for a moment.

‘Brooky—it’s perfect. I wanted to go on the show because I’m sick of meeting losers. I wanted to meet Mr Right—someone who’s been interviewed and vetted so I didn’t have to do all the hard work. Which, when you think about it, is a silly reason to go on the show. Interviewing and vetting men is the fun part! But you—you’re not there to find love. You’re there with your head screwed on—which makes you an even better candidate than me.’

‘Maddy—I really don’t think it’s a great idea...’

Caution shot through Brooke. Maddy always made sense. She was the eldest of the Wright clan, and the most sensible sister. Brooke looked to Maddy whenever she needed advice. But right now Maddy was acting more like Melody, the youngest and loopiest sister.

This scheme to gain promotion for their business was mad. It had been mad when Maddy had thought it up a month ago. It had been mad when Maddy had suggested she come along as ‘back-up’, and it was even madder now that Brooke was going to have to make a fool of herself in front of the entire country just to sell some gym gear.

‘It makes perfect sense, Brooky! I would have been too emotional. I would have been distracted. But you will be perfect! Sensible, straightforward, practical Brooky.’ Maddy’s animated face softened and she came out from behind her desk to put her arms out. ‘Think about it. How much would we have to pay to advertise on prime time TV every night for three months?’

Brooke didn’t care about the free advertising this show would expose their gym gear to. She couldn’t think about marketing opportunities and how well-known their brand might be if she managed to get their products on the screen. All she could think of was the potential humiliation. When all those millions of people watching realised how bad she was at relationships and love and flirting and all the other rubbish that was sure to happen on this ridiculous show.

Brooke breathed in, then out. That familiar feeling crept over her. She knew what it was and she breathed through it, just as Maddy had taught her all those years ago. She wasn’t going to get angry. She was going to explain herself rationally and clearly. Brooke released the fist her hand had formed. Her palm hurt where her fingernails had dug in.

‘Thousands, Brooky!’

Maddy threw her arms around her sister and hugged her hard. The hug helped. Brooke felt her sister’s love as she let go and held on to Brooke’s shoulders.

‘You know that because we checked. And we checked because the brand needs help, Brooke. Major help. Think about how many people will be watching you. Think about all those lonely, desperate women out there, watching you night after night as a handsome man falls in love with you. They’ll be listening to every word you say—and looking at everything you wear. Everything. Including your clothes. They’ll want to be like you, work out like you, dress like you so they can find the man of their dreams too.’

Maddy was doing what she always did to calm Brooke down. Giving her rational arguments. Explaining things. Talking to her until Brooke started to breathe normally again.

‘Maddy...’ Brooke started, her voice normal again. ‘You’re crazy. That’s an awfully long shot.’

‘It’s perfect PR—you even said it yourself at the marketing pow-wow last month. You don’t have to tell anyone to buy our products—you just show them how fabulous they look and how well they work and be your amazing self and they will sell themselves.’

Maddy was really working overtime. Brooke could tell she was passionate about this, and she could also tell her sister was working hard to get her excited. But Brooke wasn’t buying it.