Who's Calling The Shots?

‘Nonsense. It’s a beautiful, summer’s day in Manly. What you’re wearing is perfect. And you all look so good—why would you want to cover that up?’

Jack’s eyes were almost black in the sun. His hair was thick, with a slight wave at the front where it swept over as if he’d just run a hand through it. His cheekbones were high and his jaw was strong, but that wasn’t what made him sexy. It was the way he looked at her. His chin tilted up, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, his full lips together. Arrogant. Entitled. Confident. As if he was thinking about having sex with her right now.

He stood like a man who was aware of his own presence. He was physically intimidating and he knew it. And he was using that now. Despite the various...annoying...movements in her core, Brooke was aware of what he was doing and she wasn’t buying into it. He could stand there, all pouty and sexy and as manly as he wanted, but right now all Brooke saw was a snout and two piggy eyes.

‘Are you serious? I mean—did you actually say that?’ Heat rose up the back of Brooke’s neck and fizzed in her ears. She turned to the cameraman who was now getting closer to Katy’s breasts. ‘Did you get that? I mean—on film? Did you get that sexist, disgusting comment on tape?’

She turned back to Jack, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, his face blankly staring at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Because that’s what the Australian public need to see. The extent of this man’s sexism and arrogance and...and piggishness.’

Her voice was getting higher. Her fists were in balls. She wasn’t even sure what she was saying. But a thought was forming in her head. That’s it! That was all she had to do! He wouldn’t put her on the telly if she was insulting and rude and...and honest! But then if he didn’t put her on the telly where would that leave Wright Sports?

Brooke tried to breathe. She tried to think. But her tongue had other ideas. ‘This whole show is a vulgar attempt to make women appear shallow and stupid and competitive. A way to prove this man’s theory that women are second-class citizens. Well—I won’t do it!’

Brooke dropped her surfboard and it made a satisfying thud in the sand.

‘And nor will anyone else. Will we, girls?’

Brooke turned to her fellow contestants. Her peeps. Her sisters from other misters. She expected them to crowd around her, fists raised, a cry of I am woman, hear me roar on their lips. Just as her real sisters would have. But instead eleven sets of long eyelashes blinked. A seagull swooped and made Contestant Number Four swat above her head. Someone coughed.

‘Right, girls?’

The girls were still blinking at her.

‘C’mon. We’re not going to let him get away with this, are we?’

Someone shuffled in the sand. Katy moved her surfboard from one side to the other.

‘We aren’t here to be ogled...’ Katy said quietly, hesitantly.

‘Yes! Exactly!’ Brooke let out a yell and pointed at Katy before turning back to Jack. ‘We’re not here to be ogled. Our Perfect Match won’t care what we look like. Not if he’s truly our perfect match. He won’t be attracted to big boobs or a small bum or be interested in the size of our thigh-gap. Love is more chemical than that. Love is more intuitive than that. Our perfect match will see through all that. He’ll be attracted to us because of our thoughts, our opinions... That’s what we should be showing. Our minds—not our butt cheeks.’

Jack nodded slowly. He pushed his lips together and his mouth turned down at the corners.

‘Is that right?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes!’

Brooke left her position to move and throw an arm around Katy. Katy was quite a bit taller than Brooke, so putting her arm around her was a little awkward, but they were banding together for a common good. There was nothing awkward about that.

‘That’s right—isn’t it, Katy?’

Katy didn’t speak, but she nodded. Slowly. Tentatively. But she definitely nodded.

Brooke squeezed her shoulder. ‘We won’t be paraded like cattle,’ Brooke said firmly.

‘Actually...’

Brooke’s head swivelled to face Alissa, a blonde-haired, big-boobed beauty who stood behind her.

‘I don’t mind being in a bikini. I mean—yes—I want my perfect match to want me for who I am, but I mean—a man’s got to have a little incentive.’ Alissa jiggled her boobs and giggled. ‘He is a man, after all.’

Brooke watched as the evolution of woman stepped back at least forty years.

‘She’s right...’ another big-bosomed beauty piped up. ‘We have to use what we have to attract them in the first place.’

‘You don’t want a man who’s attracted to you just for your looks!’ Brooke insisted.

‘No,’ said someone else. ‘But men are men, Brooke. They’re visual creatures. They have to like what they see.’

‘You’re missing the point.’ Brooke was feeling hot, and she knew she should probably stop but she couldn’t. She needed to say what she had to say. ‘Your perfect match will be attracted to you. To your face and your body and your eyes—and your bum. Not because it’s perfect, and not because it’s out on display. Think about it—when you’re attracted to someone you just are. You can’t help it. And it doesn’t matter if they have a crooked nose or thinning hair. When that chemical attraction takes hold all their imperfections are gorgeous. They make them who they are. You don’t see them as negatives—you see everything about them as gorgeous.’

‘That’s true, Brooke, and I’m not saying we’re all perfect. I’m saying that it doesn’t hurt to introduce the men to some of our...imperfections.’

Alissa smiled, but Brooke didn’t. She turned back to smug Jack Douglas and realised her mistake immediately. He was rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. Satisfied. Triumphant.

‘And, cut!’

Horrified, Brooke turned to face the camera now on her face. Jack sauntered towards her and came in closer than he ever had before, the heat of his skin making her cheeks burn.

‘Ratings gold.’

That deep, calm voice didn’t calm her this time. But it did make her whole body break out in a rash.

‘Good Job, Ms Wright.’

Then he moved back, smiled wide, turned and walked away—while eleven girls stood silently behind her and a lone camera beeped to indicate that it was back on and recording.

THREE

Jack’s head was beating incessantly. Over and over. It had started with a throbbing in the back of his head and had now moved to right behind his temple. He resisted the urge to rub at it. All eyes were on him. Now wasn’t the time to show any weakness.

‘Keep rolling.’

‘But, Jack...’

‘Keep rolling.’

Jack’s calm was slipping. As a matter of fact it was now sliding right out of him and creeping into the ocean, where Contestant Number Three was being hauled up into a lifeboat by three lifeguards. She couldn’t swim. A fact she’d failed to mention when they’d told the women they’d be surfing today. So desperate to find her ‘perfect match’, the crazy woman would rather drown than lose the opportunity to go on a date with a man she’d never met.

Jack tried to relax. The lifeguards had this. But his shoulders stayed tense. He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious. Maybe it was the fact that these twelve women were his responsibility. All of them. For the entire six weeks of taping. No matter how much he wanted to stay out of it, the truth was he had to make sure they were safe, make sure they were happy, and make sure they all stayed right where he needed them—in front of the cameras.

Most of them were proving to be easy to manage—except Stephanie Rice, out there, and Ms Wright. The petite blonde. The fiery woman with the sparkling eyes. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind and he suspected the reason his shoulders remained tight even as the lifeguard pulled the flailing contestant out of the water.

Her rousing speech kept going through his mind. Her pink cheeks, her clenched fists. She hadn’t just been spouting words back there—she’d felt it. ‘When you’re attracted to someone you just are. You can’t help it.’

He didn’t want her to be right about that. She couldn’t be right about that. It was his responsibility to find perfect matches for these women. But what if she was right?

Attraction didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical. A questionnaire could tell you about likes and dislikes, but it couldn’t predict that physical blow right in your chest when you met someone and they blew you away. Not just because of their body or their looks, but because of something else. Something you couldn’t explain. Something he was becoming very afraid he felt when he looked at Brooke Wright.

She was a beautiful woman, that was obvious—but it wasn’t her beauty that made his heart beat faster when she was around. It was something else. A look she gave him when she was standing up for what she believed in. Attraction was purely physical, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t he just think about one of the other women? They were beautiful. And they all looked magnificent in a bikini.

But every time he tried to think of another woman his thoughts wandered back to Brooke. To her body in that tiny red bikini. To the way she’d tried to rouse the girls. To the way her eyes had glowed brighter and her hair had moved as she’d bounced around, encouraging the girls to fight. Holding her sword aloft against the fire-breathing dragon to protect her people. She was brave and strong and smart and perfect.

But of course she wasn’t perfect. She was argumentative and difficult—and if he was honest her mouth was too wide for her face. But somehow that just made him want to look at her even more. He wanted to stare at her and he had to force himself to look away. He was sure he was becoming obvious.

Sex. Lust. That was all it was. Physical attraction. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t felt it before. He just had to push the feeling down. Easy. He did it all the time. It was just a stupid crush. But somehow it felt different, and that irritated him. She wasn’t different. She’d be like all the others—after something. His money, his influence, his name. He’d not met anyone yet who liked him for him. It was what his father had always warned him about and unfortunately the old man had been right. Every damn time.

He couldn’t trust anyone—he knew that. And he definitely couldn’t trust Brooke Wright. And not just because he hadn’t figured her angle out yet—because she was beginning to occupy his mind a little more than he was comfortable with. And right now he needed to focus on the show. On his father’s threats and the executive producer his father was pushing him to take on. And on the contestant they were now struggling to get on an inflatable rescue boat.

He needed to concentrate on how he was going to introduce more twists and turns to keep viewers tuned in. But every time he thought of something he also thought of Brooke’s reaction and what she would say. And he wasn’t sure why. Why did it even matter what she said or did? He barely knew her. She was just another contestant. But the way she’d spoken about the way the show was representing women stuck in his chest. It forced him to think of his mother and the way his father treated her. How he lied to her, cheated on her, threatened her, bullied her. He hated it. He hated seeing the look in her eyes when his father said something cruel or thoughtless or failed to turn up again.

This was nothing like that. This was just a game—just a TV show—surely she could see that? It wasn’t real.

But Brooke had no idea. She was too sincere. Too ethical.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. Nothing came easy. Between ensuring this show became a hit, protecting his mother from the truth about his father and trying to earn enough money to buy himself out of his contact, he was wondering when it would let up. When he’d get a break. And now Brooke Wright had come along and embedded herself under his skin. Questioned him. Argued with him. He didn’t need that, and he definitely didn’t need to feel attracted to her.

He wondered for a minute how someone so small could be so much trouble. And why was she so much trouble? The woman seemed constantly angry. Why?

He’d thought he knew all about her. Just as he’d had all the other contestants researched, he’d had her researched. Marketing Manager of a family-owned company, one of five sisters. Seemed to have had a comfortable upbringing. Seemed to get along with everyone. No enemies anyone could find. No psycho ex-boyfriends. Currently single. Financially stable.

She had every reason to be perfectly happy, yet clearly she wasn’t. At least she wasn’t when he was around. Maybe something about him made her mad? Maybe he reminded her of an ex-boyfriend or someone else who had annoyed her?

From experience he knew that the way people reacted to each other almost never reflected how they felt about that person—it was more about what was happening in their head. The story they’d made up or the conclusion they’d come to almost never had any bearing on reality. Women were experts at it.

He made a conscious effort to work with facts. Not to read too far into things, to take each moment for what it was. Don’t look forward and don’t look back. So far that approach was working for him, and every time he found himself reflecting or looking forward to something he pushed those feelings right back down where they belonged. Out of sight and out of mind.

Some people called him cold. Distant. One particularly upset woman had called him soulless. But that wasn’t true. The truth was everyone had an ulterior motive and you couldn’t trust anyone. He was just protecting himself.

The lifeguards’ boat had reached the woman in the waves. She was still afloat, waving her arms. Her calls could be heard faintly billowing on the wind as it blew towards shore. His shoulders hurt from holding them so tight but he didn’t move his eyes. They had to keep rolling.

He had their number—these women on the show. He knew the ones who were doing it just to get famous, the ones who were looking for true love and the ones who were hoping it would change their lives.

His mind turned back to the Tiny Terror. He wasn’t sure what her angle was yet. She seemed sincere when she spoke, but she could just be a very good actress—most women were. She also seemed determined not to spend too much time on-camera. She’d come in, see the camera, smile awkwardly and move towards it, then she’d seem to change her mind and hightail it out of the room, or—more often—give him a tongue-lashing and then leave.

He hadn’t figured her out yet, but he would. He always did. Everyone had an angle, and sooner or later they slipped up—giving him the perfect opportunity to see them for what they really were.

‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’

Jack turned to see the woman he’d just been thinking of. Dripping wet in that small red bikini. It was a very small bikini. A bikini that was in danger of exposing even more than it already was. He stood, transfixed. Not by her face but by her body. Her petite but muscular body. It was perfect. It curved in where it should and was soft where there should be softness. But where there was no softness it was hard, glistening with sea water when the sun hit her. His throat went dry and his eyebrows felt heavy.

‘She’s drowning!’

Her manic cry snapped his head back up to her face. Her forehead was creased and her wide mouth was hanging open. He watched as she drew her bottom lip in and held it against her teeth. His already tense shoulders seized up. She was angry again. Getting ready to tell him off. But rather than annoying him right then it was turning him on.

Not many women argued with him. Not many people in general argued with him. And when they did he could normally talk them down, make a joke and defuse the situation, but she seemed determined to disagree with him. It should annoy the hell out of him, but it didn’t. Nothing about her was turning him off right now.

Lust. Physical attraction. That was all this was.

‘What?’ he asked absently as her lip bounced out from between her teeth again.

‘Alissa! She’s drowning out there and all you can do is stand and watch.’

Jack’s face moved back to the ocean. He remembered Contestant Number Three and the action that was unfolding out on the sapphire-blue water among the white tips of the waves that were crashing relentlessly to the shore.

‘She’s fine. The lifeguards have her.’

No point panicking. She was in good hands. He hoped she hadn’t swallowed too much water. She was a long way out but he could see her moving into the boat. She was flailing about a lot. So much so that one of the lifeguards had just received a nice hefty slap up the side of his head. She was fine.

His shoulders relaxed a little and he allowed a smile to lift one side of his mouth.

‘You think this is funny?’

Jack felt Brooke move closer. He didn’t move a muscle.

‘This isn’t funny! She could have drowned. She could have died. All for the chance to meet some man she doesn’t even know if she’s going to like! Don’t you see how crazy this is?’

She’d moved now and was standing in front of him. He wished she wasn’t. She was angry—that was obvious. He wanted to listen to her and calm her down, but it was hard when she stood dripping in front of him. Her breasts peeped out of her brief bikini top—so much so he was sure that if she just moved a little more he’d be able to see the darkness of her nipple.

‘Are you looking at my breasts?’

Busted.

‘Yes.’ He met her eyes. No point in lying. She’d caught him—and why wouldn’t he look? They were lovely, and she wasn’t exactly trying to cover them up. For someone who had spent an hour arguing about why they should be wearing wetsuits instead of bikinis earlier that morning, she’d chosen herself one of the briefest and sexiest ones he’d ever seen.

‘You make me sick.’

‘Well, clearly I make you something...’ He nodded towards her breasts, where her nipples now stood to attention. She was either excited or cold and he didn’t mind which. There was something incredibly hot about hard nipples showing through a bikini.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.