Make Me Over_ Getting Real - Leslie Kelly [22]
“Ladies,” Mr. Mueller said, “here is your objective. To win the money, get the man pictured right there to tell you he loves you, before the lady of them all is announced on December twenty-second.”
Tori scrunched her eyes shut, not wantin’ to see. Around her, the girls all started jabberin’ and oohin’ and aahin’.
Finally, she took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes. And saw his face. His dark-as-pitch hair, those shiny eyes. That dent in his cheek from his big ole smile.
She wanted to cry. Because for the next two-and-a-half weeks, every woman in this place was gonna be competin’ for him.
Drew Bennett.
4
T O D REW’S GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT, he didn’t see Tori much at all the first few days of taping. He told himself it was only because of her busy schedule, but had to wonder if she was avoiding him. If their unexpected attraction to each other had scared her off, instead of intriguing her, as it had him.
Still, he had to give thanks for small favors: she hadn’t left.
On the first night, the sixteen women had been reduced in number to twelve. The four least-promising subjects had been whisked out of the mansion, under guard, not exchanging a word with anyone. Drew hadn’t been part of the team doing the choosing, to his surprise, and he’d had a few tense moments worrying about Tori. But she’d been fine.
Late that night, he’d mulled over the four names, wondering if Mueller had intentionally eliminated the four least attractive of the women, or if Drew was being jaded about Hollywood these days. As if there was any time it wasn’t okay to be jaded about Hollywood.
The following morning, the dozen had been divided into four groups of three and each group had begun a rigorous schedule of training. Drew, himself, taught a current events class designed to aid the women with conversation in social settings. But Tori hadn’t shown up with her group. Not yesterday or today. Though she’d claimed to be sick, Drew had questioned that. Because she hadn’t missed any of her other classes.
Mueller had brought in several instructors—including a former English teacher, a dance instructor, a hair, makeup and wardrobe professional, a maître d’. Even a woman who wrote a column called “Auntie Etiquette” for a New England paper. And Tori had been right there working with every one of them, looking earnest and intent every time he’d walked by an open door and seen her. But she’d blown him off. Which was really unsettling.
Even worse than not wanting to see him with her group, she hadn’t made any effort to seek him out alone.
Unlike just about every other woman on the set.
“Come on, Professor, don’t ya want to see what you’ve got to work with?” asked a blonde named Teresa. Teresa, who’d seemed more interested in Hollywood gossip than current events during his class, was the woman he’d dubbed the pole dancer the day of his arrival.
“Thank you, but no,” Drew murmured, wondering how she’d managed to trap him, alone, in the sunroom, when he’d taken such pains to avoid letting anyone see him enter. It seemed wherever he went in this place, one of the women always managed to find him. He could accept it from the crew, who kept track of everyone with their cameras. But the female contestants on the set seemed to have built-in radar to his location every minute of the day.
Drew had never lacked for female company whenever he desired it. And sometimes when he didn’t. He’d certainly been on the receiving end of a lot of come-ons from his students over the years, and he’d heard a lot of Indiana Jones comments. The women in this house, however, were acting like a nuclear holocaust had taken place and he was the last male on the planet.
Which needed rapid repopulating.
“You know you wanna see what I got,” Teresa said as she reached up and ran her fingertips across his cheek.
“No, I really don’t.”
She chuckled, running her hand down his neck. He leaned back, his body language doing the talking.
She didn’t listen to that, either. “Watch, now, I’m gonna give you the kind of private show guys usually