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When he’d first read this bio, he couldn’t believe a single mother would come on the show. How could she leave her son for ten weeks? How could she put her love life or fifteen minutes of fame above her child? Sign her up for mother of the year. “I’d rather not say.”
Maggie picked up the photo and scanned the back. “If you tell me what the problem is I will avoid finding a woman with a similar issue.”
“I can’t respect any woman who leaves her kid for ten weeks to go on TV.”
Maggie’s eyes widened and her brows knit together, as if she couldn’t believe the thought occurred to him. “I agree. There’s no way to explain leaving like that to a four-year-old.”
“Something tells me the boy isn’t going to have a Brady Bunch childhood.”
Maggie nodded. “Once I get back to Los Angeles, I’ll find a replacement.” She placed the bios and contract inside her briefcase beside the desk. “We need you in Las Vegas immediately. Is that a problem?”
The sooner he started working, the sooner he could pay his mom’s medical bills. “I need to find someone to fill in at the ranch, but that shouldn’t be hard.”
“Is there any way I can help? What do you do?”
The innocent question hit Griffin like a hard gut punch, because to tell the truth, he really didn’t know how he fit in at the ranch. He frowned. With the lousy economy a lot of folks needed extra income. Hell, a high school kid could do what he did. Toting hay bales, watering the horses, and fixing busted fences took brawn, not brains. Basically, he was a glorified ranch hand. Jack of all trades, but master of none.
“Let’s get outta here.” He walked across the room to the door. “A friend of mine’s band is playing at Halligan’s tonight. You up for some dancing?”
Maggie tilted her head and studied him, making him wonder if she’d let his sidestepping her question slide.
“I love listening to bands, but dancing isn’t my thing. I tend to step on my partner’s toes more than I do the dance floor.”
“Maybe you need a better partner.”
Chapter Three
Maybe you need a better partner.
Maggie knew Griffin hadn’t meant anything by his comment, but his words made her stomach do cartwheels. Charmers like him tossed out phrases like that the way other people fed birds—liberally, and to any bird that showed up.
Everything told her going out to dinner with Griffin wasn’t a good idea, but then he’d also said the words that killed a woman’s dreams. The ones that no matter how many times she heard them still left bruises.
That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.
The simple phrase told her everything she needed to know. Griffin saw her like every other man she’d met did. She was a great gal pal, but lacked the necessary girlfriend qualities, which was exactly why she needed in vitro fertilization to have a child.
Maggie’s head knew that, but her heart kept hearing his silky voice wrap around her when he’d said she needed a better partner. His sparkling gaze had peered into her soul, as if she were truly special.
Get over it. You’re seeing things like the time you had a high fever and saw purple giraffes.
She couldn’t afford to let her romantic nature run amok. Her brothers always chided her for expecting life to be like a romance novel, where the hero swept into a woman’s life, recognized her for how wonderful she was on the inside, and declared he couldn’t live without her.
So what if Griffin thought of her as a friend? No one had enough of those.
Keep telling yourself that. Maybe eventually you’ll believe it, and his words won’t hurt as much.
Despite that, when she and Griffin stepped inside Halligan’s Saloon, she vowed to enjoy the night. The down-to-earth restaurant hummed with activity. People sat on industrial-style, padded metal chairs, clustered around simple Formica tables. Laughter rang throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. The smell of French fries and burgers wafted through the air, making her mouth water. “This is great.”
“I’d have thought a California city girl would be more comfortable somewhere more upscale.”
“I’ve only lived in Los Angeles a few years. Sometimes things there feel so artificial. I prefer places where I can be myself.”
“No one puts on airs here, because if he did, someone would kick his ass.”
As they walked toward a table, Maggie glanced at the room to her right. “They have pool tables. Will we have time for a game before the band starts playing?”
Griffin held her chair for her. “You might not want to play with me.”
“Is that a challenge? If it is, you’re on.”
A mischievous gleam in his eyes, he said, “Eight ball, for five bucks a game?”
“I hope you’re a good loser.” Maggie smiled. Beating her brothers and their friends at pool had earned her more money than her childhood lemonade stand. At least until the guys wised up and quit playing her for cash.
Before Griffin could respond, a slender waitress with dusty blond hair sprinkled with gray strolled to their table. “Good to see you, Griffin. Who’s this you brought with you?”
“Cathy, meet Maggie Sullivan. She came here to talk business with Rory. I figured she couldn’t leave town without a night at Halligan’s.”
If Maggie didn’t know better, she’d never suspect he’d just told a little white lie. He was good, but she was onto him.
He turned to her. “This is Cathy. She’s a regular institution around here.”
The woman frowned and swatted Griffin’s arm. “You make me sound like I’m two steps away from the grave.”
He flashed the waitress a brilliant smile, the wattage nearly blinding Maggie. Then he placed his large hand over the older woman’s. “Don’t be mad at me, Cathy, honey. Haven’t I always said a man couldn’t find a woman better than you?”
She shook her head. “If only I were ten years younger, Griffin McAlister. I’d give the girls around here a run for their money chasing you.”
“They wouldn’t stand a chance. Course, I don’t think John would like the idea much.”
Maggie smiled. Griffin should wear a sign like they posted on dangerous roads, because a woman could certainly spin out of control when his charm zeroed in on her.
“You’re right. John’s a good man, but he’s not that understanding.” Cathy tossed Maggie a motherly glance and hooked her thumb toward Griffin. “You watch out for this one.”
No kidding. “I have been since the moment we met.”
“Good for you. You keep him honest.”
When Griffin opened his mouth to protest, Cathy hushed him. “I need to take your orders. I can’t stand here talking all night.”
After she departed, an awkward silence stretched, baffling Maggie. She was the type of person who met people and within five minutes knew their life stories. How come Griffin left her tongue-tied?
Sure he was good-looking and charming, but all the bachelors had been. This did not bode well for the next few months.
“How long have you been a director?” Griffin finally asked.
“This is my first season, but I’ve been with the show from the start.”
Cathy returned, a tray of drinks in her hand, placed a glass of beer in front of each of them and moved on.
“What made you choose a career in television?” Griffin asked after taking a long drink.
“I feel like I’m in a job interview. What’s the deal?”
“I’m curious. Television can’t be an easy career to break into. But if you don’t want to tell me, we can talk about the weather.”
“Not that! I’ll talk. I’ve always been interested in the theater. As a kid I wrote and performed plays. When my brothers wanted me to help them with their chores, I made them agree to act in one of my productions.”
“You drove a hard bargain.”
“I had to. How many boys want to star in The Princess and the Shoe Salesman?”
Griffin shuddered. “I gotta side with your brothers. That could kill a guy’s reputation.”
“You laugh, but it was one of my highest-grossing shows.”
“You charged people to attend your childhood plays?”
“You bet. Money was tight.” Thanks to her father cleaning out the bank accounts when he ran off. Familiar anger surged inside her.
Two months after her father had entered college, her mother had discovered she was pregnant. He’d quit school, got a factory job and dutifully married her. However, he never hid his resentment over being “trapped” into marriage.
Let it go.
“Then I went to New York University to study film making, and here I am.” Maggie sipped her beer. The cool liquid slid down her dry throat, soothing as it went. “What about you? Did you ever want to do anything other than work on a ranch?”
Griffin’s smile tightened for a second, then brightened again. Had she hit a sore spot?
“Life on the ranch is dull compared to working in television. What made you choose to work on a dating reality show?”
She’d definitely hit a sore spot. Why else would he keep steering the conversation back to her? She decided to let it go for now.
She’d wanted to work on a critically acclaimed drama or comedy, but those jobs were hard to come by. In the end, she’d taken what she could get to pay her bills. Working on a reality show had stripped off her rose-colored glasses, romantically speaking, but people didn’t want to hear that. They wanted the fantasy.
“I love watching couples fall in love, and knowing I played a part in bringing them together.”
Griffin laughed. “How often do you practice that speech in front of the mirror?”
This wasn’t the first time she’d defended her work, but how had Griffin guessed she actually had practiced? And how dare he throw it in her face?
“What I said may have sounded rehearsed, but what we do isn’t that much different than a dating service.”
Except for the group dates, exotic locations, hidden agendas and cameras.
“What about finding love yourself?”
The innocent question left her reeling. The last thing she wanted to discuss with a gorgeous man who’d probably never been turned down for anything, was her love life, or lack there of.
Thankfully, Cathy arrived with their food. Maggie picked up her knife, cut the huge buffalo burger Griffin had recommended in half, and took a bite. “This is wonderful.”
“Would I steer you wrong?”
In a New York minute, and she wasn’t sure she’d care.
“You’re avoiding my question about why you haven’t found love.”
You bet she was, and his words stung as much the second time as they had the first.
“They ask contestants fewer questions on Jeopardy,” Maggie said. “My turn now. What’re you looking for in a wife?”
Griffin stared off in the distance, his gaze clouded. “That’s not an easy question.”
“The good ones never are.” But they often revealed the most, whether a person answered or not.
His hand gripped his beer glass. “I like Elizabeth, Rory’s wife. She makes him laugh, but she gets her dander up when she thinks someone’s not treating him right. She’s a little dynamo in a knockout package.”
Maggie tried not to flinch, and slouched in her chair when Griffin said he liked petite, attractive women. “I’ll keep that info in mind when I select a new bachelorette.”
“You better do right by me.” Despite his light tone, she sensed a genuine request behind his words.
“You can count on it.”
For a moment, his sky-blue eyes focused on her. The words hung between them. The light manner in which they’d spoken was contradicted by the undercurrents passing back and forth.
“This conversation has gotten way too serious.” Griffin scooted his chair back from the table. “You ready to lose at pool?”
Before she could answer, a sexy feminine voice called Griffin’s name. Off to his left stood a tall blonde in sleek designer jeans and a low-cut, tight sweater that revealed a figure probably earned through more hours in a gym than Maggie spent at work. The woman licked her lips, fluffed her hair and set out on a direct course for Griffin.
“Where have you been?” She leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek and offering him an unobstructed view of her generous cleavage.
Maggie tried not to wince, feeling like a child’s finger painting hanging next to a Van Gogh. Didn’t he say he liked petite women? The one talking to him now was tall, and she and Griffin clearly knew each other well.
“It’s been ages, Griffin.” The woman practically started drooling. Could she be more obvious? “I’ve missed you. A lot.”
Her hand trailed up his chest and slipped inside his shirt.
Apparently she could.
“Sorry, Britney. I was chained to Rory’s desk while he was in New York.” Griffin turned to Maggie and introduced her. Britney mumbled a hello without even glancing at her. How come pretty women felt they could get away with being rude? Oh, yeah. That was because people let them.
“A bunch of us are having a party tonight for Jackson’s birthday. You should join us.” Britney finally looked at Maggie. “Of course, you’re welcome to come.”
Sure. She was as welcome as poison ivy on a scout camp-out.
“Though I don’t know how much fun you’d have, since everyone’s been friends since high school,” Britney added.
“I love meeting new people,” Maggie countered. Take that. She’d learned long ago not to let beautiful women intimidate her, because if she did, she’d spend all her free time home alone.
