Page 119 of Love Me Tomorrow

“Is that you, Harvey?” a female’s voice demands from behind me. I don’t even need to turn around to know who it belongs to: Matilda-friggin’-Houghton. After listening to her bitch at me for three long months about everything that I was doing wrong, I’ll probably be haunted by the sound of her shouting,Savannah, no! Absolutely not, until the day I die.

And then probably after that, too.

In typical Owen fashion, he doesn’t start at the sound of her footsteps barreling toward us. Two sets of footsteps, if I’m not mistaken. Aaron, her always present cameraman, probably.

Voice eerily calm, Owen asks, “There a problem?”

“Yes! How many times have I had to say this? You’re in waiting room B, not A.” I turn, just in time to see Matilda careen to a stop, her ever-present clipboard in her arms. She doesn’t spare me a single glance, even though we haven’t spoken since the end of the show. “The whole point of a real-time episode is so we can get yourreal-time reactions when you see Savannah.”

“We’re dating,” Owen says in that no-bullshit tone of his. “The only real-time reaction you’re going to get out of me is if someone acts out of line and gangs up on her.”

“Andthatright there—that is why I told Joe you weren’t allowed to come on the stage until the end of the episode.”

What?

Setting the wineglass down on the bar, I step in front of Owen and face-off against the woman who told me on night one that I wasn’t just cast to “sit and look pretty.” Just because I was a debutante doesn’t mean I’ll roll over and cry wolf. “What do you mean Owen isn’t allowed to come on the stage?”

“Exactly what I said, Savannah.” Matilda eyes me up and down. From the way her lip curls, it’s not a far reach to assume she hates the black cocktail-length dress I chose from wardrobe. It glimmers under the light, cuts off at my knees, and hugs my body in a flattering style. For shoes, I chose my own kick-ass teal pumps. If she has a problem with the outfit, she can take it up with my back when I strut away. “You,” she says, pointing at Owen, “go in B. Andyou”—this time, she clamps a hand on my shoulder—“it’s time to get the show on the road. This season has been an absolute shit show. I’ve gained ten pounds. I have more gray hair than I did six months ago. And when this crap is done tonight, I’m going to pour myself a bubble bath, watchThe Bachelor, and call it a fucking day.”

I raise my brow. “The Bachelor, really?”

Matilda’s mouth pinches. “At least they have their shit together.”

That they sure do. This season,Put A Ring On Ithas paid a contestant to come on the show, brought someone else on who had a girlfriend, allowed a fight to break out that sent one guy to the hospital for a rhinoplasty job—and, oh yeah, possibly has a rat toCelebrity Tea Presentsoristhe rat.

Tough call on that score.

A familiar hand grazes my wrist, tugging me into his arms. I go willingly, cheek against the planes of his hard chest, my hand slipping under his suit jacket so I can find his hip. “I don’t like this,” he says, voice hushed. The minute we walked in the doors an hour ago, we were sidelined by the entranceway and hooked up with wireless microphones. Mine sits just below my bra line, on my back. Owen’s is on his hip. I clasp my hand over it now, so that if anything is picked up, hopefully it’s only static.

Feeling his hand falling flat on my bra clasp, where the mic is, I brush my mouth on the underside of his chin and feel the bristles of his beard against my lips. “Let me be fearless.”

The tension in his frame doesn’t ease.

In the nine days that have passed since the so-called Scandal of the Year, the lawyers we hired have found out absolutely nothing. Thanks to Frannie pulling some strings, our case has been given to one of her FBI friends, but other than that . . . crickets. On the flight over to LA, Owen and I discussed a hundred different ways that we could approach the reunion show with a critical eye.

Five hours later, we came to only one conclusion:Celebrity Tea Presentshas to be here, somewhere. Listening. Watching.Reporting. And with absolutely no leads to work off, all we have is my list.

I mentally scratch Matilda off it. Not even a true fraud could fake the irritation she’s wielding like a blade right now.

As if she’s got a read on my mind, she tsks. “Save the kissy faces for after, would you, love birds? I’ve got places to be.”

Over my head, Owen grinds out, “Your bubble bath isn’t goin’ anywhere.”

Oh, my God.

Another kiss to his chin, and then I pull out of his embrace. His jacket falls back into place, leaving him to look way too dangerous and sexy for his own good. His bearded jaw strings tight and he gives me a subtle nod that I interpret as,I got you.

I know that he does—always.

Matilda’s hand clasps my wrist and she gives me a small tug, leaving me no choice but to follow. With each crew member that we pass, I find myself scrutinizing their features. Most blink back at me, not even bothering to wave or say hello. Looks like they’re all pretty much ready for the season to come to an end.

We pause by a door decorated with elaborate black curtains. “This is us,” Matilda says, reaching for her radio on her hip. She points the rubber antenna at me. “Get in there, smile—”

“Pretty,” I cut in, irritation peppering my tone. “You’ve given me this speech before.”

She leans in, jabbing the antenna into my bicep. “And you’ve screwed it up before and nearly lost me my job in the process. Answer Joe’s questions, pretend you actually give a shit that you deceived us all, and for the love of God, donotsay anything about regretting the decision to come on the show.”

And with that, she shoves me through the door and I stumble out onto the stage.

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