Page 2 of The Final Rose

“Oh yes, baby!” Nessa is clearly proud of herself.

I blink slowly at the man in the picture and shake my head. “He’s the closest you can get to British Royalty.”

That’s true. I have no other words when I turn to Nessa and she’s jumping up and down.

“Can you imagine that accent on screen? It will melt panties all over the country!”

Adam clears his throat. Nessa winces and mouths an apology. Theydefinitelyneed to hide it better.

I reach for Sebastian’s picture, taking off the board, tape on the back and all. “How the hell can we make him swear on TV?”

My tone breaks the big smile off Nessa’s lips. I’m not trying to destroy her big reveal. Getting someone like Sebastian Riggs on our show is a tremendous accomplishment. Everyone always wonders if Reality TV is for real, especially the dating kind. Even though we have eleven seasons behind us, and the couple from the very first season is still together with three children, but there are skeptics out there.

Sure, dating on a TV show is unconventional, but so is online dating, and last year alone I went to three weddings from peoplewho swiped right. Sebastian Riggs as our Eligible is a huge tick to our pro column.

I can’t believe the picture in my hands. The Englishman is a CEO, a philanthropist and easily the most desired bachelor in the world. He’s serious, and respected, and it’s a game-changer to have him bring that kind of credibility toThe Final Rose. But still -still- we are making a reality show here. And there’s no way someone as distinguished as Sebastian Riggs will bring the kind of drama people expect.

“I have a plan, kid.” Anya breaks my thoughts.

“Sebastian will bring a lot of publicity.” Nessa guarantees, chewing on her bottom lip. I feel bad my reaction wasn’t jumping up and down like she clearly envisioned.

“I’m sure.” I smile brightly, trying to reassure her. “This is huge, Nessa.”

A calming sigh escapes her, and I feel more like an asshole than ever. “I’m just worrying he’s not a potty mouth like the rest of our singles,” I smirk. “But I heard British TV can be a shitshow just like ours, right?”

Jeff chuckles, “Not everything isThe Great British Baking Show, no.”

“Yeah, I’m worrying about nothing,” I tell Nessa.

“Oh, no, you keep on worrying.” Anya interrupts. “We have goody two shoes over there.” She nods at the picture of Sebastian I am holding. “But we have twelve ladies coming, and they are not even a little like royalty.”

I smile at Anya. She’s a tough nut to crack, but I like her style. It’s hard to find someone like her to mentor you. A hard ass and a good boss at the same time.

“What else do you have, Nessa?”

My friend beams at me and grabs a tablet resting on the table and for the next hour, I hear about the twelve women who hope to make Sebastian Riggs fall in love.

2.

Sebastian

“You’re mad.”

My oldest friend chuckles on the other side of the line and the ocean. Maverick can’t see why I would ever be part of a reality TV, especially the dating kind. I relax my shoulders on the sea of pillows in the hotel provided by the network, one hand holding the phone and the other arm supporting my head.

“I’ll be fine.”

He frowns, “You’re going to be on the telly, Sebastian.”

I shrug. “I’m on TV all the time.”

Maverick puffs. He knows I’m downplaying it. Taking a picture here or there and giving a statement after a charity ball is very different from putting myself out there like this. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Hard not to when I’m sure you hit your noggin. I’m on the edge of my seat here, mate. Waiting until you lose it, so we have to rescue you.”

By “we”he means him and his husband, Fael. That would be my rescuing team. My oldest friend, his perfect husband, and their two dogs. I love them, but their annoying happiness is one of the reasons I accepted to be part ofThe Final Rose.But I don’t say that to Maverick. I won’t hear the end of it if I tell him I hope to find someone who will move in with me to the neighboring house and raise our poodles side by side. I don’t say it because then he’ll know for sure I’ve lost my mind.

“My contract is ironclad,” I assure him one more time. “No nudity, no lies. No outlandish plots to see how I’ll react on TV.”

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