Page 6 of All the Drama from New York

While the production team began the process of packing up the expensive camera and recording location kit, Ryan headed over to where his brother stood waiting. Liam quickly snapped off some continuity pictures, then put his camera away. “That’s the last of the photos I need for tonight, how about we go get a beer?”

He was tempted, but tomorrow was a swimsuit shoot, and beer always left Ryan bloated. “Nah, I think I’m going to head back to the hotel and hit the shower. I need to get all this make up off my face.”

And scrub the sweat away from my skin.

Liam’s gaze went to Ryan’s hair. The producers had decided they wanted a contestant who had fair hair. Someone in the team had taken the direction a little too literally and bleached Ryan’s light brown locks, to the point where his shoulder length hair was almost white. Which meant the longer he survived on the show, the more touch ups his ridiculous mop of pale fuzz would require.

His brother cleared his throat. “Did I tell you how much I appreciate you doing this show? I know they want to use you as the light relief. The dumb blond. But the longer you stay the more cash we will both pocket. And who knows, if by some miracle you do end up being the winner and getting the girl, you’ll be able to have the last laugh on everyone.”

Ryan shook his head. He wasn’t buying into the whole, win the girl, win a happily ever after storyline. At twenty six, he’d long ago stopped believing in fairytales. What he did believe in, was paying the bills.

If he could make it to the third episode it would mean he could pay his parents back all the money they’d loaned him last summer, when his car was in need of repair. And he could also tuck a little cash away. Maybe not enough to be able to go back and finish college, but the reality tv show money would give him some options.

He picked up his brother’s light tripod, and they headed for the stage exit of the mocked up mansion. Tomorrow would be the first full day of interacting with Kaylee. While none of the contestants had yet met the bachelorette, Ryan sensed he was just here to make up the numbers.

Even if he did get voted off early, he would still have to stick around for the entire seven weeks of daily shoots. The producers were not prepared to risk any of the bachelors leaking the results of the show.

The show was scheduled to go ‘live’ each Wednesday. One contestant would be voted out the first night, then two each week for the next three weeks, with an extended special three eliminations episode split over two more weeks.

The season would come to its dramatic conclusion with a two and a half hour prerecorded recap show. At the end of that show there would be a live outside broadcast at a top secret location.

But I don’t have to worry about that, I’ll be long gone by then.

The two remaining bachelors would both be standing alone on separate remote beaches waiting for Kaylee to sail by in her super yacht. The guy she chose would be crowned the winner, and sail off with her to love, fame, and fortune.

The unlucky schmuck who didn’t get chosen would be left standing on the sand while millions of viewers at home watched his heartbreaking humiliation live on tv.

I pity that poor guy. I’d die if I fell for her and that happened to me.

But of course it wouldn’t happen to him. The showrunner would suck all the Thor laughs they could out of Ryan, before the bachelorette finally gave him a tearful kiss goodbye.

It didn’t bother him. WinningBachelors on the Beachwasn’t something he’d ever thought remotely possible. Not when every other guy on the show was better looking, better educated, and had a suaveness about them which Ryan Collins from East Orange, New Jersey could only dream of possessing.

A budding starlet like Kaylee would never fall for a guy like him because the Ryan Collins’ of this world always came last.

He had no intention of falling for the bachelorette. He was doing this for the money, and to help with his brother’s career. His heart was safe.

CHAPTER THREE

Bryce’s apartment

Bachelors on the Beach grand finale

“Merde!” Camille swore as her left foot found the last of the missing tailors pins. The sharp prick into the soft padding of her big toe sent piercing pain shooting up her leg. How many times had her father told her to never work on a carpeted floor?

Pins disappeared into rugs and fabric. Any dressmaker or tailor worth their salt would tell you to always work on a wooden floor.

In the seven weeks since she’d arrived in New York City, Camille had been busy working out of Bryce’s Manhattan apartment. As soon as he’d finalized the last of Camille’s employment and visa formalities, her cousin had flown back to his job in London. She was now set up to launch her fashion design career.

Her father had finally calmed down, and offered to reinstate her line of credit, but Camille had politely refused. She had her own official US bank account. She’d transferred enough of herpersonal savings into it to cover the purchase costs of a new sewing machine and two mannequins. There was no going back.

Come tomorrow afternoon her companyCamille Royal Designswould be the legal tenant of a design studio and private apartment on West 28thStreet. But before she left Bryce’s apartment for the final time, Camille had one important task left to do.

“Actually make that two,” she muttered turning on the flashlight of her cell phone and shining it on the carpet. The dress makers pin which had attacked her, glistened under the light. She bent and picked it up. “No more working on carpet.”

Now for the last but very important task of the day.

Quickly checking the time, she dashed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Billecart-Salmon champagne. Setting it on the kitchen counter, Camille popped the cork, making sure not to spill a drop, then poured herself a long drink. She smiled at the galaxy of bubbles which rose in the glass.

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