and the Average Jill.
“Let’s begin.” Larissa moved to the center of the room, a wide, excited smile on her face.
“Already?” Mattie’s voice came out like a squeak.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re perfect. The quintessential Average Jill. So much better than the former Miss Indiana.” Larissa cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned toward Mattie’s ear. “Who was about as average as a hibiscus.”
Mattie wasn’t exactly sure that was a compliment. After all, if the other woman was a hibiscus, what did that make her? A weed? “What do I have to do?”
“Enjoy yourself. The cameramen will follow you around all day but we only show an hour of the day’s highlights each night and broadcast the elimination part live.” Larissa gave her a wide smile. “Stick it out for a week. That’s it.”
“No strings?”
“No, none at all.”
Mattie bit her lip. She glanced at David across the room, now talking to the producer. David hadn’t seemed so bad. If he was the type of guy she had to deal with for the next seven days, she could make it through.
Heck, she could start a fire without a match and concoct a meal out of wild vegetables. How hard could this dating game be?
If she had known they’d be sticking her in a chair and putting makeup on her, she’d have backed out. Two hours later, Mattie found herself surrounded by the show’s dream team—a hairdresser, makeup artist and clothing consultant, all assembled from the show’s “headquarters” in the pool house behind the mansion to take her from average to…
Well, not average.
“Ouch! Don’t do that,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Tweezing,” the hairdresser, Pepper, said. He hovered over her with the torture implement, his bright-turquoise shirt and floral-pattern jeans a blinding combination. “Most men prefer a woman with two brows, you know.”
“I’m not that bad.”
Pepper took a step back, tweezers at the ready between his fingers, and analyzed her. “Not anymore, honey.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be about an average woman?” she said to Steve. He’d hovered in the corner the entire time, chomping on fast food and offering his input on everything from lipstick colors to heel height. “I’m not average if I’m all made up like this. Besides, this isn’t even me.”
And it hadn’t been, not for a long time. At eighteen, when she’d walked away from the life of Chanel suits and Lancôme makeup, she’d vowed never to return. And now, here she was, starring in a bad sequel of her own past.
“This is TV. No one wants to see the real you.”
“But—” Then she was cut off by Salt, the makeup artist and Pepper’s partner in business, who had honed in on her with eyeliner. “Isn’t this making me the exact opposite?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Mattie, do you think anyone is going to tune in every night over the next week to see some soccer player get hooked up with Adonis? You may be cute in your cleats, but that’s not what builds Neilsens.”
She started to add to her argument, but Salt was coming at her with an eyelash curler, clamping it onto Mattie’s eyelashes and warning her not to move.
She hadn’t bought this many cosmetics in her lifetime, never mind worn them. And the clothes…
She cast a glance at the wardrobe hanging on the silver rod to her right. Some minion of Steve’s had been sent scurrying to the Lawford Mall to come up with a bunch of suitable evening gowns when the producer had realized all Mattie had in her backpack was two pairs of denim shorts, a couple of T-shirts and a plain blue Speedo.
Apparently bachelors didn’t go for women in Speedos. They wanted hot pink bikinis. Strappy gowns. Glittery tops and silky pants.
In other words, everything in Marshall Fields that made Mattie recoil in horror.
She endured Salt’s eye makeover and told herself she could last through this. It was only a week. If she could stick it out until the end of this ridiculous dress-the-Barbie game, she’d get her money and she could finally take care of the people who needed her.
Then her mind went back to David Simpson. He seemed nice. Actually interested in her. As if he might want something more than simply winning the title of best bachelor and half the hundred grand.
Either way, if he, or any of the other guys, got any ideas about rounding any sexual bases, she had a way of taking care of that. When the men came on too strong—
She had a hell of a soccer kick to take them down.
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