to have a stockpile of strategies.
“After the women are selected, do I start dating?”
“I’m guessing you don’t watch our show.”
Why would he? Dating and playing pool beat the hell outta watching some poor schmuck who couldn’t find a wife on his own date a bunch of women picked by someone else.
“Nope. The only reality shows I watch are Survivor and The Amazing Race.”
“On our show, the early episodes are mixers,” Maggie explained. “You go to the mansion where the bachelorettes live. You circulate among the women, spending time getting to know them.”
And all of them would want to catch his attention and please him. Now that was his idea of a good time.
“I’ll know where the women are living. Will they know where I’m staying?”
“No. Both your contract and theirs state that your contact is limited to the dating situations. We have cameras positioned all over the bachelorette mansion, and they’re monitored and taping twenty-four/seven. That way we can obtain footage of the women interacting and talking about you. It also allows us to know if anyone leaves the house.”
Cameras? Everywhere? That little tidbit threw a kink into things. He wasn’t keen on being on TV, and even less thrilled about living in a fishbowl, especially considering the game he’d be playing. “Are there cameras where I’ll be staying?”
Maggie shook her head. “Since none of the dates will occur there, we didn’t go to the expense.”
Griffin relaxed, thankful for budget-conscious executives. “I’m staying in a house, with all the hotels in Las Vegas?”
“We like to maintain a low profile, to keep details like who you eliminate each week a secret until the episode airs. That would be difficult to do in a hotel, with other guests and staff around all the time.”
That made sense.
“When you’ve picked the two finalists, we do a getaway weekend,” Maggie continued. “The only segment that’s live is the finale. Taping allows us to edit each week’s footage for the most impact, and we air the show two weeks later. After a break for the Christmas holiday, we shoot the finale where you choose your Mrs. Right.”
Not if he could help it.
“When can you send the contract with the changes to me?” The sooner he signed, the sooner he started working and earning money.
“Legal should be able to deliver it tonight. I’ll bring the paperwork over as soon as it arrives.”
No way would he risk Maggie returning to the ranch and getting anywhere near his mom. The longer Griffin avoided telling his mother what he’d done, the better, because that task would take major planning. “How about you go to your hotel and contact Legal. I’ll finish my chores and clean up. When you have the contract ready, call me. By then I’ll have studied the bios. We can take care of business and go somewhere for dinner.”
She frowned again. The woman sure did that a lot. Life was too short and precarious to worry that much.
“I’m not certain that’s a good idea, since we’ll be working together.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
She flinched. Damn. Now he’d hurt her feelings. She had the same look on her face that his sister, Avery, had had as a child when he and Rory said she couldn’t tag along with them.
“Come on, I’m fun to be around,” Griffin cajoled, trying to lighten the mood. “Ask any of my friends. You’re not the only one who can be persistent. You might as well give in.”
His words coaxed a smile out of her, easing his guilt over his carelessness.
“All right.” She sighed. “I have your cell number. I’ll call you when I’ve got the contract.”
AS GRIFFIN STOOD OUTSIDE Maggie’s hotel room door at seven-thirty that night, he wondered why he’d suggested they go to dinner. She’d offered to bring the contract to the ranch, and next thing he knew the invitation had jumped out of his mouth before he’d thought things through.
Didn’t matter. He could use tonight to find out more about what he was getting into. Plus, he’d need a friend when he got to Vegas, since he’d have to be on guard with the women he was dating. Saying the wrong thing or picking the wrong one could cost him money, and his mother couldn’t afford that.
Convinced he had valid reasons for seeing Maggie, and confident it wasn’t because she had the most beautiful eyes in the world, he knocked on her door.
A minute later she answered. The first thing he noticed was her hair. Unlike earlier, when she’d had it in a ponytail, long, glossy chestnut waves now flowed around her face, softening her sharp features, making her look almost pretty.
She pointed to the far side of the room. “The contract’s on the desk. You can go over it while I finish getting ready.”
Maggie headed into the bathroom and Griffin sat at the desk, knowing he’d have plenty of time to examine the document. No woman he’d ever met, other than his mother, was ready when she said she’d be.
The agreement seemed fairly straightforward. He chuckled when he read how the producers and “anyone associated with the program are released from liability for any consequences, emotional, medical or otherwise, resulting from any sexual intimacies entered into by participants during the filming of the show.”
From what he’d learned from his sister when he’d questioned her earlier, reality shows played up the sexual tension. They worked hard to create it, pitting people against each other and kept the alcohol flowing. Then they had the nerve to say they weren’t responsible for what happened?
At least Griffin wouldn’t have to worry about those issues, because no way was he getting sexually involved with any of the bachelorettes. That would only complicate things. Nothing changed a relationship like sleeping with a woman.
He kept reading, finding nothing in the contract that bothered him. Right up until he hit the misrepresentation clause.
If the producers determined he “wasn’t sincere in his desire to get married, if he withheld any personal or professional information that would impact his suitability as a husband, or in any other way compromised the integrity of the show,” he forfeited all monies earned and faced possible legal action.
He read the clause twice to make sure he understood. Damn. Getting out of proposing might not be as easy as he thought, but how could he turn down earning some fast cash to help the family? He had to pull this off. His mom needed him to. The clause meant he’d have to do some fancy dancing and watch his every word to avoid proposing without breaking the misrepresentation clause.
A plan. That’s what he needed. If he came up with a good one, remained focused and clearheaded, he could do this.
“Maggie, has the show ever used the misrepresentation clause?”
“No, though we came close last year.”
“What
