of you as we enter the ballroom. Don’t look at Bob. Instead, look toward the table where your match is waiting.”
“Okay,” she said. Bob waved at her from the end of the hallway.
“Walk toward Bob and then enter the ballroom. It’s been set up for an intimate dinner for two. As soon as we are out of the shot, I will signal you. Just start walking.”
Kat and the soundman joined Bob at the end of the hall, and it felt like an eternity before she was given the signal to go. She walked down the hallway, feeling silly that they were taping her walking. But she forgot about that when she stepped into the ballroom.
There were a few production people in the room as well as a man who stood with his back toward her. But she was distracted when Jack Crown stepped in front of her.
“Hello, Gail,” he said.
Jack Crown was gunning to beat out Ryan Seacrest for hosting the most shows on TV and was obviously the host of this one. He’d been an all-state athlete in high school and then went on to win the Heisman Trophy in college. He’d been a first-round draft pick and then suffered an agonizing injury in his very first professional football game. But he’d smiled up at the cameras and just shrugged his massive shoulders saying that America hadn’t seen the last of him, and he’d been right. He started showing up on television regularly hosting reality shows for the Discovery Channel.
“Hello, Jack,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m the host of the show. I’ll be chatting with both of you at the end of your dates.”
“Okay,” she said. “Now?”
“No, we want to see how you both react to meeting each other,” he said, stepping away. Her date had large, strong shoulders that tapered down to a lean waist, which she could see because he wore a well-fitted jacket.
“Stop,” Willow, the producer, said, her voice loud in the quiet of the room. It was funny because Gail had never been at work with Willow before, and the booming voice didn’t sound like her friend’s. “You are going to see each other for the first time in just a moment. I want you both to look at each other and not the cameras. Kat, move her into position.”
Kat directed Gail to a spot that was marked on the floor with tape. Gail stood so close to her match that she could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. And she noticed his thick hair was a brown color with shots of golden-blond in it.
“We’re ready to shoot now. Please turn and face your match,” Willow said.
The man turned and Gail’s breath caught. Then her heart sank. It was billionaire New Zealand hotelier and nightclub owner Russell Holloway. She recognized him from his constant exposure on TV and in magazines. He couldn’t be her match. Surely this was a joke. He was a playboy with a reputation as a love-’em-and-leave-’em guy. Why would he go to a matchmaker?
Gail met the full force of Russell’s gray gaze. His eyes were bright and intense, staring down at her. He didn’t look as debauched as he should, she thought. He looked tanned, fit and healthy … too damned good for someone as bad as he was rumored to be.
“Gail Little,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Dumb. Was that really the only thing her mind could come up with?
Russell laughed as he took her hand and kissed it. “Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound promising. I know precious little about you, but I look forward to hearing your story from your own lips.”
She licked her lips and stared up at him. Her eyes tracked down his face to the sharp blade of his nose and then the full, sensual mouth underneath. Lips … the word echoed in her mind, and all she could do was stare at his. She gave herself a mental shake. She wasn’t going to be the latest to fall for this charming playboy. He was messing up her plans, and there was nothing fun about that.
Russell Holloway wasn’t sure what type of woman he’d expected to be matched with, but he knew he hadn’t anticipated Gail Little. She was beautiful, with her thick black hair brushing her shoulders and her big brown eyes that tempted him to get lost in them. Her figure was curvy and generous. If he were honest, she was exactly what he wanted physically. And she was classy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a woman like her.
“I’m Russell Holloway,” he said, though he could tell she recognized him. She’d said that she’d heard of him.
“I know.” Then she shook her head. “Despite how it may seem, I’m usually a bit wittier.”
He chuckled. “First meetings can be a bit nerve-racking.”
“Yes, they can.”
She stared up at him and then flushed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say nothing and let me enjoy the view. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
“I don’t know about that. Should we take our seats at the table?”
“Not just yet,” Russell said, linking her hand through his arm, leading her out of the ballroom and into the hallway.
He’d already arranged for the camera crew to follow them. Every detail had to go off smoothly. Russell had signed up with the matchmaking service to improve his reputation.
The Kiwi Klubs had had stagnate growth for the past two years. They had started as destination clubs similar to Club Med. Attached to each of the hotels was an exclusive A-lister nightclub where people went to see and be seen. Russell was making a profit but he wanted to try something new, and the real money in destination vacations was in families. He wanted to open a family-friendly resort, but with his reputation that was easier said than done. He had a chance to buy a well-known family vacation company but the owner was balking at selling to someone like Russell—not from a business standpoint but from a reputation-based one. So he’d decided to try to change his image.
He’d already arranged with Willow and Conner MacAfee, Matchmakers Inc.’s owner, to give Gail a preview of the Gustav Klimt exhibit that would be opening here in the Big Apple Kiwi Klub on Wednesday. As a personal friend of Russell’s, Conner had suggested participating in the show as a course of action to help Russell out.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I think we are supposed to stay where we were.”
“Afraid to get in trouble?” he asked.
“No. I just like to follow the rules,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Shocker,” she said.
He laughed. She gave the impression of being very sure of herself and confident. Those were traits that he’d been hoping for in his match. “Don’t fret, Gail, this side trip has been preapproved.”
“Good,” she said.
“Here we are,” he said, opening a door that led into the mezzanine atrium. The hotel area was very modern and had large expanses of open wall space with a glass dome inspired by Van Gogh’s Stormy Night. The floor was made of marble.
“This exhibit is opening on Wednesday, so we will
