Michonne poured another glass of rosé, enjoying the last bit of calm before the storm. In less than twelve hours, she would be meeting her future husband.

She sank into the plush couch and let the sultry voice of Lalah Hathaway melt away her anxiety. Being chosen as the Bachelorette was the most exciting - and nerve-wracking - thing she had ever done in her life. Her therapist was completely to blame.

Following a string of failed relationships, Michonne had decided to seek professional help, hoping to gain insight on why her relationships always ended in tears and dark chocolate binges. Her therapist had suggested she try something outside of her comfort zone. So, when her girlfriends plied her with wine and dared her to audition for The Bachelorette, Michonne accepted.

Two months later, here she was lounging in an upscale hotel room on the brink of embarking on the most terrifying journey of her life. More than not finding a husband, Michonne feared making a fool of herself on national television. A career in civil defense litigation meant she couldn't afford to become a laughing stock.

A heavy knock on the hotel door disrupted her anxious thoughts. It was after eight o'clock and she wasn't expecting any visitors. She was also under strict orders to get her beauty sleep for tomorrow's shoot.

"Michonne, it's me," a voice said from the other side of the door. "Rick."

Michonne shot up from the couch. "Coming!" She rushed to the mirror to adjust her sloppy bun and smooth her eyebrows.

She opened the door to Rick holding a bag of popcorn and a bottle of merlot. "I come bearing gifts," he said, eyeing her black yoga pants and baggy Spelman t-shirt. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to," Michonne said. She motioned for him to come in.

"The night before is always the hardest," Rick said, stepping into the room. "Once you meet the men, the nerves will subside. And with the ten-hour shoots, you'll sleep like a baby."

This was Rick's thirteenth year hosting the show. Michonne readily accepted his advice.

He handed Michonne a short stack of papers. "Finally got the rest of the bios," he said. "Sorry for the delay, the producers had trouble agreeing on the last five guys. I'm not to leave without your top and bottom three."

"I'm surprised you didn't just shoot me an email," Michonne said, though she was grateful for the company.

"Not a fan of special deliveries?" Rick quirked an eyebrow.

"lt's not that I don't appreciate surprises. I just like a little advance notice."

Rick cracked a smile. "I'll make a note of that." He made his way to the kitchen. "We'll need wine. Opener?"

"On the counter near the fridge."

Rick maneuvered through the kitchen with purpose, uncorking the wine and searching for glasses. Michonne liked the way his body moved in fitted black jeans and the way his back muscles stretched his denim button-down shirt.

Ever since he'd visited her hometown, she felt connected to him, as though they'd been friends for years. A few weeks prior, he'd come for a preliminary interview and ended up charming her entire family, including her Federal judge father. Her parents had been skeptical about the show and concerned over how Michonne would be portrayed as the first African-American Bachelorette. Rick had masterfully allayed their concerns, making them supporters in the end.

Michonne joined him in the kitchen, taking a seat at the island. She scoffed at the first bio. "'Internet Enthusiast'? Please tell me this man has an actual job."

Rick chuckled. "He's a columnist for a popular entertainment blog. Guess he thought 'Internet Enthusiast' would help him stand out."

"Well, it just earned him a spot in the bottom three."

Rick whistled. "You're the toughest Bachelorette to date."

He joined her at the island, balancing two glasses of wine and a bowl of popcorn. She recalled Rick had worked as a waiter in Beverly Hills before he'd gotten his big break as the host of the Bachelorette.

"I'm looking for a husband, not someone to increase my Instagram followers," Michonne said.

Rick laughed and reached for the popcorn at the same time as her. Their hands touched. Michonne glanced up to find Rick staring at her. He edged his hand away.

"Ladies first," Rick said with a half-smile, his eyes still glued on her.

"Such a gentleman," she joked, though his playful chivalry secretly turned her on. She found it refreshing that he was as much of a gentleman in person as he was on TV. Michonne found it difficult to doubt his sincerity, which was a big deal for a cynic like her.

"Hmm?" she asked, not having caught what he said because she was too focused on how sexy his lips looked when he talked.

"There are definitely a few wild cards – the producers need ratings. But I promise you, there really are some great candidates among the bunch. Our matchmakers are the best in the business."

Michonne flipped through the rest of the bios, taking notes on things she liked and disliked about each man. With no accompanying pictures, she could only judge the men by their responses to an in-depth list of personal questions.

The next song in her playlist started, Lalah Hathaway covering Angel for a live audience. Michonne hummed along as she finished up her notes.

"Anita's better," Rick said.

Michonne shook her head. "Anita's a queen, but I can't agree with you on that one, even if you are from my hometown." She'd found out Rick had grown up only a few miles from her.

"We'll have to agree to disagree then." Rick flashed his thousand-watt smile, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Michonne ignored the butterflies in her stomach, writing down her top and bottom three. She handed the list to Rick.

"Thanks," he said, examining the sheet. "We'll make sure to interview these six tomorrow." He paused. "Hmmph...interesting."

"What?" Michonne refilled her glass with wine, riding the oncoming buzz.

"Negan's in your top three. I didn't think you'd go for a jock."

Michonne was amused. "Former jock." Though, she wasn't about to admit she'd only dated athletes in college. "Based on his responses, he seems witty."

"Witty? He listed 'home plate' as the craziest place he's had sex."

"That's nothing compared to my response."

"Really? Which is what?"

"I plead the fifth." She refilled his glass. "Have some more wine."

Later, Michonne and Rick lounged on the couch, their feet propped up on the coffee table. She had expected Rick to call it a night hours ago, but he was still here and she wasn't about to ask him to leave.

"Why are you still single?" Rick asked, after a comfortable pause in their conversation.

"There are two things you should never ask a woman," Michonne said, "her age and why she's single."

"Come on, it's a compliment," Rick said, turning to face her. "I mean, you're smart, funny…beautiful. And you're not afraid to challenge yourself. You should have guys knocking down your door."

"Believe it or not, some men are intimidated by a woman who can speak three languages and isn't afraid to express her opinion. Especially a black woman."

"Those guys are idiots."

"Hence, why I'm still single."

"What are you really looking for in a man? And don't give me the canned responses you fed the producers." Rick leaned in. "What would a man have to do to sweep you off your feet?"

Michonne turned to face him. The interest in Rick's beautiful eyes made her heart skip a beat. "I'm a simple girl, it doesn't take much."

"I don't believe that."

"It's true. I just want a man who's confident, hard-working and loves me like there's no tomorrow. Simple."

"And what if he's got kids?."

"I love kids. So if he was everything I wanted, I most definitely would."

"You're not like most women, you know that?"

"No woman is. We're extremely complex creatures."

"I was married to a woman for 15 years. Trust me, I know. It's just - you're open to experiences most people wouldn't even consider. Like dating someone with kids, or becoming the next Bachelorette. It's admirable."

"You couldn't have said that two years ago. It's taken a lot of therapy to get to this point."

"Whatever the case, you're an amazing woman." Rick's eyes grew dark.

"Thank you," Michonne whispered.

They sat in silence, breathing the same steamy air. Michonne's eyes flitted to his lips as she willed Rick to kiss her.

He cleared his throat and rose from the couch. "It's getting late, I should probably head back. I need to sort out a few final details with production."

Michonne followed him to the door, masking her disappointment. "Producer and host? I'm impressed."

"I'm definitely no producer; not yet, at least. I've been hosting the show for twelve years now, so they tend to value my opinion."

"I'll trust I'm in good hands then," she said, opening the hotel door.

"Well," Rick said, standing in the doorway. "Get plenty of sleep tonight. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

"Yes, sir." Michonne gave him a mock salute. "Gotta look good for my future husband."

Rick's expression grew serious and he just stood there, staring at her. Again.

"You ok–" Before Michonne could finish, Rick pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Michonne's body responded immediately. Rick's lips weren't as full as hers, but his vigor made up for the difference. His kiss was hungry and sensual. She moaned when his hands gripped her waist and he sucked on her bottom lip.

Damn, she thought, wanting him to caress every inch of her body with those lips. But Rick ended the mind-blowing kiss with a gentle peck on the corner of her mouth.

"Good night," he whispered, before turning to leave.

Michonne stood speechless for the first time in her life, her body burning as she watched him go.

Rick adjusted his tie as he stood in the mansion driveway awaiting Michonne's arrival. He was nervous to see her again, like he was the one waiting to meet his future spouse. This was new territory for him, he hadn't felt this nervous about a woman since college.

Michonne intrigued him. Whenever he thought he'd figured her out, she'd hurl something at him from left field. He wanted to peel back her complex layers and get to the core of her. He'd had only one rule as the host of The Bachelorette - never fall in love with the talent. Twelve seasons and he'd never even been tempted. Until Michonne.

She was everything Rick wanted in a woman – intelligent, kind, funny and absolutely gorgeous. If he was really being honest with himself, he'd fallen for her the first day they met. Her smile had drawn him in and her sharp wit kept his attention. And her body was a work of art, from her silky brown skin to her shapely thighs.

"Get it together," Rick whispered to himself.

"What?" Andrea's voice barked from his earpiece.

"Just running through my lines," Rick said more clearly.

Andrea was a producer and colleague. She'd gone from film school grad to producer in less than three years. They weren't exactly friends, but he respected her talent and drive.

"The eagle has landed," Andrea said.

Rick stood a little straighter as Michonne's limo pulled up. The middle-aged driver exited and opened Michonne's door. She stepped out of the limo and into the night.

Rick's eyes widened. The beads of her designer dress sparkled, the ivory garment hugging every voluptuous curve. Her locs were pulled into an intricate updo that further accentuated her long neck. Her full lips were painted deep red.

"You're drooling," Andrea said, breaking the trance. He wasn't drooling, but his mouth was hanging open slightly. Rick shook it off and switched to host mode.

"Michonne, welcome," he said, holding his arms wide open for a hug. The cameras were on them.

"Thank you," Michonne said, embracing him.

She smells so good, Rick thought, resisting the urge to sniff her. His hand brushed the soft skin on the small of her exposed back.

Before he could stop himself, he whispered into her ear, "You look beautiful."

"You too," she whispered back.

"How ya feelin'?" Rick asked as he pulled away. His Southern accent crept out when he was overly excited.

Michonne exhaled and smiled. "Nervous. And I don't get nervous often."

You're not the only one. "We're all here," Rick said, taking her hands in his, "to help you find the man of your dreams."

"I can't wait," Michonne said.

Rick winked, hoping the cameras - and Andrea - didn't catch it. Michonne's smile brightened.

The limo with the first group of guys entered the driveway. "The first limo's arriving. Are you ready to meet the guys?"

"Yes," Michonne said.

Rick just stood there smiling. She squeezed his hands slightly.

"Rick!" Andrea snapped. He refocused. I'm here to do a job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Good luck," he said, going in for another hug. He breathed her in, not wanting to let her go.

The limo stopped a few yards in front of them and he delivered the same lukewarm line he did every year. "Let the journey begin."

"Thank you," Michonne said, turning away from him to face the limo.

Rick walked off-camera, taking a seat next to Andrea on the sidelines. She sipped from a huge Starbucks cup, her eyes glued to a 50" screen that displayed shots of five cameras at various angles.

"I can't do much with long pauses, Rick," Andrea said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

A makeup artist dabbed sweat from his forehead and applied fresh foundation. "This isn't my first rodeo," Rick said. "You got what you needed."

"It could've been better."

He sometimes wondered why Andrea stuck around on a show like The Bachelorette. She wasn't a romantic like him and openly expressed disdain for viewers who actually took the show seriously.

"Just try to remember you're the host, not one of the contestants," Andrea said. She smiled for the first time that night. "Money shot."

Rick watched the screen as Negan headed for Michonne, donning a lecherous smile and a baseball bat slung over his shoulder. Negan hugged her, holding on a little longer than necessary.

"Michonne," Negan said, looking her up and down. "You look fantastic."

"Less is more, buddy," Rick said, watching it all unfold as a spectator.

"The viewers will love-hate him so much. I'm definitely getting a raise." Andrea sounded almost giddy.

"I'm Negan. You're even more dazzling in person." He planted a small peck on Michonne's hand.

"Thank you," Michonne said, her deep brown eyes sparkling. "You're not so bad yourself."

She can't seriously like this guy, can she?

"Though I'm not quite sure how to feel about the bat," Michonne said.

"Oh, this is Lucille," Negan said. He ran his cupped hand along the mahogany bat. "I hit every home run of my career with this girl."

Negan pulled a baseball from his pocket. "Hopefully, she'll help me hit a home run for your heart," Negan said. He tossed the baseball in the air and swung the bat, connecting perfectly. A crack resounded and the ball cleared the driveway, soaring into the night sky. Seconds later a car alarm blared.

"I need someone on that ASAP," Andrea said to no one in particular. A frenzied assistant sprinted across the lawn toward the alarm.

Michonne chuckled. "You're trouble."

"Only the good kind." Negan pulled her in for another hug, parting with a noisy kiss on the cheek. Michonne watched him go, a smile plastered on her face.

Rick made a note to interrogate him thoroughly during the cocktail party interviews. Next out of the limo was Morgan, a divorced martial arts instructor with an eight-year old daughter. From Michonne's body language, Rick could tell she wasn't all that into him. Morgan seemed nice enough, but a little boring. She needed someone with a good sense of humor. Glenn was next, the law student in his early 30s. Michonne had chosen to include younger guys in the candidate pool, not wanting to rule someone out because of age. Glenn kept her laughing the whole time, but she hugged him like a younger brother.

A thunderous motorcycle engine boomed in the distance. Up the driveway rode Daryl on a black Harley Davidson Low Rider, his biceps on full display in a white t-shirt and leather vest. Daryl pulled up to Michonne and cut the engine. He deftly traded the vest for a suit jacket matching his dress pants.

"Beautiful bike," Michonne said.

"Beautiful woman," Daryl said, kissing her hand. "I hope to take you for a ride someday."

"I look forward to it," Michonne said, apparently charmed by the firefighter. Lacking originality, Rick thought.

The producer picks came next, all too ridiculous to be taken seriously. Eugene, a physics professor, came dressed as Einstein. Shane, who Andrea coined "The Slut," couldn't keep his hands off Michonne. The comedian, Jesus, was more interested in getting a laugh than he was in Michonne. And Merle was a mess, sporting jeans and a t-shirt.

However, through all the shenanigans, Michonne remained gracious and poised, giving each contestant a warm welcome. She was as charming on camera as she was off-camera and possibly the best Bachelorette to date.

Tyreese was the last of the men to arrive. He was Rick's top pick for the final rose pool. He had the build of a football player, but practiced as a pediatrician. Besides the fact that he was thirty-seven and still single, his only fault was that he seemed too good to be true.

"You look amazing," he said, kissing Michonne's hand.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm feelin' the bow tie."

Tyreese laughed. "My niece made me promise to wear it the first night."

"She's got great taste, it suits you," Michonne said, her eyes twinkling.

"So you're into nerd. I can work with that."

"I grew up on comic books. If I were Japanese, I'd be a serious otaku."

They laughed easily together. Rick had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. It was like they were speaking some obscure nerd language.

"Ok, we should just elope right now," Tyreese said, taking her hand. "There's no way we're not made for each other." He kissed her on the cheek this time.

Rick watched Michonne as she watched Tyreese head into the mansion. The disarming geek had definitely sparked her interest.

Andrea sighed and chucked her coffee cup into the trash. "Those two are perfect. And it's boring the hell out of me."

Rick had no argument there – perfect was boring. But Michonne was nowhere near boring – and nowhere near perfect. He'd seen her interactions with her father. And he'd caught a glimpse of the hairline crack in her perfect veneer. Eventually, Andrea would see it too. Rick couldn't stand by and watch her toy with Michonne the way she'd toyed with the last Bachelorette.

But he had a lot at stake too. He needed to show that he had the gumption and drive to become a producer. And he couldn't risk it all for a woman who intended to marry another man.

Rick headed for the open bar. Tonight was going to be a long night.

Michonne yawned. Five hours after the last limo arrived, she'd finally wrapped up the last of the one-on-one conversations. Andrea had kept the guys coming, encouraging them to interrupt each other, stirring up tension among the group.

The night had been both invigorating and exhausting. Her cheeks ached from all the smiling and her shoulders were a knotted mess. Some conversations had been thought-provoking, others sexy and flirtatious, and the rest complete duds. But there was one guy who'd stood out from all the others and she was really looking forward to getting to know him better.

"Time for the First Impression Rose," Andrea said, presenting the the lapel rose on a small silver platter.

She wondered how Andrea could look so fresh at two in the morning, like she'd just stepped out of the shower. Michonne felt like death warmed over and was sure she looked it too.

Michonne grabbed the rose. "Thank goodness. I've only got another hour in me, tops."

"You're going to have to make it three. We've still got the rose ceremony and exit interviews."

"I can't," Michonne sighed. "I can barely keep my eyes open and my feet are killing me."

Andrea dug into her pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle. She shook a white pill into her palm and offered it to Michonne. "Take this."

"What is it?" Michonne didn't do well with pills.

"Something to get you through the night."

"No thanks. I don't take other people's prescriptions."

"Fine, but you better find something to energize you. I need you to not look like crap right now." Andrea walked away, cursing at someone over a walkie-talkie.

Conversations with Andrea usually ended with Michonne feeling slightly offended. She subtly insulted her appearance, usually her make-up or clothing choices. Michonne prided herself on keeping her cool in most situations and she refused to let Andrea throw her off her game.

"Try not to take it personally," Rick said, popping up out of nowhere. "She may be a brilliant producer, but her social skills leave room for improvement."

Rick looked dashing in a navy blue Armani suit. His warm smile made her heart race faster than any pill. She'd feared things would be awkward after the kiss last night, but Rick was a complete gentleman. Neither of them had mentioned it and she preferred it that way. She needed to focus on the real reason she was here – to find a husband – and not on getting Rick into her bed.

A cameraman accompanied Rick. "We have to do a quick interview before you give out the First Impression Rose," he said, motioning for her to take a seat on the patio couch. He sat across from her, right beside the camera. "This is the first rose you'll give out on the show. What has the lucky guy done to deserve it?"

"Well, right out of the limo he impressed me," Michonne said, smiling. "He was confident, sexy and put in the effort to make a lasting impression right off the bat."

"And no one else was able to grab your attention?"

"Not like him."

"Ok, that should be good," he said to the cameraman.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Rick asked.

"Of course," Michonne said.

"Over here." He led her to a dark corner near the pool house, away from the lights and the cameras.

"About last night…" he started.

"Don't worry about it. We were both pretty drunk."

"I wasn't."

"What?"

"I wasn't drunk."

"Ok? I just mean to say, we should probably just forget about it."

"That's probably a good idea." Rick moved in. "You look breathtaking tonight."

"Rick, we shouldn't…" Michonne whispered.

"Shouldn't what?"

"You know…"

Rick's lips were on hers in a heartbeat. Michonne's head spun as he nipped and sucked and licked. Rick kissed her as though it were their first time all over again.

Michonne decided to just let go and let herself enjoy this little bit of happiness, knowing it couldn't last.

Dawn emerged as Michonne handed out the last rose. Not surprisingly, the First Impression Rose had gone to Negan. Rick could hardly comprehend how she could be interested in someone who was his polar opposite. He had to remind himself that Michonne wasn't his…yet. That last kiss had changed everything for him. He wanted her. And he planned to step over these twenty-three other guys to win her heart. He just needed to avoid getting fired in the process.

The shooting wrapped up and Michonne headed back to her hotel room, but not before hugging Rick goodbye. She was definitely into him.

"May the best man win," Negan said, slapping Rick on the back.

"Excuse me?" Rick asked.

"It's clear there's something going on between you two."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever, man. You may have gotten a head start, but I'm in it to win. And I never lose."

"Neither do I," Rick said, facing off with him.

"This should be fun then," Negan said.

Rick tightened his jaw. Game on.

A/N: Let the journey begin! I'm completely obsessed with The Bachelorette right now and couldn't help but notice the similarities between Michonne and Rachel Lindsay. This will likely be a short and sweet summer read, but hope you enjoy it nonetheless. We'll get to know the guys better in the next chapter and watch Rick sweat as Michonne gets intimate with the other men. Would love your follows, faves and reviews!