A/N: One of my favorite shows is "The Bachelor," and I know it makes many non-romantics groan. But it's a social experiment more than anything, and I love to see how people react in unusual circumstances. If you're a fan, you've seen that sometimes this show can really work, can lead to a happy ending. But also, it can be a total disaster in the end. I had the idea that it might be really fun if I put our favorite characters in this situation. I hope you suspend your disbelief and skepticism for a little while and have fun along with me.
Mr. Right.
Chapter 1
"She insists on doing this, despite the threats against me. But Grace is a grown woman, and her mind is set on going on this ridiculous reality show. No amount of cajoling or even bribery has made a damn difference. She's as pigheaded as her mother. There's nothing I can do about it—except hire security. That's where you come in." Senator Jeremiah Van Pelt looked deeply into Teresa Lisbon's eyes, hoping the intensity of his gaze would further convey the gravity of the situation.
"What about the Secret Service?" Teresa asked, leaning forward in her chair, the better to hide the nervous shifting of her feet. She hoped she looked cool and collected, when in fact her mind and heart were racing madly. "Isn't that their job, to protect the families of US Senators?"
The senator rose from the chair across from her desk and ran an agitated hand through his close cropped, auburn hair. He was tall and graying at the temples, but still held the military bearing from his thirty years in the Marine Corps.
"They don't find the threat to Grace credible, and in this age of government cuts and shortages…well, I thought taking care of this myself would be more expedient, and more private, if you take my meaning."
"Of course, sir. Discretion is a priority with LCR."
He nodded curtly. "Good. You come highly recommended from my old friend Virgil Minelli. Damn shame the trouble plaguing the CBI. Our government entities should be above corruption and conspiracies. Glad you and your team were cleared of any wrongdoing. Virgil was certainly grateful he'd retired before that all went down."
"Yes, sir," she said mildly, though inside she was cringing at the painful reminder of how the state bureau had been all but dismantled six months before.
Gone were her dreams of someday leading the entire Sacramento branch, and she and her team had left amidst disgrace and scandal. The FBI wouldn't touch anyone from the CBI, despite the fact that they'd been cleared, and her choice for employment became either to start from the bottom at some local police department or private security agency, or strike out on her own. She was fortunate that the top members of her CBI team had chosen to take a chance and build this new business with her. But it had been slow going, mainly because a quick search on the internet showed her connections to the CBI and its recent scandal. No one wanted to hire a dirty cop, even though a more thorough search would show that she'd been cleared.
Despite all of this, Teresa had vowed to herself and her partners to give LCR Security and Investigations a year to catch fire, but her savings was quickly dwindling, and she was afraid she'd have to shut the doors before the paint on her shingle had completely dried. A referral from a powerful, much admired US Senator could go a long way toward building a more positive reputation, could bring in the business they so desperately needed.
"So," Senator Van Pelt was saying, "Have you seen this show, Mr. Right?"
"I have," she admitted casually, for in truth she'd never missed a season. It was one of her few guilty pleasures—along with bubble baths and romance novels. But no one would ever suspect (nor would she want them to) that the straight-laced, all business, former Agent Lisbon was a romantic at heart.
"Well it's a bunch of horse hockey, as far as I'm concerned," he continued irately. "Some oversexed Romeo picks a wife from a twenty-five woman harem? It's positively medieval! I looked up an episode online, and it was nothing but a bunch of scantily clad people drinking too much and having what amounts to orgies! It was absolutely shameful, debasing to all womankind. It seemed more like a—a cattle auction than a reality show. I can't believe my Gracie would want to be a part of that! It's certainly not how she was raised."
Orgies? Teresa thought. A bit of an exaggeration. There was certainly a lot of making out, and a few overnight dates in the Romance Suite, but nothing that amounted to an orgy. Well, nothing they ever showed on camera anyway.
"Yes," agreed Teresa diplomatically. "I'm sure this isn't how a father would want their daughter to find a husband, but there actually have been some successful marriages that came from this show…"
"Grace will not end up marrying this guy, not if I have anything to say about it. I'll let her have her moment of fun—even if it costs me the next election—but I'll be damned if I let her marry some phony, overpriced gigolo." She watched the man visibly take a deep breath to calm himself. His reddening face was looking a tad unhealthy, and she wondered if she'd have to call an ambulance soon.
"Would you like a glass of water, Senator?" she asked, rising in concern. She went to the mini fridge at the back of her office and took out a bottled water. "Maybe you should sit down, sir."
He did, accepting the water gratefully. "You have anything stronger?" he asked after chugging down half the bottle. He smiled ruefully, and she knew he was probably more than half serious. She had some scotch in her bottom desk drawer for emergencies, but thought maybe she shouldn't mention that. She sat back in her chair.
"Look," he said when he'd calmed considerably. "I promised her I wouldn't interfere or try to influence the show, but I'm still not comfortable having her parade before the cameras without some sort of security." He dug in his suit coat pocket for a business card, and slid it across her desk.
"This is the name of one of the producers of the show. He's agreed to let one of your people hang around the set, so long as they don't get in the way. The guy insisted there's other security there, but I would feel better if I knew one person was there only for my daughter. Grace will know someone is watching out for her, but she won't know specifically who it will be. She said she didn't want to know, that it would take away from the experience, and she didn't want to be treated differently than anyone else. Did I tell you she was stubborn?"
Teresa smiled a little. "Yes, sir, you did."
"I guess to keep security and peace in my family, I'm going to have to let someone else watch out for her," he said wryly. "I trust your team is up to this?"
"Absolutely, Senator. Your daughter will be our main priority."
He rose then, and they shook hands. "Grace is packing up to head to LA tomorrow morning. I took the liberty of purchasing a second ticket open for whomever you decide to send, and they'll be in a seat near hers. Frankly, I'd feel much better if you took care of this personally, Miss Lisbon. Virgil says you're cool in a crisis."
She resisted rolling her eyes. Babysitting a senator's daughter on a closed TV set with other security people around didn't seem like it would lend itself to a crisis. "I've had a lot of experience with high pressure security situations," she said dryly.
"I'm counting on it. I'd like daily reports." He stuck out his hand and Teresa shook it firmly.
"I'll be in touch, Senator."
And then he was gone, followed closely by his own security team, inconspicuous in suits of various shades of dark. Her partners, Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby, came in through her open door the moment the Senator left their office suite.
"Are we in, Boss?" asked Rigsby, with barely controlled glee. Beside him, the much shorter Cho stood patiently, though she could sense the tense expectation within his muscular frame.
"We are, and stop calling me boss, Rigsby. We're partners now."
"Yes!" exclaimed Rigsby in response to the new job. It was no secret their fledgling company was in dire straits.
"What did he need us for?" asked the much calmer Cho.
Teresa handed him the eight-by-ten photograph of Grace Van Pelt, her long, titian hair curling about her shoulders, amber eyes warm with an innate kindness and a sparkle of mischief. She had the bone structure of a model, or maybe a Disney princess. Rigsby's looked over Cho's shoulder at the photo and his jaw literally dropped.
"That's his daughter," Teresa explained. "The senator received threats after his vote on the last gun control bill, and he seemed to believe those threats included his family. She's going on a reality dating show in LA, and he wants me to be on set to look out for her."
Rigsby's mouth closed in disappointment. "What show?"
"Mr. Right," Teresa said.
"The one with the twenty-five single women, and they travel all over the world?"
"That's the one."
Cho frowned slightly. "That show's demeaning to women."
Teresa tried not to sound defensive of her favorite show. "It has its merits."
Cho made no other comment rather than to briefly raise his dark eyebrows.
"I could go," said Rigbsy eagerly. "I mean, if you two think this show is demeaning and all."
"No one's gonna look at you when they're vying for the attention of Mr. Right," kidded Cho, though his bland delivery would have sounded serious to those who didn't know him well.
"Well, for your information, only one girl ends up with him. Someone should be there to comfort the twenty-four that get rejected."
"And you're so kind to offer," Teresa said wryly. "Sorry Rigsby, but the Senator specifically asked that I take on the task. Besides, the show films for almost three months, so you guys are gonna have to be here to hold down the fort."
"Yeah, you have that home security system to install," Cho reminded him. "And I will be surveilling Mr. Kennedy's wife." His grimace gave no doubt what he thought of jealous husbands. But for now, these kinds of jobs were all that were keeping them afloat.
"This gig could set us up for bigger and better things," Teresa said happily. "I'm heading out tomorrow, but it's possible I'll only be gone a few days. Who knows; Miss Van Pelt might get sent home after the first night."
Rigsby was staring once more at the young woman's picture. "Not likely," he muttered dreamily.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Teresa sat behind Grace Van Pelt in First Class on the plane, only able to get brief glimpses of the beautiful girl between the leather seat backs. She glanced down at the file Rigsby had helpfully printed off for her, detailing all that was publicly known of the senator's daughter. She'd graduated with honors from Stanford in Criminal Justice. Currently, she was in her second year of law school at the University of San Francisco. So, she was smart and well-educated as well as gorgeous. Teresa wondered why she felt she needed to go on a reality show to find a man. She'd managed to stay out of the limelight thus far, no doubt in part because of her father's watchful eye, and the senator had said she didn't want her identity widely known while she was filming the show.
Grace didn't seem to be a party girl, and such an intense focus on her education must have left little time for it. Teresa empathized with the younger woman; having been a band nerd herself in high school and driven by her desire to get away from Chicago to become successful in law enforcement, she knew how difficult it was to form relationships outside of work. The men she'd met off the job were soon impatient with her frequently breaking dates and generally crazy hours. Since leaving the CBI, she'd had no time for anything but getting her new company up and running. Maybe taking off a few months and focusing just on developing a relationship wasn't such a bad idea. Perhaps Grace Van Pelt had seen it the same way.
In LA, Teresa rented a car after casually following Grace to the cab stand and seeing that she got in a car safely. The producer had told Teresa on the phone that the girls would move immediately into the private home where they'd be staying for their tenure on the show. Teresa showed her ID at the gate house at the end of the long drive and was admitted in her nondescript economy car and told to park in the back of the house. She stared in awe at the Spanish-style mansion where the show was filmed, surreal after having seen so many episodes set in this very place. Currently, the television crew worked like a hive of bees, busy preparing for the first day of full cast shooting the next day. She asked someone where she might find the producer she'd spoken to, Bret Stiles, and was directed to a canopy near the side of the house, where several people, including the director and the host of the show, were sitting in the shade before a bank of laptops and live feed screens, talking filming schedules and other last minute details. When there was a brief break in the conversation, Teresa Lisbon spoke up.
"Mr. Stiles. I'm Teresa Lisbon," she said to the blue-eyed Englishman.
"Aw, yes. Our additional security." His eyes sparkled with good humor as he shook her hand. "Our mutual friend didn't tell me how lovely you are."
Teresa felt a blush despite herself. "Thanks," she replied awkwardly. "If you'll just direct me to where you'd like me to be, I'll be happy to keep out of your way."
"Straight to business," he said dryly. Then he introduced her to the director, Brenda Shettrick and the onscreen host, Walter Mashburn. "Ms. Lisbon is part of the security team. Please give her every courtesy and all access to the women."
Brenda nodded kindly and turned back to her laptop, but Walter Mashburn turned the full force of his charming personality upon her, rising to his towering six foot three before taking her cool hand in his.
"A pleasure, Ms. Lisbon. Security, eh? To tell you the truth, I thought you were one of the contestants."
Teresa was a little star struck, having seen this man help guide Mr. Right through the confusing artificial marriage mart, lending his shoulder to cry on, or offering doses of tough love when the overwhelmed bachelor needed a push. He was even handsomer in person, and his brown eyes shone devilishly.
"Oh, uh, no." She laughed shakily and felt her face go redder still. He held her hand a little too long, then released it with a warm squeeze.
"Well, we're happy to have you. Mi casa es su casa, as it were," Mashburn said, gesturing grandly toward the villa. "The girls are mostly here, checking out their rooms." He nodded toward the nearest live feed screen. "We have a unit in there filming their first impressions." Teresa couldn't help her curious glance at the screen, noting Grace's subdued excitement at finally being there amidst the squeals of delight from the other women.
"Have you seen the show?" asked Mashburn, chuckling at the girls' reactions.
"Yes," she said. "Every season." She wasn't embarrassed to admit it to the host of the show at least.
"How flattering." He surveyed her knowingly. "I mean, if I had anything to do with so much loyal viewing."
She was tongue-tied a moment till she saw he was teasing her. She laughed. "Of course. It had nothing to do with the hunky bachelors trying to find true love."
Mashburn grinned. "Of course not."
"Mr. Stiles," Teresa said, prying her attention away from the handsome host. "May I take a look around the property, check out your security system?"
"Certainly, Ms. Lisbon. The other guards are expecting you. Make yourself at home."
"Maybe we could get a drink later," invited Mashburn softly, taking her hand again.
"I don't drink on the job," she said, but she softened her words with a dimpled smile, feeling a thrill as his eyes widened in appreciation.
"Well, then. I guess I'll see you around, Teresa."
"Mr. Mashburn."
"Walter, please, since I know we're going to be such good friends." He winked at her audaciously, and Teresa briefly wondered how the women on the show could overlook him, even for Mr. Right.
For the next hour, Teresa spoke with the on-set security contingent, discussing how well the women were guarded, their routines, etcetera. They directed her attention also to a neighboring estate, where Mr. Right would be staying. His identity was always closely guarded until the first day of the show, and speculation was wild on the internet. It was usually a successful businessman or playboy desiring to settle down at last. It was a brilliant strategy really, getting America hyped up with curiosity, eager to tune in to see who would be stealing the hearts of twenty-five women. So far, Teresa had never been disappointed. She felt a little giddy knowing that she would know before everyone else in the country, and she tamped down her own excitement, as if she too were one of the women eagerly awaiting their Prince Charming. She couldn't help pressing her hand to the wall that divided the two estates.
Be professional, Teresa, she whispered to herself. She took a deep breath and turned away from the high stone wall that separated her from Mr. Right.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Patrick Jane, mentalist and master illusionist, at that very moment was staring at the same wall. He could just see the roof of the house next door where his future wife might be waiting. His publicist had jumped at this chance for him to be in the spotlight of all America at once, even though countless others had seen him on his TV specials and had watched him perform his show live all over the country. He was perhaps the most well-known illusionist in the world at the moment, had the beautiful beach house in Malibu, the Tuscan style villa in Sonoma. He'd romanced countless women, but had never found Ms. Right. He was forty years old and had never been married-not even close-and now he wondered if something might be wrong with him, rather than the beautiful but boring creatures he'd dated.
Two years before, a friend of his had found love on the show Mr. Right, and currently he and his missus were expecting their first child. Patrick had seen first-hand how the show could work, had even been a guest on his friend's season where Patrick had offered his advice onscreen, using his skills as a mentalist to size up the final two women he'd had to choose between. The feedback about Patrick's brief appearance had been phenomenal, and the producers had asked him to be the next Mr. Right. It had taken two years for him to clear his busy schedule in order to make time to do the show. Two years of pointless dates, empty, sterile houses, and lonely hotel rooms.
I'm clearly having a midlife crisis, Patrick thought wearily. He was successful, but what was it all for if not to share with a wife and family? Soon his chance for enjoying his own children would be off the table, and he heard the ticking of his biological clock as loudly as a blacksmith pounding an anvil in his head. He didn't want to be a grandfather to his own kids; he wanted to be young enough to enjoy them. He'd tried dating aps and matchmaking services, to no avail. The trouble was, his uncanny ability to read people had taken away most of the surprise in dating, in discovering new and exciting things about a woman. He'd take one look at her and find himself disappointedly unimpressed.
Being Mr. Right, he thought desperately, might be his last hope. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the warm California sun.
"Mr. Jane," said one of the producers. "You're needed in makeup before you film some of your intro segments."
Patrick nodded, and, with one last hopeful glance at the wall, walked toward his temporary home.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"You're not bloody serious," Teresa overheard Bret Stiles practically yelling into his phone the next afternoon. "An appendicitis? Seriously? What about our backup girls?"
He listened a moment in consternation, then held his hand over the receiver while he spoke to Brenda Shettrick. "None of the women on standby live in California and can make it to the set on time. Looks like we're going to have to be short a woman this season."
"What? We've always had twenty-five contestants," she said. "That's what the viewers expect. Can't we just find some actress to fill in this first night, then we can come up with some excuse for her to leave."
"That kind of thing takes time, arrangements with acting agencies, screen tests, background checks. We can't deceive Mr. Jane, who we know will be able to spot an actress a mile away. We can't afford him, or the other women bad-mouthing the show to the press. We've already had to deal with gossip that the show is a fake."
Walter Mashburn joined Teresa where she stood just on the outskirts of the canopy, watching on the live feedback screen Grace tanning herself alongside other women by the swimming pool in the back of the house. That night, they would meet Mr. Right for the first time.
"What's going on?" Mashburn asked, moving to stand beside her.
"Looks like the girl they took to the emergency room last night had an appendicitis. The show's short a contestant."
He listened to the ongoing argument between Stiles and Brenda, then with whomever Stiles was talking to on the phone. Teresa felt Mashburn's eyes come to rest heavily on her, and she looked up into the face of a man on a mission.
"What about her," he asked, interrupting the crisis beneath the canopy. Everyone froze and turned to look at Teresa.
"What?" she managed, startled, but no one was paying attention to what was coming out of her mouth. Instead, they were sizing her up with critical eyes.
"How old are you?" asked Brenda.
"Uh, thirty-eight," Teresa stammered. "Surely you're not thinking—"
"She's a little older than Jane's parameters, but she looks almost ten years younger. You married? Have a boyfriend?" asked Stiles.
"Well, no, but—" Jane? Who was Jane?
They were all nodding and giving each other meaningful looks.
"Look, we just need you for one night," said Stiles, "then we'll make an excuse why you have to leave the show so Mr. Right won't even have the chance to pick you at the Key Ceremony."
"But I have a job to do," Teresa protested, feeling as if she were losing complete control of the situation.
"And you can do it up close and personal if you're on the show tonight," countered Stiles.
"What about the personal package?" asked Brenda. "We don't have time to film one." Teresa knew they meant the introductory video about each of the twenty-five contestants, that took the viewers to their hometowns, showed something of their real life.
"There's always one or two that we edit out on the show. The fans are used to it. Besides, they will barely have a chance to get to know her before she's gone," said Mashburn.
"We'll pay you," said Stiles suddenly. "Double what you're getting as a security guard, just for one night on the show."
"No, I really don't want—"
"You can do this, Teresa," Mashburn was saying. "Just meet Mr. Right, have a few cocktails, make small talk with the other women, and then you'll suddenly disappear. We'll tell our bachelor you've taken ill."
"But they'll all see me around the set the rest of the time, doing my real job. What will everyone think then?"
"We'll fill them in on what really happened later. Mr. Right will understand. He knows what can happen in showbiz," said Stiles. "The show must go on and all that. Please, Ms. Lisbon. We're in a bind here. You're beautiful, accomplished, well-connected. And we know you've passed a background check and can be counted on in your job to show great discretion. And we've surely got a cocktail dress you can wear tonight. We'll even help you with makeup and hair, something we rarely do. But I can already tell the camera will adore you!"
"But this isn't fair to Mr. Right," Teresa said, heart pounding at what was actually about to happen to her. She could feel her willpower wavering. "He wants someone here that wants to find love, someone here for the right reasons."
"Don't you want to find love?" asked Walter Mashburn with a sly smile.
"Well, yes, but not like this."
"And you won't really be expected to. Come on. It'll be fun. I'll definitely owe you that drink." Mashburn's smile was devastatingly charming.
They were all silent as they awaited her answer, three sets of eyes appealing with her to say yes and solve their problem for them. It certainly was true that she would be able to get even closer to Grace if she were allowed to participate in the party tonight, but the idea of having cameras following her around, of being on display like—what did Senator Van Pelt call it? A cattle auction? Watching it play out on TV was one thing; being a part of it was something else. Still, it was only for one night, and her company could definitely use the extra money…
Come on, Teresa, do something daring outside your job for once, said the little devil whispering on her shoulder.
"Okay," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, "I'll do it."
A/N: What do you think so far? I hope you enjoyed this set up. More soon.