Chapter 10
"Wow, you really know how to work a room." Jeremy, the director, congratulates Castle as he joins him on the couch in his suite. "You had them practically salivating by the end."
"Umm, thanks?" Rick reaches up and snags the end of his bow-tie, pulling it free, before undoing the top button of his shirt. It's only eleven o'clock but he's absolutely shattered. Being under the scrutiny of the cameras and maintaining a smiling facade had been tiring. All he wants to do is enjoy his scotch and then a hot shower to wash the debris of the day off before falling into bed.
"Don't be so modest." Jeremy enthuses. "Those women were ready to maul you on the spot. Don't you think so Beckett?"
Kate walks into the room, only catching the end of the conversation. "Sorry Jeremy, what were you asking?"
"I was just telling Rick that he was a hit with the women. And who can blame them? What woman wouldn't be interested in a famous, rich, good looking author?"
She sneaks a quick look at Castle who seems very interested in her answer, a smug smile on his face. "I can think of one or two," she says it dryly. "But certainly those women were receptive to Castle's charm." Her tone implies that some people have no taste though.
"Receptive? I think that that's putting it mildly, cats in heat would have been more subtle than some of those ladies. I've already had a look over some of the footage that we shot and this is going to be ratings gold." Jeremy has a good feeling about this, Castle has the perfect chemistry to carry the whole production. "If you can keep this going then we'll have the network and the advertisers offering us whatever we want."
Castle smiles, he's not too carried away by the director's unbridled enthusiasm. Through his mother's acting career he's been exposed to the dramatic, artistic types in the entertainment industry so Jeremy's hyperbolic praise is nothing new.
"So, have you chosen who you'll be taking out on individual dates tomorrow?" Jeremy asks the writer. "You'll need to give the names to Beckett so she can arrange for invitations and roses to be delivered to each woman."
The director glances over at Kate to get her attention. "We want to film each woman receiving her invite tomorrow morning, so please make sure they get them before seven. That way the lucky few will get a chance to gloat over the rest at breakfast in the dining room. The viewing public love to watch a bitchy, gloat session. Also, I need you to organize a few things for the evening date."
Beckett has her notebook and pen poised, ready to take notes.
"Make sure there's a bottle of champagne on ice for when Rick and his date arrive, candles of course and a white rose floral centerpiece on the table for the al fresco dinner. Chef Pablo will be doing the catering for all the food tomorrow, he'll need to know if there are any special dietary restrictions. Put two overnight travel-kits of toiletries in the bathroom and of course some condoms in the bedside drawers."
She's scribbling furiously to keep up with Jeremy's quick pace that the meaning of the word only occurs to her as she's finishing the last swirl of the s.
Condoms? What the ...?
Beckett looks up in surprise, her eyes darting over to meet Castle's. His face is a mixture of astonishment and guilt? He looks as surprised by Jeremy's statement as she is. She shouldn't be surprised though, it wasn't as if he'd signed up for this show to be a monk.
"Um, ah. Look, Jeremy ... I don't think that the ... um ... condoms ... are necessary." Rick stammers, trying hard not to glance over at Beckett, she's probably glaring daggers in his direction. Getting her to pick up condoms so that he can sex with another woman is just weird and wrong, especially after they kissed the other day. This is more awkward than the time his mother tried to have the sex talk with him when he was fourteen, by then he'd already managed to get to third base with Lisa Rubenstein from his American history class.
"No condoms? Don't you believe in safe sex?" Beckett asks him in a deadpan tone.
Even though he deliberately avoids looking at her face, he can tell that she's got that scornful look on her face, the one that says she thinks he's a juvenile Casanova, just from the dryness of her voice.
"Oh, no ... Of course condoms... safe sex is important." Castle swallows, he's in trouble and he knows it. There seems to be no way of extricating himself from this quagmire, for a writer, his words seem to have suddenly deserted him.
"Of course they're necessary," Jeremy interrupts, seemingly unaware of the tension between Castle and Beckett. "This isn't the first television dating show that I've done, trust me, the guy always get laid." He says it in a chummy kind of way, like they're two frat boys talking about girls. "The Fantasy Suite is set up to be the ultimate romantic date, women love it. An over-the-water bungalow on a private beach with an intimate, outdoor dinner looking out at the sunset. If a charming, good-looking guy like you can't get laid after all that then there's something wrong with the world. Look, this show works because sex sells, but it would be a bad look if someone ends up with a STD, the tabloids would just love that, so the condoms are a necessity. And don't worry, it's not as if there will be cameras in the bedroom. You'll have complete privacy in there for whatever activities you want to get up to."
"Umm, sure ... great, thanks?" Castle nervously plucks at his collar, what he wouldn't give for a time machine, or a cloak of invisibility so that he could escape this horribly awkward situation.
"Ok Rick, I'll leave you to get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow," Jeremy says it with a knowing grin.
After the director leaves and it's just the two of them, Castle turns to face Beckett. He'd love to just escape to his room or pretend the last five minutes never happened but he knows that he has to say something to make it right or she'll continue to look at him like he's pond scum.
"Look Beckett, about those condoms ..."
She raises an eyebrow. "What about them Castle? Did you have some special request? Strawberry-flavoured? Ribbed? Or how about size - small?"
"Hey!" he squeaks with indignation. "Large, if you must know. But that wasn't what I was going to say."
Her face is sceptical but she shrugs her shoulders and keeps quiet, allowing him to continue.
"I was going to say that you don't have to buy them for me, that shouldn't be part of your job. If I need them then I'll buy them myself." Castle rubs his hand across the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.
"Sure, fine. Suit yourself, that's one less task on my list then," she turns to leave, dismissing him already.
"Beckett, wait please."
For some reason he feels like he owes her an apology or an explanation? It's not as if Beckett's got any claim on him or as if she even wants one – she's made that perfectly clear - but even so ...
She half turns and gives him a raised eyebrow.
"Umm ..." He has no idea what to say. It's not like he can deny that the opportunity for sex hadn't been one of his motivating factors for signing up to the show. "Never mind," he sighs in defeat.
The cop looks singularly unimpressed by his lack of eloquence. "Just leave me a list of your choices for tomorrow on the table. I'll see that it all gets organised." Her tone is impersonal and detached. They could have been talking about his grocery shopping list, she was that dispassionate. Beckett walks out leaving him alone and miserable.
Castle slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands covering his face. It isn't meant to be like this. When Paula, his agent, had come to him with the offer it had sounded like fun. A tropical island and the opportunity to date 10 women simultaneously. All of the women had signed up for it so there would be no jealous tantrums or accusations that he was being a cheating bastard. He's not in a relationship, and they're all consenting adults. Really he's got nothing to feel guilty about, nothing at all.
So why does he still feel like a complete jerk?
Richard Castle requests the pleasure of your company for an intimate beach-side dinner...
At six-thirty Beckett slips the silver-embossed cards under the doors of the selected contestants. No doubt there'll be squealing and giggling when the chosen three wake up and receive their invites, as well as bitching and jealous glances from the other women. The cameras will, of course, be rolling and ready to capture every second of it.
The women that he's picked are all clones of each other - tall, leggy, busty (to the point of being obviously fake in one case) and shades of blonde or strawberry-blonde. It's evident that Castle has a type - she's clearly not it. Beckett mentally shrugs away her irritation at that thought, she's undercover to nab a murderer and bust a drug ring, her only interest in Castle is how he pertains to her case.
Kate grabs a bran muffin off the sideboard that they keep stacked for the crew instead of joining Castle for breakfast, no more shared meals, it's strictly work only. She's barely gets a chance to sit down in the editing room to enjoy her second coffee of the day when a high-pitched scream echoes down the corridor causing her to spill the hot liquid onto her top.
"Frigging hell!" Beckett pulls the damp material away from her skin, blowing cold air over her chest to cool the burn. She spares a quick glance at the nearby electronics, fortunately none of it got splashed.
Judging from the excited dancing that Beckett can see on the bank of television monitors it seems as if at least one of the women has discovered her invitation and she seems pretty happy about it, hence the screaming and carrying on. That first scream acts like a wake-up call for the other contestants and soon there's heads popping out from open doors, looking either disappointed or smug and superior if they're one of the lucky three.
The cattiness that ensues over breakfast is astonishing, it's as if these women aren't at all concerned about how their behaviour might be viewed by others. No wonder some people get hooked on watching reality television, it's like that slow-moving train wreck that you can't help but be morbidly fascinated by. Beckett doesn't have time though to watch the drama unfolding, she's got a long list of tasks to do today if all Castle's dates are to go off without a hitch.
In fact, she's so busy that she manages to avoid the writer for most of the day, between her jobs and his morning and afternoon dates she's barely seen Castle for more than ten minutes by the time the car service comes to pick him up for the evening.
Beckett knocks on his door, intending to just pass on the message and leave quickly but he unexpectedly opens it before she can escape.
"Hey Castle. Your ride is here ..." she takes in his attire, he's still wearing the same cargo pants and shirt that he had on for his afternoon date, "... and you're not ready."
"Oh crap," he glances down at his watch, he's late, he's really late. "I'm on Skype with Alexis and I must have lost track of the time. How long have I got?"
"You're meant to have left five minutes ago, at this rate you might be standing her up."
"Sorry Alexis, I've got to go but you can talk to Beckett for a bit. I love you Pumpkin," Castle shoves his tablet into Beckett's hands and starts unbuttoning his shirt even as he races for the shower. "Can you tell them I'll only be five minutes, ten minutes max?" he asks over his shoulder. "Thanks Beckett."
She looks down with bemusement at the image of the girl who is grinning up from the screen. "Umm, hi Alexis."
"Hi Beckett, I've heard so much about you from Dad already. I hope he's been behaving himself. He can be a bit of a handful sometimes."
He's talked to his daughter about her? Interesting.
"I'm not sure if I'd call it good behaviour but your Dad is certainly a handful."
"Hey I heard that," his muffled voice calls out from the bathroom. "No ganging up on the poor male."
Alexis laughs as Beckett rolls her eyes and the detective finds herself laughing as well, two women sharing their exasperation at the antics of the man-child.
"So, how was LA?"
"Sunny, warm, fun and hectic. As much as I love visiting my Mom, I'm also glad for a chance to recover once it's over. You might not believe it but, out of my parents, Dad is the more responsible one." Alexis smiles fondly, there's no doubting the genuine affection between father and daughter.
"Wow, you're right, that is hard to believe. So what are you up to now?" Beckett asks her.
"I'm sitting in the departure lounge at LAX. My plane is boarding soon and Dad was keeping me amused while I'm waiting."
"So you're headed back to New York?"
"Yes, my friend Paige and her Mom are meeting me there and then we're off to Science Camp tomorrow for three weeks. Oh, that's my boarding call. I have to go Beckett but it was really nice to meet you. Bye."
"Same here Alexis, have a safe trip."
She hangs up the call and then powers off his tablet, leaving it on the table. Whatever his faults, Castle seems to be raising a pretty good kid.
True to his word he comes back into the room only five minutes later, finger-combing his hair with one hand even as he shrugs into his Hugo Boss jacket.
Oh my word.
He looks good, put-on-a-plate-and-devour-in-one-bite good. The blue of the shirt matches his eyes and cut of the jacket emphasizes his broad shoulders.
Her gaze skittles away from him as she looks for something more neutral. "Alexis had to go, her plane was boarding. Are you ready?"
He's patting down his pockets, making sure that he has everything so he doesn't notice her avoidance. "Yeah, see you later Beckett," he calls out even as he's leaving, still rushing because he's behind schedule.
"Yeah, see you tomorrow," she says it softly although he's already left and there's no way he'll hear her, tomorrow because he's spending tonight with someone else.
Kate rolls over in bed and punches her fist into the pillow, then plumps it up again to support her neck in a better position. For some reason she just can't get comfortable. She should be tired, it's after midnight and she's had a long day. Normally falling asleep is not a problem, she's even managed to catch a few hours of rest on the lumpy couch in the precinct break-room when there's been a particularly difficult case and she hadn't made it home. So why can't she fall asleep on this very nice king bed with the high thread-count cotton sheets?
She refuses to admit that her insomnia has anything to do with a certain writer and the activities that he might be getting up to tonight in the privacy of the bedroom of the Fantasy Suite.
Fantasy Suite! Huh! More like the Fuck Shack!
They might as well call it what it really is. She flops onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
It doesn't bother her, of course. If Castle wants to have sex with every single contestant on this show and demonstrate to the world exactly what kind of philandering jerk he is then he should just go straight ahead and do it. Nope, it doesn't bother her at all.
A/N: Apologies for the long delay between updates. I've been on holiday but I promise to have another chapter up by the end of this Sunday to make up for it.