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to come.”

      “He won’t like us trying to entice his family.”

      “He’ll like the money and the notoriety, though. You just watch. I bet he’d sell out his mother for this.”

      “He hasn’t so far.”

      “Money brings out the mean and greedy in people, V.C.,” Samuel reminded her. “And in this case, Clint Griffin might be the man to save us. I can predict a lot of mean and greedy in his future once the numbers come in and that will allow a lot of mean and greedy for leverage to save our show.”

      Victoria went back to her office to wait for Clint’s final adjustments and thought about her conversation with Samuel. A sliver of regret nudged at her, making her want to run into the conference room and tear up that contract. Was it worth disrupting a man’s life just to save a reality show? Just to get a little bit of satisfaction that amounted to mean and greedy revenge?

      Yes, if you also want to save your job.

      Since she didn’t have a choice in the matter, she gathered her notes and equipment and decided she’d order in and spend the rest of the day and evening preparing for the weeks ahead. She planned to find all the ammo she could to push at Clint Griffin so she could get to the real man underneath all that testosterone and bravado. The man she’d witnessed kissing that blonde and inviting Victoria in to be next in line. Was he trying to put on a good front because of his family? Or was he up to something else entirely?

      What did she care anyway? Her job was to get in, get the shots and do the edits that would play up the drama. After all, reality television was all about the drama. She could cut and paste and get the worst that this man had to offer and people would still love watching. She just hoped his family didn’t form a revolt.

      * * *

      CLINT WANDERED DOWN the wide hallway of the Reality Network production rooms, fascinated with the whole studio thing. He’d had a little experience in studios, mostly cutting demos or sitting with some artist who wanted to record one of his songs, but nothing all that big or exciting. He’d been trying to get back into songwriting again lately, so this might give him the push he needed. If he could write a song and sing it on the show he might get a few nibbles from Nashville. Not for the money, but because he enjoyed writing songs. His daddy hadn’t agreed with Clint having a creative side so he’d gone back and forth between writing songs and riding broncs.

      “You need to get those notions out of your head, son,” his father had advised. “You’re a Griffin. We work the land, tend our herds. Rodeoing will give you an outlet for all that pent-up frustration. That and a good woman.” But not a good song. No, sir.

      Yeah, his daddy knew a thing or two about horses and...women. Too many women.

      “Guess I inherited that from you at least,” Clint mumbled to himself now.

      He noticed the framed posters on the walls, most of them showcasing some poor celebrity who’d just signed an agreement like the one he’d inked minutes ago. Had he sold his soul again?

      When he came to an open door down the way, he glanced in and saw Victoria sitting at her desk jotting notes to beat the band. Her hair was down around her shoulders today, tangled and tempting. She wasn’t all painted up like a lot of the women he knew. She looked natural and girl-next-door. Innocent in some strange sweet way. Flowered shirts and soft-washed jeans, nice sturdy boots. One silver thread of a necklace dangling against the V of her shirt. A necklace with some sort of intricate token weighing it down.

      “Wanna go to lunch?” he asked before he had time to think. To ease his eagerness, he added, “You can start picking me apart today. Film at eleven or something like that.”

      She looked shocked and kind of cute. She’d obviously been deep into plotting out his future. Now she lifted her hand through all that twirling hair and asked, “You want me to go to lunch with you? Right now?”

      He glanced at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Lunch, dinner, whatever you want to call it. I’m hungry.”

      Her green eyes darkened at the quiet that followed that comment. And suddenly Clint was hungry for one thing. Her mouth.

      That tempting mouth spoke. “I...uh...sure, I could eat.”

      And he could kiss. Her. Right. Now.

      Clint blinked and laughed to cover the shock of attraction moving like heat lightning throughout his system. “Okay, then, let’s go.” He turned to glance down the hall, sure someone had seen that rush of awareness sparking up the back of his neck.

      “I know a great place on the corner,” she said. He turned back and watched as she grabbed a tiny laptop and several piles of papers and magazines, and shoved them into that big brown bag she carried. “But no taping. This is just you and me, getting to know each other. I’ll take notes, though. I have a lot of background questions.”

      “Ask away,” he said through a smile. That way, he could stare across the table at her without looking too obvious.

      When she breezed by, a hint of something exotic and spicy filled his nostrils. Then he watched her retreat, enjoying the way her jeans curved around her feminine body.

      Nice.

      And since when did he not notice a woman’s posterior?

      But this woman had something he couldn’t quite figure out.

      She wants you.

      Yep, but she wants you for a different reason than all the rest. She wants you as a means to an end. She’s using you so her show will stay on the air a little longer. Nothing personal.

      And that was the thing that just might drive him crazy.

      * * *

      THE SANDWICH SHOP did a chaotic dance of lunch-hour service, the spicy scents coming from the kitchen making Victoria’s stomach growl. But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat a bite with Clint sitting across from her.

      Already, the downtown women were giving him the eye.

      And already, she was remembering why she didn’t want to be here with him.

      What have I signed on for? she thought. Why did I jump at this chance when Samuel presented it? I should have declined and found someone else, someone better suited for the show.

      But who could be better suited for a down-and-dirty reality show than the man sitting across from her?

      “So, what’s good here?” he asked, completely oblivious to her inner turmoil. “The steak sandwich sounds great but so does the tamale pie.”

      Victoria shut down her jittery nerves and pretended to read over the menu. “I love the tamale pie.”

      “Then pie it is,” he said, grinning over at her. “I’m not hard to please.”

      She stared at him for a minute before responding. A minute that only reminded her of all the reasons she shouldn’t be here with him. “Why did you ask me to lunch?”

      Surprised at her blunt question, he drew back. “Do I have to have a reason?”

      “I’d think you have a reason for every step you take.”

      He put down his menu and braced one arm on the back of his chair. “You really don’t like me very much, do you?”

      Wishing she’d been a little nicer, she shrugged. “It’s not really my job to like you. It’s my job to make sure you and I can work together to put on a good show.”

      He nodded, drank some of his water. “And that’s what this is about—putting on a good show.”

      “Yes,” she said, the snark still lurking in her words. “And I believe you’re very good at that.”

      “Whoa.” He sat up and leaned his elbows on the table. “You’re sure prickly today. Having second thoughts, Victoria? If you don’t like me,

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