Chapter One
 Thou, Nina Collette Ceceri Quinn, shall never, ever, resort to a bad comb-over if thou should happen to go bald.
I hoped I wouldn’t, but if I did, this commandment would zoom to the top of my personal list fast. Right up there with never wearing dark socks–or any socks for that matter—with sandals and never letting the hair on my upper lip grow to the point where someone thinks I have a moustache.
Some things in life were just a given.
Horrendous was the only way to describe the comb-over on Willie Sala. Five thin greasy clumps of dark brown hair swooped from his left ear to his right, hugging his shiny head for dear life.
Maybe five-five, 160 pounds, Willie also had the darkest, beadiest eyes I’d ever seen.
Fortunately he had good teeth. A girl could overlook a lot for good teeth.
Willie Sala was the producer/director of the local reality show TV Hitched or Ditched, which filmed right here in Ohio. Forget WKRP, HoD was currently Cincinnati’s claim to fame. Sad as that was to say.
It was a show where couples signed up to test their relationships. Ultimately, the home audience would decide whether contestants should get hitched...or ditch each other.
I glanced to my right. The man sitting next to me in the Crackerjack-sized conference room at the HoD studio was tall with shoulder-length wavy blond hair and broad shoulders—an overall great build. Beautiful light blue eyes crinkled at the corners from good humor, and his lips were tantalizingly kissable. The Florida sun had bronzed his fair skin to golden perfection. He was the epitome of the all-American boy next door.
It helped that he was calm, confident, gorgeous, sexy, and good in bed.
His name was Bobby Mackenna, and I knew about that bed part because I’d slept with him.
Notice the past tense?
He looked over, caught me ogling and winked. He’d been raised in Texas and had the wink down pat.
Bobby and I happened to be one of the couples on this week’s show. Mario and Perry were the other couple. The four of us, along with HoD’s boyishly charming host, Thad Cochran, and a handful of TV people listened to Willie bark about being “real” on TV, yet “dramatic” enough to keep viewers tuned in every night.
My life leaned toward dramatic, so I didn’t think I’d have trouble with that part.
The “real” part might be a problem. Seeing as how Bobby and I were pretend contestants, here on the show undercover to help Bobby’s lawyer cousin nail Willie for sexual harassment.
“We want to see everything.” Willie spoke in short staccato bursts, a rapid fire verbal machine gun. “Little things. Washing dishes, to work, to fights. We love fights.” His weasely voice bounced off the cracked mushroom-colored walls, but the smarmy edge was taken off by the dark industrial carpet so old it was probably laid in 1932, when the studio was built. “And sex! Lots of sex, too! A ratings booster if there ever was one.”
Bobby’s eyebrows waggled.
Danger! Danger!
It would be hazardous to my mental state to pick up our sex life where it had left off.
Just over six weeks ago, he’d left Ohio to take a job as an elementary school principal in Tampa, Florida, and it hadn’t been any bond with me that had brought him back. Mac, Bobby’s grandfather, had fallen and injured his hip and needed Bobby’s help finding long-term care.
Murky would be a good way to describe the relationship between Bobby and me right now. There were still feelings between us. His move hadn’t changed that. I’d fallen for him hard and fast soon after my breakup with my ex-husband Kevin Quinn. And because I’d been so confused about my sudden feelings, Bobby had gone ahead and taken his dream job in Florida. We’d agreed a long-distance relationship wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
Which was true.
But now he was back in town—on a temporary leave of absence to help Mac, and to do the show.
And to use Bobby for sex while he was here would be wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Or so I told myself to keep sane.
I’d thrown a serious pity party for a good solid month when Bobby first left. Then I woke up one morning wondering who the hell I was. What defined me? What did I really want out of life? I burned with questions I’d never taken the time to figure out. All I knew was I didn’t like who I’d become, all mopey and depressed.
So here I was, currently on day ten of a serious self-discovery quest. With resolutions for a healthier lifestyle, some serious self-examination, and most importantly: no men.
The whole kit and frustrating caboodle.
The no men part had been fairly easy with Bobby gone. But now he was suddenly back in my life.
As if that alone weren’t bad enough, we also had to pretend to be engaged in front of the whole Cincinnati viewing area.
Fate?
My temples throbbed. Pondering fate gave me headaches.
Willie stood while the rest of us sat. He jabbed his finger in the air to punctuate his choppy speech. “For four days cameras will record parts of your normal lives. Each night you’ll come here to play Rendezvous.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his head, dislodging one section of his comb-over. It flopped down over his forehead like a wilting daisy.
Rendezvous was HoD’s ripped-off version of the Newlywed Game. It was filmed several hours before actual broadcast, to be able to edit out any bleeps or blunders.
Thad Cochran, the picture-perfect host of HoD, motioned to Willie’s wilting hair, while saying to us, “Be honest with your answers, people. The truth always comes out in the end.” He had a deep cleft in his chin that bobbed when he talked.
Willie pushed the errant hair back onto his moist head. It stuck without a fight. “I’ll be up front. Big name executives will be in and out of the studio all week. HoD is going national. We must make this week a good one. Nothing can go wrong. Got it?”
Great. Added pressure.
One of Willie’s assistants poked her head in the door and said, “Mr. Sala, Mrs. Sala is here.”
A sultry feminine voice said, “Willie, sweetheart, may I have a moment?”
I craned my neck to see what kind of woman would marry that kind of man.
She stood in the doorway. Six feet of perfection. Long ebony hair, dark exotic eyes, flawless olive skin, curves in all the right places.
Perry, one of the other contestants, leaned in toward me. He had a smooth deep voice full of inflection. It rose and fell as he spoke. “That’s Genevieve Hidalgo Sala, Willie’s brand-spanking new wife.” His eyes sparkled. They were a shade of gray-green I’d never seen before. “She’s also the new hostess of the show. She’s Vanna to Thad’s Pat Sajak.” His pale eyebrows arched, lifting his whole forehead a half-inch. “Wonder how she got that job, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”
Ooh, that was an interesting tidbit. “What happened to Jessica Ayers?” I whispered, playing dumb. After being abruptly fired eight weeks ago, Jessica Ayers claimed she’d been sexually harassed by Willie while on set, and hired Bobby’s cousin Josh, a two-bit sleaze ball lawyer, to file a lawsuit.
“Oh, that! Well, I’ve heard—”
“Perry, stop gossiping,” Mario chastised.
With dark hair, dark eyes, and beautiful mocha-colored skin, Mario was Perry’s significant other. Partner? I wasn’t sure of the proper term these days for gay lovers. In the few hours I’d known the two of them, they seemed headed toward Ditched, in my opinion. That Mario was a stick in the mud. He hadn’t stopped griping at Perry since they arrived, nitpicking about this, nagging about that. He kind of reminded me of my mother.
“We’ll talk later,” Perry whispered.
I’d make a point of it. Curiosity burned. Did he know anything that could help Josh’s case? After all, that was why I was here.
Participating in this torture.
All because of a favor. One Bobby promised Josh in order to get off the phone when we’d been, ah, indisposed.
True, I probably could have finagled my way out of doing the show. However, I felt as though Bobby and I had both made the promise to Josh that day, and if there’s one commandment I strictly adhere to it’s keeping my promises.
And, since the HoD cameras would be following me during the day, it would be great—free—PR for my landscaping company.
But, I confess, I’d had another motive to do the show. I’d wanted to have this week with Bobby. To see if I had made the right decision in letting him go. To see if we were well and truly over for good.
Or so that had been my grand plan. Unfortunately, it had only taken two minutes of seeing him again to know I had probably made the biggest mistake of my life by breaking things off with him.
I loved him. Simple as that. I loved him, and I’d let him go.
But I’d made my decision, and now I had to live with it. There was no other option. I couldn’t ask him to come back—being a principal was his dream job. And I couldn’t leave Ohio. This was where my family was, my job, my friends.
It was clear I was just going to have to suck it up, live with the decisions I’d made, stay strong, and get through this week without falling back into that dark hole I’d been in after he left.
This week would be all about self-preservation. Of keeping my distance from him, physically and emotionally. Easier said than done, though, because I wanted nothing more than to fling myself at him.
Another reason why self-discovery could only be a good thing for me.
“Give me a minute,” Willie said to all of us as he walked over to his wife. Genevieve towered over him by a good four inches. He kissed her hand (Perry awwwed) and led her into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Bobby brought his head close to mine. He smelled good, a little bit laundry detergent, a little bit of coffee, a little bit of just...him. It was a scent I couldn’t quite describe, but it did funny things to my stomach.
“This is going to be fun,” he murmured.
The way my stomach flippity-flopped, this was going to be cruel and unusual punishment, spending a week with him, pretending to be his fiancée. “What doesn’t kill us.”
“You’ll cave.”
He’d already tried to get me into his bed twice since being back.
“Nope.”
A lazy grin crept across his face. “Oh, you will.”
I had a sinking feeling he might be right. I was weak where he was concerned.
Since I had goals for my mental health, I needed to stay strong about the sex part. Wrong, wrong, wrong to use him, I told myself again. But it would be so easy to give in...
Wrong!
Perry leaned in. “What are you mumbling about?”
My cheeks flamed. If he only knew. “Nothing, really.”
His eyebrows dipped. “You bipolar?”
I laughed. “No.” Glancing at Bobby, I easily saw him naked in my mind’s eye. Suddenly warm, I tugged on my shirt collar. “Ever been on a diet, Perry?”
“Have I ever.” He patted a slightly rounded stomach.
“And could use one again,” Mario put in, clearly eavesdropping.
Perry rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s nervous. He’s always crabby when he’s nervous. Go on.”
“Well, you know that feeling of wanting something really badly but not being able to have it?”
Solemnly, he nodded.
“Let’s just say I need a cookie.”
He squeezed my hand, seeming to know I wasn’t talking about cheating on my low-carb diet. I’d just started it, hoping to lose a couple of pounds, and it was killing me.
As was the no-sex thing.
Self-discovery was a bitch.
“You know what you need?” Perry asked.
“What’s that?”
“A little makeover. Something to spruce you up a bit. Make you feel better.”
“It will do wonders,” Mario piped in.
Ordinarily, I would have turned him down flat. But that was the old Nina. The new Nina took a second. “No way.”
Perry picked up a lock of my dull brown hair. “Really?”
“Is it that bad?” I went cross-eyed trying to look at the piece he held.
Mario leaned forward, looked at me. “Yes.”
“But you probably think everyone’s hair is bad.” He had that kind of air about him.
Perry nodded. “She’s right about that.”
Mario pointed at my head. “But yours especially needs help.”
“Come on,” Perry urged. “The makeover’s on me.” He slid a business card over to me. “Come in tomorrow afternoon and I’ll squeeze you in. By tomorrow night, you’ll be one hot mamacita.”
I looked at the card. Perry Owens, Stylist. He worked at Azure, a hip downtown salon I’d heard ads for on the radio.
Being a hot mamacita had to be good for anyone’s self-discovery. But... “I can’t tomorrow afternoon. Work.”
“Tuesday, then?”
I hemmed. I hawed. I agreed. “All right. It’s a deal.” All in the name of self-discovery. I tucked his card into my backpack and leaned back in my chair as Thad stood up, paced the tiny room.
About forty, Thad didn’t look like a stereotypical low-budget game show host. No slick hair, slick smile, or slick way of talking. He was more Mr. Rogers than Wink Martindale. He had a pristine reputation, was big into charities and family. Yet, he hosted a game show with questions like, “If you and your significant other were playing strip poker, what item of clothing would your partner remove first?”
Maybe that’s why Thad thrived as a host of HoD. He wasn’t the norm. He brought fresh-faced sincerity to the show.
While we waited for Willie, Thad explained there would be several taped interviews while we were at the studio today, and then tomorrow, Monday morning, bright and early, we’d each meet our cameraman and field producer.
Since the show was low-budget, our houses only had one camera, in the bedroom (they’d put one in my living room, since it was currently being used as my master bedroom). The installation process hadn’t bothered me all that much. What were a few more holes in the walls of my house when half my living room ceiling was missing due to a leak in the upstairs master bath?
I was having serious construction issues. Absentee workers, mostly. I could only imagine what my mother had done to scare them away. She was currently in charge of the remodeling, and I debated firing her. Not that I’d hired her, but still. Enough was enough.
Thad stopped pacing, put his hands on the back of a chair belonging to a blonde production assistant who’d been making eyes at Bobby the whole time we’d been sitting there.
I tried not to jump across the table and strangle her. She should be grateful for my new self and accompanying newfound restraint.
Thad’s voice rose and fell as he spoke. “During the week, online votes from home viewers will be tallied and will ultimately determine who should be hitched and who should be ditched. On Friday night, everyone will meet back here for the results show, which will be broadcasted live.”
Raised voices carried through the door. We all quieted as Willie Sala loudly told his new wife to mind her own business, and she told him she’d damn well do what she pleased.
So much for newly-wedded bliss. Sounded like they were on the road to Ditched.
Thad cleared his throat. “Okay, people. That’s it for now.”
One of the crew looked at his clipboard. “Mario? You’re first for the interviews. Follow me.”
The room pretty much cleared out, leaving Bobby, me, and Perry alone.
Now would be a great time to question him about Jessica Ayers, but before I could, he asked, “You’re here to test your relationship...who’s having the doubts?”
“Me,” Bobby and I said at the same time.
With dipped eyebrows, Perry said, “I’d say you two came to the right place.”
“I think maybe she’s just using me for sex, Perry,” Bobby said. “I’m hoping this week will answer that question.”
Perry’s mouth popped open.
I glared at Bobby.
He winked at me.
Damn that wink!
I cleared my throat. “Well, he won’t have to worry about me using him this week, because he’ll be sleeping alone. I need a clear mind...for the show.”
Bobby’s gaze landed on my lips. “Is that so?”
Hot. In. Here.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat again. “Absolutely.”
“Ah.” Perry laughed. “The cookie.”
“Cookie?” Bobby asked.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly.
There was a good chance Bobby already knew how badly I wanted him. He didn’t need confirmation.
The door opened, and Thad came in. He smiled and said, “Forgot some papers.” He picked up a folder and looked at me. “Aren’t you that landscaper? The one-day lady?”
That was me, in a nutshell. I tried not to be annoyed at the way he’d phrased it. I was supposed to be Zen about things now. When I figured out what Zen was, I’d probably be better off. “Yes.”
“That’s you?” Perry’s eyes lit.
Slightly afraid of what he’d heard about me, I nodded. It hadn’t been admiration in his voice.
Thad rested his files on the table. “My wife would love to speak to you about a makeover for her parents next spring. She’s been talking about it ever since she heard you’d be on the show.”
“Have her call me.” I fished a business card out of my leather backpack-style purse.
“Nina’s the best there is.” The pride in Bobby’s voice nearly stole my last shred of willpower. If he winked now, I was a goner.
“That’s good to know,” Thad said. He stopped on his way out the door. “Do you give discounts by any chance?”
Perry rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure we can work something out.” Have a look at me—Nina Collette Agreeable Ceceri Quinn. Maybe this self-discovery stuff was kicking in.
As Thad walked out, Perry leaned in, his eyes wide. “Did you really dig up a dead body once? Do tell.”
I’d opened Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs a few years ago, and business had taken off. My company specialized in surprise garden makeovers. We completely changed someone’s yard in one day, usually as a gift to an unsuspecting loved one. It took a lot of planning and hard work, but the end results were usually worth it. Plus, I had some of the best people working for me, despite their criminal pasts.
Occasionally I fell across a dead body or two during a job. It wasn’t something I liked talking about, and I really wished everyone would just forget about it.
“Digging up? Only once.” I looked around, tried to change the subject. “You know, a new coat of paint in this room would do wonders. And maybe a plant or two.”
“Oh wait!” Perry snapped his fingers. “Didn’t a guy have a heart attack and die from the surprise? When was that? Last month?”
I winced. “Two months.” He was referring to Russ Grabinsky, a former client. Kind of.
The door swung open. I breathed a sigh of relief. No more talk of dead bodies, thank God.
Much to my surprise, Genevieve Sala waltzed in and introduced herself. A handsome man followed her in, maybe six feet tall, brown hair professionally styled, thirty-ish years old, salon tan, and bright white perfect teeth. Veneers, I was sure of it. He wore expensive jeans, a mint green with baby blue stripes button down, and a brown suede blazer.
My father would call him a dandy.
I think these days men like him were referred to as metrosexuals.
He looked vaguely familiar.
“This,” Genevieve introduced, “is Carson Keyes. He’s the entertainment reporter for Channel 18.”
Aha! I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. The local Fox affiliate, channel 18 was my favorite station for their 10 o’clock newscast. I was an early-to-bed kind of girl.
“Are you here for your Friday “Behind the Scenes” segment?” Perry asked Carson.
“Yes,” Genevieve answered for him. “Except we’ve arranged with Channel 18 to do a segment every night this week! It’s great PR.”
Carson grinned. “The audience will love it.” He asked us a few preliminary questions, and closed his notebook just as one of the production assistants came in, a package in her hand. It was the same woman who’d been making goo-goo eyes at Bobby.
“Mrs. Sala, this just arrived for you via special messenger.”
“Oh?” Genevieve ripped open the envelope, pulled out a piece of paper. The color drained from her face. The note slipped from her fingers onto the table.
START SAYING YOUR GOODBYES. YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE.
Genevieve quickly snatched the paper from the table. “No one saw that. Do you hear me?”
Carson Keyes was already taking notes.
Bobby rose. “I think the police should be notified.”
Genevieve crumpled the paper, held it in a tightly closed fist. “It’s none of your business,” she said to all of us. “I’ll deal with this.”
“Do you know who sent it?” Carson asked, a gleam in his reporter’s eye.
Perceptive, Genevieve picked up on his intent. “You cannot do a report on this, Carson!”
“Genevieve, it’s my job to report news and this is news. Big news.”
She let out a small cry and fled the room. Carson followed her out, asking if he could see the note, or if there had been other threats.
After a good five minutes, Perry said, “Do we call the police?”
I looked at Bobby.
“I think it’s in Genevieve’s hands now,” he said.
We sat in silence for a minute. Then Perry inched his chair closer to mine.
Oh no. I needed to escape before the conversation returned to dead bodies and how many I’d dug up. “I’m, uh, going to find a drink.” I made a run for it, leaving Bobby and Perry alone. I prayed the conversation wouldn’t return to cookies.
As I wandered, I wondered who’d want to see Genevieve dead.
My immediate thought was Jessica Ayers. After all, Genevieve had taken her place on the show.
She’d been upset enough to file a sexual harassment suit—was she upset enough to threaten murder?
Wait.
It was none of my business. The old me would be bursting with curiosity, the need to know.
Okay, the new me was too.
I had a feeling it would take quite some time to change such ingrained personality traits.
At a T in the hallway, I turned right. Down this way, there were several offices, including Willie’s.
My father would have called Willie smarmy. I’d have to agree with him.
The door was wide open, the lights off. What would it hurt to look around?
I moseyed to Willie’s desk to have a little look-see. A framed wedding picture of him and Genevieve sat catty-cornered, almost teetering off the edge. I wondered if Willie knew how friendly his wife had been with Carson Keyes—who had a very nice head of hair and nice teeth.
If I were Willie, I’d be worried.
Maybe not as worried about that as hearing his wife had received a death threat...
Had it been her first?
None of my business, I reminded myself.
I reached for the frame, but froze when I heard something.
Dropping to the ground, I crouched beneath the desk, keeping out of sight.
After a heart-pounding minute, I realized voices were coming from the private bathroom behind me.
I duck-walked closer, curious. I listened, but couldn’t tell who was in there, just that there were two of them. Male and female.
The thick wool carpet absorbed my footsteps as I inched toward the door, my thighs burning. I peeked through the crack.
Genevieve.
Doing what she damn well pleased.
With Thad Cochran.
Naked.
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