“Her boss has asked her for a favor and now she finds herself in a bit of trouble.”

“I don’t know where you get your ideas,” Bridget said sarcastically.

He smiled innocently. “They just come to me. Hey, can I use that shoe bit?”

“Sure. Mock my life. As long as it brings a chuckle to you, that’s all that matters.”

“Speaking of mocking, your mother called,” Richard told her, pulling his drawings back to his side of the desk. “She wants to know why you were on television trying to get a husband when you have such a wonderful man like me in your life.”

“Did you explain how you sold me into the servitude of Breathe Better Mouthwash?”

“I told her it was my fault. I begged her for forgiveness. She asked me if I was coming for Christmas, to which I said yes. There, you see? I’m not all bad.”

“Not all bad.”

Richard glanced again at the now mysterious dress. “So you’re all set for next week?”

“Hardly. I’ve got a facial, a pedicure and a manicure all scheduled for this weekend. This whole caving into society and trying to live up to impossible physical standards is exhausting work. I don’t know how women do it on a regular basis.”

“Practice,” Richard guessed. “Were you planning on spending any time here at the office?”

She shook her head. “After all that is done, Raquel is going to try and fit me in with Lars—”

“Lars?”

“Her hairstyling boyfriend.”

“You mean ex-boyfriend.”

“Right,” Bridget affirmed even as she was rolling her eyes. “She wants to get me in with him the day of the show to do my do.”

“Mountain Dew?”

“Hairdo,” she corrected, although she knew he knew what she meant. He was just being difficult. She was curious as to why. After all, putting her on the show had been his idea. Granted, he hadn’t expected her to make the first cut, but now that she had, he seemed almost surly about it and she didn’t think it was just about her missing work. “Anyway, then Raquel will do my makeup right before we go live.”

Richard scowled a little. “That’s an awful lot of effort for a guy you don’t even like.”

“How do I know if I don’t like him?” Bridget pointed out. “I haven’t really gotten to know him.”

“Trust me. With Brock, what you see is what you get. The man is as fake as his capped teeth and sunless tan.”

“That’s unfair. He might have hidden depths to him. Levels to his character that even he isn’t aware of. He is an actor. Surely he has to pull from some internal emotional wellspring. If not, then maybe I will bring something out in him that no other woman has.”

Richard’s scowl increased tenfold. “You’re not serious. You’re not actually interested in a soap opera actor?”

Hmm, Bridget mused. Was that jealousy she heard in the subtle undertones of his shouting?

“Like I said, I don’t know him well enough to know whether I like him or not. But he certainly deserves a chance. Let’s put aside the fact that he picked me over several other beautiful women—”

“You know,” he stated, cutting her off, very obviously irritated. “You’re not dog meat. Or horrifically disfigured in some way. It’s not the biggest shock in the world that you were selected.”

“You said before the show even began that there was no way he was going to pick me. Until the end you had me pegged as one of the losers.”

“Because of the sort of person he is and the type of woman I imagined he might be attracted to, not because of you,” Richard clarified. “You’re not ugly.”

“Thank you,” she beamed, tucking that little gem of a compliment away to savor the next time he ticked her off for some reason. “But let’s put that aside for now. The truth is I’m not getting any younger.”

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