Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,43
I’m so mad right now.
“Well, I’m going to.” He takes a seat on one of the sofas.
“Do whatever you want,” I say. “You could even renege on our deal, if you felt like it. Oh, wait. Silly me. You already did that.”
He raises his eyes to mine and the look on his face tells me he’s barely tolerating my presence. “Emma, please. Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“So I can admire your Timothy activewear?” he asks.
“Don’t get cute with me.”
“I’m only trying to lighten the mood.”
I cross my arms and glare at him—something I’ve been making a habit of lately. “Explain yourself.”
“I’d planned on sending you home tonight as you’d asked. The problem is, I need to keep contestants around who, well, entertain the audience.”
I scrunch up my face. “Entertain the audience?”
“This is a television show, in case you hadn’t noticed. Cameras, lights, mics, that kind of thing.”
Who does this guy think he is?
“You know you really should be more observant, Brady,” he says with a small smile.
Oh, the gall of this man!
I keep my voice steady when I reply, “What has entertaining the audience got to do with our deal?”
“You, Emma, are entertaining,” he explains as though I’m some sort of simpleton. “Well, at least, that’s what the production crew have told me. I’m of another mind on the matter.”
“What does that mean?” On second thoughts, I can imagine: my less than stellar singing performance this afternoon. I wave my hand in the air. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. What I do want to know is what happened to our deal?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I do not make the rules.”
I slip down onto the facing sofa. “Are you telling me you told them you wanted me to go home and they didn’t let you?”
“That is precisely what I’m telling you.”
I let the news sink in. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed. Now, perhaps, you can understand why I couldn’t follow through with our arrangement. I wanted to, believe me.”
You and me both, dude.
“I guess,” I reply distractedly. “What have I done that’s been so entertaining? I mean, I know my singing isn’t going to win me any competitions.”
“Ah, no,” he replies. “You really are a terrible singer.”
“I did warn everyone.”
“I think you should have been more forceful with that warning. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. I bet you can’t sing either. No, wait. I’ve got it. You can sing and you were a choir boy at some fancy school, weren’t you? I can picture it now. Your red and white robes, your little halo gleaming as you sing so high only dolphins and dogs can hear you.”
“Actually, when I was a child I was an alto, not a soprano.”
“I was right!” I cry with glee. “Sebastian the choir boy.” It’s an endearing image, and my heart softens a fraction. But only a fraction. “What else have I done that’s considered ‘entertaining?’” I ask. And then it hits me. “No! They’re going to use the footage of me falling out of the limo, aren’t they?” I look at him, wide-eyed, my mind whirring. It might very well have been my only opportunity to get my label on camera, but such a humiliating entry can’t do either me or Timothy any good. In fact, it could be disastrous.
I bury my head in my hands. This cannot be good. This whole thing is quickly becoming one huge mess. And not only that, it’s a mess I cannot escape from.
To my surprise, I feel the cushions beside me move and, startled, I look up to see Sebastian next to me. He’s got a look on his face I haven’t seen before. Can it be ... sympathy? No, it can’t be. This is the pompous Sebastian we’re talking about here, the over-privileged, smug aristocrat who likes me as much as I like him.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly, not really knowing how to take this strange turn of events.
“Now she says hello.”
“What does that mean?”
“You stormed in here without saying hello earlier. It was rather rude.”
“No, you dragged me in here.”
“Semantics, Brady Bunch. Semantics.” The edges of his mouth quirk into a hint of a smile, and unlike his public smiles out there with the contestants, this one reaches his eyes.
I smile briefly back at him, my heart softening a fraction. If this thing really is out of his hands, then he didn’t actually break our deal. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him? “I thought you got to decide. I mean, this is meant