“Shifting Reality? The Internet sensation? You know, if Whedon’s people hadn’t assured me he had nothing to do with it, I never would have believed anyone else could pull it off. It’s the most popular thing going, and no one has been able to touch them, to talk to them about developing it for cable or film. Until now. Until you, Margo, you genius.”
She swallowed. Hard. “Me?”
Darcy had leaned against her desk, a blonde bombshell with the instincts of a shark, and smiled. “You’ve always been an asset, Margo. Never letting your life get in the way of what I needed you to do. I always thought, forgive me for saying so, that you just didn’t have one. That you were one of those sheep outside that punch their time cards and go home alone to a cat until they retire to Florida.” She shrugged unapologetically. “But this, this is the kind of innovative thinking that got me where I am today. And it’s going to let us write our own ticket.”
Margo sat down, setting the bags of hot gyros gently on the table beside her and took a breath, silently hoping she didn’t have any of Hailey’s black cat hairs on her blouse. “Darcy, I’m sorry but I’m not sure—”
Darcy reached behind her and spun her computer screen around, giving Margo a chance to see the graphics. “You won, Margo. There’s your name. You are going to be one of the contestants going to Scotland. You’ll be up close and personal with the creators of the show for one week. Seven whole days.” She clasped her hands together excitedly. “In that time I expect nothing less than a signed contract for exclusive filming rights, promotional merchandising—the works. I can see it now. You think that teeny bopper vamp campaign was big? That’s nothing compared to what I have in mind for those three. We’ll have their faces on everything from cereal boxes to pantyhose, on billboards and marquee signs. And you will be the one to make it happen.”
Margo knew that light. That special, greedy light in Darcy’s eye that told her she would not let this go. She stared at her name on the screen and panic began to set in. On camera? She couldn’t do it. It would be too humiliating. “Couldn’t we send one of the interns instead? I know several who would love to be in front of the camera. I think I should be here, at the main office, there’s so much work…” Darcy’s expression froze, and Margo knew she had no choice. If she said no, she would lose her job. Or be forced to resign. That was Darcy’s style. “No. You’re right. I should go. I’ll get their agreement, even if it kills me.”
Darcy had pulled her up from her chair, all smiles again. “That’s my girl. It won’t be that bad. Just one week on camera with some of the hottest men either one of us has ever seen, which is saying something, considering the business we’re in. I’ll have the contracts drawn, all you have to do is play along, and get their signatures. You do that, and you will never have to worry about job security again. You don’t? Well, that will be another story, won’t it?”
She thought about that last meeting again as she sat in her window seat, watching the wings of the plane tear through the clouds, and took another shot of tequila. She gasped, reaching for a napkin.
“Careful. I’ve been drunk on a plane before. It is impossible to maintain any dignity with your face buried in an airsick bag. Trust me.”
Margo glanced up in surprise at the pleasant male voice. Salt and pepper hair, expensive suit, handsome face. He looked nothing like a Shifting Reality fan. “Did you get on the wrong flight?”
He chuckled, sitting down beside her with a smile. “I could ask the same of you. You’re the only one who hasn’t joined the celebration a few aisles down. And the only one who doesn’t look happy to be here.” He held out his hand. “My name’s Stan. Stanley Lawrence Ayer. But you might be more familiar with my screen moniker—”
“Slayer! You’re Slayer? I can’t believe Mr. Cynical actually entered the contest.” She blushed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ayer. I haven’t had tequila in a long time. I’m not exactly at my best.”
He shook his head, leaning closer. “It’s Stan. And don’t worry—it’s no worse than I’ve heard so far. I don’t think too many people are happy with my being chosen. Personally, I’m impressed. Those boys are either supremely confident, or masochistic.” She joined his soft laughter and watched him tilt his head. “Forgive me for being forward, but since I’ve already been introduced to the rest of the winners, I assume you are Ms. Margo Sheffield?”
She nodded. “I am. Before you ask…Kittysnapdragon.”
He leaned back against the cushioned seat and slapped his hands on his knees. “Now I’m surprised. You are not at all as I pictured you. And I’d been doing so well.”
“Thought I’d be a crazy fan girl drooling over Thomas Lyons’s picture?”
Stan nodded. “Pretty much. Erin J
ohnston and Karen Stevens already have that stereotype covered. I’m sure you’ll meet them shortly.” He studied her expression. “Why do you look so unhappy, then? I would have thought you would be thrilled to get the chance to meet our feline host. Afraid to fly?”
Margo took another sip of her drink and mumbled. “No, I’m afraid to crash and burn.”
Stan seemed to understand she wasn’t talking about the plane. “Just stick close to me, my beauty. I’ll protect you.” He stood and grasped her hand. “Come, Margo. We signed the paper, and we know what it says. We have to allow ourselves to be filmed, and we need to at least make an effort to mingle with our contestant brethren.”
“But we aren’t there yet.” She knew she was being petulant. She just had a sinking feeling that her streak of bad luck was only going to get worse. That nothing would ever be the same.
“Au contraire, my dear. As soon as we stepped on this plane it began. There are cameras everywhere.” Stan pointed toward the front, where the screen that was usually reserved for in flight movies was projecting split screen images of the contestants as they laughed, drank and cavorted in the aisles. In the lower corner one camera had zoomed in on her, watching as she isolated herself.
“Great.”
Stan laughed. “Smile, love. You’re a star.”
She wasn’t sure how many hours they were on that plane, but as she watched the other passengers drag themselves down the tarmac, she knew they were all in the same boat. Hung over and jet lagged, and looking like something the cat dragged in. Even Slayer looked mussed, and she would be willing to bet that wasn’t a state the fastidious gentleman usually allowed himself to get in.
Kasey Lynn and Bryan Hollister were the only ones who looked alert and raring to go. A married couple from Houston, the two were inseparable, and both avid ghost hunters. They’d admitted most of their luggage held equipment brought to investigate the Scottish castle, and they’d spent the evening regaling the others with its macabre and bloody history.
Now Margo could add ghosts to the list of things she had to be nervous about. She slipped on her sunglasses and pulled her thin coat closer around her, looking from her rolling carryon to see a giant piece of male beefcake and a stunning young woman, both standing beside a large tour bus, handheld cameras aimed their way.
“This day keeps getting better and better,” she mumbled. “And I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
“Coffee is on the bus, ma’am, as well as a hardy breakfast guaranteed to cure your ills.” The woman behind the camera smiled after shouting across the distance. How had she heard her from that far away? The wind must have carried her voice. She nodded, reaching up to hold her heavy head at the motion. Oh Lord, she promised she’d never drink again. Just make the pain stop.
“That is one beautiful camerawoman. Consider my ills cured,” Joseph Lopez, one of the other contestants, whispered in Margo’s ear. He was a good guy. An architect from Arizona, with a love of all things paranormal. Very earnest and charming.