Page 6 of Insta Bride
“For those of you who are unsuccessful on this occasion, I’d remind you that your application included the opportunity to be considered in future projects. Thank you very much for your time.”
I watched Bree’s eyes flutter as she inhaled a deep breath. Her eyes and body language rested on the only man who’d taken my attention. Tall, fit, with dirty blonde hair and casually leaning against the side wall opposite me. In a room filled with black on black, his white shirt and beige cargo pants stood out. His wavy hair hung loose, not quite to his shoulders. He’d look just as at home in a boardroom, as he would dripping with salt water at the beach.
He’d look great in my bed.
He held Bree’s gaze until she licked her lips and straightened her shoulders before continuing. I understood her reaction. I also understood his type. Lying. Cheating. Asshole.
“And don’t forget to watch—” Bree allowed a dramatic pause as we waited for the name of the yet to be named show, “Australian Love Story.”
Kye
Three hours ago, I’d considered turning up to the mixer to be on par with going to the dentist or getting my balls waxed.
Corralled together with dozens of good looking, single guys all looking for their moment of fame, about to be launched into a room with what I could only assume would be an equal number of plastic women.
I preferred to work a room without competition.
I preferred to meet women with my exit strategy already planned.
At Bree’s suggestion, I’d stood close to the door, holding it open a crack to watch the women walk up the hallway and enter the room next to us.
Stunning blonde with too much hair and teeth.
Stunning brunette with a skirt smaller than her IQ.
Fake teeth, fake hair followed by fake tits and probably fake conversation. Already, I was bored. Being stuck on an island with any of these women would be detrimental to my liver.
Then, I saw her.
She stood out. Real in a world of plastic. Dressed for comfort in blue overalls instead of the requisite body-hugging sexy gowns.
“Mr. Branson, can you come this way, please?”
I’d let the door swing close and followed the production assistant out the side door into a smaller room set up like a studio. Bright lights, uncomfortable wooden stool in front of a green screen.
Production staff had prepped us well. These would be our last interviews before meeting the women. A last opportunity for the producers to capture sound bites and catch us out with inconsistencies.
Apparently, we couldn’t be asked the same range of questions enough. All in the name of finding out what made us tick. Our strengths and weaknesses. Secrets that would no doubt be used to explode in our faces on set.
I’d built my own backstory. A social media presence that couldn’t be questioned with hundreds of photos taken with the best-looking women Sydney had to offer. I’d attended the right events and had made the top 100 list for Sydney’s Sexiest Bachelor.
My plan was in motion.
All I needed to do was make sure the producers matched me up with someone with the right amount of chemistry.
I saw her, again. She’d opened the wrong door, walking into the middle of my interview. Blushing, she’d quickly left before Bree had a chance to throw her out.
A flower with real petals amongst a bouquet of plastic.
A woman who had decided natural eyelashes and eyebrows beat the fuck out of extensions and sculpted.
Her boobs must have been natural because no surgeon would have stopped at a perfect handful.
She was almost ordinary, and yet when you packaged all her pieces together, she was extraordinary.
Exquisite. Graceful. Totally out of my league, unless I found a new A-game.
“Mr. Branson? Kye?” Bree clicked her fingers from across the room, trying to get my attention back on the interview.