Who Wants To Marry a Heartthrob?. Stephanie Doyle

were the one who made me put the makeup on in the first place!”

      “That was when I thought it would be just once,” he countered. “Twice might compromise your morals.”

      “Hello,” Bridget replied. “One word—television. There are no morals here.”

      “She’s right,” Raquel agreed. “And say no more. Raquel to the rescue. Hee, hee, that rhymes.”

      Neither Richard nor Bridget had the heart to tell her that it really didn’t.

      “Give me your address and I will pick you up tomorrow. Then we’ll go shopping.”

      “Hey,” Richard complained. “Tomorrow is a work day.”

      “And this is work,” Bridget informed him. “I’m doing this for the show and for the client.”

      “It will be so much fun,” Raquel bubbled. “I know just the dress place we should hit first. They have the most marvelous things for women. Even for women without breasts!”

      “I have breasts,” Bridget grumbled.

      “If you insist.”

      “Sounds to me like a lot of effort for nothing.” This came from Jenna who had strolled over to their group during the conversation. “You don’t actually think a new dress is going to help you, do you dear?”

      Bridget had to hand it to the woman, she played the catty bitch better than anyone on daytime television she’d ever seen. As a reply, she merely held up her card. “Green.”

      Jenna smiled, displaying all of her white, perfectly formed teeth. “This week.”

      She turned to Richard and moved up against him, definitively invading his personal space. “It’s good to see you again, Richard. I never really got a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed dinner with you the other evening.”

      “Uh…” he stuttered. “Sure. Dinner. It was nice.”

      Bridget watched the scene in complete fascination. She wasn’t jealous. Richard had dated several women throughout the three years she’d known him, none of whom had ever exceeded his four-date limit. He had several goals in life, but as far as she knew establishing a long-term relationship wasn’t one of them. Which was really one more reason why any nebulous and burgeoning feelings she might have for him were ludicrous. She was the ultimate long-term relationship girl. At least, she’d always thought she would be. Those kinds of thoughts, however, were for another time.

      For now, Bridget needed to concentrate on Jenna. Maybe she could learn something from her. Currently, she was wielding seduction skills the way a samurai wielded a sword. Bridget watched how Jenna slid her hand up the front of Richard’s suit coat. The way she leaned into his body without actually touching him. The way she tilted her neck at just the right angle to give a man a few ideas. And Richard, Bridget did not doubt, was a man who could quickly get ideas.

      Jenna made it all seem so effortless.

      “We’ll have to do it again sometime,” she purred, then chuckled. “That is, if Brock doesn’t pick me to be his wife.”

      “Sure,” Richard concurred.

      “Ladies. Until next week.” She turned and sauntered away and again Bridget couldn’t help but be impressed by how she managed to walk on those heels. It was something Bridget was going to have to practice. Right after she bought a pair of shoes with heels.

      For effect however, she turned to glare at Richard. She wasn’t really angry with him, but there was no point in letting him off the hook that easy.

      “What?” he asked in reference to her glare. “I was interviewing her.”

      The glare continued.

      “Hey, that’s not fair,” he replied to her silent accusation.

      Her eyes only narrowed farther.

      “Okay, maybe it is fair, but nothing happened. She’s trying to mess with you. Don’t let her get to you.”

      “I don’t plan to,” Bridget assured him. “Now, I believe someone promised me ice cream.”

      “That was for when you lost,” he said. “You won, which means you treat.”

      Bridget scowled but figured that was only fair. “Want to come along, Raquel?”

      “And do what?”

      “Eat ice cream,” Bridget explained although she was pretty sure that had been obvious given the fact that they were going out for ice cream.

      “Ice cream? You mean that stuff with all the fat and sugar and calories in it?”

      “Yep, that about sums up ice cream.”

      “I couldn’t possibly.”

      But Bridget could see she was tempted. “When was the last time you had ice cream?”

      “I don’t remember,” Raquel whispered as if she were committing some sin by even considering it.

      “It’s really good.”

      “I suppose, maybe, they have a low-fat variety?”

      “Nope. Not this place. All fat and hot fudge.”

      “And sprinkles,” Richard added.

      “Sprinkles,” Raquel repeated as if she were saying diamonds instead.

      “My treat.”

      “Okay, but I want to state for the record that I agreed under stress,” Raquel proclaimed and marched off in search of her coat.

      Richard considered that. “I think she meant duress.”

      Bridget smiled. Her new friend might not be the brightest, but she was an artist, and Bridget was planning on putting her face, hair and body safely in this woman’s hands.

      She only hoped that Raquel was up to the challenge.