Prior to opening his mouth with those obscene questions, I thought this man was hot. Actually, I thought he was sexy as hell when I had spotted him glancing at me through the store window. I was buying myself new shoes to celebrate my new job when those deep brown eyes found mine—so dark, they almost looked onyx. And his large muscles were so thick that it made him seem twice as large as me. I pictured those thick arms scooping me up, his big hands shoving my skirt up my thighs as I clawed that t-shirt from his body. A t-shirt that, despite this job handing out samples, I recognized as Prada because I had bought my ex-boyfriend the exact same shirt for his birthday last year. The same shirt I had found in a pile on the floor atop a cheap sundress from Forever 21 when I came home early from a conference and discovered him with his head between another woman’s legs.
Man, I had some shitty taste in men. Not only with my ex—but now this guy? This guy that I’d almost been ready to stroll over and ask how long until he was done with his shift so that we could go get a drink. Well, screw that.
As soon as the cucumber question left his mouth, I didn’t care how utterly gorgeous he was or that he had muscles so strong, he could easily lift me over his shoulder.
I shuddered at the thought, ignoring the way my nipples pebbled, pushing against my silk shirt. Instead, I reached for what was left of his samples, dumped them over his head, and threw the trash onto the tray in front of him. “You’re a pig,” I said.
I spun on my stiletto heels and, as tears stung the backs of my eyes, stormed off. All at once, several people rushed toward me, clipboards and pens in their hands. “Excuse me, ma’am!” they called.
I stopped, thinking it was perhaps his boss or another sample employee. “That man,” I said pointing, “should be arrested for lewd conduct—”
“You were actually just unknowingly part of a television show,” one of the women said and handed me a clipboard. I blinked in shock as she explained the premise of the stupid prank show.
“So… let me get this straight. You pull jokes on strangers… unsuspecting people on the street? Don’t compensate them for their time or for using their likenesses? And somehow you all don’t get the pants sued off of yourselves?”
The girl shifted uncomfortably, pointing at the liability waiver she handed me. “Does that mean you’re not going to sign?”
I glanced down, reading it for the first time. There at the top of the form was Silhouette Studios stamped with their embossed logo.
Silhouette Studios. My new employer. I was starting as their in-house entertainment lawyer for network programing on Monday. I smiled a slow sneer and glanced up across the courtyard at the man who had read me those questions. A few production assistants had towels and were helping him clean up. That’s why I recognized him. When I’d applied for the job, I had watched a bunch of their shows to brush up for the interview, but most of my job at the company, I thought, would have had more to do with contracts and making sure these shows didn’t too closely resemble existing properties. I didn’t pay too much attention to the talent on the shows, only watching one episode of each to get a feel for the brand of Silhouette Studios TV. And this show, I remembered, was a big hit, but so not my cup of tea.
I set the pen down on the clipboard without scribbling my name. “No,” I said. “I won’t be signing this. But I assume you’ll use the footage regardless and blur my face?”
The girl winced and I felt bad for her. She was probably lower on the chain of command…maybe an associate producer. “You’re not going to sue us, are you?”
I tilted my head, keeping my cards close to the vest. “Does that happen a lot?” I asked.
She shook her head. “N-no. Most people love our show…”
I smiled, but I knew from the multiple times my ex had told me… my smile was intimidating. “Then you should have nothing to worry about,” I said sweetly with a final glance over my shoulder at the man. The man whose name I never got.
He glanced up right in that moment and his eyes latched onto mine. Sorry, he mouthed to me from across the courtyard.
Eat shit, I mouthed back.
I arrived at Guiseppe’s ten minutes later, and five minutes late, where my best friend, Missy, was already seated and waiting for me.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I said, sliding into the booth opposite of her.
“Please,” she waved away my tardiness with a sip of her red wine and pointed to a glass in front of my place setting. “I did the honors of getting yours ordered, too.”
I grabbed at the glass, brought it to my lips, and drank, swallowing the delicious notes of citrus and spice. “Thank you,” I said. “And thank you for never caring that I’m always late.”
Missy shrugged and rolled her eyes. She was an accountant and thoroughly punctual… literally all the time. Even during tax season. It would have been annoying if I didn’t love her so damn much. “So, what was it tonight? You haven’t started the new job yet, so let… me… think…” She punctuated each word with a tap of her index finger to the tip of her nose. “Did the sales person at Chanel hold you up?”
I sighed and opened the menu. “Honestly, I don’t even want to talk about it.” I was still so livid.
But that was the beauty of Missy—she’d never pressure me to talk before I was ready. She merely shrugged one shoulder to her ear and said, “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
After a few minutes of catching up, she folded her menu and set it to the side. “I need to use the restroom. Can you order me the hot honey pizza if our server comes back?”
“Sure.” I pulled my phone free from my purse, using the time Missy was gone to pull up the Wikipedia page for that show.
Sam “Smurf” Murphy, is the youngest of the Murphy Brothers and star on Silhouette Studios’ newest hit television prank show.
I rolled my eyes. The fact that this show was as popular as it was made me seriously concerned for our country’s standards for quality television.
Sam Murphy is 29 years old and was born and raised in the suburbs of Orange County. He’s never been married, but has been linked to actresses Colette Steere, Rebecca Lovett, and Riley Carr.
Below were some pictures of him with the actresses at various red carpet events. Holy hell, he looked even better in a tux. Some men didn’t… some men looked strange or like they were trying too hard when they dressed up, but not Sam. He wore that tux like it was made for him. His dark hair was even styled swooped to one side in a near-perfect Superman sort of curl.
It wasn’t fair that he was so damn attractive… but also such a jerk. I don’t care that it was for a show. I don’t care that it was his job. He didn’t have to say those things to me… he chose to because he was being paid a shit ton of money to do so.
“Hi,” a deep, soft voice came from across the table, and I startled, looking up to find Sam himself sitting there in Missy’s seat across from me. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.” He paused, his eyes falling to Missy’s half-empty glass of wine, then to mine. “Are you on a date?”
My brows lifted. “What if I am?”
His features hardened and I delighted in the fact that, even though we barely knew each other, he seemed angry at the fact that I was on a date. Even if I really wasn’t.