Chapter 3
“Eyes… brown. Hair… blonde.”
Amy stopped writing and glanced up at her sister, Kassy. “I don’t get why I’m even filling these out. The guys are going to be looking right at me.”
TheDo-It-Right Datingcoordinator, Mr. Bankford, leaned over Amy’s shoulder from behind; she hadn’t even noticed he was there. “It’s just a simple card to help the guys put a name to the face once the date is done. We men need all the help we can get.” He held her gaze with a pair of uniquely light-gray eyes and grinned.
“Gotcha,” Amy said. “Thanks.”
The suave-looking gentleman was likely in his early fifties, but Amy couldn’t help but see a whole lot of her last boyfriend in him. All polish and charm on the outside. Conceit and greed on the inside. Clay Ashton had been just like that. Looking only for how a relationship might serve him.
“He’s right,” Kassy said once the man walked away. “Guysdoneed all the help they can get.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a coffee-flavored candy. “Want one?”
Amy shook her head. Kassy was practically an expert on the subject of men now. Amy’s younger sister had been married for seven years. Having twin boys had probably given her even more insight into the opposite sex.
Meanwhile, Amy was barely dating. Which might explain why theDenver’s Bestproducers had thought to shoot a speed-dating segment for her weeklyAverage Amybroadcast. Normally, the live, weekly news segment featured local activities that applied to a broader audience. She’d tried everything from a karaoke spin class to paddle boating while the cameras rolled. All to show viewers at home“how the average gal or guy might fare while trying some of Denver’s latest activity trends.”
Amy finished filling out the cards in silence. The small stack of twelve represented the number of guys she was supposed to meet during the speed date. She hadn’t let herself entertain thoughts of actually meeting a guy she liked today. Most of the men she’d dated had been selfish creatures, out to use someone to suit his needs and then move on. But she’d be a good sport. May as wellseemhopeful for the viewers’ sake.
The excitement in the lobby was spark-worthy. In the east wing of the room, eleven women chatted excitedly about the men across the way. While some berated themselves about their lack of height or breasts or social grace, others poured on compliments and words of encouragement.
In contrast, the men lounged coolly in leather chairs while sipping drinks and murmuring under their breath. Looked like a contest for cool nerves and cocky jokes. Men bragging about their conquests, latest and future alike.
“Stop it,” Kassy scolded.
Amy shot her a look. “What?” Her gaze shifted to the coordinator. He reminded her so much of Clay Ashtonthat she kept forgetting his real name.
“I can tell you’re stuck in that cynical head of yours,” Kassy said, “and you need to shut it off.”
Amy gave her atsk. “I’m thefurthestthing from cynical there is.”
“Yeah, until it comes to dating.”
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” the coordinator said as he straightened his tie, “but they’re ready for us out there.”
Amy peeked around him to see Nick pacing in front of the banquet room. Poor Nick, the uptight set manager, always drove himself to madness as the countdown for each segment approached.
“Thanks. Do I give these to you?” she asked, holding the small stack of cards.
“No, you keep them with you and exchange with each guy at the end of your fifteen minutes,” he reminded with a wink.
“That’s right.” Amy weaved through the primping ladies. A wide corridor led to the banquet room where a dozen tables awaited them. A small part of the camera crew stood in the corridor to shoot the intro. The rest of the crew waited inside, catching footage to show in a side screen as Amy introduced the segment.
“You’re distracted today,” Kassy mumbled as she towed shortly behind.
“No, I’m not.”
Nick ran a tense hand through his hair—hair that might not be thinning if he didn’t rake through it so feverishly as he worked. Beads of sweat cased his pink forehead and cheeks.
“Flip your mic on,” he instructed, “we’re doing one last check.”
Amy twisted the small dial. “How many more minutes until we’re live?”
“Six.” Nick turned to the new intern while pressing an earpiece tighter against his head. “More feedback on audio, please.”
Amy glanced down at her stack of handout cards.Twelve guys in one night?This was a nightmare. “I guess I kind of am distracted,” she mumbled as the crew made adjustments.
The large lens zooming in on her had a screen attached to it. There, Amy could see Jodi and Jim, the daytime news anchors who never ceased to deliver clever intros to each segment.
