Sparks Fly

joke, is it? Last time I looked, I was working for the leading feminist magazine in the country.”
    Jane looked at her watch, making it clear that the conversation was over. “Your first appointment is in thirty minutes. Do you want the assignment or not?”
    Alexa knew she had no choice: Her self-respect was going to have to take a back seat to her first-ever byline. There was no way she was going to miss the chance to leap out of journalistic obscurity and onto the cover of a national magazine.
    “Where do I sign?”
    Jane smiled and handed her a pen.

    * * *
    “Hold on a second. You want me to be Mr. Right?”
    Joe Randell, the executive producer of the much-hyped Falling For Mr. Right reality TV show, leaned across the conference table as if he were letting Brandon in on a big secret. “You did apply.”
    Brandon Philips worked to wipe the stunned look off his face. “Yes, I did,” he said, leaving off the pertinent fact that he had only done it to get back at his ex-girlfriend for dumping him because of his so-called “commitment issues.”
    Stalling for time to figure out just what the hell he had got himself into, he asked, “How many applicants were there?”
    “Thousands. But I knew you were our best prospect the minute you walked through the door.
    Your screen test confirmed that the camera loves you, and your resume is excellent.”
    Brandon took a moment to digest the unexpected news. “If I signed on, what would you expect me to do?”
    Joe slid a copy of the Falling For Mr. Right contract across the table. “The show will air over a period of two weeks. This gives you fourteen days to decide who you want to marry from among the thirty women we introduce you to.”
    Brandon’s mouth went completely dry. How could he possibly fall for anyone that fast? He took a sip of coffee and kept his expression bland, waiting for his brain to click back into the On position.
    “How often would I be filmed?”
    Joe looked Brandon straight in the eye. “Brandon, I want to be completely upfront with you today, before you agree to sign anything.” Brandon nodded for Joe to continue. “There will be cameras filming you during every interaction with the girls.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Not quite.” Joe straightened his tie before continuing. “There is one special clause in the contract that I need to draw your attention to.”
    He pointed out a paragraph in the middle of page one. Mr. Right will allow Producer to pick one wild card for each of the selection ceremonies, until only three women remain. At that point, Mr. Right will have complete control over his contestant selection.
    “Can you live with that?” Joe asked him.
    Brandon leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t have cared less about one wild card out of thirty women. How bad could one woman be? The big question was, how were they going to make sure he wanted to choose any of the women?
    “That depends. How are you planning on finding thirty women that I would be interested in dating in the first place?”
    Joe slid over another piece of paper. “Here’s a questionnaire we would like you to fill out. We will find women that fulfill as many of your requirements as possible.”
    Brandon’s raised eyebrow gave away his skepticism. “What if none of the thirty work out?”
    “The paragraph at the top of page eight has the answer you are looking for.”
    Brandon flipped through the contract and scanned the legalspeak. “You expect me to marry a stranger on the air on July first?”
    “We do.”
    “And if July first comes and there is no wedding?”
    Joe cleared his throat before speaking with a determined edge to his voice. “Brandon, I think you will find this contract more than reasonable. During the two weeks of taping we will treat you to five-star accommodations, exotic destinations, and thirty gorgeous, accomplished women. This is an opportunity of a lifetime and we hope you will agree to join us in producing a truly excellent program.”
    Brandon was about to say “No way,” when he was suddenly assailed with a heckling chorus of several ex-girlfriends’ last words to him.
    “ You’ll never settle down!”
    “Why won’t you open up?”
    “No woman will ever be good enough for you!”
    And then the worst one, which he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since his last breakup:
    “You’re going to die alone and you deserve it!”
    He knew he had applied for the TV show for all the wrong reasons. Spite. Annoyance.