Maverick by Kate Tilney

ONE

EMERSON

“Tell us, Emerson, why do you think you should be on The One?”

I stare at the five people seated across from me in the hotel room and open my mouth to answer, but no words come out.

Out of everything the casting director and producers of the hit dating TV show The One could ask me, this question is probably the most obvious and basic. It’s not like they just asked me whether I like to be the big spoon or the little one when cuddling or if I have a favorite position in the bedroom.

No, they’ve asked me why I think they should invite me to be part of the next cast of women vying for the heart of a yet-to-be-named stud. Yet, it instantly sets my heart to pounding. Like a sledgehammer. Or is it a jackhammer?

At the moment, the thoughts in my head are too jumbled—and I know too little about construction—to say.

But my heart is definitely pounding as hard and fast as some kind of hammer.

“Sorry.” I give a shaky laugh and reach for the bottle of water in a stalling tactic learned from my former boss. “Dry throat.”

The casting director nods encouragingly, but everyone else seems more interested in their phones than anything I have to say. In a weird way, knowing they aren’t listening closely to my every word helps.

I swallow a sip of water and lower the bottle, feeling much more steady.

“Thanks.” I flash a smile, channeling my former boss and how she handled all of the talk show appearances and interviews she always had to do. “I guess I think I’d be good for The One because I’m looking for love and adventure. And I’m open to just about anything.”

The casting director nods. “Skydiving?”

I draw to mind the stories my former boss’s smokejumper husband told me about jumping out of an airplane. The thought of doing it makes my stomach take a slight pitch. But I suppose if the show asks me to do it, I’ll be in a much lower-stakes situation than those guys.

I mean, at least I won't be jumping out of a plane and into a burning Alaskan forest.

“Definitely.”

“Jetting off to Vegas?”

I stop myself before I pull a face. “Absolutely.”

Just because my last trip to Vegas didn’t go exactly as planned, it doesn’t mean this hypothetical one wouldn’t. Especially, because I’m sure the producers and production assistants will make sure no one gets too tipsy, wanders off, and accidentally marries a firefighting mountain man.

Just as an example.

The casting direction makes a note. “I see here that your sister-in-law actually completed your application.”

I give a short laugh. “She did. She’s a big fan of the show.”

“Are you a fan?”

I start to say that I am, but I figure there’s no point in being anything but honest.

“I’ve seen a few episodes, but I’ll admit, I’ve never followed it closely.” I wince. “Sorry. It’s nothing personal. I’ve just been super busy.”

“I’m sure. I’ve heard about who you worked for.” The director arches an eyebrow. “But I’m sure you signed an NDA and can’t say anything.”

“Pretty much.”

Technically, Aubrey never asked me to sign anything, but her trust in me is reason enough not to tell anyone anything about my experience as her assistant. Especially not someone in the industry.

The director cocks her head to the side. “Why do you think your sister-in-law nominated you for the show?”

“She’d tell you it’s because she wants to live vicariously through me.” I give a sheepish grin. “But I know it’s because she wants me to be happy and in love the way she is with my brother.”

“And have you ever been in love before?”

I hesitate for a moment while I contemplate the question. Have I ever been in love?

“No,” I say definitively. “Not for real.”

She makes another note. “Let’s talk about your hobbies.”

Once we’re passed the shaky start, the rest of the interview goes much more smoothly. I allow myself to relax more into my usual self.

After spending the last five years as the personal assistant to the Aubrey D’Arcy—only one of the most famous actresses in the world—I’m used to keeping it cool in high-pressure situations.

I’ve read through Santa Claus-sized bags full of letters from adoring fans, not to mention sorted millions and millions of emails.

I’ve turned shabby film trailers into relaxing retreats that could rival the finest spas in under an hour to create a safe, creative space for being between takes.

I’ve even had the privilege of helping Aubrey use the facilities at the Oscars while she was wearing a full ball gown. And we did it all without one hair—or one layer of tulle—being out of place.

I can handle pressure.

Then again, I’m not usually the center of attention when it comes to those high-pressure situations. So, I should probably give myself a bit of a break for being on edge.

After all, it isn’t every day you’re the one being interviewed to appear on a show. Not that this show is anything like the movies and TV appearances Aubrey made before her semi-retirement.

She asked me to stay on with her when she moved to Alaska a little over a year ago. I’d been tempted. After all, I started working for Aubrey right after college. It’s the only job I’ve had. The only one I know.

But, I was good enough at my job to know she didn’t really need me anymore. Not when she spends most of her time with her sexy firefighter husband and their baby.

Besides, after what happened between one of her sexy firefighter husband’s equally sexy crew-mates and me, I figured it was probably best to keep most of North America between us.

I’ve been floating from job to job working for temp agencies for the past year. While that flexibility means I could jump at the opportunity to appear on a Reality show, it also hasn’t given me much direction in my life.

This experience, while not one I would have ordinarily picked for myself, will at least get me out of the rut I’ve been in. And, who knows, maybe it could lead to something else? Love. Adventure.

It would be great if I could come out of all of this with a better idea of what I want to do with my life.

“Well, that answers all of our standard questions,” the casting director says. “We have just one more thing we need to clarify.”

“Sure.” I flash a friendly smile, feeling perfectly at ease. “Ask me anything.”

“What’s the story with your husband?”

My eyes grow wide and my stomach drops to the floor. “My husband?”

“We did a standard background check, and it shows here that you’re married to an Adrian Maverick of Fairbanks, Alaska.” The director glances up at me over her tablet. “Does that ring any bells?”

I nod as bells—along with sirens and any other number of high-pitched sounds—begin ringing in my ears. My heart is racing, pounding so hard in my chest, I can feel it through every part of my body.

As best as I can, but completely inarticulately, I stammer out the story.

About how Maverick and I spent a weekend in Vegas with my former boss and her husband, and the rest of the crew.

About how the two of us were the last ones standing after a night out.

About the tequila bottle service he ordered to the table.

About how one of us—I’m assuming it was him—said we should get married after we were asked to leave the table after we got a little too, err, amorous. (Okay, I don’t talk about that last part.)

And I tell them how after we woke up completely hungover the next day and realized what we’d done, we immediately started the annulment process.

“That’s quite some story,” she says, clearly amused and—dare I say—delighted by this extra bit of drama in my life. “You may have started the annulment proceedings, but from what public records say, you’re still married.”

“But—”

“I don’t normally do this, but we’d love to have you on the show.”

I shake my head, which is spinning from all of the confusion of the past few minutes. “You do?”

“Absolutely.”

I instantly see myself wearing gowns and flying around the world while cameras follow me. Only, instead of standing off to the side and out of view, they’re looking at me. Me!

“But we’ll need you to get a divorce ASAP.” She raises her eyebrows. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Should it?”

“No, not at all.” I jump to my feet. “I’ll call my lawyer right away.”

Twenty minutes, and a full billable hour with my lawyer, later, I have more details. Because of a typo in our paperwork—someone forgot to put the R in Maverick’s last name—the two of us are still legally wed.

There’s only one thing to do now.

Taking a deep breath, I search my records for the number I deleted a year ago when I thought all of this was behind us. I only hope he hasn’t blocked my number.

I start to call, but at the last second I chicken out. I type out a message.

Mav. It’s Emerson. Just spoke to my lawyer and it turns out the annulment didn’t go through.

Within a minute, I have a response.

Please tell me you’re joking.

I wish.

What does this mean?

It means, we’re still married.