The Hating Game Page 2

  Suddenly he heard laughter. Through a half-open door to the right he could see a woman wearing a severely tailored suit with a business-like bob, skin stark white against the black of her suit. She was beautiful, in a terrifying, harsh kind of way. That must be Mattie, he thought. He’d heard through colleagues she was a real ball-buster; guaranteed to get you the post you wanted.

  He turned his attention to the other woman in the room. With her cherub-like cheeks and open expression, she seemed charming – a comforting respite from Mattie’s angular features.

  Even though Mattie was half the size of the woman beside her, everything about her screamed power and control. Rumour had it Mattie’s ex had recently done a runner, taking most of her clients with him, and in the process practically destroyed her business. Nate shuddered as he considered the man’s bravery. He certainly wouldn’t want to cross her.

  Mattie made an abrupt move and Nate jerked his head away. Wouldn’t do to be caught eavesdropping. He grabbed a Media Today magazine from the glass coffee table and tried not to listen in, but as more laughter drifted towards him he decided they couldn’t be discussing business. He was about to cough to let them know he was here when Mattie mentioned something about not wanting to run into past love interests.

  His ears perked up. Along with her reputation for getting people the jobs they wanted, Mattie was also renowned for being a man-eater. Nate had learned not to listen to the waves of gossip that washed over the sets of TV shows, but he couldn’t help hearing from several colleagues Mattie had placed that she’d provided a few with other services besides recruitment. One told Nate he’d tried to call her afterwards, but she’d completely blanked him.

  ‘She used me, man, like some kind of dude,’ the disbelieving camera assistant had said. ‘She out-duded me. At least I give the birds a courtesy call afterwards.’

  Nate listened with interest to the two women discussing their ex-boyfriends and what sounded like an upcoming secondary school reunion. He pictured Mattie facing a firing line of all the men she ditched in secondary school – from the sounds of things, there’d been quite a few.

  Just how many exes did Mattie have? Imagine if he corralled them all into one room. Would she give any of them the time of day or would she douse them with petrol, light a match and fan the flames? He’d bet on the latter, but it’d be an interesting scenario. It would certainly make an entertaining show.

  Nate sat up straight. Hang on! It would make an interesting show. Something like The Dating Game – but with exes. A second chance for romance! One woman. Three, maybe four exes. And she chooses one to have another go at a relationship.

  Nate stood up, heart beating fast. This was it. This was what he needed to make an impact at SiniStar. A great concept; an exciting idea. There was nothing like it on TV! It would be new, it would be fresh and it would be all his. He even had the perfect contestant – if Mattie’s business was suffering as much as he’d heard then she’d jump at the chance to get some juicy prize money.

  Nate considered his options. He’d pitched ideas to SiniStar’s managing director, Silver Hatchett, before and been chucked out within seconds. This time, though, he had a feeling she’d listen.

  Screw the new job, Nate thought as he ran back down the stairs, trying to keep his puffing to a minimum lest he alert Mattie to his presence. Finally, he had an idea to make Silver sit up and take notice. Heady with the thought of his future success, he decided to throw his weekly budget to the wind and lash out on a cab. After all, it was only a matter of time before things turned around. He was sure of it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  One in three people has a pair of lucky dating pants.

  One in fifteen men admits to never washing them.

  ‘WHAT THE–?’ NATE CRACKED OPEN an eye, then stretched out his arm to throw the buzzing alarm clock against the wall. It was only five a.m., for Christ’s sake!

  Then he remembered. This was it. The day his life was going to change. Despite the foul-smelling wrapper from last night’s kebab stuck to his cheek, he couldn’t help smiling. This was the day he wouldn’t have to watch others get promoted while he cleaned up slime; the day when people would finally respect him. Nate Reilly, executive producer.

  If only Kira could see him now!

  Stop, he admonished himself. Don’t think about her. No need to get down on the big day, right?

  Nate rolled out of bed and headed for the desk, grabbing his saggy underwear before it fell to his ankles. He’d been working on the treatment for Second Chance for Romance since arriving home last night and it was almost, almost done. He read it over for the hundredth time, grinning giddily.

  ‘Picture this,’ Nate intoned in a game show announcer’s voice. ‘One woman. Four men. A second chance at true love. But these aren’t just any men.’ He shook head. ‘Oh, no. Just imagine the look on the woman’s face when she finds out – one by one, choosing blindly each night – that the men are her exes!’

  Nate stood up and paced around his studio flat. ‘The great British public rates each date. When the dates are done – and all the exes revealed – the ex with the highest rating gets a second chance for romance, spending two weeks alone with the lady in a romantic location.’

  He spun towards the mirror. ‘After two weeks and a daily dose of specially designed Relationship Repair activities, will they choose to be together? Will it be a Second Chance for Romance? Or the reunion from hell?’ Nate hummed the theme from the Love Boat and crashed onto the sofa.

  Brilliant. It was bloody brilliant: the perfect mix between dating game show and reality show! What was not to like? Silver had to love it – or at least not chuck him out within thirty seconds like she had the last time he attempted a pitch.

  Right, just a few loose ends to tie up. He clicked on Mattie’s website and downloaded a severe photo of her in a black suit – did that woman wear any other colour? Now for the final detail: how much prize money to award? Two hundred thousand pounds had a nice ring. Enough to be significant, yet peanuts for a major network. Nate added the details to the file and hit save. Done!

  He threw on his lucky T-shirt and a pair of relatively wrinkle-free jeans, smushed down recalcitrant curls and settled horn-rimmed glasses on a rather wide nose. Pretty good, considering he barely made enough to keep him in takeaways and beer. He might not be executive producer yet, but he was on his way. At best, Silver would ask him to shoot a pilot episode to pitch to the networks, but that would still buy him some respect with his workmates. And if the show did get picked up . . .

  Nate grabbed his keys and rushed down the stairs, holding his breath as he passed the door to the kebab shop on ground level. Once I’m executive producer, I’ll buy a flat in Chelsea or Notting Hill, where all the media people live, he thought, dodging screaming schoolkids on his way to the Wood Green tube. I might even meet someone, someone much better than bitchy Kira – someone who doesn’t feel the compulsion to bankrupt me. London flashed by care of the Piccadilly Line as Nate daydreamed his way into Soho Square and SiniStar’s offices.

  ‘Earth to Nate!’ Ginny, Silver’s assistant, snapped her fingers in his direction. ‘Hello! I said, Silver’s ready for you!’ She rolled her eyes and flipped bleached-blonde hair over a skeletal shoulder.

  Nate swallowed, unable to respond. Suddenly his throat was dry and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. What if Silver hated it? What if he got booted out as unceremoniously as the last time?

  ‘She’s waiting!’ Ginny screeched, dropping all pretence of politeness.

  ‘Right.’ Nate quickly opened the glass door to the MD’s office and walked in.

  ‘Whatever you want, you’ve got one minute.’ Silver waved him into a chair in front of the desk, then shoved back her short grey hair and fixed him with iceberg-blue eyes. ‘Fucking crisis here. Bloody tree-hugging gardener just pulled out of his show at the last second, gone back to live in his heap-of-manure farm in arse-end nowhere. I’ve got to meet the network this afternoon
. And do you think any of my idiot producers have something decent to fill the slot? Incompetent slobs.’

  Nate sat up, unable to believe his luck. Silver needed a show urgently and he had one. A great one!

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you constipated? Not surprised, with all that shit you eat.’

  ‘Well, I, er, um . . .’ Come on, Nate! he told himself, struggling to remember the opening line of his pitch. Pull it together.

  Across the sharp-edged glass desk, Silver pursed her lips with impatience. Next to the crimson lipstick, her white teeth looked like fangs. ‘What are you trying to say? Moron!’ she barked.

  ‘Right,’ he began. His voice sounded reedy so he cleared his throat. You can do this. You need to do this! No more slime!

  Silver huffed and crossed her legs. Nate tried not to look at the scary three-inch black patent stilettos she was sporting.

  ‘Right,’ he repeated, his voice stronger this time. ‘I have an idea. For a show.’ Shit. That wasn’t how his pitch was supposed to start.

  ‘Aw, Christ. Not some hippy loser uncommercial crap again. I don’t have fucking time for this.’ She jerked back her chair and spun to look out the window. ‘Of course you have an idea. For a show.’ She mimicked his tone. ‘Do you know how many people tell me that every day?’

  ‘Dozens?’ Nate replied weakly. She’d given him this same speech when he’d dared ventured in with his last idea a few months ago.

  ‘Exactly. Dozens, Nate. Dozens like you, who think they have something different, something unique. Well, I can tell you, I’ve heard it all before.’

  ‘But mine is different!’ He hated the pleading tone in his voice and took a deep breath. ‘Just listen. You said you needed a show. It can’t hurt to hear it. Especially with the network meeting looming.’

  Silver turned back towards him, cocking an eyebrow, and Nate rushed ahead before she could respond. ‘One woman. Four men. The series kicks off with a live show, where she chooses the first man. The following day, she goes on a date with him then heads back to the studio for a taped segment where she picks the next man. We edit the date highlights together with the taped segment and air it later that night – and the audience rates each date.’

  Nate paused to gulp in air. ‘After all the dates, the man with the highest date rating spends two weeks with her in a romantic location, where there’s a daily activity designed to bring them together. After the two weeks are over, they decide to have a relationship . . . or not.’ Nate let out his breath. It didn’t exactly have the drama he’d practised at home, but at least he’d got the basic format out.

  Silver tapped her claw-like nails on the desk and squinted. ‘A dating show? That shit’s been done a trillion times before. Didn’t I tell you not to waste my time?’ She waved a hand towards the door. ‘Go.’

  ‘Wait!’ Nate’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. ‘I forgot to mention, er, these aren’t just any men. They’re guys she’s ditched. Her exes.’

  Silence filled the room. Silver leaned back in her chair, eyes locked on his. ‘Go on,’ she said finally.

  Nate nodded. ‘Yes, exes. And here’s the thing: she won’t know the men are her exes until they’re revealed, one by one.’ That was the best bit! Silver couldn’t resist that, could she?

  ‘Hmm.’ She grabbed a cocktail sausage from her desk drawer and bit it in two. The sight made Nate cross his legs uncomfortably. ‘You need to get the right woman. The whole thing could fall apart if you have some ugly loser no one could care less about. And it needs to be someone who can hold it together when her exes are revealed.’

  Nate’s heart pounded. Thank God she hadn’t dismissed it outright. ‘Yes, I’ve thought of that and I’ve got a great contestant lined up already.’ He tried to sound confident as he slid Mattie’s photo across the desk. He hadn’t exactly signed her up, but he’d do whatever he could to convince Silver this was something worth developing. Right now, he didn’t care if she kept him working up sizzle reels or budgets for weeks. He just wanted a chance.

  Silver glanced at the photo, then shrugged. ‘Not bad. More Cherie Blair than Katie Price in that Joseph suit, though. We’ll need to sex her up.’

  Nate nodded, hope leaping inside him. She was actually considering it! ‘No problem.’ It might be difficult to get Mattie to agree to go on a reality show, let alone turn her into a porn star. But he’d cross those bridges when he came to them.

  ‘What’s this going to cost?’

  Nate put the full treatment he’d worked up on the table. ‘Not much. The preliminary breakdown’s here, but the main cost is the prize money awarded to the woman at the end of the show, along with a nominal appearance fee for the men.’

  Silver grabbed the report and scanned it. ‘Two hundred thousand, eh?’ She ran her tongue along blood-red lips. ‘Shouldn’t be hard to get a network to agree to that.’

  Then her expression went blank again. ‘But of course there are a lot of holes in the concept. Leave it with me.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

  Nate stood up. ‘So are you going to pitch it to the network? The one that lost the gardening show?’

  Silver smirked. ‘Like it is? Forget it. It’s got limited potential – I’ll give you that – but right now it stinks like a sack of shit. I’ll have to put some work into it. Then we’ll see. Don’t worry, Nate. You’ll be the first to hear if anything happens.’

  Nate took another deep breath and forced the words out. ‘This is my concept. If anything happens, I want to be executive producer on this.’

  ‘Or?’ Silver asked, looking amused.

  ‘Or I take it to another company.’ He felt like he was about to collapse, but he knew the idea was strong and he had the perfect woman – desperate and broke – to front it.

  Silver laughed. ‘You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Let’s just wait and see.’ She looked pointedly toward the door.

  Nate nodded and walked out on unsteady legs. Today’s batch of slime might not be the last he’d ever mix. But Silver hadn’t rejected his pitch – yet. At least there was hope.

  *

  Mattie threw the TeknoNerds bill in the office’s overflowing rubbish bin. She wasn’t going to pay a bunch of incompetent losers five hundred pounds for messing up her laptop instead of fixing it! Massaging her throbbing head, she tried not to think about all the other companies waiting for payment. Three hundred pounds for the phone lines, two thousand still pending on her credit card . . . not to mention rent for the office and the mortgage on her flat. How much longer could she hold out before bankruptcy came calling? She needed new business and she needed it fast.

  She wrinkled her nose as a foul odour drifted towards her. What the hell was that? Pushing back her chair, she tracked the sulphur-like smell to the office’s tiny loo, fumes burning her eyes. Oh, gross! The floor was slathered in coffee-coloured liquid bubbling out from the toilet – and the level was rising, fast. Backing away, she ran to her laptop, quickly Googled ‘London plumbers’, then punched the digits into her mobile.

  ‘I need a plumber – now!’ she shouted, when someone picked up.

  ‘It’s two hundred pounds for the call-out plus the cost of the job,’ a voice informed her. ‘We can have someone there in thirty minutes.’

  Two hundred pounds plus the cost of the job? Jesus, were they bringing her lunch from The Ritz, too? Mattie stared disbelievingly at her BlackBerry, then ducked back to the loo. Cloudy water was now seeping into the reception-area carpet and a large dark patch was expanding quickly.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, defeated. What choice did she have? She gave them her address and hung up, shaking her head.

  This was it. She was now officially in the shit.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Eight in ten men don’t brush their teeth before a date,

  compared with one in fifty women.

  ‘WE NEED THE FERRET, NATE! NOW!’ The produce
r of Jungle Jangle sounded anything but pleased.

  ‘Coming!’ All day, Nate hadn’t been able to think about anything other than his pitch to Silver, let alone ferrets. He struggled to reach the animal that was now crouching behind a discarded fish tank in the jumble of junk backstage. Grabbing the tank, he turned it upside down, managing to trap the ferret underneath. Too late Nate realised it still held some water. The ferret was soaking wet and looking extremely retaliatory.

  ‘Shit!’ Nate lifted a corner of the tank and stuck a hand in, grabbing the animal as firmly as he dared. He drew out the squirming creature and ran onto the set, blinking against the lights. ‘Here you go,’ he said, holding out the ferret that worryingly had stopped struggling.

  ‘I’m not touching a rat!’ Tabitha Trittley, the host, squealed. ‘Ew, it’s wet!’

  ‘It’s not a rat. It’s a ferret.’ Nate looked around the set. ‘Does anyone have a blow-dryer?’ Blow-drying a ferret, he sighed. I can’t believe I’m about to blow-dry a bloody ferret! Not only that – he grimaced – the ferret had peed in his hand.

  ‘Nate!’ A runner burst onto the set. ‘Silver wants to see you. Now!’

  Nate wiped his hand on his jeans and swallowed. Could this be it? He’d only pitched Silver the day before but the network was desperate for a show to replace the boring old gardener. Nate sent up a silent prayer thanking whoever Greenfingers was for breaching his contract, and then raced off set.

  ‘Go in,’ Ginny grunted, not even bothering to look up from the computer screen.