CHAPTER ONE

S ebastian

Luke Hawthorne’s face flashes before me on the large video monitor, and my heart stops.

Tousled blond hair sits over golden sun-kissed skin. Even in Massachusetts, Luke always managed to have a tan. It was a quality he shared with his older brother.

My legs bounce under the table.

I think I know what’s coming.

I hope it’s not what I think.

God, I really hope it isn’t.

My boss, Clark Peters, flourishes a hand at the screen, as if he’s a magician and not a Hollywood executive in a salmon polo popping into the studio before his tee time. “And so, I recommend we move forward with Luke Hawthorne as the lead on Seeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition .”

“No!” The word explodes from my mouth before I can stop it, and four pairs of eyes sweep toward me. My heart skitters, bouncing against my ribs. Coolness used to come easily to me.

But now I feel as awkward as in high school. My breath stutters, and I inhale. And even though I know the air conditioner sends cool, crisp, clean air throughout this sky rise, the only things I can smell are the sweat and damp clothes of a high school locker room, and the only things I can hear are the taunting words of teenagers.

I spread my fingers below the desk, willing myself to emanate professional calm.

I am Sebastian Archer, not Seth from Ashcove. I am Sebastian Archer, not Seth from Ashcove. I am—

Ella clears her throat. She scrunches her red power lip, and the sharp line of her thick blonde bangs is temporarily marred as she shakes her head.

Normally, Ella is one of my best friends. Normally, working with her on Seeking Mr. Right is a dream come true. Normally, she knows what I’m thinking.

That’s why we work well together.

I’ve said the wrong thing, I’ve spoken back to my boss, and I know better.

Pushback is not one of Clark Peters’ favorite things, and my stomach tumbles, like we’re on a rocky section of a cruise, and not on the 20 th floor of a gleaming, modern studio building.

I jerk my head away from Clark, and my gaze shifts to the view. Hundreds of modern mansions squeeze beside one another. Their floor-to-ceiling windows and infinity pools glint in the Californian pastel haze.

One day, I’ll be in one of those houses.

Normally, I love Seeking Mr. Right: Christmas Edition . I’ve hosted it for three seasons. We’ve gone to Montana, Vermont, and Solvang, California.

Sadly, this year the crew is filming in Boston. Apparently, audiences like cities from time to time, and worse, they like New England.

Even worse, our Mr. Right dropped out at the last moment.

I slide my gaze toward Luke’s face. It’s still there. Even in a photograph his smile is soft and sympathetic and his green eyes sparkle. I know why Clark wants him on our show.

God, why did he apply? Is he trolling me? Did Bryce put him up to it?

But then, he probably doesn’t remember me. I’ve changed, and he was always younger anyway.

I try to channel my inner unpanicking person, but the task doesn’t come easily to me.

“We can do better,” I say, but I only receive stony glances.

Clark raises an eyebrow, an impressive feat given his commitment to Botox. “This is not a flat organizational structure, Sebastian.”

Ella frowns. Mateo’s eyes widen, and his fingers tap against the conference table, as if battling the instinct to pick up his phone and record everything.

Aisha, our Associate Producer, simply looks horrified. I wasn’t aware she could look anything besides calm and collected. She’s used to me being professional. She stops typing on her laptop, peering at me over the lid through her blue-light glasses.

This is the most emotional they’ve ever seen me, and I don’t like it.

I’m not emotional. I’m professional.

But the judgment lies in their eyes already, just like their mirth.

“Look. I can see the appeal. But a hockey player? As Mr. Right? No way.”

Silence fills Conference Room #3, flooding it like a noxious gas, even though it was designed to impress. No doubt the executives were hopeful the view of the Hollywood Hills would mesmerize everyone and impel everyone to refrain from discussions.

I keep my gaze on my boss and pretend everything around me is not collapsing.

People don’t correct Clark.

Ella, Mateo, and Aisha stare at me, baffled, and Clark glowers.

“ Seeking Mr. Right is about finding the perfect husband,” I remind Clark. “Not a nice hookup.”

Clark flinches, and I regret my use of words.

“If people do that of course.” I frown at the table. “Do you think a professional athlete says perfect husband to you?”

“Lots of women would think so.”

“Professional athletes are jocks. Worse than jocks. Brutes. Andrew was a cardiologist. He helps people. Isn’t that the message we want to send to people?”

“We’ve had a lot of healthcare professionals already,” Ella says, and I try not to shoot her a betrayed glance.

This is fine. Really.

“Andrew backed out at the last moment,” Aisha reminds me.

“And we’re damned lucky this guy applied,” Clark says. “Look, you probably have never seen a hockey game before.”

I stiffen.

“I assure you though,” Clark continues, “Luke Hawthorne is precisely the Mr. Right we’re looking for.”

“It’s hockey season now,” I say, and Clark’s eyes wrinkle, even though everyone should know that people play hockey in the winter, and it’s late November now.

“Maybe he won’t be able to participate.”

“Right.” Clark nods. “Well, it would be a shame not to have him.”

I paste a regretful smile on my face and wish I’d adopted a more appeasing manner to begin with. “He probably has to play in different cities.”

“Hockey players have a difficult schedule,” Mateo pipes in, and I nod rapidly.

“Filming is demanding. Those dates.”

Clark shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. You always do. We’ve never had a professional athlete before, but that won’t stop Seeking Mr. Right .”

The other production members look like they’re going to burst into applause.

It’s always a thrill for them to have a meeting with Clark. The man has been behind so much amazing reality TV. This is the third show I’m hosting with his studio, and I have to say that Seeking Mr. Right has always been my favorite.

I square my shoulders, and pretend my heart isn’t racing, pretend this isn’t personal to me, pretend that maybe Clark is right after all.

“I’ll need to meet with him,” I say. “He might not be right for us. And maybe his management will complain.”

“Make it work, Sebastian. That’s the job. Lots of people are jealous you have it.” Clark shoots me a hearty smile, but his words land like darts.

“Get me on the next plane to Boston,” I tell Ella.

Ella’s face brightens.

“Contact Luke and tell him he’s been selected.”

Smiles bounce around the room, but a chill slinks up my spine, just like the one I’ll feel when I return to Massachusetts.

In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be back in Massachusetts, face to face with Luke Hawthorne.

Face to face with my bully’s younger brother.

God, they even look the same.