Reality TV Bites Read Online Free PDF Page A

look as though he just woke up, heavy-lidded eyes, aristocratic nose, and a full mouth, set in that debauched European style. Not the pursed look of the British or the open sensuality of the Italians, more of the cynical, slightly amused look of the French. He’s dressed in Armani, and his long limbs rest languorously in the chair. He appears perfectly at ease, and yet there’s a sense of the patrician about him. A sort of benevolent condescension.
    Now this guy is the definition of my dream man.
    He watches me size him up, and while I take him in, his eyes skim over me, making no secret about the perusal. I’m wearing a thirties-style fawn-colored cigarette skirt and fitted jacket with a chocolate silk shell underneath. My legs are tanned and bare and my feet are strapped into three-inch open-toed Prada sandals, the exact color of the OPI Taupeless Showgirls polish on my fingers and toes.
    Our eyes meet again, and to my amusement and chagrin, he deliberately glances at Josh, then me, takes a pen—no, a limited-edition Montblanc pen!—from his shirt pocket and jots something on the paper before him. That’s a five-hundred-dollar writing instrument. He folds the note with slow, elegant movements, then places it on the table between me and Josh.
    By this point, Miranda seems to have noticed that Kinjo is not the only person in the room, and she’s watching me. But more important, he ’s watching me. Parma.
    I skate the note carelessly over the glass until it’s beforeme but leave it on the table unopened. I attempt to appear completely engrossed in Kinjo’s speech, but every few seconds, I run a fingernail over the note.
    At that point the translator passes out thick documents, which look like contracts. I pick up the note, press it to my lips, and watch Parma’s slow smile. A moment later, I notice everyone signing the documents, so I scrawl my signature and set the note on top.
    Josh looks at the note, then me, and when I meet his gaze, he quirks a brow. Poor boy. This is why all of Josh’s boyfriends leave him. He’s too eager, too impulsive, too open. Of course, those are the exact qualities I love in him.
    That and he knows good shoes.
    Josh starts to squirm. To put him out of his misery, I slowly unfold the note. Two words:
    I’ll buy.
    The words glide across the page in an elegant script that perfectly mirrors Parma’s outward appearance. I haven’t heard his voice, but I imagine he speaks formally, his accent soft and Gallic.
    Josh reads the note over my shoulder and practically breaks into excited applause. I, on the other hand, pretend to ponder the issue. The delay is too much for Josh, and he finally snatches the note and writes:
    BEWARE. We’re not cheap.
    Then he folds the paper and passes it over his shoulder to Parma. The Japanese guy beside Josh frowns, but Josh gives him a don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me-because-I’ll-bitch-slap-you-without-a-second-thought look, and the guy turns back to the discussion. Meanwhile, Parma takes thenote absently, opens it, and then nods at us, as though to say he’s up for the challenge.
    That’s what he thinks.
    Mr. Kinjo, wonder of wonders, finally stops talking, and the translator asks, “Then we are in agreement?”
    â€œPerfectly,” Miranda says. “Interiors by M will make Kamikaze Makeover! an absolute television sensation.”
    The anticipatory warmth pooling in my belly at the thought of a cocktail or two with Parma grows cold, and I shuffle the papers before me in confusion. “Excuse me, Miranda. Did you say television?” My heart is beating fast now. Is this what Natalie meant when she said I might be on TV sooner than I thought?
    But maybe it’s like the time we remodeled Oprah’s studio. We’ll be decorating the set for Kinjo’s show.
    Miranda shoots me an annoyed frown but answers in a sugary tone that fools no one. “Oh, Allison,