Reality TV Bites Read Online Free PDF

I forgot that you came in late. This is Mr. Kinjo and his business associates, Mister—”
    The translator comes to the rescue. “Hai.” He bows, and not sure if I’m supposed to do the same, I bow back. He smiles, which either means I’m a stupid American trying too hard or that my bowing was the right thing.
    Then he says, “I am Peter Yamamoto, this Mr. Watanabe.” He gestures to a flashy guy with long straight hair and a garish red tie.
    â€œHe the director,” Yamamoto says. “This is Mr. Fukui.” The man to the right of Watanabe waves at me with four fingers. He’s wearing a lavender shirt and matching tie.
    â€œMr. Fukui is top designer. And so is Mr. Takahashi.” Takahashi is the frowning man sitting next to Josh.
    â€œAnd this”—Miranda interrupts, pointing at Parma—“isNicolo Parma. He’s a major investor from—where is it again, Nicolo?”
    He smiles. “My family lives in Roskilde, but I travel so much, I consider myself a resident of the world.”
    â€œHe can be a resident of my world any day,” Josh whispers.
    â€œSorry,” I whisper back. “I’ve got dibs.”
    â€œNicolo,” Miranda continues, “is the man who referred Mr. Kinjo to us.”
    Nicolo smiles at Miranda, and she blushes. Miranda is at least forty-five, thin as a rail, with platinum-blonde hair pulled tight into a jeweled clip. She wears power red almost every day and has a tendency to tap her sharp hellfire-red nails on the glass conference table. She’s as hard as the three-karat rock on her finger. But when Nicolo smiles at her, she turns pink from her neck all the way to the dark roots of her blonde hair. Miranda, diamond-hard, cold as a meat locker, and, I often suspect, the spawn of Satan, is blushing. Now I have seen everything.
    Since Miranda still hasn’t answered my question—and that’s not an accident, by the way—I say, “And what is it that Mr. Kinjo has contracted us for? Is he planning to buy property in Chicago?”
    Oh, I hope so. Even though it would be great to design another television studio, I prefer residential work. Maybe Kinjo’s going to buy a section of Gold Coast and build luxury town homes, and maybe he’s hired Miranda—which really means the associate designers, me and Josh, and maybe Mia, but she just had a baby and has been working at home most of the time—to come up with a design for the interiors. Window treatments, color schemes, pewter knobs on the kitchen cabinets, pewter faucets and clear glass bowls in the sinks. And carpet—or would Persian rugs be better? Yes, butonly if Kinjo uses hardwood floors. Oh, but then it would be such a shame to cover that gorgeous wood.
    â€œNo, Mr. Kinjo is not buying property,” Miranda says, shattering my design concept. “Mr. Kinjo is an assistant to Ramosu Kobayashi, the owner of Dai Hoshi, Japan’s largest media conglomerate. He’s here to fill us in on the details for the new show.”
    I glance at Josh, but he appears almost as clueless as I am. Almost. His expression is grim—not a good sign.
    â€œWhat new show?”
    Miranda smiles, if you can call what a snake does smiling. “Allison, the one we discussed last week. Honestly, where is your head today?”
    Right on my shoulders, where it always is. What is Miranda up to now? We never discussed a TV show. Miranda never even so much as mentioned Dai Hoshi or Kinjo or a European hottie. I would have remembered the hottie part.
    â€œOh, you know me, Miranda.” And she does, which is why she didn’t mention any of this until now. When it’s too late.
    â€œ Kamikaze Makeover!, Allison, dear. You’re going to be on the next number-one reality TV show.”

3
I’ve Got a Crush on You
    â€œOkay, but Josh, don’t kamikazes kill themselves?” I say, lifting my half-full martini glass from the