Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal. Melissa Mcclone
neither.”
The emotion in the two words, as well as the concern in his eyes, caught her off guard. “You know, Gemma’s going to be fine. Her baby, too. I spoke with her this morning after I arrived. She is sure the bed rest is temporary, and with the way Oliver is spoiling her, she’ll be good to go for the rest of this season’s tapings.”
“Let’s hope so, but until then…” A smile touched Drake’s lips. “I have you.”
The approval in his eyes let Chaney know he liked what he saw. She wouldn’t let herself care.
“Only on the set,” she said crisply.
“Of course.” His eyes laughed at her.
Flustered, she clutched her clipboard. “I’ll make sure things stay on schedule so you can catch your flight out of Heathrow. Gemma said that was important.”
“Still the same industrious, competent Chaney. This arrangement should work out well.”
She raised her chin. “I think so.”
His lips curved into a full smile, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. He did have a nice smile. “I always knew you’d go far, but I thought you were going to work with your father, not take your financial skills and go into show business.”
“Well, my parents did name me after Lon Chaney,” she admitted.
“Lon Chaney, that old actor?”
“They were die-hard horror fans, but preferred the older black-and-white flicks to the newer slasher movies.” She remembered how Drake had kept their conversations focused on business when she was an intern. Well, except for her goingaway party. “I once called my mom ‘mummy’ and she gave me a cookie.”
“That’s—”
“Weird, I know, but Chaney’s better than Karloff or Lorre. Though Bela might not have been too bad,” she admitted. “But in spite of my name, I actually got my first taste of television during my internship when you acquired the Dragon Network. That experience led me to the job at the studio where I work.”
“It’s amazing how an internship can change a career path.”
He had no idea. She nodded.
“And now you’re back in England working on the show we brainstormed.”
Her mouth gaped. She closed it. “You remember?”
“Your name is in the credits.”
“That was a nice gesture, but it’s not the same show we’d talked about.”
“Maybe not, but The Billionaire’s Playground wouldn’t exist if not for that meeting you attended.”
His words meant a lot to her and echoed what Gemma had said. “Thank you.”
“So how does it feel?” Drake asked.
“Pretty cool.” Chaney wiggled her toes. “I remember watching the premiere episode and thinking, wow, this is what all those ideas we were tossing back and forth turned into. Though I never thought you’d host the show.”
“Me, neither,” he admitted. “But I had a free weekend when they were set to shoot the pilot. We hadn’t found the right talent to host, and Gem said I should do it. I had fun, so I decided to make it a regular gig. Though we’ve started using guest hosts.”
“Gemma told me.”
“Do you have a favorite episode?” he asked.
“I’d have to say it’s the one with kite surfing on the coast of Greenland.”
“That was an exciting episode to tape,” he said. “The Google guys took a vacation there and gave us the idea.”
“Whose idea was it to use a medieval castle this weekend?”
“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”
“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”
He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”
“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”
He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”
“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”
“Do you admit it?” he asked.
“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”
Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.
“Very modern. Very practical.”
“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”
“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”
Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.
Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.
Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.
Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.
The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…
Quiet. Finally.
“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”
Drake was all for that.
“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”
For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.
“We only need the last line,” Milt said.
Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”
“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”
“You’re neither of those