Kenzie, clipboard in hand, exchanged a quick look with Beau before signaling the camera crew to move in even closer. “Keep rolling,” she said under her breath as if she were Martin Scorsese.
My stomach twisted. And even though some part of me knew this was what they wanted, my frustration bubbled over. “These cabinets were supposed to be cream,” I said, louder now, my voice high and shaky. “This is not what I ordered. They have to go back. Don’t unwrap the rest of them.” My hands gestured wildly toward the cabinetry. “These were supposedly custom-made. If they can’t get us the right color, it’ll put us weeks behind schedule.”
The workers froze mid-lift, glancing awkwardly between one another. No one moved to stop the filming.
Beau strode over, smooth and calm, like a leading man in a cowboy movie. His hand cupped one of my shoulders in a practiced gesture of comfort. “Hey now, it’s okay. We’ll figure out what to do.”
I shook my head, fingers pressing into my temples as tears welled and slipped down my cheeks. “This puts the entire project way behind.”
Beau glanced toward the camera crew, all gracious and concerned. “She needs a minute. Give us some space.”
Carol didn’t cut. Kenzie didn’t flinch. No one moved.
Beau turned back to me, voice low and soothing. “We’ll make it work, Lila. I’ll paint them myself if we have to.”
And then it hit me. I could see it all now—how they’d planned the whole thing. The flustered woman. The calm, capable man swooping in. The audience wouldn’t see manipulation or setup—they’d see a hero in Beau.
I stood frozen, my tears still fresh, the cameras still rolling, and the realization chilling me to the bone. They’d wanted me to lose it. On camera.
And I had just given them exactly what they wanted.
Without waiting for permission, I pushed through the crowd, shoulder-bumping someone hard enough to make them curse under their breath. I didn’t stop. The moment I hit the front steps, the fresh air struck my lungs like a slap. I stumbled into the gravel drive, chest heaving, the low whir of a drone still audible somewhere overhead. Of course they were still filming.
I spun around, fury boiling just beneath the surface. “I don’t care what kind of spin you’re putting on this. If you or Kenzie try anything else—if you so much as send one more photographer near me or my daughter—I will sue both of you into the ground. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Cut!” Carol screamed.
A slow clap echoed from behind the hedge.
Beau stepped into view, the performance smile gone. “So fiery. It’ll play great. Viewers love it when the girl boss cracks.”
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “All of you.”
Carol and Kenzie approached, both looking slightly wary as I turned on them, furious. “You’re setting me up to look like some kind of unhinged lunatic. This isn’t right. I will not be exploited this way. I’m done. I quit. You can all burn in hell for all I care.”
Even as I said it, I thought about what it would mean to Vance—to have the whole thing implode. This was his house. A real home, not just one on television. Instead of getting his home back, it was being used for some kind of agenda. One that wanted me to look bad. But why? None of this made sense.
“You’re not quitting,” Carol said. “Because we’re not letting you out of your contract.”
“You can find someone else. Someone who doesn’t mind lying for fame’s sake,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t mind being manipulated for ratings. I’m out.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Beau said.
I turned, heart sinking as Beau approached, his usually affable expression hardened. His eyes reminded me of a snake. He held out his phone, and my stomach dropped at the images glowing on the screen. It was me and Vance on my patio last night, clearly kissing, illuminated by my porch lights.
“What is this?” I felt what little lunch I’d had rumbling in my stomach. They’d love it if I threw up for the camera. I could see the teaser already.
Beau’s eyes narrowed, his tone edged with threat. “Kenzie and I have people who can ignore this little liaison—or explode it. Your choice.”
My hands trembled, panic rising in my chest. “Explode? Why would you?—”
“Ratings,” he said bluntly. “Nothing pulls an audience like a love triangle scandal.”
“There’s no triangle. You and I are nothing. Vance and I are in love. We have little girls who need our protection. You’re messing with real people’s lives.”
“Yeah, we know you’re together,” Beau said, voice cool and detached. “That’s clear. But imagine the reality gold of this whole thing—designer falls for client and co-host. Audiences will think you’re lying to one or both of us. Viewers love drama. Everyone loves a good love triangle. Who will she choose and all that. This show will blow up so big you won’t know what hit you.”
“But there is no triangle. I’m in love with Vance.” I narrowed my eyes, gesturing toward Beau. “You would be the last man I’d ever choose.”
