“See you out there, man,” Tosh says, giving me a thumbs up.
“You’ll be fine, Sally,” Mac says with a wink.
The door opens and they disappear down the steps, leaving me with my heart pounding so hard, I can hear my pulse in my ears. The second I get off this jet, I’ll have a life-changing decision to make. Either go along and humiliate myself—and possibly die—or quit, which not only will end my dream career, but it’ll mean I can forget ever getting Matilda back.
Oh, and I’ll get sued. Let’s not forget that.
I rub my face with both hands, then sigh. I’ll have to quit. If the mystery guest doesn’t seem one hundred percent up to the task, I’ll just say no. I’m not putting someone else's life at risk just for some ad revenue.
I hear Dylan calling my name and I stand, forcing my lead feet to make the twenty steps to the door of the plane. I’m instantly hit with the humidity and heat only found in a jungle region. The flight was too short to be South America, so I’m guessing I’m somewhere in Africa.
The afternoon sun blinds me, and I shield my eyes, waiting for them to adjust. As I stand at the top of the steps, I see Dylan and the guys on the tarmac. Dylan has the last thing she needs in one hand—a megaphone.Oh, please do not lift that thing to your mouth.
Forcing a relaxed smile, I jog down the metal steps into the searing heat. By the time my hiking boots touch the steamy asphalt, my grey T-shirt is already sticking to my chest. Dylan is facing away from me, talking into the camera so I can’t hear what she’s saying. Not that I want to.
She turns to me, holds her arms out to the sides and shouts, “Welcome to Zamunda! Are you ready to meet your mystery co-host?”
Plastering a grin on my face, I say through gritted teeth, “Am I?”
Picking up the bullhorn, she yells, “Come on out, mystery guest!”
I look to my left in time to see a woman in very short khaki shorts, hiking boots, and a white tank top stepping out of a luggage carrier. I’m torn—my body very much wants to say yes to spending a few nights alone with her, but my sense of logic is screaming at me to say ‘no way.’ Her face is shadowed by the bright sun behind her, and her blonde ponytail swings as she walks closer.
It takes a few more seconds before I realize who she is.
“Hi, Will,” Princess Arabella says with a small wave.
No fucking way.
11
Famous Last Words
Arabella
Oh dear,this is not good. Not good at all. Willwassmiling, but now he’s not. And I’m pretty sure that gorgeous grin faded precisely at the moment he recognized me. Nuts.
Now, he’s standing perfectly still, looking ridiculously handsome and utterly angry in a fitted grey T-shirt and blue cargo pants. And I’m standing here like a complete moron in these stupid short shorts while I smile like one of those beer tub girls—you know, the ones at nightclubs dressed very much like I am now, only in front of a tub of ice and beer bottles. Except, in this case, my sole customer does not want to buy what I’m selling. Not that I’m selling anything, but you get the idea.
This is bad. Very, very bad. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this humiliated in my life. Or rejected. This feels like having a group of nonagenarians tell you they want your brother’s manny to take them on a palace tour instead of you. It reminds me of my school days waiting to for the team captains to pick players for a game of field hockey in gym class. You beg them with your eyes to choose you, but deep down you know they’d both be happy to be a player short than to have to pass to you. Will would rather be a player short. Oh Zeus, please strike me down with a bolt of lightning right now.
Dylan breaks the awful silence. “Haha! Perfect! You're in shock, which isexactlywhat I was going for.” She turns to the camera. “He can't even believe his eyes, folks. To be standing face-to-face with the beautiful, elegant, dare I saysexy, Princess Arabella, fourth in line for the Avonian throne! Will, say hello to your new co-host!”
“Hello,” he says, setting his jaw.
Dylan keeps smiling back and forth between us. “Are you two ready to be dropped into the jungle with only each other to rely on for your very survival?”
Instead of answering her, Will starts toward me, his legs moving fast. “Can I talk to you for a second, please?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, feeling slightly worried, super embarrassed, and also horrifyingly turned on.
When he reaches me, he takes my hand and starts walking me away from Dylan and the crew, but the sound guy and the cameraman hustle to keep up with us, capturing our every move as we hurry to the chain link fence. When we reach it, he drops my hand and lowers his voice, keeping his back to the camera. “Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, I don't find it very funny.”
Yup. This makes sense. He doesn’t want me here. He assumes I’m weak and useless. Well, screw him. “Of course it’s not,” I say in a haughty tone. “I applied for the show and they chose me. If you don't like it, too bad.”
“This is … You don’t … You have no business—” He stops himself and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Did someone force you into this? Because I swear to God, if someone forced you into this, I will … well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but whoever it is won’t like it.”
Oh, well, that was sort of chivalrous in a weird way.No, Arabella! It was chauvinistic. He’s a gorgeous, gorgeous chauvinist.“No,” I say, straightening my back. “No one coerced me. It was entirely my choice, and quite frankly I don't appreciate the assumption.”
