“We’ll see” was all I could say. I had a feeling that Cassie was going to outshine everyone. Her plan was to blow in like a true boss girl. What was her backstory, you might ask? Well, she was claiming to be a mechanic who restored classic cars. Which she did know a lot about. It was her hobby. That and doing nails.
Her mom, Hecate, the goddess of magic, had helped her fake the entire thing. From the garage location to the photos of her in grease-stained jeans, leaning over a cherry-red Mustang. The men were going to go wild for her. A hot car babe with mystery in her eyes and motor oil on her skin. It was all smoke and mirrors. But Cassie knew how to make smoke shine and sizzle.
I mean, look what she had done to me.
“Well, let’s get you inside.” Jazzy led me forward. “We have no time to waste. First, you’re going to meet with our stylist for a wardrobe consultation. And then you’re scheduled for a preshow interview with Roman.”
“So soon?” My stomach twisted. Each of these appointments sounded awful. The last one was just the cherry on top of the crap sundae. Coming face-to-face with Roman. Who,by the way, I kind of blamed for this. If he had just been who my goddess said he was, I might not be in this predicament.
Jazzy laughed, clearly entertained by my suffering. “We can only tease a legendary cast member for so long before we reveal you.”
Legendary?That was a little over the top. Meanwhile, I was over here trying not to trip over my own dread.
As soon as we walked into the lodge’s lobby—now transformed into a full-blown production studio with lights and cameras strategically placed—it felt like a horde of bees surrounded me.
All buzzing and watching, ready to sting at any time.
“Demi, we almost have your isolation cabin ready for you,” a woman shouted from somewhere behind a monitor.
Isolation sounds lovely.I wanted to go there now.
“I’m Marcie Chu, stylist extraordinaire,” said a sophisticated Asian woman with a sleek bob and a clipboard that looked like she meant business.
“Tasha Reed here. Social media specialist. I’ll be your best friend or worst nightmare.” A woman with pink-streaked hair and a mischievous grin laughed like she already knew which one she’d be.
Note to self: Stay away from Tasha.
“Don’t listen to her,” Jazzy said, waving Tasha off before leaning in to whisper, “Truth be told, don’t get on her bad side. She lives to sell drama—remember that.”
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.
“This is Miles Knox, our director,” Jazzy continued, gesturing toward a thoughtful-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, khakis, and a linen button-up. His light-brown hair was slightly mussed, and it appeared to have been a few dayssince his last shave. He looked as if he were on vacation, not directing a reality TV show. And yet his eyes were sharp. Like he didn’t miss a thing.
I gripped my backpack tighter, feeling as if he could see right through me. My mom’s words came to me. Long-ago advice when I would get nervous before a meet or an interview.Don’t let anyone else tell your story today,she would say.Always control the narrative, whether on the mat, the beam, the uneven bars, or in the hot seat.
I was definitely in the hot seat here.
The problem was, I didn’t know what story I wanted to tell. Who was I now? I certainly wasn’t the vivacious girl who appeared in highlight reels and a hundred forgotten interviews, and once upon a time broke world records. Records that still stood to this day. I wasn’t even the girl boss/sexy siren Cassie was trying to make me out to be.
I was basically wearing a costume. Did Miles see that? That I was just a sham stitched together in leather and tight jeans?
But whatever Miles could see about me, I could see something about him too. He found Jazzy attractive. Very much so. And Jazzy had feelings for him in return, but she didn’t want to date a coworker. That was smart, very smart. I had a rule against coworkers falling in love with each other. It was bad news. But my father would probably let it happen. The divine within me was screaming that this time it should. Miles and Jazzy were meant to be.
Ugh. I wished I could turnheroff. How could I ever truly trust her again? Or myself, for that matter.
In all the chaos and wondering who I was and what I should be saying to these people and wishing I didn’t knowthat Miles and Jazzy were both having NSFW thoughts about each other, a sweet voice broke through all the buzzing.
“That’s her!”
I turned toward the stairs.
A beautiful little girl in mint-colored overalls came barreling toward me, dark braids flopping, joy radiating from every step.
I recognized her instantly. Junie Archer. The daughter ofhim.
I’d seen her in a photo spread in theOlympus Times—her famous parents smiling, holding Junie between them, looking like the perfect couple and family.
How did she know who I was? And why was she running toward me like I was someone worth knowing? Surely her father had warned her to stay away from me.
