I feared they would eat me up and spit me out. It made me wish I’d brought a pair of glasses to wear and hide behind, but ever since I’d arrived, I kept forgetting to wear them. Or was something—or someone—else making me forget them? It was hard to tell.
“It’s showtime,” she sang. “Are you ready to meet yourfriendsfor the next six weeks? ‘Friends’ being a relative term. We tend to get a lot of catfights on this show.”
Oh, I knew.
Cassie and I had watched several clips of them on YouTube during the trip out here. Cassie had watched them to take notes on the fights—like she was prepping for a gladiator match. I, on the other hand, had viewed them hoping to avoid any.
The last thing I needed was someone slapping me and accusing me of being a man stealer. Which I would never be. It wouldn’t go over well for them. Cassie would hex whoever dared into oblivion.
Besides, if I wanted to, I had the power to make any of these cast members fall in love—or prevent it. I’d learned that the hard way. On my own heart. I’d never used either power on anyone else. Though the part of me I usually tried to ignore was practically begging me to give Jazzy a love pulse.
I kept resisting.
Workplace romance? Seriously, not advisable.
Sure, the movies made it look sexy. And I’m sure some parts were. Until the first fight. Or when the new love haze wore off and you realized he chews like a goat, sneezes loud enough to wake the dead, and leaves the toilet seat up.
Then, when those minor irritations spill over into the professional realm, suddenly everyone at the office is whispering about you. And HR gets involved. And you’re googling “how to hex a coworker without getting fired.” Or “how to break up with my coworker and not make it awkward.” P.S. It will always be awkward. And not just for the couple. For everyone.
Believe me, I’d done the research.
Of course, my father would disagree with me and say love wasn’t about rules or even the odds. Then he’d point toRyan Gosling and Eva Mendes, who met at work. Sure, Ryan was a dream, and he treated Eva like a queen. But it was an isolated case. Really, how many Ryan Goslings were there in the world? I’ll tell you, not many.
“I don’t plan on fighting anyone,” I assured Jazzy. “No man is worth that humiliation.”
Jazzy laughed. “I love your snark. This season is going to be our best yet. Let’s go.”
I followed her out into the hall, dreading every step. This was even worse than meeting with the show’s team of lawyers earlier that day, as they basically spelled out that they owned my life not only for the summer but for the foreseeable future. I was part of their brand now. A hostage in contractual bondage, wrapped in tulle.
As we walked toward the lobby where I’d meet my supposed “friends,” I heard squealing.
Lots of it.
Once upon a time, I had been a squealer. But I hadn’t had anything to fuss about in a long time. And this dress was compacting my rib cage, so I wasn’t sure I could squeal even if I wanted to.
I turned the corner, and it was just as I feared: the grand staircase had been turned into the runway from hell—a fever dream of roses and artificial mist. It looked like someone had asked Flora, goddess of flowers, to decorate it, and she’d decided to channel prom night in the eighties.
I caught Cassie’s eye.
She was standing in the middle of all the squealing women dressed in bright colors, looking like a boss babe in a violet gown that matched her eyes—sleek, asymmetrical, and just edgy enough to say,I could rebuild a transmission in this.The bodice shimmered like fresh paint on a vintage Mustang, and the slit up one side revealed her signature combat boots, scuffed and unapologetic.
I adored her. Well, as much as I could adore anyone right now. Maybe ever.
Everyone turned in my direction. Including Roman, in a sharp, dark suit looking like he was our collective prom date. He stood off to the side talking to the director, Miles. Both men’s feelings hit me all at once. It overwhelmed me so much that I had to stop walking. Wow, Miles had itbadfor Jazzy. Like, wanted-to-write-her-name-in-the-stars bad. And . . . let’s just say Roman liked the monstrosity of tulle I was drowning in. A lot. But he fought those feelings with all he had.
Meanwhile, my getting-louder-by-the-minute other half took pleasure in Roman’s desire. She purred at the attention all while begging me to use my powers to bring Miles and Jazzy together and to take a taste of Roman. Oh. My. Titans. That was the last thing I needed to do. Not to say I wasn’t attracted to him. Unfortunately, I was.
If that weren’t enough, I started getting hit with the women’s feelings. A tidal wave of insecurity, curiosity, and thinly veiled jealousy. All except Cassie saw me as competition. One of them even thought this was an act—America’s sweetheart turned goth queen for ratings.
Yeah, cute theory.
Then it hit me why I was last to the party. The cameras wanted to capture this moment. The moment when all the women except Cassie decided they hated me and made me this season’s villain. It made sense now why I was in black and everyone else wore bright colors.
No. No. No.
I didn’t sign up for this part—or any part, for that matter.
My stomach tossed and turned while I tried not to hyperventilate.
