Lockie leans forward to peek. Our heads almost touch, and I’m suddenly aware of how close together we’re sitting, and how warm the office feels. Yes, summer is finally settling in now that we’re in June, but it’s not that. There’s just this heat between us.
‘Trouble’s good,’ he says. ‘That body is made for slow-motion walk-ins. He’ll have half the cast eating out of his hand by day three.’
I frown.
‘He always seems so arrogant.’
‘Exactly. He’s perfect,’ Lockie says.
Perfectly unbearable, perhaps.
‘It’s funny, because if you were into guys, you would sound complimentary – if not slightly pervy – but because you’re not, I don’t know, you talk about him like he’s some sort of specimen,’ I explain.
‘He is!’ Lockie jokes, pretending to fan himself.
‘I’m just not sure what you see in him… or anyone,’ I reply.
‘Cleo,’ he sighs, as if explaining the obvious to a child. ‘The audience loves arrogant. They hate them, they scream at the telly about them, call up all of their friends to chat shit, but they keep watching. That’s the point. It’s like when we were at the auditions, and we trialled talking to people separately, and I wanted that fitness model, and you wanted the soup kitchen guy.’
‘Benny? He was great,’ I insist. ‘He volunteered, raised money for charity – he ran marathons.’
‘Benny who ran marathons was the fitness model,’ he corrects me.
‘No, he was the guy who volunteered,’ I reply. ‘He ran marathons for charity.’
‘Describe him,’ he prompts me.
‘Tall, blonde undercut, athletic, kind smile,’ I say.
‘That’s Benny,’ he replies.
‘Yeah… I know. I just said,’ I remind him.
‘No, I mean that’s my guy too, and your guy – they were the same guy,’ he tells me. ‘We must have argued about who was better for like forty minutes. It was the same person.’
I laugh.
‘So… we actually agreed on someone?’ I say.
‘Yep!’ he replies.
‘Well, for what it was worth, because we had to abandon new people in favour of your big idea to use only reality TV stars. Do you remember Elle, from a couple of seasons ago?’
‘Elle? Oh, yeah, Elle Shaw? The influencer?’ he replies. ‘I watched the show that year. She was my favourite.’
I nod. She was everyone’s favourite – everyone male anyway.
‘Yeah, well, she’s heard from her agent that we’re doing this, and she is hounding me on Insta, begging to take part,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve told her, we’re not considering ex-contestants any more, just other reality stars – we don’t want anyone to have a tactical advantage – but she won’t let it go. She’s actually starting to get quite mean. She says we’ll have words at the launch party – because of course Simon invites all the ex-islanders. I’m going to have to spend the whole night avoiding her.’
‘Well, that should be easy, given that it’s a masquerade ball,’ he replies.
‘Yeah, I heard someone had that great idea for this year – I thought it might have been you,’ I reply. ‘You seem like the kind of guy who likes to orchestrate a misunderstanding.’
We both reach for the last slice of pizza at the same time, his hand brushing mine, warm, casual, lingering just a second longer than you would expect before we pull back. It’s like we’re playing chicken – I think I’m the one to move first.
‘You can have it,’ I tell him.
‘You can, if you like,’ he replies.
