‘So, you manipulate them?’ I clarify. ‘That’s not ethical.’
‘No, how many millions of viewers we’ve lost, that’s what’s not ethical,’ Simon insists.
I mean, where to even begin with that one? A comment so dumb, it would actually kill my brain cells if I were to challenge it.
‘I’m telling you, people are sick of all the fake stuff, we shouldn’t be leaning into it, we should be pulling away from it,’ I insist.
‘In my experience—’ Lockie starts.
‘In your experience, everything is fake,’ I interrupt him. ‘Nothing is real.’
Simon waves a hand.
‘All right, kids, enough,’ he tells us. ‘Cleo, you find me your “real people”. Lockie, you get me influencers and celebs. Try all the usual channels for casting, plus anything else you can come up with, and then we’ll see who brings me the best contestants for the job. How about that?’
‘May the best man win,’ Lockie says, trying to sound like a good sport.
‘She will,’ I reply, backing myself.
And on that note the meeting moves on. Schedules, budgets, brand tie-ins. I barely hear any of it. I’m too busy trying not to burst into flames every time Lockie flashes that smug grin in my direction.
‘Okay, let’s leave these two to try to find a way to play nice,’ Simon tells Tara and Jamila. ‘Or not. Whatever gets the best results.’
They leave us alone, just the two of us, sitting at opposite sides of the meeting table, staring at each other like we’re facing off. How are we supposed to be working together and competing? How is that going to work? And what the hell is his problem, sitting over there, smiling?
‘What?’ he asks with a chuckle.
‘You know what,’ I reply.
‘I really don’t,’ he says. ‘Unless you’re just annoyed that I have better ideas than you…’
‘Okay, first of all, you don’t,’ I’m quick to remind him. ‘But what I’m talking about is last night. You knew who I was, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yeah, because I’m smart,’ he replies.
‘Then why did you act like it was a date?’ I ask.
‘I thought you were doing a bit,’ he tells me. ‘I thought you knew I was the new guy and you were messing with me. But now I know how much you fancy me, that you were flirting with me – Cleo, I’m flattered.’
‘Oh, get over yourself,’ I snap.
He laughs at me, which only annoys me more.
‘I thought you were just another bloke, show fodder, someone I could use for work – I wasn’t there to flirt,’ I insist.
‘And yet you ended up dancing with me,’ he reminds me. ‘Something to think about.’
He holds his hands in the air as he gets up from his seat.
‘I mean it,’ I tell him. ‘I am not interested in you at all – beyond professionally.’
‘That’s a start,’ he says, amused. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you. It’s going to be fun.’
Fun? Ha. It really isn’t.
As he strolls out, casual as he walked in, he hums the tune to ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ – the song we danced to last night.
Oh, it’s not going to be fun. It’s going to be infuriating. I don’t want to work with him, I want to murder him.
