A couple of the men do a double take when they see Spencer, immediately ending their conversations and approaching him with feverish expressions.
“Hey, man, really great to meet you yesterday. I sent you a request on LinkedIn. It’d be great to connect,” one of the men says, a hopeful look in his eyes.
Spencer and I freeze in unison.
“Hello, yes. Great, great.” Spencer nods way too many times.
As we walk away, Spencer plasters on a smile and says through his teeth, “I don’t have a LinkedIn profile.”
I’m not sure what scares me more, Spencer lying or telling the truth. Apparently, he was recognized multiple times yesterday, and the other competitors were grilling him at breakfast. I know I should feel excited, but an inkling of dread looms like an iceberg in the distance. What did he say to them and is any of it true?
My brow is already furrowed as I type in “Spencer Cole” to my app. “This smells of Cecily. I’ll find out.”
There he is; it’s all made up but looks legitimate. His fake degree, his fake work experience, interning at a made-up company, then his creation of Wyst three years ago.
Two minutes later, I’m hiding in the corner behind a ficus, waiting for Cecily to pick up the phone. “Did you create a fake LinkedIn for Spencer?”
“Guilty. Did you think your absolutely batshit crazy plan would work without a bit of Cecily magic? When you googled Spencer Cole, it came up with a review article about his one-man show.”
I was so focused on hiding his profiles, I didn’t think about the social media profiles hedoesn’thave. It never occurred tome he’d be such a hit at the conference that people would be actively googlinghim, not just Wyst.
My stomach drops. “Oh no, the one where he talks about the childhood trauma of playing Bill Sikes in the school play and peeing his pants onstage when everyone booed him?”
“No, the one where he gender swapsFleabagto make it about his sexual awakening in London.”
“Oh no... notDickbag.”
“Dickbag,” she confirms solemnly.
“It was really good to be fair,” I say on a shrug.
“Yeah, I’m sad I missed it; in the article the critic gave it four stars.”
My shoulders deflate. “But I’m glad nobody here saw that. You are a genius, thank you.”
“No worries. I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now and didn’t want to stress you out with another thing to do.”
I shower her with appreciation, feeling quite sheepish that I didn’t think of covering those tracks myself.
When I hang up the call, I immediately search Spencer’s name, then Wyst. The feeling of relief is laced with something I can’t quite put into words. Something cold and sharp digging into my side. I’ve locked the safe and forgotten the code. Spencer is now all over my Wyst. An infestation that I invited in. I know better than most, once something is out there, once it’s been smeared everywhere, it’s near impossible to scrub it clean. But now the story has been rewritten. Wyst was launched and created by Spencer Cole.
Maybe it’s a weight taken off my shoulders that my life is no longer attached to this thing that has felt like a phantom limb for years. But what am I without Wyst? Just a girl whohad a horrible thing happen to her, and she did nothing about it. She created a company, a concept, the bare bones of a thing, and could do nothing with it until someone more talented and better suited came along. Someone who everyone always loved more, listened to more, commanded the attention of a room like she never could. But I put Spencer here. I asked him to do this. How can I complain about him for doing a good job?
“Spencer!” The booming voice of Dominic Odericco penetrates me to my core as we enter the sparse backstage area. It’s not the bustling hub it was during Round One. As the competition becomes more serious, the company teams aren’t meant to be back here during Round Two. I’m purely here to give Spencer a final talking-to before finding my seat. When we realized there was no chance of us getting away with ourFreaky Fridayplan this time, I wasn’t too aghast, since he doesn’t seem to want to follow my lead anyway. My pulse ratchets up when Spencer immediately paces toward Dominic.
“Hey, how are ya?” Spencer is so laid-back, whereas my shoulders are up to my ears.
Spencer turns his body in line with mine, leaning in to introduce me. “This is my assistant, Violet.”
The urge to impress Dominic curdles inside me, the desire to sideswipe Spencer and declare, “I’m actually the brains behind this operation.” But I think about what Oliver said at the pool: Do I want Wyst to succeed? Or do I want credit for it succeeding?
I smile and lean forward to shake his hand, my palm just touching Dominic’s when Spencer continues, “She was just about to get me a coffee. Can she get you anything?”
I blink, trying to keep the shock off my face. Blood stains my cheeks as I meet Dominic’s piercing emotionless gaze.
“I’m good, thank you. My team is already on it.” He shoots me a tight smile.
Swallowing my pride like a gumball, I return the smile.
