Marla didn’t blink. “Then we’ll get great footage of you breaking up with whoever that is. It’s a win-win, to be honest.” She waved her hand nonchalantly through the air. “But don’t worry about that now. We’ve got weeks before we even get to that point.”
Still, Skye didn’t move. Didn’t nod. She wanted to tell Marla to shove the idea up her ass, but instead, she simply shook her head. “I’m not the type of person who belongs in front ofa camera. I’m the exact opposite of that. I’m not some lesbian heartthrob, Marla.”
“Yes, that’s true. You’re not exactly heartthrob-y, but you’re…” She looked Skye up and down before she added, “Relatable.”
“Wow,” Skye said. “Just…wow.”
Marla remained unperturbed. “And you’re… salty. In a way that the audience will relate to. You’re a relatable level of salty. Which is exactly what this show needs. Some more substance.”
“So, I’m not hot, but I’m salty… and safe,” Skye said dryly, raising an eyebrow. She should be offended, and would be, if she weren’t still in a state of shock.
Marla didn’t blink. “Exactly.”
Skye let out a slow breath. “Great. That’s exactly how every girl dreams of being described on national television.”
But Marla didn’t seem to notice or care. “It’ll work. I know it will work,” she said, more to herself than to Skye. Then she looked up with her eyes all earnest. “Please, Red. You’re the only one who can pull this off. We’re in a state of emergency, and only you can save us. Please say yes. If you say yes, I’ll make sure you get a raise.”
“A raise,” Skye repeated, caught slightly off guard. She hadn’t expected that.
“Yes,” Marla spluttered, looking far too desperate, but at the same time equally reluctant to hand out such a promise. “As long as it’s reasonable and as long as you play the part of Skye Wilder, wine lover and thrill-seeking romantic.”
“So, you want me to act like someone else?”
“Kind of,” Marla replied. “Or just a more interesting version of yourself.”
Skye looked down at the laptop screen. She stared at the wallpaper, which was a photo of her sister’s golden retrievercalled Finn. Her apartment was too small for a dog. With a raise, she could probably afford a bigger place, one with a yard, maybe even a back porch. But that would mean leaving New York. And she loved New York. The noise, the chaos, the way no one cared what you were doing as long as you did it out of their way. Skye was just another fast-moving piece of the city. She was just another face in a blur of faces. And she loved that.
She flicked her gaze up at Marla, who was chewing her lip in anticipation. “Fine,” Skye mumbled under her breath. Marla was right. She didn’t have to fall in love. Most bachelorettes didn’t. The entire premise of the show was more about the illusion of finding love than the outcome. Sunset dates, hot tub confessions, a few tearful kisses, and then six weeks later the happy couple would unfollow each other on social media while fans speculated about their breakup in the comment sections. The bachelorette moved on, and so did the finalists, usually with a thousand or so more followers. That was simply the way it usually worked. Fall in fake love on national television and then mutually break up.
Skye could manage that, couldn’t she?
“Fine,” she relented.
Marla squealed. She closed the gap between them in three quick steps and yanked Skye into a hug. “I owe you my life, Red.”
“I’ll just take the raise,” Skye muttered into Marla’s soft shoulder.
~~
Skye found herself standing on the beach, dressed in a linen jumpsuit. She’d had her makeup done and gotten a spray tan against her will. The stylist had tried to force her to wear a strappy top before she’d relented on the linen jumpsuit that Skye had chosen from the rack.
Skye was told to stand still and look dreamy, but also sensual, while drone footage was captured from above. She had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. But a raise was a good enough incentive for her. Especially if it meant a bigger apartment and maybe a dog.
“Can I put this down?” Skye asked, glancing at the pineapple she was holding in her right hand. The spines pricked her palm, and the heat from the sun made her neck sweat.
“No,” Cypress chirped. He was the show’s resident photographer and didn’t mind getting down and dirty for the best shot. “The pineapple is symbolic.”
“Of what?”
“Hospitality,” he said, crouching to get a lower angle. “Now tilt your chin and gaze into the distance like you’re yearning for a connection. But also look guarded, you know, because of some past betrayal or something.”
“Iwasbetrayed,” Skye declared, glancing at Marla, who was watching from the monitor with an iced coffee in hand and a huge grin on her face. It wasn’t simply the fact that she had to play the role of a bachelorette—a feat she would’ve preferred to live her life without ever doing—but all the extra fluff that came with it. The hair. The makeup. The way everyone fussed around her. Not to mention the scripted soundbites and the shoots. So far, Skye had been asked to recline in a hammock with a come-hither expression, pose with a surfboard she had no idea how to use, and lie in the shallow waters of the ocean, chest out, while the waves crashed all around her. If that wasn’t a betrayal, Skye didn’t know what was.
“This is perfect, Red,” Marla said, stepping out from behind the monitor. “The network is going to lose its mind.”
“I have sand in my ear canal,” Skye replied grumpily. “And somewhere else too, but I’m not going to mention where out loud.”
“Well, you look amazing,” Marla added. She tossed the empty cup into a makeshift bin and stepped onto the beach. “The light is loving your hair. It looks like fire.”
