“Are we ready for the bottom eight? We scraped the website half an hour ago, collating comments and votes. Forty per cent of the decision will be down to the website poll, 40 per cent will be comment scraping and the last 20 is down to me. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” I responded through gritted teeth.
“So. We will be removing Anne, Xanthe, Elia, Caspar, Minty…”
“You can’t remove Xanthe. Representation is important,” someone spoke up, and then instantly got silenced by Kirsten’s glare.
“We will have representation. The resources need to deliver, and Xanthe…”
“Alastair!” Kirsten boomed. “Now, as I was saying.”
I almost opened my mouth. Then I stayed silent.
“The top-voted couple is, not surprisingly, Peter and Oliver. They have been a firm fan favourite since we launched their social media, and after this first soft launch? I expect the cutting room to work with their eyes open. Give the viewers what they want. Make us look good.”
“So we are not introducing Ruth?” I flicked my papers trying to find the right page. FUCK. Fuck.
“Of course we are! George, we are not changing anything. We move Oliver out tonight during the group discussion, and move Ruth in. Then film re-entry with Peter at five thirty, per the schedule. Oliver will be taken to room ten, and we have already filmed opening sequences with Pawel, so he is ready to go.”
“Pawel,” I said blankly.
“Pawel. Polish. Bodybuilder. Strong accent, placed top on the website contestant wish list; that poll was insane. Pawel has a strong following on social media already. Our test audiences have been very useful in guiding our choices, and anyway, Oliver is exactly his type. There will be enormous benefits to the ratings once this goes live, and Storm, we need Peter and Ruth to work, to ensure Diane gets the push she needs to perform. We need raging jealousy, and we need it fast. I expect the script to follow that narrative. Are we clear?”
“I haven’t…” Storm nervously flicked through the papers in front of her. “I haven’t…”
Kirsten just laughed and tapped her nose.
“This will be our biggest launch yet. Our ratings are already rising,Divorce Mehas climbed back into the top ten in the streaming polls again,the ads are working and the seeding we are putting down is yielding the desired effect. I am telling you now. I’m not expecting you just to do the work. This is not just my vision. This needs to be your vision now. I will need twenty-four-seven commitment from every department. I expect nothing but solid perfection here.”
Kirsten was terrifying. And I was feeling it. Every muscle in my body tightening with unease.
“Kirsten!” The door flung open with a bang.
“This is a sealed meeting!” Kirsten shouted.
“But…”
The poor runner looked as terrified as I felt.
“But what,” Kirsten snarled, her arm pointing at the door. Waving abruptly, trying to dismiss the poor runner.
“Peter Felton just walked out.”
Fuck. Oh fuck.
Oh fucking shit on a dipstick.
Part Two
George
“George!”
I was running, which seemed my normal speed these days. Too much in my head, spreading myself so thinly that I could barely function. Everything felt underdeveloped, under-funded, under…under my control. The control that was non-existent. I was slipping, and my head was desperate to catch up.
I felt like I never did anything properly. The headphones around my neck slid down my back as I tried yanking them up, only slowing down to press my pass against the reader next to the door that would bring me back into the studio area. The red light above my head telling me that the cameras were on and to shut the hell up.
“George!”
