“Not a problem.” I’d sign my life away at this point.
“Perfect. And for insurance, do you have your own broker?”
I look back and forth between them, like maybe this is a joke.
“Does the show not provide insurance?”
“Of course we do. We provide basic emergency medical, but because of the higher-risk activities, like if you go on a date where you’ll be skydiving or something, then you’ll need extra coverage for that.”
Oh hell no. No way I’m jumping out of a plane. “Is it possible to opt out?” There is a long pause in which no one moves.
“No, babe,” Tyler says, tersely. “It’s all part of the show.”
“Right, of course,” I say, pausing to collect myself. I can’t throw this whole thing out over insurance. “Okay, so how do I go about getting this insurance?”
“You could use your own broker, but considering we start shooting in ten days, you should probably just use our guy. He should be able to get it done for under two Gs, depending on any pre-existing conditions.”
Twothousanddollars. Fuck. I knew it was too good to be true.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have that kind of money.”
Gabby gives me a sympathetic smile. “Is there a way you can get it?”
I think of my Visa, which I’ve just managed to get to a not terrifying balance. But two grand would put me back into overdraft.
“Unfortunately, no.”
Tyler laughs, another emptyha ha. “Listen, Cleo, not to be crass, but do you know how much money you stand to make from this show?” Gabby starts nodding enthusiastically. “Like, it’s going to be massive. Even if you’re the first person sent home, your DMs will still be blowing up with offers. We’re gonna make reality TV history, and trust me, you’ll want a piece of that.”
I swallow. I’ve seen those reality TV influencers, with their brand collabs and their sponsored posts. Tyler’s right—there is money to be made, even if I don’t win.
They’re looking at me, expectantly. I wrack my brain for solutions.If not this, then what? There’s nothing I can do—nothing legal, at least—that will make me any real money in a hurry. And it’s just two Gs. A drop in the bucket, in the grand scheme of things.
Tyler glances at his watch, like he’s getting bored. Gabby’s smile has slipped a tiny bit. They’re growing weary of me right before my eyes.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I say, the words rushing out of my mouth. “I’ll figure out the insurance. I’m in.”
Tyler punches the air. “Yes!” He comes to his feet, crosses the room with his hand outstretched. I shake it, trying to match the strength of his grip.
Gabby comes behind him. She gives me an awkward hug. “We’re really happy to be working with you,” she says into my hair.
They send me away with a stack of paperwork, including my contract, the NDA, and a Code of Conduct, as well as a list of cosmetic improvements to do before we start shooting.
“Spray tan,” Tyler says. “Definitely a spray tan.”
“Definitely,” Gabby says. “And maybe some highlights?” She takes a lock of my dishwater-coloured hair in her hand and grimaces.
“Good call. Also, lash extensions.”
“Yes. And maybe a little baby Botox, just between your eyebrows.”
“Totally. And a mani pedi, obviously.”
“Pilates every day.”
“Cardio, too.”
“And teeth whitening.”
