Simon groaned to Freya. “Aberdeeen is a certified tosser. We paid all that money for someone with a Flock of Seagulls hairdo and too many e’s in his name?”
Freya looked around furtively and pressed her finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down, Si, you’re seriously dating yourself with that band reference. I agree—he’s dreadful. I complained to the powers that be, but they said, ‘Girlfriend, you’re not even in the demographic.’ Apparently, the latest thingis to trash your own show and get it over with before someone else does.”
After Aberdeeen had left, I felt a bit on edge. Tim and I both kept repeating to the crew that we didn’t really hate each other. I got the impression that no one was convinced or cared. They actually liked the drama, as it made for good TV. Not that I should be worrying about that right now, because it didn’t matter.
Our scrapping was not going to impact us winning. Securing the prize money was not about us—the Best Design Award was for the most impressive remodel, and that’s how we’d be judged.
16
Tim
Simon grabbed hisphone and headed outside. This was my chance to collar him about the mean comments about Tabitha on the production company’s website. No wonder he’d failed to mention that clips were going to be posted every night.
Waiting a beat, I followed him out the door. He strode toward the barn, and I hovered behind a bush while he made a call, which made me feel a little guilty about eavesdropping. Clearly, he was talking to his agent, complaining about doing another reality show. I felt like Goatee, lying in wait, but still, I lingered.
He hung up, and I caught him just as he was reaching for the kitchen back door.
“Hi, Simon.”
He jumped. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said warily.
I motioned for us to walk away from the door.
Standing in the gravel driveway, I moved toward him, feeling my forehead furrow deep with worry, hoping to appeal to his empathy, though I hadn’t seen much of that emotion from him so far.
“Hey, those shitty comments that have been posted about Tabitha. She’s not dull or boring or a shrew. Someone needs to delete them and monitor them going forward.”
Simon barked out a laugh. “Oh, you poor lad. You really think I have any influence on the edited shorts or what gets posted online? I’m just a cog in the wheel of the evil empire. I direct the raw footage. I have no influence over the ultimate cut—that’s the editors and higher-ups in London.” He clapped me on the back, clearly showing he was done with this conversation. “Release to the experience, my boy, release to the process. You cannot control everything.”
“But—”
Simon shook his head vigorously.
My stomach churned, ill. I was frustrated that Simon had so little control, but I believed him. How was I going to make sure Tabitha was fairly represented when this bloody show aired? I had to think of something before she read the comments.
As if trying to escape faster, Simon swung open the door and cried out when he saw Solomon, one of the interns, silhouetted in the doorframe.
“What the fuck? Is this scare the director day or something?”
I was surprised to see Solomon too. More that he was standing and looking like he had a purpose, because he wasusually half prone, sprawled over a chair, drinking a can of soda, and fiddling with his phone.
“Hey, Tim.”
I pressed the bridge of my nose, heavily preoccupied with my disturbing conversation with Simon. “Hi, Solomon.”
“Could I have a word in the library?”
Another trip to the library. What was this one about? I had no clue, but Solomon seemed unusually intent, spiking my interest. “Okay.”
Once we were in the room, he firmly shut the door.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with something?” he asked.
“Depends.” I crossed my arms, unusually guarded and defensive. This day was already not going too well, and I was starting to feel very cynical about this shoot and everyone on it.
