Chapter VI
Roman
“Roman! Roman! Roman!” My casting director Jasmine Grover—though everyone called her Jazzy—burst into my office like she’d just won an Emmy. Her smooth deep brown skin illuminated with that perfect-cast-member glow, her long, tight curls bouncing like they had their own agenda.
I didn’t need divine intuition to guess why she was excited. And I dreaded it. I looked up from my screen, scrubbing a hand over my beard, bracing for impact.
Jazzy threw herself into one of the chairs across from me with no trace of skepticism about this “special season.” No questions about how easily things were falling into place. Everyone on my team was going about as if it were business as usual.
Zeus was definitely meddling with my staff.
The prick.
But I knew better than to interfere. My father had warned me: Let it play out.
In fact, he was on board. More than on board. I had a sneaking suspicion he was in on it—with Eros and Zeus, no less. To say I was livid was an understatement. But I also valued my existence, so I was going to let this nightmare unfold.
If Eros wanted his daughter paraded around for the world to see in her shapeless sad sack of a dress, who was I to stand in the way?
“I just sent you an email. Pull it up,” Jazzy demanded. “You will never believe who applied to be a contestant.”
Unfortunately, I could. But I didn’t hesitate to open my email. Might as well get this train wreck started. Just as I suspected, Jazzy had forwarded a link to Demi’s application. It surprised me Jazzy hadn’t already said something about how different Demi appeared and how tragic her clothes were.
“It’s Demi Blake.” Jazzy couldn’t contain herself. “You know, the world-champion gymnast who disappeared?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled and clicked on the link to Demi’s headshots and video audition. I felt the disaster brewing already.
“I don’t know where Demi Blake has been all these years,” Jazzy continued, “but let’s just say time has been good to her.
Very good. I thought for sure after seeing all those pictures of the horrific accident she was in that she was in hiding because she was disfigured or something, but that is definitely not the case. She is stunning!”
I scrunched my brow, confused. Of course, I knew Demi wasn’t disfigured. Well, maybe she was under her unflattering clothing—I wouldn’t know. But for Jazzy to think she was stunning? What the hell had Zeus done to my casting director?
I pulled up Demi’s photos, expecting to see the real picture—so to speak. I could always tell if a god had placed a glamour—a magic spell—on an object. Illusions didn’t work on me. Not divine ones. Not mortal ones.
Demi’s photos appeared, and all I could do was stare wide-eyed at them, gripping my desk.
What had happened to her since I’d seen her a few days ago?
There was no muumuu. No dingy hair. The enormous glasses were gone, although she still wore a pair of sleek ones that looked as if they were made specifically for her.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was unveiled.
At least partially. She was still hiding behind black clothing and glasses she didn’t need.
Regardless, I didn’t like it.
In fact, I hated the stirrings she elicited. It was like she was awakening the teen boy inside me who used to want nothing more than to know the girl lighting up every TV screen.
But I knew the woman, and she was awful. The bane of my existence, even. I didn’t care how gorgeous she looked. What was she playing at, showing up like this year’s top model? It was beyond fishy.
“She’s absolutely divine,” Jazzy trilled.
If she only knew how divine Demi really was.
“Don’t you think?”
“Uh . . . she’s okay,” I lied, stuttering through it, unable to tear my eyes from the screen.
Demi’s red hair gleamed like fire, cascading down the back of a form-fitting black pantsuit that hugged every curve she owned, and the jacket dipped just low enough to show that she’s . . . well . . . let’s just say, blessed. Damn, was all I could think.
“Just okay? Are you insane?” Jazzy gaped at me. “I know your ex-wife is a supermodel and your standards are sky high. But Demi is every bit as gorgeous, or even more so than Carmen. She has that whole sexy-librarian vibe going for her.”
I cleared my throat, wishing she weren’t right.
I needed Demi to go back to being frumpy.
“My opinion doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be the one dating her.
” Thank the Titans for that. I felt sorry for all the poor guys we would cast this season.
They’d take one look at her and think they were in for a treat only to find out she was the ice queen. “Assuming you cast her.”
Jazzy barked out a laugh. “Um . . . of course she’s in. Her backstory alone is worth millions of dollars in advertising. And her audition video? I love it. She has bite. That whole emotionally complex, wild card vibe. It’s like she went from America’s sweetheart to an aloof Greek goddess.”
I coughed uncomfortably. She’d hit the nail on the head.
“What?” Jazzy asked. “She’s been living in Greece almost the entire time since her disappearance. At least that’s what her application says.”
I had wondered what her cover story was going to be. I saw she went with a partial truth. It made sense. She had spent a lot of time in Greece attending school on Mount Olympus.
I leaned back, my eyes still fixed on Demi, all while loathing myself for being so fascinated by her transformation. “That’s interesting,” I said dryly.
Jazzy tilted her head. “Are you feeling okay? I thought you would be more excited about this. Demi is ratings gold for the show.”
Jazzy wouldn’t be all that excited about Demi either if she knew the truth about this special season. Or that Demi was a walking nightmare. She’d soon find that one out.
I straightened up and forced my gaze away from the screen. It was more difficult than I cared to admit. “Sorry. I’m tired. And I’m stressed trying to pull everything together on such short notice.”
“It’s all coming together great,” Jazzy chirped.
I blinked.
That wasn’t normal.
Zeus was doing some serious meddling. Usually, I was the one talking Jazzy down from a panic spiral. Stress was her middle name.
“I’m glad to hear that. Let me know if you run into any issues—or if there’s a lack of qualified applicants.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jazzy beamed. “This season’s pool is amazing. It’s going to be hard to narrow it down.”
I frowned. How could that be? We’d sent out the announcement the day before.
Normally, it was a slog—wading through unqualified candidates who outnumbered the credible ones ten to one.
But this? This felt orchestrated. I didn’t know why I bothered questioning it.
Who knew how long Zeus and Eros—and maybe even my father—had been laying the groundwork?
What made Demi so special that they’d go to all this trouble?
Especially considering she clearly hated our world.
She’d distanced herself from everything divine—everything connected to her father’s legacy.
Seemingly refusing to use her gifts. She was good at mischief, though, just like her father, judging by the photos she’d submitted.
Maybe she should have stopped and read the mortal news once in a while. See the kind of damage she was doing. Top scientists and psychologists were scrambling to explain why people were falling in love less. Which, in turn, was tanking reported quality of life across the globe.
And yet here she was. Center stage. No doubt she was going to be the star this season. I was beginning to wonder if she wanted this. I wouldn’t put it past her to sabotage the whole damn thing.
“That’s great” was all I could manage, inwardly seething at the thought of Demi’s hidden agenda. Surely she had one.
“Ooh, before I go—watch her video,” Jazzy said, practically bouncing in her chair.
I sighed, resigned. Jazzy wouldn’t let me off the hook. She was too psyched about Demi. The worst part? I was curious. Her photos had turned out stunning—too stunning. I had to keep reminding myself: Her outward appearance was just a facade. A distraction. Possibly a trap.
I clicked on her video audition. There she was. Sitting on a stool against a canvas backdrop, professionally styled in what could only be described as an Audrey Hepburn homage—fitted black pants, a sleek black turtleneck, ballet flats. She looked poised. Timeless. Untouchable.
And then she bit her lip. That soft, pouty hesitation. Like she wasn’t sure if she belonged there. Like she was trying not to flinch. She looked like every man’s dream. Which made her all the more dangerous.
“Um . . .” She cleared her throat. “I guess I’m supposed to tell you why I want to be on Love Unscripted.” Her eyes, covered in sleek lenses, which added to the mysterious allure she had going on, darted everywhere but at the camera. “The truth is, I don’t want to be on this show.”
Then why the hell was she playing dress-up and going through the motions?
“But,” she sighed and paused. “My father wants me to do this . . . and maybe my mom too,” she said quieter, almost to herself.
Her admission took me by surprise.
“I wonder who her father is.” Jazzy’s face lit up. “It’s like a mystery, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I lied. Technically, I wasn’t being dishonest. To the mortal world, it was a mystery. But I couldn’t tell Jazzy that Demi’s father was my godfather. Or that he’d been pulling strings since before the casting call went live.
I wondered what story Demi would tell about him on the show. Of course, I’d have to ask her when I interviewed her on camera. I was going to have to learn how to school my disdain for her before then. And more importantly, hide the fact that I found her beautiful. No, stunning.
“Ooh, I can’t wait for you to dive into her past. It’s going to be delicious. The ratings for the season are going to be off the charts!” Jazzy squealed.
I should have been ecstatic about that, but I was anything but. And Demi’s interview was holding me hostage.
“Have I ever been in love?” she said as if it were a ridiculous question.
I expected her to say no. She knew nothing about love as far as I could tell. And I’d never seen her with anyone over the years.
She shifted uncomfortably on the stool, still refusing to look at the camera. “Once,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”
“Oh, you have to get her to talk about it,” Jazzy gasped, beside herself. “We need to find out who he is, stat. We should bring him in during Temptation Week.”
Temptation Week was when I introduced a few new contestants—some of them old flames.
I did this for the ones I knew weren’t meant to be with anyone in the initial cast. I obviously had a gift for knowing these things.
That was, after I had the chance to get close enough to touch them.
Innocuously and innocently, of course. All it took was the touch of my finger and I knew a person’s heart.
“Yeah,” I agreed aloud, though my mind was elsewhere. I hated how curious I was about who Demi had fallen in love with. Poor bastard.
“How would I define love?” Demi said, her tone flat. Bored, even. Like the question insulted her intelligence. “I suppose you want a flowery answer.”
“I love her bite,” Jazzy swooned.
Demi’s bite could give you rabies.
“The truth is . . . love can be miserable. Crushing,” Demi continued, her gaze shifting upward.
Then softer, she added, “But my mom once told me that true love is when two people come together and the other person’s happiness becomes more important than their own.
” She paused for a beat. “Do I think I’ll find this kind of love on Love Unscripted?
” She laughed a condescending laugh. Her snarky attitude was back.
“I highly doubt it. I think the premise is ridiculous and maybe even dangerous. Throwing people together and manufacturing romantic situations. Or ‘architecting love,’ as your host would say.” She used air quotes and said “host” as if I personally made her sick.
“Honestly, I don’t think he or this show cultivates love. What they do is more like pimping it out, if you ask me.”
I paused the video, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’d seen enough. This was going to be a train wreck.
“Seriously, she’s golden.” Jazzy laughed uncontrollably. “She’s obviously not fond of you or your show. A rarity for you, our fearless and handsome leader.”
I didn’t respond, although it was true. Most people liked me.
Damn it. I was a decent guy. And I didn’t pimp out love.
I didn’t care what Demi thought. My father had taught me that love was the most important element in a mortal’s life.
That it was sacred. And that I should use my gifts accordingly.
“It’s only going to make our audience more obsessed with her,” Jazzy continued. “They’re going to want to know how she went from being America’s sweetheart to a snarky siren.”
“Siren” was one word for her. At this rate, she was going to lead me to an early watery grave. But Jazzy was right. The spotlight was coming for Demi. And it was going to glare on her—brightly, relentlessly.
Part of me hoped it made her squirm.
But as I stared at her on my screen, the boy inside me wanted to know what had happened to the girl whose poster used to hang on my wall. Did that girl ever exist?
It was probably best not to find out.
Some truths were best left undiscovered.