Chapter VIII #2
As soon as we walked into the lodge’s lobby—now transformed into a full-blown production studio with lights and cameras strategically placed—it felt like a horde of bees surrounded me.
All buzzing and watching, ready to sting at any time.
“Demi, we almost have your isolation cabin ready for you,” a woman shouted from somewhere behind a monitor.
Isolation sounds lovely. I wanted to go there now.
“I’m Marcie Chu, stylist extraordinaire,” said a sophisticated Asian woman with a sleek bob and a clipboard that looked like she meant business.
“Tasha Reed here. Social media specialist. I’ll be your best friend or worst nightmare.” A woman with pink-streaked hair and a mischievous grin laughed like she already knew which one she’d be.
Note to self: Stay away from Tasha.
“Don’t listen to her,” Jazzy said, waving Tasha off before leaning in to whisper, “Truth be told, don’t get on her bad side. She lives to sell drama—remember that.”
The knot in my stomach twisted tighter.
“This is Miles Knox, our director,” Jazzy continued, gesturing toward a thoughtful-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, khakis, and a linen button-up.
His light-brown hair was slightly mussed, and it appeared to have been a few days since his last shave.
He looked as if he were on vacation, not directing a reality TV show.
And yet his eyes were sharp. Like he didn’t miss a thing.
I gripped my backpack tighter, feeling as if he could see right through me.
My mom’s words came to me. Long-ago advice when I would get nervous before a meet or an interview.
Don’t let anyone else tell your story today, she would say.
Always control the narrative, whether on the mat, the beam, the uneven bars, or in the hot seat.
I was definitely in the hot seat here.
The problem was, I didn’t know what story I wanted to tell.
Who was I now? I certainly wasn’t the vivacious girl who appeared in highlight reels and a hundred forgotten interviews, and once upon a time broke world records.
Records that still stood to this day. I wasn’t even the girl boss/sexy siren Cassie was trying to make me out to be.
I was basically wearing a costume. Did Miles see that? That I was just a sham stitched together in leather and tight jeans?
But whatever Miles could see about me, I could see something about him too.
He found Jazzy attractive. Very much so.
And Jazzy had feelings for him in return, but she didn’t want to date a coworker.
That was smart, very smart. I had a rule against coworkers falling in love with each other.
It was bad news. But my father would probably let it happen.
The divine within me was screaming that this time it should. Miles and Jazzy were meant to be.
Ugh. I wished I could turn her off. How could I ever truly trust her again? Or myself, for that matter.
In all the chaos and wondering who I was and what I should be saying to these people and wishing I didn’t know that Miles and Jazzy were both having NSFW thoughts about each other, a sweet voice broke through all the buzzing.
“That’s her!”
I turned toward the stairs.
A beautiful little girl in mint-colored overalls came barreling toward me, dark braids flopping, joy radiating from every step.
I recognized her instantly. Junie Archer. The daughter of him.
I’d seen her in a photo spread in the Olympus Times—her famous parents smiling, holding Junie between them, looking like the perfect couple and family.
How did she know who I was? And why was she running toward me like I was someone worth knowing? Surely her father had warned her to stay away from me.
But before I could move, Junie had her arms wrapped around my legs.
“I knew I would meet you,” she whispered.
The lobby went silent.
Every eye landed on me. Especially his. Roman Archer. Carefully watching. Brooding. Not pleased at all.
Believe me, I was just as shocked as he was.
But my arms wrapped around her of their own accord.
The goddess in me had taken over and whispered furiously to me. Telling me this little girl was important to me, and she needed me. No. No. No. That couldn’t be. That side of me was known to be a liar. She had to be lying now. But the harder Junie squeezed, the louder the whispering got.
“Look at that. You still have fans,” Jazzy trilled.
I had an inkling Junie wasn’t a fan. She had looked at me as if she knew me.
For a moment, the old me kicked in. I knelt to be at eye level with her.
I’d done it thousands of times before—back when young gymnasts would approach me, eyes wide, voices trembling, telling me they wanted to grow up and be like me someday.
Back then, I’d felt so grown up. So sure of myself.
But I was really just a kid. Now I was a grown-up, and I felt like a child.
Junie’s amber eyes locked on to mine, steady and bright. She didn’t ask for an autograph. She didn’t gush. She just held me there. Like she was anchoring me to something I hadn’t remembered yet.
“Hi,” I whispered, my voice trembling. My defenses weakened in the face of this beautiful little girl. “What’s your name?” I figured I should ask. I shouldn’t have known who she was. No one here was supposed to know that I knew Roman.
“I’m Junie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Junie.”
“I have dreams about you.”
Oh, this couldn’t be good. I had a feeling these weren’t ordinary dreams. “You do?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“All right, Junie.” Roman cleared his throat and gently took her hand as if he didn’t want her to say anything else to me. “Miss Blake is busy.” He tried to curb the bite in his tone when mentioning me, but I could still detect it. Feel it. He hated me as much as he ever had.
“But, Daddy, she’s not too busy for me.”
Everyone around us laughed. That was my cue to stand.
Unfortunately, I locked eyes with Roman.
The anger that was always there whenever he looked at me was as strong as ever, maybe even stronger now.
He’d been angry with me from the first moment we met.
And disappointed. So disappointed. I felt it so keenly when I was seventeen and with every interaction we’d had since then.
Until . . . now. His disappointment in me was gone, but in its place was confusion. No, not confusion—restraint. Huh.
I supposed it was him trying not to tell me off.
Not to say what he really thought. He probably blamed me for this entire mess.
Believe me, I didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted me there.
He was the last person I needed meddling in my nonexistent love life.
Or listening to the foolish confessions I would have to make to him on a weekly basis during the interview portions.
He had no idea how humiliating this was for me.
My life was literally hanging in the balance of his ridiculous show.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” Roman blurted.
Well, that was unexpected.
He must have thought so too, judging by how red his ears turned.
“Um, I forgot them,” I said, flustered. Feeling more exposed than ever. I didn’t want people looking into my eyes, afraid of what they might see. I’d meant to put my glasses on as soon as I got off the motorcycle, but Jazzy’s appearance had thrown me off.
“You have the prettiest eyes ever,” Junie said.
“Uh, thank you.”
“Well.” Jazzy clapped her hands together, breaking the weird tension hanging in the air. “We have a schedule to keep. This way, Demi.”
I nodded, grateful for the out as I followed Jazzy, every eye still on me.
“Will you please read to me later?” Junie called out.
I turned to find Roman looking horrified that his daughter wanted more contact with me. He looked between Junie and me, his brow furrowing as if I’d put a curse on her or something. Or had asked Cassie to do it. But not even Cassie would hex a child. Well . . . maybe a teenager.
Unsure of what to do or say, I turned back around, still reeling.
Why was Roman’s daughter dreaming about me?
And why did I feel a connection to her? Like a tiny part of myself had just clicked into place.
And for the love, why did the goddess within me want me to blurt out that Jazzy should go meet Miles in the conference room?
Workplace romance was not advisable. Definitely against the guidebook.
I shoved that side of me down, but I had a sinking feeling that sooner or later she would make her presence known and I wouldn’t be able to stop her.
This was going to be the longest summer of my life.