Chapter XVI #2
My only saving grace in all of this was Cassie, who must have clued in on what was going on. She ran toward me, shrieking like a fangirl. “Oh. My. Gosh. It’s Demi Blake. You’re my hero.”
As soon as Cassie threw her arms around me, I sank into them and whispered for her ears only, “Thank you.”
“Smile,” she reminded me. “You got this.”
I so did not have this. But I smiled anyway.
“Oh. Wow. Thank you.” I tried to channel my old self. “I always love meeting fans.”
Jazzy’s smile faltered.
“Well,” she said, disappointed—like I’d just foiled the crew’s master plan. “Shall we make introductions?”
Note to self: Do not be a pawn for ratings. Don’t let anyone else tell my story.
Maybe I didn’t know who I was anymore. But I knew who I wasn’t. And I wasn’t going to play the villain.
I linked arms with Cassie, and together we walked toward the other women. They looked a little confused now—unsure how to behave around me. I could feel the shift. Their attitudes were recalibrating, but judgment was still pending.
It was strange. They wanted a villain. They wanted someone to hate. Why?
Jazzy started making introductions. Names and stats for each woman flew like confetti.
Brinley McCall from Tennessee. An influencer. She had a practiced smile and long, flowy blonde hair. Her dress was bubblegum pink, her heels sky high, and her energy screamed main character. She saw me as a rival. I could feel it.
Up next was Maggie Lane from Wisconsin. A bakery owner. Her vibe was as warm as her yellow dress, but guarded—she was doing her best to withhold judgment. I could feel that she was just as uncomfortable as I was being here.
Then there was Paloma Cruz from Arizona.
A firefighter. Very cool. She stood strong and proud, as if she could carry a whole roomful of people out of a burning building—and probably had.
Her dress was red and bold and shimmered against her soft-brown skin and dark waves.
She didn’t flinch when our eyes met. Her feelings regarding me were steady. She wanted to see what I was made of.
That left Jessica Wynn from Vermont. A paralegal and apparently an aspiring influencer.
She wore lavender and kept glancing at Brinley like she was waiting for permission to breathe.
Weird. And, oddly, she and Brinley had almost identical hair color and style.
Her smile was sweet, but her energy was scattered.
She wanted to be liked. She wanted to be a Brinley.
And she wasn’t sure if liking me would ruin her chances.
Every woman looked around the same age, late twenties to early thirties.
Jazzy saved Cassie and me for last.
“This is Cassie Fairchild. She’s from Kansas. She’s a mechanic and owns her own garage, where she restores classic cars.”
Everyone seemed in awe of her and her combat boots. They didn’t see her as competition the way they saw me. I didn’t understand it. Maybe it was my previous fame. Or maybe Roman had already poisoned the women against me.
I noticed him skirting around. Watching. Studying. Planning.
I threw him another scathing glance.
Again, he seemed shocked by it. Really?
The nagging, lying part of me begged myself to withhold judgment, but she’d never seen him clearly.
“And . . . our last cast member is none other than Demi Blake,” Jazzy trilled. “Not that she needs much of an introduction. I’m sure you all recognize her. She was such a media darling back in the day. And here she is back for more.”
Did she want these women not to like me?
It was like she was saying, Here’s the shining star of the show—try not to hate her too much.
And, hello, I wasn’t back for more. Here I’d thought Jazzy was a nice person.
She was so not getting a love pulse from me.
Or maybe I should consider it. She deserved an awkward workplace romance for this.
“Of course, you all know she’s a world-class gymnast and still holds several world records,” Jazzy continued. “Currently, she lives in Greece and runs her father’s philanthropic endeavors.”
Oh, if they only knew what those endeavors were.
“Doesn’t it sound like such a dreamy life?”
It sounded more like a fake life. Which it was.
Jazzy flashed me a look—baiting me. Begging me to say something snarky. Disagree. Snap. Or maybe even flaunt my so-called perfect life over their heads.
And that’s when I decided.
Decided to unleash the old Demi. Maybe she was a lie, but at least she was a cheerleader. A good person. Or tried to be.
“Ladies.” I beamed my brightest smile. “I’m so happy to be here with all of you.”
Yes, I said that with a straight face. And without gagging.
“I just know we’re going to be the best of friends. And I will personally help each woman here find the man that’s right for her—because we’re in this together.”
And because I was a goddess of love.
Not by choice.
But who better to help these women, who clearly needed it if they’d signed up for this joke of a show?
“I’m sure all of you will agree when I say I don’t look at this as a competition at all. There’s no room for that when it comes to real love. And I believe in women supporting women.”
I flashed Roman a take-that grin. His jaw dropped.
Yep. I’d just hijacked his show.
Cassie helped a girl out. “Preach it, sister!” she shouted.
And suddenly, I was in the middle of a group hug. Squealing women. Tears. Professions of eternal friendship. Declarations that this would be the best summer of our lives.
I couldn’t agree with that.
But at least I’d be no one’s pawn.
Especially not Roman Archer’s.