33. Thirty-Three
thirty-three
GINGER
Marlon’s assistant Todd chokes on his coffee when I approach his desk. “You, too? Aren’t you all supposed to be in Paris?”
I stare down my nose at him. “I had a family emergency. Is he in?”
“Well...yeah.”
A long silence follows. I butt into it. “Can you let him know I’m here?”
Todd glances back at Marlon’s shut door. “He’s in a meeting.”
“I’ll wait.” I head to the couch on the other side of the starkly lit, mid-century modern reception area. Taking a seat, I will myself not to lose the momentum that got me here. Anise was right. I’ve never backed down from a fight, and I’ve never had so much at stake. My career. My heart.
My future is on the line. Keeping my job will be simple—I trust Matt and Kat. They won’t go to Marlon about me and Elliot. Leaving Paris was unorthodox, but emergencies happen, and my boss will forgive that. The bigger problem is getting Elliot off the show.
I was up until three a.m. with Anise and her attorney husband Paul poring over Elliot’s contract. Line by line, we dissected it. Short of a crippling injury, death, or dismemberment which renders him unable to fulfill his end of the bargain, there is no way to stop the inevitable ending. All the other clauses, such as severe illness or death of a family member, only provide an option for delay.
I’ll be forced to go with the nuclear option. Marlon will listen. He’ll believe me. He trusts me. Elliot’s season is a disaster—nothing like we planned or hoped for. He’ll see reason and call the whole thing off. He has to.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking in the days and weeks since I leapt across the divide in the limousine about what it is about Elliot that made me risk everything. Ironically, I keep coming back to the three Cs: communication, compatibility, compromise.
We’re so good at it. We’re weirdly perfect for each other. But I freaked out after the night at the Hilton, and I put myself first. My job. My pride. Until that fourth, pesky C reared its ugly head and changed everything.
Chemistry is a bitch.
My last few days at home have been an exercise in missing him. The way the hollow of his throat smells like soap and cedar. The way his hands leave a glowing warmth on my skin as they skim my body, the sound of his groan hitting my eardrum, sending vibrations down my spine. The passion he puts into every word and action.
I was an idiot for not responding to his emails after the Hilton when I knew I had more than a “soft spot” for him. I wanted him. But my feelings at the time had been “maybes” while the show had already gone all in.
However, he isn’t married yet.
As I wait for her chance to battle it out with the producer of Matched for Elliot’s fate and my job, my phone rings. My eyes narrow when, once more, Kat’s photo fills the screen.
I send the call to voicemail, along with all the other calls Kat has made. While I might trust Kat not to tank my career, I’m not entirely sure I don’t hate her. I’m in the process of weathering the usual disappointment that comes after a phone call that isn’t from Elliot when Kat follows up with a text.
Kat
Stop ignoring my calls. Jenna left the show. Everything’s batshit crazy. I get why you left—I mean—we could use your help, but I get it. Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up. In case she goes to Marlon.
Jenna left? My gaze flashes to Marlon’s closed door and, for the first time, I register Todd’s surprise. There’s no way Jenna is the one in the meeting with Marlon. Is there?
Only one way to find out. I march straight for the door, ignore Todd’s feeble protest, and turn the knob.
Marlon sits behind his executive desk, elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his glazed expression turning to one of intrigue when he spots me. Across from him, with her back to me, sits Jenna, weeping, shoulders shaking, a wad of tissue in her hand. She turns quickly at the sound of the door opening, eyes wild at the sight of me. “See? Ask her!”
Shit.
On the car ride to the office, I built this meeting up in my mind as my last stand. I planned to use my insider knowledge of Elliot’s plan to outwit the show with Cassie to convince Marlon he’ll muddy our track record with another failed relationship, which will look terrible if it follows immediately on the heels of Jenna dumping Eric. Our audience will lose faith. We’ll be over. A joke. In my delusional dream world, I convinced myself Marlon would call off the season. I’d save my job, free up Elliot, and have a chance to really have it all.
But Jenna beat me to him.
“If you’ll excuse us, Jenna. Ginger and I have a lot to discuss.”
“Yeah.” Jenna’s tone is vicious as she stands without even a wobble in her four-inch heels. “You do.”
“I’d like to remind you that if you disclose anything that happened during production, we sue. We’ve done it before.”
Jenna doesn’t flinch at the warning. “Your show won’t need my help to be a complete disaster this season. If you’re looking for the reason, here she is. Maybe you can sue her, too.”
I erase my face of all emotion and stare stoically at the half-unhinged former star.
“Did you have fun? Screwing him behind all our backs? Did you want to sample the merchandise before it went off the market?”
It takes some willpower, but I manage to hold Jenna’s gaze and not glance over at Marlon.
She’s not finished with me yet, though. “What happened? He decided you weren’t good enough to throw his entire life away on?”
At that, I blink. My certainty about Elliot’s feelings for me take a direct hit.
“Jenna, don’t make me have to call security,” Marlon says. “I’ll deal with this.”
“You better, or I won’t give a fuck what the contract says.”
She storms out, flinging the door behind her so hard it slams the wall.
I take a steadying breath and a cautious glance at Marlon.
Lips pressed flat, his expression is grim. “Why don’t you close the door and have a seat.”
I do as I’m told, taking my time while my brain works overtime to reconfigure my goals for this meeting. Marlon may be fond of me, but business is business. And Hollywood can be hell.
I sit. Hands shaking, I clasp them on my knee as I cross my legs. “I can explain.”
“She’s not making it up?”
“I don’t know what all she told you?—”
“She told me you and the best star we’ve ever had were seen ‘canoodling’ on a number of occasions.”
“A number of occasions?” I doubt that. I also take some issue with this “best star we’ve ever had” nonsense. Working with Elliot was like having dental surgery. Except, of course, when it wasn’t.
“Let’s stick with the canoodling, and we can move on to how often it happened once we’ve established it happened.”
“Look. I don’t know what she told you, or what she thinks she saw?—”
“Hold up—hold up. Did you not storm into my office without an appointment while I was meeting with someone else when you’re supposed to be in Paris?”
“I apologize for not calling first.”
Marlon bats the apology away like it’s a buzzing gnat. “Is there, or is there not something going on between you and Elliot?”
“Not,” I say with concrete certainty. “Anymore.”
Just when he was about to look relieved, he transitions straight to pissed.
“At any rate, I thought it was best for me to leave production so I would be less of a distraction.” Since the cat is out of the bag, I forge forward with the truth. Surely there’s some way I can use it to my advantage. Elliot’s failure to perform is the issue at hand, after all. “Here’s the thing, Marlon. Elliot and I—we did hook up once after last season—before we signed him to come back?—”
Marlon gapes at me, incredulous. “You knew we wanted him back.”
“Nothing was set in stone.”
“You know how this works, Ginger.” His eyes narrow in on me like a lie-seeking missile. “Just once?”
If I knew what Jenna told him, it would be easier to make something up on the fly. The only time I was ever out in the open with Elliot was in the Redwoods, and Jenna was only a theory at that point.
“Because of our history, there was some...lingering chemistry.”
Marlon folds his arms across his chest, tension and fury building in the bunching of his shoulders. “The truth, Ginger. Spit it out.”
I can’t. The truth hurts, and I’ve hit a wall. I can’t make the words come out. A lie or otherwise.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll assume the worst.”
I nod. He might as well...
Marlon finally spills. “Jenna met with The Panel at the Hacienda the night before we filmed her return. She went to the guesthouse to surprise Elliot?—”
I can’t help it. “Excuse me? She what?” That sneaky bitch.
“She saw him with someone. Was it you?”
Getting nailed against the wall? Why, yes. It was me, Marlon. Could she not tell?
I should have listened to Lavonne about those blackout curtains.
“You’re fired.”
Sucking in a breath, I accept my fate.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” I admit. Truth is refreshing.
“I was planning to promote you.”
“I know.”
“So—why?”
“I’m in love with him.”
Marlon takes a page from Kat’s book. “Dammit, Ginger.You’re not in love with him. He’s a player. You let him play you.”
I don’t need to justify myself to this man. I know what I want, how I feel, who I am. Now more than ever.
I stand, readying myself to leave.
“His contract has so many clauses Jesus Christ himself couldn’t get out of it, and he knows it. The contract is the reason the show works. Because people have to deal with their shit—they can’t walk away when they hit a bump in the road. But you know what happens along the way. People get nervous. You saw it with Jenna—and remember Brandon? His jitters were legendary—he slept with half the PAs. But he’s married to Sabrina now, and they couldn’t be happier. They’re expecting, you know?”
I try to relax my grinding jaw. “You didn’t fire the PAs,” I remind him. “You even gave Amber a promotion.”
“Amber wasn’t Brandon’s producer. Amber didn’t let herself get caught by one of the women on the season.”
True. Amber was a one and done, and the only people who knew about it were the field producers. Even I, a control room assistant at the time, only found out after production wrapped.
“You did the right thing by leaving,” Marlon concedes with a heavy sigh. “I hate that it has to come down to this.”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “You can release him from his contract.”
Marlon considers me briefly. Too briefly. He dismisses the absurd notion with a flick of his wrist. “I can’t do that. We’ve invested too much. But I’ll take back the firing if you’ll resign.”
It’s a generous offer, but it still comes with the heavy, sinking sensation of failure. “He’ll ruin the show, Marlon. He has a whole plan.”
Marlon holds up a hand to shut me up. “It’s too late, Ginger. You know that.”
Of course I do. My Hail Mary attempt is just that—a desperate shot in the dark. It was too late the second Elliot put pen to paper.
“It was worth a try,” I say quietly. “I’ll go clear out my office.”
“Do it next week when the crew’s back in town. It’ll give you a chance to say goodbye.”
The full impact of the loss hits home—the life I built for myself crumbles in the space of a second. I give Marlon a stiff nod and turn to leave.
“Ginger?”
I stop, hand already on the doorknob.
“You can do better than Elliot Hale.”
I open the door and glance back at my former boss. “With all due respect, Marlon—you wouldn’t know a real love story if it was staring you right in the face.”