Name Your Price

Chapter 6

As it turned out, both Olivia and Chuck had been wrong about the house where they were set to spend the next month together. It was neither a cramped condo nor a sprawling mansion, but rather a semimodest, single-story house with a nice yard tucked away behind a gate. Olivia reasoned the privacy would be useful given the paparazzi incident on the sidewalk the night before.

She also reasoned that Chuck had brought an unreasonable amount of luggage.

He’d shown up wearing a loose, billowy button-down with rolled sleeves and a pair of brick red shorts like he was going on vacation. His sunglasses perched in his messy hair and his phone stuck from his shirt like a pocket square. He leaned on one suitcase’s extended handle and crossed his ankles. His boat shoes made him look ready for a yacht. It reminded her of the yellow bikini trip to Mexico, and she imagined him smelling like sunscreen and a hint of sweat. The idea made her lick her lips. The way his eyes widened at the sight of her in her curve- hugging red maxi dress gave her an admittedly large swell of satisfaction.

The romantic notion that it was just the two of them battling their perennial attraction in a gated driveway in Pacific Palisades dissolved when Olivia took note of the whole motley Name Your Price crew unloading equipment from a van as she approached from the rideshare that had dropped her off.

“What’s all this?” she asked Chuck, and gestured to his six— six —suitcases. He stood among them like a Roman sculpture in a boxy little garden.

“My stuff.”

“Your stuff ? Chuck, how could you possibly need this much stuff for a month-long stay in a house with laundry and where you’ll surely be lounging by the pool in swim trunks each day anyway?”

He smirked at her and her reasonable set of a single large suitcase, a computer tote, and a toiletries bag.

She smirked back, sure that one of his medium suitcases was taken up solely by his daily ten-step skincare routine.

“Let’s save the drama for the cameras, shall we?” Parker Stone interrupted them. He approached and clapped his hands together with a smile. He looked more casual than he had at their meeting at the studio, wearing an untucked button-down and jeans. He was midfifties and wore a wedding band on his left hand. “Welcome to your new digs, kids,” he said, and squeezed each of their shoulders. He guided them toward the front door. “Now, the plan is to shoot your arrival and first impressions of the house. Then we’ll give you a little tour inside and let you get settled before we set up for an interview with TJ this afternoon.” He sharply cut off and whipped his head around. “Where even is TJ?” he asked no one. “Mark! Have you seen TJ?” he shouted at a burly man lugging camera equipment up the driveway.

Mark shook his head. “Nah. That asshole is late for everything.”

Parker sighed. “Host of the show and thinks he’s the goddamned king…” he muttered. “Anyway, just hang for a few minutes and we’ll get rolling.” He left them as quickly as he’d come, and it made Olivia dizzy.

She and Chuck awkwardly stood between their pile of belongings and the house’s entrance. Like many homes in affluent pockets of Los Angeles, it was beautiful. It might not have had towering privacy hedges, an ocean view, and a tennis court, but it was made of glass and stone, with lush, manicured landscaping and plenty of natural light. At least Olivia got that impression from where she stood in the front yard.

“Is all filming this chaotic?” she asked, and gestured at the swarm of people burying the prim front lawn in crates, cases, and duffel bags. A frenetic energy hung over them all while they hurried about and shouted to one another.

“Pretty much,” Chuck said with a snort. “You’ll get used to it, don’t worry. Soon you won’t even notice they’re there.”

Olivia swallowed a nervous lump in her throat because in truth, she was worried about being on camera. She knew she didn’t have to remember any lines or hit any marks, but she’d never done anything on film before, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to overcome the nerves racking her body like live wires at the mere thought of it.

“Hey. You’ll be fine, Liv,” Chuck said as if he’d read her like a book. The fact that he had annoyed her. As did the fact that he reached out and gently touched her arm with an assuring squeeze that admittedly accomplished the job and made her relax. What was more, that simple, genuine gesture reminded her how much she already missed the feel of his hands on her.

She shook him off and side-eyed him. “Don’t.”

He looked wounded for a brief second. His lips pursed and he nodded. “Sorry. You seemed worried, so I thought— Never mind.”

A new car pulling into the driveway interrupted their conversation. Where Olivia half expected TJ Price to have finally shown up and climb out of the zippy Prius—though she had to admit, she would have expected him to arrive in something a little flashier—she instead saw an eager young man pop out from the driver’s seat and begin unloading grocery bags from the trunk.

“Who’s that?” Olivia asked.

“Probably our runner,” Chuck said.

“Our what?”

“An assistant who runs errands for the production.”

The young man, who could not have been a day over twenty-one, bounded up the driveway with grocery bags swinging from his elbows and a case of seltzer in his arms. He was tall and skinny with brown skin and a pair of smudged glasses that had begun to slip down his nose. He smiled so brightly at them Olivia could see all his perfectly white teeth.

“Hi! I’m Tyler,” he chirped. “I’d shake your hands, but mine are a little full.” He awkwardly laughed, and Olivia instantly liked him.

“Hi, Tyler. I’m Olivia. Do you need a hand?”

“Oh no. I got it, Ms. Martin,” he said, and juggled his load. “I’m just stocking the house with groceries for you. I started with some basic staples but let me know if there’s anything specific you want. I’ll be happy to get it. Hi, Mr. Walsh,” he said with a smile at Chuck.

“Hey,” Chuck said in a disinterested tone that sounded dismissive.

“I loved your last movie,” Tyler gushed. “That scene with the car and the thing.” He mimicked an explosion sound and happily laughed. “It was so cool.”

“Thanks,” Chuck offered with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Olivia was about to whack him in the arm and tell him to stop being rude to someone who was clearly a fan, when another car came screeching into the driveway. The front gate had been held open for all the traffic. This car was much more what she’d expected TJ Price to crawl out of. A modern Batmobile in jet black that was so low to the ground, he really did have to hoist himself up out of it.

“Sorry I’m late!” he hollered, and trotted up the driveway. “Traffic on the 1, you know how it goes. So, who’s ready to party?” He grinned at them, and a whiff of his cologne hit Olivia in a rush when he stopped on the front porch and punched his fists into his hips. He was close to her in age and exuded the confidence of someone used to commanding the room.

“Nice of you to join us,” Parker said with an annoyed bend to his lips. He rejoined their crowd on the porch, this time with a cameraman on his heels. “Okay, gang. We’re set up to roll, now let’s— Tyler, move. You’re in the shot.”

“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Stone,” Tyler blurted. He tore his starry-eyed gaze from Chuck and walked backward from the porch. “Where should I put these—?”

“Just leave them in the car for now,” Parker tersely instructed. “I’ll let you know when you can come inside.”

“Okay, but some of this stuff is frozen, and it’s pretty warm out—”

“Tyler! You’re a smart kid. Figure it out!” Parker called over his shoulder. He turned back to Olivia and Chuck with a tight smile stretching his lips. “Sorry. He’s my daughter’s boyfriend. My husband made me hire him this summer. I swear, nepotism is going to be the death of me in this town. Anyway , let’s get going.”

Olivia tried to keep up. Chuck looked unfazed and maybe a bit bored.

They walked right up to the front door before Parker turned around.

“As a reminder before we go in,” he said, “you’ve consented to be filmed around the clock inside the house and on the property. All the common areas and backyard are equipped with cameras and microphones. In addition, the film crew will be here daily except for Sundays. And”—he paused for dramatic effect—“one final reminder: if you leave the house other than to go into the backyard, you lose.” He grinned at them like he was entirely too pleased with himself. “So, what do you say, Olivia and Chuck, are you ready?”

The desire to turn around and run hit Olivia so hard, she would have done it if Chuck hadn’t surreptitiously pressed his hand into her lower back. He held it there like a guardrail, and in that moment, she was thankful he’d touched her because otherwise, she would have lost them the game before they even started.

“Yes,” Chuck said.

“Mm-hmm,” Olivia echoed in a breathy murmur that didn’t even sound convincing to her.

“All right, then! Here we go!” Parker sang. “TJ, take it away.”

He opened the front door, and Olivia got the distinct sense that she needed to take a final deep breath before plunging into the sea. Parker stepped back, behind the camera, and TJ stepped forward, in front of it with Olivia and Chuck.

The house welcomed them with a tiled entryway flooded with natural light coming in from a skylight. The décor included a stash of natural artifacts—driftwood tables, succulents, tasteful art—and modern amenities. Given that the house was shaped like a U, the pool glittered straight through the back wall, with each wing stretching into the shady backyard on either side of it.

“Welcome to your home for the next month, Olivia and Chuck. Kitchen and living area to the left; bedroom, gym, and office to the right; bathrooms on both sides,” TJ said.

Olivia gazed around at the truly lovely setting in a daze, doing her best to ignore the cameras pointed at her face. Her apartment could have fit in it four times over, and even if it was modest by L.A. standards, it probably still cost five million dollars given the location.

“This is beautiful,” she said at the same time Chuck said, “Sorry, did you say bed room ? As in singular?”

TJ grinned and beckoned them to the left wing. “Sure did, Chuck.”

“Does that mean there’s—”

“Only one bed? Indeed. We thought it would keep things interesting.”

Olivia threw Chuck an annoyed look that said I told you so as they rounded into the living room, which was, to her surprise, completely empty aside from a flat-screen TV sitting on a low stand. The camera crew followed on their heels.

“Where’s all the furniture?” she asked.

TJ gave them another sly grin. “Being delivered tomorrow. Teamwork and assembly required.”

Olivia’s heart sank. Not only at the prospect that they had nothing to sit on, but also that they’d been sentenced to flat-box furniture they’d have to assemble to remedy the situation.

“Wait, we have to put it together?” Chuck said, eyes wide.

“Yes,” TJ confirmed with a nod that managed to look smug.

Olivia gave Chuck a desperate look that she felt one of the cameras zoom in on. She could imagine the show overlaying a comedic sad trombone over it when the scene aired. They’d never assembled furniture together before, but seeing that they managed to get in a fight over the littlest things, the activity that notoriously sent couples spiraling into outrage did not hold promise for them.

“Something else we thought would keep things interesting,” TJ said. “This way.” He breezily waved them toward the kitchen on the other side of the dining room, where they at least had a table and chairs. The left wing of the house was essentially one continuous, open room. The kitchen held a large granite island with barstools, a stainless steel pillar of a fridge, and an impressive range. “Fridge will be stocked daily with ingredients for a meal that you both have to agree on eating together for dinner.”

“Or what, we starve?” Chuck said with a dark laugh.

TJ gave him a look over his shoulder that said he was serious. “Precisely.”

Olivia tried to stifle her groan. Agreeing on what to have for dinner was one of their biggest challenges. They’d waste hours arguing over where to go, what to order to dine in, what to cook at home. The mental labor was exhausting, thanks in no small part to Chuck’s particular diet habits. She’d name every restaurant in WeHo, and he’d shoot them down one by one for some reason or another: too far, too greasy, too loud, too small, too slow, exclusive use of paper straws. Most nights when they ate together, she’d end up eating a bowl of cereal and he’d have a protein shake and they’d sit in silence staring at the TV, annoyed with each other. Coming up with a communal meal choice every day for the next month might be enough to send her packing on its own.

“Why is there a lock on the dishwasher?” Chuck said. He pointed to the strange contraption that looked part child-safety device, part industrial clamp holding the shiny silver door shut.

“Because, dear Chuck, a clean kitchen is key to a happy couple.”

“Oh my god,” Olivia muttered, seeing their intention.

Dishes.

They would inevitably pile up because Chuck never did them, even though sticking them in a dishwasher took all of a few minutes and made life much easier. If they had to wash them all by hand, Olivia would be hurling dinnerware again in no time.

They passed into a hallway with a set of glass doors that led out onto the pool deck, all the while Olivia acutely aware of the lenses pointed at her increasingly distressed face. Second thoughts roiled inside her like a spirited pep rally. Chuck tried to open the door on the opposite interior wall, but like the dishwasher, it was locked.

“What’s in here?” he asked.

The grin on TJ’s face was sinister and satisfied. “The second bathroom. Access to it waits behind one of your challenges. You’ll learn more about it later.”

Olivia closed her eyes and scrubbed her face with a hand. Sharing a bathroom with Chuck was a recipe for disaster. He’d take up ninety percent of the real estate with his trunk of products and leave the other ten percent a mess with towels and dirty clothes. Just the thought of it already made her want to scream.

And she realized that was the whole point.

After they’d left that negotiations meeting feeling high and mighty over their victories in the contract, the Name Your Price crew truly had sat around thinking up inventive ways to torture them.

They passed into the backyard, and a cool breeze coming in off the distant ocean ruffled Olivia’s skirt. Palm trees rustled a scratchy hiss. Ivy crawled the stone wall surrounding the yard and the outside of the pool house in the corner, which looked like it had sprouted from the green oasis itself. The pool sparkled like a giant sapphire gemstone in the center of it all. Two cushioned lounge chairs and a table with an umbrella and chairs were scattered on the deck. The camera crew pivoted around in front of them to capture their reactions.

“Let me guess,” Chuck said in a dry tone, “the pool is rigged with alarms, and we can’t actually get in it.”

TJ burst a laugh. “No, but that would have been a good idea. The backyard is fair game. Except for the pool house, obviously. The film crew will be using it on occasion.”

Of course they couldn’t go into the pool house. An escape on the property would have been too easy. At least they could spend time outside if they needed to. Like a prison yard. Olivia silently hoped TJ wasn’t about to tell them they were only allotted one hour of sunlight per day.

They reached the other side of the house and entered a sliding glass door into the bedroom. The bed was a queen size at most, and Olivia was glad she’d have it to herself, though she didn’t know what Chuck was going to do without a couch that night until their furniture arrived the next day. She’d leave it to him to figure out.

“Bathroom through there,” TJ said, and pointed to what was obvious given the en suite nature of it.

Olivia saw a glimpse of a sunken whirlpool tub and a glass-stall shower. She sincerely hoped there was more than one sink.

“And this way,” TJ said, waving them through the door into a hallway, “leads to your office and gym.”

The generic, utilitarian office had a desk, chair, and bookshelf. The gym, on the other hand, was impressively large—larger than the bedroom. Someone must have knocked out a wall at some point to expand. The floor was a bouncy type of rubbery wood and one whole wall had been replaced with a mirror. It held a treadmill, rower, stationary bike, and all sorts of weight equipment.

Chuck waltzed right in, brazenly confident and feeling at home, and reached for the top bar on a squat rack that resembled a cage. He did an effortless pull-up that Olivia had to avert her gaze from. “All this fair game too?” he said when he landed back on the floor.

“All yours,” TJ said. “Use it as you see fit.”

Chuck was smiling, and Olivia was suddenly aware of something.

It was another form of sabotage, this one more stealth than locking doors and forcing communal meals. They’d given them free access to parts of the house that involved partial nudity (the pool) and physical exertion (the gym) because both of those things would make for good TV and render the other person precariously horny if either of them engaged within view.

It was like they’d studied the Manual of Olivia and Chuck and knew all the buttons to push.

“This is a nightmare,” Olivia whispered, and noted a camera zooming in on her face again.

TJ must have heard her because he smiled as he waved them onward. They passed back through the entryway, where their luggage had been brought inside. When they returned to the empty living room and kitchen area, they found Tyler shoving groceries into the fridge.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said in a dramatic whisper and ducked out of sight of the cameras. He kicked the freezer drawer closed on his way around the corner.

Olivia wondered if the frozen items he’d mentioned were perhaps desserts, maybe chocolate ice cream, because she could certainly go for a stress treat.

TJ called for their attention with a clap of his hands. His booming game show host voice was in full effect. “All right. So now you’ve got the lay of the land. And remember, you can’t leave the house other than to go into the backyard until your time is up. Otherwise, game over.” He looked at each of them for signs of confirmation.

“Yep,” Chuck said.

“Got it,” Olivia echoed while she silently said a million dollars a million dollars a million dollars over and over in her head.

“Excellent. Now, one more thing before I leave you to unpack.” He held out his hand like he expected someone to place something in it. When nothing happened, he closed his eyes and sighed. “Tyler!”

Tyler poked his head back around the corner. “Yes, Mr. Price?”

TJ shot him an impatient glare. “The first challenge. I need the first challenge!” He snapped his fingers and held his palm out again.

“Oh! Sorry,” Tyler blurted again. He scurried over to the dining table, where he grabbed a large, flat envelope and brought it over to TJ’s waiting hand.

“Thank you,” TJ said through a tight jaw. Then he robotically blinked and turned back to face Olivia and Chuck and the cameras. “Excellent. Now, one more thing before I leave you to unpack.” He repeated his line from before like nothing had interrupted him. “Your first challenge.”

Olivia and Chuck glanced at each other, unsure what to expect. Chuck was the one to finally grab the envelope and open it. He slid out a sheet of paper with the Name Your Price logo at the top and scanned the short paragraph of text. Olivia leaned in to read it, but only got past the first few words before TJ cleared his throat.

“Out loud, please?” he said, and nodded at the cameras.

“Sorry,” Chuck muttered like he should have realized. He too cleared his throat and began to read.

“?‘Olivia and Chuck, welcome to your new home. To make your stay more interesting, your first challenge, beginning now and lasting the duration of your time here, is no physical contact. This includes but is not limited to holding hands, hugging, cuddling, kissing, and any more intimate sexual acts.’?” TJ bounced his head and smiled at each word like they were notes in a song. Chuck glanced up at him while Olivia felt her insides shrivel in dread. Chuck continued to read. “?‘Should you engage in any of the aforementioned acts, your prize money will be reduced by an amount deemed suitable by the production crew based on the severity of the infraction’—wait, is this for real?” Chuck blurted. “We can’t touch each other, or we get docked money?”

Olivia snatched the piece of paper out of his hand and read it for herself. It was all right there in black and white.

“Indeed, it is for real, Chuck,” TJ said with another sly grin. “We thought this would keep things interesting. Like I said in our meeting: your chemistry is incredible. Now!” He paused and reset with a breath. “I’ll leave you two to unpack and get settled before we do our first interview. We want to get it out of the way today in case you don’t last the night.” He said it like they were cast members in a slasher film whose fate was in the hands of a deranged madman—which, when Olivia thought about it, felt appropriate seeing they were locked in a house of horrors that had just gotten a hundred times worse.

Chuck snorted. “Thanks for your faith.”

TJ simply smiled. He checked his smartwatch. “Let’s meet in an hour for the interview. We’ll set up out back since there’s no furniture to sit on in here to easily get you in the same shot.” He gave them a mocking wink and stepped away.

“Perfect,” Parker said as he reappeared. “Let’s cut there for a second.” The cameramen who had been following them the whole time lowered their cameras. “Do you guys have any questions?” he asked.

Olivia was in too much shock to speak. No touching? Yes, of course they’d agreed to no sex , but no touching? At all?

She glanced at Chuck to see him smooth his hand over his stubbly jaw as if he knew how much she enjoyed the soft scratch of it against her face, her chest, her thighs, and was thinking the same thing about how high they’d just raised the stakes on them.

“Um, yeah,” Chuck said to Parker. “This no-touching thing. What kind of money are we talking here?”

Parker grinned. “As the challenge said, that depends on the severity of the infraction. So, let’s just say, if you’re going to do it, make sure it’s worth it.”

Olivia flushed at the word it and everything it implied. They should have seen this coming. She felt like a contestant on a dating show who’d been duped into flying to a private island fully stocked with eligible, chiseled bachelors only to be told they were all off-limits. There were at least five shows with the same premise, all hinging on forced proximity but no hanky-panky.

Not that she wanted to touch Chuck. Because she didn’t. They were broken up. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen. And now her prize money was at risk if it did happen, and she suddenly wanted to turn around and run out the front door because all of this was a terrible idea.

She turned to Chuck with a glare. “You better behave yourself.”

He flinched. “ Me behave myself? The rule applies to us equally, Liv.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one more likely to break it.”

A smug, playful little grin curled his mouth, which she admittedly wanted to kiss right off his face. “Am I?”

She grumbled and turned away from him to see Parker waving over Tyler.

“Tyler is going to be your gofer,” Parker said. “He’ll be in charge of delivering your groceries each day for whatever you decide to eat together. I had him put some basics in the pantry and fridge for breakfast and whatnot, but dinner has to be together, at the table or bar. No exceptions.”

“Yes, Mr. Stone?” Tyler asked when he reappeared from the hall.

“Come here and give Olivia and Chuck your number so they can tell you what to shop for.”

“Oh sure!” he said with the adorable eagerness of a puppy. He recited it, and they both added it to their phones.

“Thank you,” Olivia said.

“Of course, Ms. Martin.”

“You can call me Olivia.”

“Okay,” he said with a faint flush to his cheeks. He glanced at Chuck like he might make the same offer, but Chuck ignored him and headed for the entryway.

“Do you need help with your luggage, Mr. Walsh?” Tyler called after him.

Before Chuck could respond, Parker stepped in. “Let’s let them do that on their own, Tyler. Benny!” Parker called to the nearest cameraman and made a circular motion with his finger pointing upward. “Let’s keep rolling.”

If Olivia thought they’d be left in peace to unpack, she’d been sorely mistaken.

Benny the cameraman lifted his equipment, and when she returned to the entryway to find her luggage, she saw another member of the film crew step in the front door.

Olivia hurried after Chuck, hoping to talk to him before they were on camera again. “Why are you being so rude to Tyler?” she whispered, and reached for her suitcase.

“What? I’m not being rude,” Chuck said, and slung one of his bags over his shoulder. He gripped another by the handle and turned toward the bedroom. He would have to make multiple trips to get them all.

“Uh, yes you are. He’s just being nice, and you’re blowing him off at every turn—” She cut herself off with a gasp. “Wait! Is this why people think you’re difficult on set? Because you’re mean to production assistants?”

Chuck stopped walking so fast that she ran into his back. She hoped that didn’t already count as a no-touching infraction because there was nothing that she could have done to prevent it. He turned around and gave her a serious look. “I’m not mean to anyone on set. Especially not assistants.”

She recoiled from the look on his face. “Okay, sorry.”

He softened and shook his head. “Sorry. I guess he reminds me of someone, and it’s something I’d rather not think about.” He sighed. “It’s just hard to be around all this when I haven’t worked in a while. Kind of a slap in the face, you know?”

Olivia honestly had not thought of that. That it might be difficult for Chuck to be on what was for all intents and purposes a film set when he’d been struggling to find work.

“Sorry, Chuck. I didn’t think—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “It’s fine.” He looked over his shoulder toward the hall and then back at her. “Time to make some TV, I guess.”