Chapter 2
two
WREN
I can do this. I’m a grown-up.
Those two phrases are a mantra I repeat to myself as I walk into the TV studio.
I can do this. This being walking into my first full day as an executive producer at The Last Kiss , the longtime dating reality TV show.
I’m not sure how much reality actually goes into the events of the show.
As I walk down a long hallway, I see photos of seasons past.
There’s a bachelor down on one knee before a bachelorette on a horse.
A bachelorette in the crowd during a parade, flashing her breasts at a bachelor on a parade float.
Four bachelorettes at the famous rose ceremony, all waiting hopefully while the bachelor they are competing to win holds a rose out, teasing them.
As I continue to walk by photos of women being dunked in water and running away from geese, my thought is that if any of it is real, the contestants are complete fools.
And yet, I’m still nervous about starting my job. This is the first time I’m working outside of my brother’s company. It feels like a big step for me, a kid who has been coddled by her overbearing big brother for too long.
And now, my main goal is to succeed on my own merit. No help from Jay. No influence from the hunky bachelor-to-be, either. Ryan is technically doing me a favor by letting me stay on the show.
All I want is to be anonymous. Not Ryan’s pet project. Not Jay’s nepotism hire. Just Wren, the PA who does her job and everyone respects.
This was supposed to be my reset. My chance to be something more than Jay Rustin’s little sister. If I blow this? I might as well go back to folding T-shirts for his merch line.
I step into the production office and pull up short. The showrunner and executive producer Elena is mid-speech, passionately lecturing the show’s director, Marcus White, and a young-looking Japanese woman. Elena pauses, her expressive hands spread wide and cuts her eyes over to me.
“You’re late,” she says. Her accent wrapped around the words, thick with the warmth of her native Spanish. Intonations rose where they didn’t in English, giving everything she said a kind of melodic urgency. “Come in, Wren.”
She gestures to me with a perfectly-manicured hand.
I gulp and step into the office, which holds a large conference table stacked with photos of beautiful women.
This season’s bachelorettes, I presume. There are usually ten or twelve women selected for this show and one bachelor they all compete for.
The man is generally a minor celebrity; from my research, past bachelors have been child actors, a failed politician, one of the Baldwins, and one-hit wonders.
Of course, the cherry on top of this flaming sundae? The bachelor is Ryan Haart. My brother’s best friend. The guy who once said I looked like a burnt Q-tip in a bridesmaid dress. That guy. And now I’m going to spend the next two months watching him make out with Instagram models on camera.
“I’m so sorry. I was told to be here…”
“Sit!” Elena orders. She points to a chair beside the young woman. “We were just talking about people not living up to our expectations.”
My eyes widen as I slink to my seat. Is she talking about me? Elena’s the one who told me to be here at eleven!
The girl next to me gives me a sympathetic look. She sits up and offers me her hand. “Hana. I’m an assistant producer.”
“Wren. Same,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“If you’re done, ladies,” Elena huffs. “I asked you two to be here because we had a bachelorette drop out at the very last moment. You two will be handling the bachelorettes, so I thought you should be included in the decision-making.”
Marcus smiles at me and then pushes a headshot across the table. “This is the bachelorette who just backed out. She was a contortionist for Cirque du Soleil. And she had her master’s in education.”
I look down at the headshot and see a blonde with a magnetic smile. “Ah. Too bad.”
“She worked for us. She was supposed to be our inside man,” Elena says, frowning. “We already had a plan in place that she would make it to the very end. Then our bachelor could pick who he really wants to be with. Now we’re back at the beginning.”
Marcus taps a headshot with one thick finger. “I still say Shannon would be a good replacement.”
“Shannon? No way.” Hana wrinkles her nose. “She’s a real estate agent. I’m so sick of real estate agents. There were five last season.”
Elena sighs. “Who, then?”
“None of these are really good candidates. They’re all boring. We need someone smart to be our mole.”
“Are we calling her a man on the inside or a mole?” Marcus strokes his chin.
Elena’s gaze flicks to me. “And you? What do you think?”
“Me?”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes.”
I clear my throat. “Well. You want someone smart. You want someone who stands out…” I rush to explain.
“I watched the last three seasons in preparation for today. What became apparent to me was that the winning contestants were sort of your average yoga-loving, astrology-believing, Cosmo-drinking women. But the runners-up… that’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?
” Elena nods. “Well, the runners-up were kooky. They all had big personalities and an easily identifiable schtick. Remember the woman who loved alligators? Or the one who was a rodeo champion? They had something easy to reference.”
Marcus strokes his chin again.
“Could we get somebody we already know is smart and have them fake it till they make it?”
“Definitely,” Hana agrees.
Elena crosses her arms. She looks unconvinced.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find another perfect specimen? Melanie was perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Perfect tetas . She was a power yoga instructor in her spare time. Have you ever tried to touch your heels to the back of your head? Because Melanie could. She was the whole package.”
I wonder what Elena would say about me right now. My long copper-colored hair is a frizzy mess. My comically large glasses are smudged. My oversized T-shirt looks like something a toddler would swim in.
I’ve never been hip or magnetic like Jay. He’s the guy with the perfect Instagram life. I’m the girl in the background, hiding behind a camera.
Basically, I’m none of the things that made Melanie perfect. What does that leave for the rest of us? Not much.
“You have pretty eyes, carina.” Elena reaches out and smooths back my hair. “So green! You should wear your hair up more, let those eyes do some of the talking for you.”
I’m entranced by her touch. Gulping, I nod. Then Elena gives me a once-over. I can almost see the gears in her head turning.
I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“What about a ringer?” Elena wonders aloud. “If we used someone from the crew, we could control the storyline.”
Marcus’s eyes light up. “That would be a lot cheaper than hiring someone new. We could script the drama. Make it more believable.”
I scrunch my face. “Sure…”
“What about you?” she asks. She tilts her head.
My stomach does a somersault. My very first thought is no . Absolutely not. This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
“I—I’m not really camera material,” I squeak out. Elena doesn’t blink. I try again, louder. “This isn’t exactly in my job description.”
Plus, Ryan is the bachelor. I’d be… competing for his affections? Ugh, gag me with a spoon. I’m supposed to flirt with him? The same guy who told me last night that we’re strangers?
Elena tilts her head. She’s still staring at me. “You wouldn’t have to ‘win’ the show. The bachelor would just be instructed to keep you on until the end. We need drama.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I blurt out. “Like, at all.”
Ryan aside, I do not have the sparkly personality necessary to be on a show like this.
I would die under the spotlight. I didn’t even want my senior yearbook photo retaken when I had the flu.
I’ve spent my entire life ducking the spotlight.
What the hell makes them think I belong in front of a camera now?
“Would you do it if I asked nicely?” She pauses. She considers her next words. “We need you to fill in for Melanie. We’ll glam you up. Make sure you get close to the end. We’re not asking for you to actually fall in love with our bachelor. What do you think?”
Me, captured on film while I try to pretend not to hate Ryan? I can’t think of a bigger nightmare.
“I’m really more comfortable behind the scenes.” My voice is shaky. “I’m a shy girl. Uncomfortable on camera. I don’t even like having my picture taken.”
Elena isn’t listening. Or maybe she’s ignoring me. Her lips purse. She’s studying me like a puzzle she’s determined to solve.
“Your brother, he is very successful, no? Very… visible. Always in the spotlight with his influencer business.” Elena’s tone is casual, but there’s something calculating in her eyes. “You must be tired of being in his shadow all the time.”
My cheeks flush. How does she know about that? How does she know exactly where to hit me where it hurts?
“Would you like a hundred thousand dollars? I could arrange that to be your bonus if you played along. Plus, a promotion. You would be helping me out, Wren. I would consider it a personal favor.”
A personal favor and a hundred grand? My mind races. The promotion would mean job security. My first venture outside of working for Jay would be a success. I have to work twice as hard to prove I’m not just a nepotism hire.
But this? Elena’s horrible idea would sure do the trick. God, I really want that.
I make a face. “I’m not even the type of girl usually featured on these shows. They’re poised and polished. I’m… something else.”
“We could fix that for you.” Marcus sizes me up. “A haircut, a new wardrobe. Maybe we’d whiten your teeth so they pop on camera…”
My hand flies up to my mouth. “What’s wrong with my teeth?”
“Nothing,” Elena says, patting my arm. “When you’re on camera, darling, things have to be bigger and brighter. That’s all.”
“Oh.” I scrunch my face up.
“Don’t do that with your face. You will give yourself wrinkles.
” Elena grabs my hand. “Listen to me, carina. You are the perfect ringer. You are the right age, the right height, the right…” Her eyes travel to my waist and snag on my bulky clothing.
“Well, I can’t see what kind of body you have.
But it doesn’t matter. Say yes, and I could be writing you the biggest check you could imagine. ”
I picture a yassified version of myself: elegant, radiant, dolled up in Audrey Hepburn’s pearls and that little black dress she wears in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. In my head, I’m accepting a giant foam check from Elena like I just saved the world. I giggle.
I have to admit, the money is pretty damn tantalizing. It’s enough to make Ryan seem… less repulsive. I’m trapped. They know it.
But more than the money, it’s the thought that’s been nagging at me since I walked in here. Jay always said I couldn’t handle pressure. Couldn’t handle risk. Couldn’t be the face of anything important. I’m not doing this for Elena. Or even for the money.
I’m doing this to prove everyone wrong. Especially him.
I picture myself six months from now, still invisible, still being introduced as “Jay’s little sister.” Still folding merchandise and staying safely in the background where no one can judge me or find me lacking.
“I…” My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. “Okay.” My voice is barely a whisper, but it’s out there. I can’t take it back.
“ Excelente .” Elena’s tone is firm. “This will do wonders for your career.”
“You think so?” I flush. “I want to be like you.”
The moment it’s out of my mouth, I cringe. God, how embarrassing. I want to be like you? Ugh, pathetic. I sound like a kid talking to her favorite teacher.
She wraps her arm around my waist and winks at me. “Smart girls like us, we have to stick together, si ? We know how to make things happen.”
There’s something almost maternal in her touch, but also predatory. Like she’s claiming me.
“Let’s get you over to the makeup department. Give you a glow-up, you know?”
Elena pushes me out the door. I swallow, wondering just what I have signed myself up for.
One thing is certain: I know a certain six-foot-five hockey player that will not be thrilled to find out this latest news.
Ryan is going to be pissed.
Actually, scratch that. Ryan’s going to be more than pissed. He’s going to be absolutely furious. And somehow, the thought of his shocked face when he realizes what I’ve done makes this whole insane plan almost worth it.
Almost.
God, what have I gotten myself into?