Chapter 11 #2
“Ohhh. Don’t be silly,” Charlotte says with a smile too kind to be fabricated. “I mean, I’m not going to lie. Tyler is a very attractive man, and I’m not oblivious to his bank account. It would be totally awesome to fall in love with him. But that’s not really why I’m here.”
“Yeah,” Harper cuts in as Winnie’s brows scrunch together.
“Some of these girls are definitely cutthroat, but you’re safe with us.
I promise. It’s sort of how Charlotte and I found each other.
One of my stupid brothers wrote I love Tyler inside a heart on the back of my shoulder—in Sharpie!
—and I had no idea. I must’ve been asleep or something.
Anyway, I was walking around for two days with that crap on, and no one said a word.
Not my roommates at the hotel, not the producers, not the assistants.
No one. When I got dressed this morning, I heard a few of the girls snicker but I had no idea why.
And then my guardian angel came over”—Harper pulls Charlotte in for a one-armed squeeze—“and whispered, Is that a tattoo or do you want to borrow my foundation?”
“A tattoo?” Winnie laughs.
“Everyone probably thought I was a complete psychopath.” Harper snorts.
“I can’t really blame them for staying away.
But I am forever grateful to this girl for stopping me before I went on national TV looking like a serial killer.
We scrubbed at it for like half an hour, but it’s still there.
I almost had to change my dress, but Charlotte is a miracle worker with a makeup brush. ”
“It was nothing.” She waves the compliment away, but a little gleam sparkles in the corner of her eye.
“Don’t listen to her,” Harper insists. “She saved my life.”
“Well, you both saved my life,” Winnie adds gratefully. “I have no idea how long I’ll be here, and I’m guessing not very, but as long as I am, I promise, I’ll have your backs.”
“Same,” the other girls say in unison.
“Can I ask one thing though?” Winnie can’t help but add, her mind still snagged on what she heard before, that stubborn little thread refusing to snap. “You said you’re not really here for Tyler? So what, um, are you here for, exactly?”
“Oh, I’m a beauty influencer,” Charlotte explains, the utter flawlessness of her face suddenly clear.
“I have about a hundred thousand followers now, but if I can boost that to even just half a million, my sponsorships will skyrocket. The exposure from the show will be huge, especially if I manage to stick around for a little while.”
“And I’m here to promote my business, Harper & Hemsworth,” Harper adds.
“I took a cross-country road trip with my dog after college, and we sort of went viral. Right now, I do a lot of sponsored posts and partnerships and things, but I’ve been working on my own product line.
My best friend is an absolute tech wizard, and he helped me put together a website with a storefront.
I have everything set to launch while the show is on air, so I can take advantage of the publicity.
And I forced my friend to submit an application for next season, too.
He thinks I’m insane, because he’s kind of a nerd.
But I always tell him he’s so cute. I mean, who the hell knows, right?
It’s worth a shot. And if he gets on, he’ll help push my brand.
Plus, added bonus, he might find love. It’s a win-win. ”
“Right.” Winnie nods, her head spinning. “And is everyone here for something like that?”
“Pretty much.” Harper scans the room and starts nudging her chin in various directions.
“Sarah and Anita are both fashion influencers. Oh, Amy and Bridget over there are too. Then Laura, Lauren, and Lenora—say that three times fast—are all in journalism or communications or something. Lainey is a radio host. Hannah G and Julie are both models. Then Hannah M is a food influencer, I think. Or a chef. Something like that. Can you remember anyone else?”
“Emily and Maria are both teachers, I think,” Charlotte says, before pursing her lips to think. “Beth and Naomi are in real estate, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Harper nods.
Winnie catches a flash of fluttering lace. The girl from outside. “What about her?”
“Mary Ellen?” Harper snorts. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Stop.” Charlotte elbows her in the ribs, then turns to Winnie. “She’s a singer.”
“Which is funny, because…?”
“Because she serenaded me in the limo, then introduced herself to Tyler through song, and I’m pretty sure I heard the sounds of a strained soprano practically shattering the window a few minutes ago.
Every time I turn around, the girl is working it.
I mean, I respect the hustle, but it’s a little obvious.
You’ve got to at least pretend you’re here to find love. ”
“But you’re not,” Winnie says, the cogs slowing to a halt as the realization fully hits. “None of you are.”
“No,” Harper concedes. Then she and Charlotte catch eyes and turn to Winnie. “Except you, I guess.”
Poor Tyler.
The sudden ache in her chest comes completely unbidden.
Jealousy, she expected. Anger. Sadness. So much frustration.
But sympathy? Not really. Not when it concerns Tyler and the idea of any other woman.
But she doesn’t hate him for not loving her.
It’s not his fault. She doesn’t want him to be alone.
He’s too good a person for that. He deserves someone who loves him—not for the exposure he can provide or the bank account he worked his ass off to build, but for the too-sweet heart he’s always doing his best to hide.
“Oh, and Victoria.”
There’s the jealousy. A sudden flare turns Winnie’s vision green. “Who?”
“She’s over there in the sheer dress. Oh, don’t—”
Panic brightens Harper’s eyes, only prompting Winnie to turn faster.
Victoria is utterly gorgeous—sleek black hair, alluring brown eyes, legs for days—but that’s not what stops Winnie’s heart.
It’s the sight of Tyler standing next to her, a smile on his lips as he offers her his arm.
They look beautiful together. He’s all rugged, dashing manliness.
She’s all feminine grace. Her hips actually sway as he leads her across the room.
It’s hard not to notice, especially because she’s wearing glorified lingerie, not that Winnie’s bitter.
Okay, yes, she’s extremely bitter.
But it’s not because the girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
It’s because she’s the type of girl who belongs on Tyler’s arm.
The type of girl who, when flashed on the jumbotron, would cause everyone in the arena to collectively think, Yeah, that makes sense.
The type of girl who could stand next to him at the step-and-repeat and draw just as much attention from the cameras as he does.
The type of girl who is Winnie’s complete and total opposite—self-assured and poised, oozing main character energy, definitely not a milkmaid.
Winnie deflates as they disappear through a doorway. She’s never felt like more of a filler in her life—not even a background character, but a prop. The dirty rag being scraped up and down the washing board while the hero carries his spotless princess off into the sunset.
“What does she do?” Winnie asks, her voice hoarse.
“I’m not sure,” Charlotte answers. The sympathy in her tone should be embarrassing, but Winnie is too grateful for it to care. “I’ve only really heard her talk about Tyler.”
“Girl has definitely got her eye on the prize,” Harper adds.
“Yeah,” a voice scoffs. “If the prize is a three-carat diamond.”
They all turn toward the new arrival—a petite brunette with stick-straight hair wearing a deep V-cut burgundy dress. Her golden eyes remain on Victoria for a second longer, before she turns to them with a bright smile, holding up the tray of bubbling flutes she brought with her.
“I’m Cynthia,” she says, then extends her arms a bit. “You looked like you could all use a drink. Want one?”
“Thank you, yes,” Winnie gushes as she reaches for a glass and gulps down a hasty sip, instantly calming as she shifts her focus to the fizz tickling the back of her throat.
“What did you mean before?” Harper asks as she takes her flute. “About the diamond?”
Cynthia waits for Charlotte to grab hers, then puts the tray down and leans in close.
“It’s just the vibe I’m getting. I haven’t spoken to her much, but every conversation seems to be about money.
How big Tyler’s contract is. Who’s going to get the shopping spree date they always do.
What size engagement ring he’ll choose. I don’t know this for sure, but I heard she was a professional cheerleader until she got kicked out for violating the no-fraternization policy.
Now she’s a dance teacher or something like that.
” Cynthia shrugs and sips her champagne.
“Anyway, I don’t want to be a gossip. I’m just trying to find some people I fit in with while I’m here, you know?
And you three seem more my style. I just want to have fun. I hate all that catty bullshit.”
They nod in agreement.
“So what do you do?” Charlotte asks.
“Nothing interesting.” Cynthia snorts with a self-deprecating shake of her head.
“I’m a waitress at the local diner in my hometown.
I’ve been dreaming of getting out of there for as long as I can remember, and this seemed like as good a chance as any.
I’m just hoping to stick around long enough to visit at least one foreign country.
I mean, how cool would that be, right? I still can’t believe I’m here.
I never in a million years thought production would pick me. ”
“Me neither,” Harper replies.
“Me three,” Charlotte chimes in.
They all turn to Winnie. She scrunches up her nose.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I totally did this to myself.”
The four of them collapse into giggles.
Thank god for these girls, Winnie thinks, grateful for the acceptance, for the levity.
Twenty minutes ago she wanted to crawl into a hole and die—and while, yes, that desire isn’t entirely gone, it’s at least alleviated.
The next ten hours of filming will still be torturously long, but at least she won’t have to face them alone.
It’s a bigger gift than she ever hoped to receive, especially as the night drags on and she’s forced to bear witness to Tyler leading one perfect woman after another away.
Winnie doesn’t want it to hurt, but it does.
Every time. The girls notice. How could they not?
But they don’t call her out. They keep it light, keep it fun, telling stories, inventing silly games to pass the time.
They shoot her apologetic looks as Tyler comes to pull them each for a conversation, first Charlotte, then Cynthia, and Harper last. Those moments hurt the most. Not because she’s starting to think of them as friends.
Hell, if it can’t be her, she’d prefer it to be one of them.
At least she knows they’re sweet and amazing and worthy of his love.
No, the extra sting is because he doesn’t say a word to her.
He just stands there, close enough to touch, his gaze fastened on her, his lips sealed, his expression inscrutable and smoldering as he waits for someone else to take his hand.
It’s a relief when the bell for the puzzle ceremony finally chimes, signaling that this hellish night is almost over.
Winnie follows the other girls into a side room where two low sets of bleachers are arranged.
She goes where the producers tell her, moving and shifting from one spot to the other until the crew is pleased with the display.
Thirty-one women, soon to be twenty. Winnie braces for the blow.
He’s not going to call her.
He doesn’t love her.
He never will.
And yet, a pitiful flash of hope still pulses through her when the door swings open and Tyler enters the room.