Chapter 27 Winnie
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
winnie
“Um, excuse me?” Winnie clears her throat in the thick silence of the car, trying to catch the producer’s attention, but the girl’s black curls hang in front of her face like a curtain. “Rita? Are we lost?”
“No.” Rita hastily types something, not bothering to glance up from her phone.
Winnie wrings her fingers in her lap for the thousandth time.
“It’s just we’ve been driving around for what feels like hours.
I mean, I don’t know, because you guys took my watch weeks ago and I can’t see the clock, but I’m pretty sure we’ve driven by that building up ahead like three times, and it sort of feels like we’re going in circles, so I just thought I’d check… ”
“I know exactly where we are,” Rita says, finally looking up.
Her bloodred lips are pursed, light brown eyes scrutinizing behind the lenses of her dark-rimmed glasses.
Winnie’s a bit jealous. She would’ve worn hers if she’d known it was going to take so long to get to the puzzle ceremony, but contacts matched her formal vibe a little better.
They’re itchy as hell though—a fact Rita seems to notice.
“Your eyes are red. Do you want some drops?”
Winnie perks up. “Oh, do you have any?”
“Yeah.” The producer rummages through her bag. The little vial she retrieves doesn’t have a label, but drops are drops, right? “Lean back.”
Winnie obliges. From the corner of her eye, she sees the camera light blink red. They’re filming again—why? Before she has a chance to ask, Rita squirts what feels like a gallon of liquid into her eyes.
“What the hell?” Winnie sputters, trying to sit up.
“One sec,” Rita mutters and grabs her head, hitting the other eye, too.
“Ow! What the fuck?” Winnie pushes the producer off, blinking through the onslaught as her entire world blurs. Water spills down her cheeks.
There goes my makeup.
She practically growls as she rubs at her eyes, trying to clear them, sure her mascara is now thoroughly smudged all over her face.
“Sorry, did I hurt you?” Rita asks innocently.
“Yeah, it hurts,” Winnie snaps. “Of course, it hurts.”
“Was it too much?”
“Yes, it was too much. Have you ever used eye drops before, you lunatic? That was too freaking much.”
“I thought you could handle it.”
“Handle it? No one could handle that. I feel attacked, right now.”
“So you want to leave?”
“Yes, I want to leave. I want to get out of this car and go find Tyler and never look back. Are we almost at the puzzle ceremony?”
“We’re not going to the puzzle ceremony.”
“What?” Winnie squeezes her eyes together, forcing the last of the blur away as she meets Rita’s emotionless brown eyes. The girl has never looked more like Nina in her life. A heavy weight drops coldly down Winnie’s sternum as her heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Uldwyna Rusu, I’m sorry to inform you that pursuant to Article Twenty-Five of the contract, you have hereby been dismissed from the set of The Love Match, effective immediately.”
“Huh?”
“Did you or did you not sneak out of your hotel room to meet with Tyler without informing your handler first?”
Winnie shakes her head, still not understanding.
“In Iceland?” Rita clarifies, lifting her brows expectantly.
“But that was weeks ago,” Winnie blurts. “And you guys saw us!”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re in breach of contract and it is entirely within our rights to dismiss you.”
“But…I don’t understand…” She sputters, her pulse thundering too loudly for her to think. Dismiss? Effective immediately? “What are you going to tell Tyler? What about the end of the show? Why—”
She stops cold.
Her stomach flips.
The drops. The tears. The red blinking light signaling the camera is recording.
Horror tightens her throat as she remembers that hard look in Nina’s eye yesterday during the non-confrontation with Cynthia.
I should’ve known better, she curses internally. I should’ve known they’d get their drama one way or another. I should’ve just yelled and screamed and done exactly what they wanted.
But she didn’t. And this is so much worse.
What did I just say to Rita?
Yeah, it hurts. Of course it hurts. It was too much. That was too freaking much. I feel attacked. No one could handle that. I want to leave. I want to get out of this car and never look back.
God, I’m an idiot.
Rita practically fed her the lines, but Winnie was the sucker who fell for it, and now Tyler is going to pay the price. They’re going to tell him she left. They’re going to say that the confrontation with Cynthia pushed her over the edge. They’re going to make it seem as if she ran.
“You can’t do this,” Winnie begs, putting her ego to the side because she knows how much this will hurt him—how much it will break him. “Please, you don’t understand. This is his worst fear. You can’t do this to him. You can’t—”
“We’re here,” Rita interrupts as the car comes to a sudden stop.
“This isn’t a fucking game!” Winnie shouts, desperately grabbing at the girl’s shoulders. “This is his life! It’s my life. We love each other. Why won’t you people just stop trying to break us apart?”
“If he loves you, he’ll see through it.” Rita shrugs her off, unmoved.
“And even if he doesn’t, filming ends in three days, so you can call him to explain.
That’s not really my problem. My problem is making sure you get out of this car right now.
Here’s a ticket. Your bags are in the trunk.
Your flight leaves in about thirty-five minutes, and I should probably tell you that we’re only contractually obligated to pay for one.
So if you don’t want to buy a ticket home with your own money, you should get a move on.
Oh, and Nina told me to mention, if you return to the hotel or try to interfere with filming in any way, we are prepared to sue you into oblivion for breach of contract.
I hope you have a safe trip. Now get out of my car. ”
Rita reaches past her for the handle and throws open the door. Winnie stares blankly at the airline sign, the automatic doors, the flashes of the terminal revealed every time someone wheels a bag inside.
“Thirty-four minutes,” Rita tuts from behind.
Winnie swallows, still stuck, still torn, caught in the cyclone as she tries to figure out a way out of this mess. But there isn’t one.
“Thirty-three minutes.”
“Shit!”
Winnie jumps out of the car. The driver already removed her luggage, so she just grabs it and goes.
Tyler will have to wait. Three days isn’t that long.
She’ll call. She’ll leave messages. He’ll understand when she explains it’s not her fault—won’t he?
The phrase sue you into oblivion keeps flashing like a neon sign inside her brain.
She just quit her job, moved back into her parents’ house, and decided to go full steam ahead with her freelance business.
When it comes down to it, she doesn’t have the time or the bandwidth to knock heads with a major entertainment corporation, not even for Tyler.
She wants to be done with the show, not tied together even longer through legal drama.
She just has to have faith that Ty will get it.
He might be pissed, but three days is three days.
She waited twelve years for him to finally kiss her.
He can wait seventy-two hours to keep her out of litigation hell.
The camera guy is probably having a field day with this, Winnie can’t help but think as she races through the automatic doors, reeking of desperation in her floor-length emerald gown, stiletto heels, and tearstained cheeks.
It’s definitely not an everyday occurrence, and the crowd parts as people turn to gape.
But it works in her favor. She’s ushered to the front of the check-in line, the sobs in her throat all too real now, as she digs through her bag in search of her wallet while trying to keep the incoming panic attack at bay.
The woman behind the counter is a freaking saint.
After she scans Winnie’s suitcase, she calls the flight crew to let them know Winnie is coming and calls someone over to escort her to the front of the security line.
Then it’s a mad dash through the terminal to find her gate.
The flight is already on final boarding when she skids to a halt in front of the counter, panting and out of breath with aching feet and an even more aching heart.
It’s not until she squeezes into her—of course—middle seat that it even dawns on her that she’s about to spend the next six hours braless in a ball gown being held in place with very questionable boob tape.
Fuck my life.
She groans and reaches for the carry-on Rita put together. When she locates her phone, it’s completely dead after six weeks without use. She plugs it into the seat outlet before continuing to rummage.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Yes!
She spots a pair of leggings and her so-well-loved-it’s-practically-threadbare Velaris spirit shirt.
Something heavy thunks to the floor as she yanks them out.
Curious, Winnie reaches down and her fingers brush against the familiar edge of a book spine.
She eagerly retrieves the paperback, pausing when she spots the message taped to the front.
You’re stronger than I gave you credit for—and that’s not a mistake I make very often. Consider this my official IOU for one happily ever after. Don’t worry. I always pay my debts.
There’s no signature, but Winnie knows who it’s from.
Nina.
Happily ever after, my ass.