20. 18.
18.
Sebastian
I’m sent back to my hotel by the end of our week off. I never wanted to do anything less than drag my arse back to the sterile halls of a hotel, but Callie says it’s for the best.
During the week she tried to withdraw to herself several times, but I was determined not to let it happen. I can't have her pretending this never happened.
We are happening. We are now and not even her fear – as justified as it is – can stop this. I distract her with all the inventive ways I have in my arsenal and all the things I wanted to do since I laid my eyes on her. But eventually, the days go by and the shadow above us only grows.
We are going back to the mansion.
I need to finish this game I signed up for. I need to choose between three women, and none of them is Callie.
Our kiss before I leave her apartment is desperate. She clings to me, taking my shirt in her hands, biting my lip like she needs to brand me to make me hers.
I raise her chin with my finger. “This is not the end. This is our beginning.”
She nods, then shakes her head like she’s shaking the feelings off. “I’m being silly, I guess.”
Callie escapes my finger, her eyes cast down as she does her best to ignore the voices in her head.
“I’ll always come for you, Callie.” I try to make her understand. “Nothing in the world can’t stop me from being with you, you get that?”
I know those are big words and might even feel displaced in the hall of the America’s worst apartment building. I mean them, though.
She looks at me from under her eyelashes, her eyes shining, and I know she wants to believe me. I don't know if she can. I insist anyway.
“Love, listen to my words carefully. I wanted to find you, and I did. And it might look like a mess right now, but there’s nothing in the world that can stop this from happening. The only person who can take me from you is you. Are you going to ask me to fuck off?”
I smirk, and she snorts, shaking her head. I hate how vulnerable she looks at this moment. Callie is all strength, but right there she looks like a scared little girl. I miss my sassy woman.
“Nothing. Get me? No one.”
“We finish this season and then we'll–”
“We’ll be together.” I reinforce, “We’ll be together. No contracts.”
Her small smile is watery, but I get a gentle kiss on my lips before I leave.
The next day, I slid into the town car from my hotel to the mansion. Again, we are starting at an ungodly hour. The sun hasn’t risen yet and the streets are surprisingly empty. I don’t think about anything but Callie.
Finish this damn show. Abby, Maya, or Vera.
Long were the days the network insisted on releasing it slowly, an episode a week. Eleven years ago, The Final Rose was a weekly ordeal like any show, but today it’s all about binging. The thirteen episodes will be released in three blocks and then the reunion separately.
It’s probably stressful for everyone involved, but to me it’s fantastic. It means I won’t need to wait months and months holding the finale’s secret. The contract only stated I needed to hold my social media for the first week of release.
Soon, I’ll be free.
Just one more week of dates. One finale. We just need to hold as the show is edited and then it’s done.
When I arrive at the mansion, I open the door to come face-to-face with one of the assistants. He has a clipboard and a closed expression. Something tells me even though it’s still dark outside, this man was up hours ago.
“Anya is calling for you.” He delivers robotically.
I fix my cufflinks, so I have a way to deal with my nervousness. I want to be done with this already. Talking to Callie’s boss is the last thing I need.
I give the assistant a stiff nod, and he turns on his heels. I understand I am to follow.
The first floor is exactly the way I remember. Lights, cameras, and so many people. They bring flowers and fix things I would never know needed fixing. Something I learned after all this time with a filming crew is that chaos is never chaos. They have a way to move, a procedure to their madness. It’s magical to see. The mansion now is bubbling with life, but it will turn into a dream when the cameras are on.
We climb the stairs to the most remote part of the mansion, away from where the girls sleep and other parts that are used to film. I’ve never been here. It’s only used by the crew.
The assistant knocks at the door and I hear Anya barking acceptance from the other side. He swings the door open but makes no move to enter with me. It’s a bad sign how reluctant he is. I look at him for just a second, but his eyes are cast down.
He’s throwing me with the lions.
A very pissed off lioness.
I can tell she’s angry from the moment my eyes land on Anya. Her mouth is closed in a line. She looks at me so furiously, I almost miss that in front of her is… Callie.
My blood turns to ice at the same time as the door clicks close behind me. I try to remember everything that it is to be a Riggs.
Never show weakness.
Never look rattled.
Always be pleasant.
Never kneel.
I dip my chin toward the woman. “You asked for me?”
She doesn’t reply. Her eyes dissect me, pin me in place. With a tired sigh, I adjust my cuffs again, trying my best to look unconcerned.
“Any problems with the schedule?”
Anya snorts, so sarcastically my eyes jump to Callie, who I was trying to ignore until now. But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking ahead, her eyes huge pools of warm brown.
“I’m not someone to keep the mystery, I guess.” With that, she puts a tablet on the table directly in front of Callie.
It’s my voice I hear first.
“I’m sorry you’re so stressed, love.”
All my blood leaves my body. My fingers flex and the image comes into focus. I can barely make out our features, but it’s us. The video was taken from behind. At times, part of my nose or Callie’s cheeks are visible from the gap between the seats.
But our voices are clear, and while we say nothing specific, it’s clear something is going on. I can hear my desperation, my love in every word I say to her.
Finally, I put the last nail in my coffin.
In our coffins.
“You know I’m going to take care of you, right? I won’t let anything happen. I won’t destroy your career.”
I don’t know if the video keeps going, but Anya decides it’s enough.
“He will destroy your career.” It’s the first thing she says, her eyes glued to Callie.
My girl’s gaze is still on the tablet. I see her working in a lump in her throat and my heart shreds to bits with her suffering.
“Who showed you this?” I finally ask.
“Does it matter?”
No, not really. But I don’t have any other words.
“This ends now.” She starts again. “Whoever sent it isn't a concern.”
“You can’t make decisions about our lives.” I’m saying before I can stop myself. “We won’t be together until the end of –”
She interrupts, her eyes filled with ice when they look at me. “Callie is talented. She’s a hard worker, and she has a future. This,” she pokes at the tablet, “will destroy her reputation. She will always be the producer who slept with the Eligible. Who will hire the producer who destroyed her own show?”
Callie hiccups and I find myself going to her. Going down to my knees, I try to find her eyes, but they are still frozen looking at the tablet. It's like we are not even here. If it wasn’t for the hiccup, I’d assume she wasn’t listening.
“Callie, I won’t let this happen. I won’t, I promised you.”
“You can’t protect her. Not in this. Not in this damn industry.”
“I can bloody try!” I roar to the producer when Callie shows no reaction.
“I have worked in this town for the last thirty years. I’ve seen women being blacklisted for less.”
I scowl, rising to my feet. “I will fulfill the contract. I will finish the season and wait until it’s aired. The Final Rose can’t have a hold on me forever.”
“No. It has a hold on her . You can walk free.” She waves her hand like it’s my fault. Like I would put Callie in this situation.
“You’ll stain her name.”
“I will protect Callie–”
I don't have a chance to finish. “Walk away. This is her job. This is her life. There’s no way to come out of this without repercussions. Not for her. Unless you secretly own a network and are ready to employ her.”
I swallow dry and look down at Callie. I would never have thought I could talk around her like this. Never thought I would see the day she would let two people talk about her like she’s not in the room.
She let us, though. Let us talk and talk and argue about her future.
I want to shake her. I want to ask her to react. I’m begging for her cleverness, but she gives me nothing. I’m falling because I feel like I lost her already.
She was so scared and put her faith in me, but I never came up with anything. I keep promising her career won’t end, but I never explain how I am going to prevent that.
Anya is right. I don’t own a network. I can’t grease the hands of everyone in Hollywood to look the other way. My name is everywhere The Final Rose is concerned, my face in every teaser. I am the Eligible who is supposed to fall in love with one of the contestants and, while sure, they can’t force me to fall in love, dating a producer is a completely different ball game.
“We can wait.” I don’t like the begging quality of my voice. “It won’t be weird if we get together in a year. It won’t end her career.”
Anya shrugs. “You’re right. It might be ok. But for now, you need to back off.”
“That’s not of your business--”
“Anya is right.”
It comes like a dagger firmly put in my heart. It breaks skin; it goes deep into my flesh. Callie’s voice is raw, so low we could almost miss. But it’s there. And she’s killing me.
“Someone was watching us. Someone noticed something and recorded us…” She licks her lips and swallows. “If someone here did this, I don’t see how we could hide.”
For the first time, Callie moves. She takes her eyes off the tablet and her gaze ping-pongs from Anya to me.
“We can’t hide anything from anyone for a year. Paparazzi will be on top of you after the season, everyone will try to figure out if you’re still with the winner.”
Anya nods. “Right after the season is when the media is relentless. And you have the reunion to worry about too. People are invested. The first few months you won’t have a life. Not a private one.”
“I can say it didn’t work with the winner. I don’t need–”
“They will find out,” Callie says again. “They always do. And then it will be our pictures everywhere. Then there will be speculation. This... It’s not just my job.” She looks at me finally, her eyes swarming with tears. “My family will hear what people are saying. I will lose my job. I will never find a job in this town again. I can’t help my parents with the house, I…”
A tear falls and I squeeze my eyes shut. It's over.
There’s too much in the line for her and I’m giving her nothing concrete. I’m asking her to throw it all in the wind after just a week of sex.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s what it was. Months of longing and a week of sex.
“We were living on borrowed time,” Callie tells me. “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”
A beat of silence goes by. I can’t stop looking at her. And then Anya is talking like my heart isn’t breaking in front of her.
“The season will continue. You’ll choose Vera.”
I don’t care, but it’s Callie’s eyes that whip toward the woman, a questioning gaze.
“Screen tests say she’s the favorite.” Anya shrugs. “If it’s all the same to him, why don’t we give what people want?”
Callie nods, agreeing with the madness. To my surprise, she licks her lip and adds, “Get that porch space with the candles for their last date. It’s the most romantic of the locations.”
Anya nods. “I thought the same.”
I want to scream.
I don’t want to have dates with anyone but Callie. I need to shout at the absurdity of this conversation. To tell the world that reality shows are a sham. To just yell in fury to the wind.
I don’t do it, though. I stay there; I listen and agree with them because, after all, it’s not a sham.
I fell in love during The Final Rose.
But I shouldn’t have.