9. Heidi
HEIDI
The next morning, I’m on edge. I told Miles it’s because the fourth cut is approaching and the network is breathing down our necks. It’s a convincing lie. The real reason? I’m terrified Max is going to tell everyone we crossed a line.
I’m at the bottom of the stairs, coaching Molly through her next confessional.
“Morning,” Max says as he saunters past. He catches my eye and winks.
I look away immediately, nodding along to whatever Molly is complaining about—lighting, the coffee, the other girls. I’m not really listening.
“Heidi,” Molly whispers, her voice dropping. “Did he just wink at you?”
“No,” I say, too fast. “He winked at you. He told me he finds your pageant stories fascinating.”
“I didn’t think he was really listening,” she muses, distracted.
I track Max as he weaves through the cables, heading straight for the control room. A cold spike of fear hits me. There is no reason for him to be in there unless he’s planning to blow up my career.
“I’ll go talk to him about that,” I mutter.
I ditch Molly and sprint after him, pulling alongside him just as he reaches the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.
“I want to see last night’s cut.” He doesn’t stop, his hand already on the handle.
“You don’t get to see the edit, Max. It’s against the rules.”
“I think you’ll make an exception.” He leans in, his voice dropping into that low register that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “I just want to do a good job. To do that I need to see what I’m working with.”
I shake my head.
“We’re on the same team, Freckles.”
“We are not on a team—”
He tilts his head. “Team Carter has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Hard pass on anything named after you.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “You didn’t look like you were passing on anything last night.”
Before I can stop him, he pushes the door open and strolls in. I have no choice but to follow him into the dim light of the edit bay.
“Knock, knock,” Max says, his voice breezy as he greets Miles. “Thought I’d have a quick look. Heidi mentioned it might help—seeing how I’m coming off.”
Miles pauses the timeline, glancing at me. “That’s news to me.”
Max leans against the back of my chair. “Heidi and I talked about it last night...during our breath-work session.”
My stomach drops.
“Breath-work?” Miles asks, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
“He was having a meltdown about his performance,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I had to spend some time calming him down.”
“If anything, your techniques just got me more worked up,” Max murmurs.
He’s going to keep pushing until I fold.
Fine.
“Let’s just watch the cut.” I sink into my chair, shooting Max a lethal glare.
He doesn’t move away. He stands directly behind me, his hands resting on the back of the chair. Then his fingers graze against my back.
The footage rolls. On screen, Max is charming and relaxed, looking completely into Grace.
“Looking good,” Max says, nodding at his own image. “Might need more nudity, though. What do you think, Heidi? More abs to get the ladies excited?”
I don’t look at him. “Sure. Whatever.”
We watch the footage in silence until the screen cuts to black—the placeholder for the elimination. Miles turns in his chair, looking at me, then at Max.
“So, who’s going home tonight?”
Max’s fingers still graze my back, light enough to miss if you weren’t looking. I pray Miles doesn’t notice.
“Heidi’s the boss,” Max says. “Your call.”
“Penelope,” I reply instantly. It’s supposed to be up to him, but since he’s asking…
He considers it for a beat, then nods. “Penelope it is.”
I turn and look at him. Despite that breath-work nonsense, he hasn’t mentioned the kiss, and for once, he’s cooperating. I take the opening.
“I was thinking we’d do a one-on-one with Grace after,” I say. “Frame it as her being shaken by the elimination. Maybe end the episode with a kiss.”
“A kiss,” Max repeats. He doesn’t just say the word; he tastes it. He looks at my mouth, and for a terrifying second, I’m sure Miles can hear my heart thudding. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Max moves toward the door. Once it clicks shut, Miles turns to me, brow furrowed. “What was that? Did you bribe him?”
“I threatened him,” I say, my voice dry. “I told him if he didn’t fall in line, I’d start using wide-angle lenses for all his close-ups and edit him to look ten pounds heavier.”
Miles laughs, leaning back. “Well, whatever you said, keep doing it. He looks like a man who finally found a reason to show up to work.”
I nod, pretending to study todays schedule, even though the ink on the page is nothing but a blur.
Max is in his element tonight. I watch him work the room like he’s the one running the show.
He has Sarah from wardrobe—fifty and happily married—giggling like a teenager while he gives her his undivided attention.
It isn’t just her. He’s doing the same to the PAs, the sound techs, and even the grumpy caterers.
He moves through the crowd with an easy energy that makes everyone feel like they’re the only person who matters.
It’s a performance, and he’s good at it.
He even handled Penelope’s elimination with that same easy grace, letting her down so gently she didn’t even put up a fight.
She actually took it well. By the time she hit her exit interview, she’d already flipped the narrative, claiming she wasn’t vibing with him.
Even though every frame of our footage is of her practically throwing herself at his feet.
Once the driveway is empty, I find Grace and go over the plan. The setup is simple: Grace is homesick, and Max has to convince her to stay.
We get rolling and Grace delivers. She’s soft and vulnerable, her hands resting on Max’s chest. But Max? He’s a statue. His lines are technically perfect but his voice is cold and his eyes are vacant. He’s looking through her.
“Cut,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Let’s go again. Max, can you give us something?”
We try again. It’s worse. Grace is giving it her all, but Max is a total flatline. I don’t get it—he was a natural all day.
“Take five, everyone,” I announce, frustration bubbling over. “Max, a word.”
I lead him across the lawn toward the equipment shed. It’s dark inside and smells of dust, lit only by the silver-blue ripples of the pool reflecting through the high window. I slam the door behind us, the sound echoing off the metal walls.
“You’re saying the words, but they aren’t landing. The audience is going to see right through you. I’m the one who has to explain why our lead looks like he’s bored and checking a clock when he’s supposed to be falling in love.”
“You want me to fake sincerity better?” He says, crossing his arms. “Got it. I’ll dial up the puppy-dog eyes for the next take.”
“I don’t want a performance,” I say, my voice tightening. “I want you to actually care about the woman you’re supposed to be falling for. Just for thirty seconds. Can you manage that?”
Max rubs a hand down his face.
“There’s only one person here I care about. It’s not Grace.”
He closes the gap between us.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Do not say that.”
“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”
“Max, listen to me,” I say, stepping back. “This is a pressure cooker. The long nights, the isolation…it’s designed to create a vacuum. It makes you feel things that aren’t real. It’s just proximity and adrenaline.”
“I don’t think it is. And I think you feel it, too.”
He moves then.
Before I can draw a breath, his mouth is on mine, rough and insistent. I gasp at the shock of it, and he swallows the sound whole, backing me into the metal wall until there’s nowhere left to go. My hands, which should push him away, fist in his shirt instead.
He spins me in one fluid motion. My palms hit the cold metal. His chest pins my spine. One hand clamps my hip while the other slides down the front of my trousers, past silk, past everything, until his fingers find exactly what they’re looking for.
My breath stutters and my knees nearly buckle as he finds me already slick. I bite back a moan.
He trails a row of hot kisses down the side of my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. “You tell yourself it’s not right,” he whispers against my ear, his fingers moving with a slow, agonizing rhythm. “But the second I touch you, it’s the most honest thing in this house.”
He presses in closer, letting me feel the hard length of him against my stomach. “I could put you out of your misery,” he says. “I could take you right here and make you forget your own name. But...”
He steps back abruptly, his hands leaving my skin. I feel the cold air hit me. “We have that scene to finish. So, I’ll come by later.”
Max adjusts his trousers, smooths his hair, and walks out the door without looking back. I stay pinned against the wall for a long minute, my skin still buzzing and my legs too heavy to move.
By the time I’ve straightened my clothes and managed to walk back to the set, Max is already standing with Grace. He looks perfectly composed, as if the last few minutes in the dark never happened.
“Sorry about that,” he tells the crew with a charming, easy smile. He catches my eye for a split second. “Just had to get my head in the right space. Whenever you’re ready, boss.”
“Let’s roll,” I say, the word coming out faster than I intended.
My heart is still hammering against my ribs, and I can feel the heat from the shed clinging to my skin. I keep my head down, staring at the monitor until the images blur.
Max steps into the light, his expression smoothing into that perfect, romantic lead persona. He’s a professional again, while I’m just trying to remember how to breathe.
He turns to Grace, and his eyes soften instantly. His hands rise to her face like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held. The transformation is perfect.
“Don’t go,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because it’s real with you.”
Then he kisses her. It isn’t the rough kiss he just gave me in the dark. It’s a proper movie-star kiss. Deep and perfect.
Grace suddenly shoves him back, her cheeks bright red. “Don’t kiss me like that! My father is going to see this!” She storms off toward the house.
“Cut!” I call, clicking my walkie-talkie. “Can you work with that, Miles?”
“Yeah, we got it.”
“That’s a wrap, everyone.”
I abandon the set without a word and don’t stop moving until I’m inside my room.