13. Heidi
HEIDI
She messaged me late last night.
My post-sex haze disappeared instantly. This can’t be good. Vivian doesn’t do surprise visits unless something’s very wrong.
I spot Max across the lawn, talking to a camera op. It’s been almost a week since we started sleeping together. By day, I watch him play the perfect romantic lead through a monitor. By night, he’s in my bed.
We talk, we laugh, and the sex is so intense it leaves me feeling raw.
I can’t seem to stop it, and to be honest, I haven’t tried.
I just take what I can get in the dark and then bury it deep when the sun comes up.
He hasn’t brought up “us” since that first night; I think he finally gets the idea. It’s a problem for future Heidi.
The crunch of tires on gravel breaks my train of thought. A matte black Range Rover flies up the drive and stops so abruptly the chassis rocks.
The door flings open, and Vivian steps out. She reminds me of a panther—all lean, predatory grace and dangerous energy. With her blunt bob of black hair and a slash of crimson lipstick, she looks less like a network executive and more like a high-fashion editor.
She marches toward me.
“Heidi,” she says. Her voice is crisp, and deceptively melodic. She reaches me and offers a grin that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. She faux-kisses my cheeks—the standard industry greeting—and then turns to take in the set.
“This place is just as decrepit as ever,” she says, her eyes raking over the peeling paint of the mansion.
“Great to see you. Is there a reason for the visit?” I ask. “I just mean things are going well,” I add, trying to soften the edge of the question. “Usually, you only show up when they aren’t.”
“Things are very good. That’s why I’m here.” She offers a predatory smile. “I’d like a sit-down with our lead and our winner. Separately, of course.”
“Regarding?”
“Their wedding special.”
My stomach drops. I feel the blood drain from my face, but I paste on a smile.
“A wedding special?”
“It was an intern, of all people, who pitched it,” she continues. “But it’s a brilliant way to revive the brand. I’m thinking we film in three months, while the sentiment is still fresh.”
“I’m not sure either of them will want to rush into that,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can filter them.
Vivian tilts her head, her gaze cooling. “With the amount of zeros we’re offering, you’d be surprised what people want. I’ll be in the office, send Grace first.”
“Sure,” I nod, my throat tight.
I pace the hallway while they’re inside. I’d assumed I’d be part of the sit-down, but Grace had looked at me as if I were overstepping before closing the door firmly in my face.
I’m left standing out here like an assistant. It’s only been ten minutes, but it feels like an hour of listening to the muffled conversation.
When the door finally opens, Grace struts out. She catches me leaning against the opposite wall, and her smile is pure, unfiltered smugness. She walks past me without a word.
A few seconds later, Max rounds the corner.
“What’s this about?” he asks, stopping in front of me.
I gesture toward the door, the words wedding special sticking in my throat. I can’t bring myself to say them.
“Coming?” he asks, tilting his head toward the office.
“I’m not sure I should—”
He reaches out, his hand wrapping firmly around my arm, and pulls me inside with him. The contact is brief, but in this hallway, with Vivian ten feet away, it feels like we’ve crossed a line.
Max lets go the second we step through the door, moving into the room with a confidence that fills the space.
“Vivian, is it?” he says.
He stands over the desk, forcing Vivian to look up at him. It’s the first time I’ve seen anyone treat her like a person instead of a deity, and for a split second, she actually looks intrigued. She gestures for him to sit.
She doesn’t even look at me. Her gaze is locked on Max, her hand dismissively waving toward the exit.
“You don’t need to be here, Heidi,” she says.
“Actually, I’d prefer she stayed.”
Vivian’s lips twitch. She relents with a tiny shrug and turns her focus back to the pitch.
“Fine. Let’s be blunt. We want to take The One beyond the finale. We’re green-lighting a wedding special. Three months post-wrap, high-production, massive global syndication.”
“A wedding?” Max says. “I don’t even know her favorite color and you’re booking a priest?”
“I’m booking the biggest television event of the year,” Vivian counters. “You want to be a household name? This is how you do it.”
“I’m already a household name,” Max says. “And I’m not interested.”
I’ve seen Vivian handle defiance before. She doesn’t argue; she eviscerates. If Max shuts this down now, she’ll go on a warpath. She’ll dig into his distractions until she finds exactly what is making him so difficult to buy.
“Maybe he just needs time to think about it,” I interject, stepping forward.
Vivian’s gaze shifts to me. I keep my face a mask of professional neutrality. If she senses even a flicker of personal panic, we’re both finished.
“It’s a massive pivot for the show,” I continue, my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest. “And a life-changing decision. We don’t need to lock it in this second. We can take a beat, look at the logistics. Yeah?”
I look at Max, a silent plea for him to play along. Max holds my gaze for a second too long. Then, he gives a short, stiff nod.
“Fine,” he says, his jaw tight. “I guess I can think about it.”
“We need an answer in twenty-four hours,” Vivian says. “There’s a lot to organize.”
We turn to leave, but Vivian stops me.
“Heidi. Stay,” she demands. The command is so sharp it makes me feel like a dog being told to heel. I wait for Max to clear the room before I sit down before her.
“I know I can trust you,” she says. “I can trust you’ll get him to agree, can’t I?”
“I’ll try,” I say.
“‘Try is for amateurs, Heidi. You’ll succeed.” She leans back, her dark hair catching the light. “Do this, and opportunities open up.”
I nod.
“But if he walks away—if you fail to deliver our special—you’re a producer who’s lost control of her set. And we both know what happens to producers who lose control.”
The implication hangs in the air. She doesn’t have to say the word blacklisted.
“I understand,” I say.
“Good.” Vivian’s already looking at her phone, the conversation dismissed. “Make it happen.”
I stand, my legs feeling strangely disconnected from my body, and walk out of the office.
I have twenty-four hours to convince the man I’m falling for to marry someone else, or I can watch every bit of progress I’ve made in this industry disappear.
Later that night, I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling the slow-motion wreck of the afternoon playing on a loop. I’d spent hours watching Max, Colette, and Molly on a date, pretending to be a professional while my career felt like it was being dismantled in real-time.
The activity was pottery. Max was actually decent at it; he shaped a vase that was a little too wide at the bottom, but he looked like a natural getting his hands dirty.
Molly made a lopsided pageant trophy, very on-brand.
Then there was Colette. She sculpted a woman’s figure that was actually beautiful.
My door opens quietly, and Max slips inside. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; he just flops onto the bed beside me.
“There’s my favorite producer,” he says. He leans in, his lips warm as they trace a path along my neck.
I don’t move. I should lean into him, but I’m still hearing Vivian’s voice.
“Max,” I say.
He pulls back just an inch, his eyes searching mine.
“I need you to agree to the wedding special.”
“Come again?”
“I was thinking, you wouldn’t have to get legally married,” I start, the words feeling clumsy and desperate even to my own ears.
“The answer is no,” he says, cutting me off. “We already did this in the office, Heidi. It’s a joke.”
“It’s not a joke to her.” I sit up. “If you don’t agree to this, she’s going to ruin me. She told me as much today. If this wedding special doesn’t happen, I’m done. My career is over.”
Max sits up too, his playful mood evaporating. The warmth in his eyes is replaced by a hard, incredulous stare. “So what are you saying? You want me to agree to marry someone else on television just to save your job?”
“Yes.”
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“I need this,” I snap, my voice rising. “If I get blacklisted now, what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life?”
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, the offer coming out fast and unthinking.
I let out a harsh laugh. “Sure. Perfect plan. I’ll just bank my entire future on the playboy I met a couple of weeks ago.”
He goes still. It’s a quiet, heavy kind of silence that feels worse than an argument. I can see the muscles in his jaw lock.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though the damage is already done. “I just...I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. I’ve missed my nieces’ birthdays, weddings, so many things. If I walk away with nothing now, what was the point of all that?”
He doesn’t reply. He won’t look at me.
“Why don’t we just agree for now?” I suggest, my voice pleading. “We can always find a way to go back on it later. Once the season ends, once the heat is off.”
“Yeah? After they’ve spent millions?” He finally looks at me, his eyes hard. “After they’ve started dropping cash on a venue and a dress? You think Vivian just lets us walk then?”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“We tell them no. We hold the line. We talk them into a different special. Anything else.”
“I’m not sure that’ll work,” I say, my voice trembling. “She’s not looking for a compromise.”
He goes quiet again, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“This is messed up,” he says.
“I know.”
He clenches his jaw. He looks at the door, then back at me, and I see the moment he decides to give in.
“If you need me to do it, I’ll do it,” he says. “But I am not legally marrying her. I’ll put on the show. I’ll play the part. But it isn’t real.”
I nod. “We’ll find a way out,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to promise it.
I can’t stand the weight of this, so I slide my underwear down. An invitation he’d usually take without hesitation.
He doesn’t.
So I pull him into a kiss. He stiffens for half a second before his hands settle on my waist.
“You’re overdressed,” I murmur against his lips.
“Heidi—”
I pull my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor.
He looks at me, but something’s off. His hands stay loose on my hips, like he’s holding back.
I shift, lying back on the bed, opening myself to him. He follows, hovering over me, but it feels wrong. Max always leads. Right now, he’s letting me pull him somewhere he doesn’t want to go.
His body gives him away—he’s hard—but his eyes are guarded and distant. He studies me for a long moment. Then his hand cups my face. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone.
“You just asked me to marry someone else.”
“I know.”
“I can’t—” He stops, swallowing. “I can’t be whoever you need me to be right now.”
The honesty lands hard. Heat floods my face, my body suddenly too exposed, too open.
“I just want you to be you,” I say. I pull him down until his head rests against my chest, my fingers slipping into his hair.
He stays there, holding me too tightly, his grip almost painful.
“We’re going to figure this out,” I whisper.
“There’s a simple solution. But you won’t like it.”
My hand stills. I already know. He wants us to walk. Burn the contracts and disappear.
“Max—”
“I’ve got enough in the bank to handle anything they throw at us,” he says.
“It’s not just about the money. It’s about the years I spent getting here.”
“I’d give up my career for you in a heartbeat.”
“You don’t have a career,” I say. I try to keep my voice soft, but it still comes out sharp.
It’s the truth. He has enough money to live in luxury for the rest of his life. He’s asking me to throw away fifteen years of work for a man I’ve known a few weeks.
We have something. Enough to risk sneaking him into my room. But not enough to let the world see it. Not enough to lose the only thing that’s mine. I’ve already come close to losing my career once. I can’t choose to give it up now. Not even for him.