17. Heidi #3
Max quickly steers me toward the car and holds out his hand for the keys. I drop them into his palm.
“How much of that punch did you have?” he asks, adjusting the driver’s seat.
“Just two.”
He starts the engine. I lean my head back against the headrest. That was intense, but fun in the end.
“You could have warned me,” I say. “I could have worn something nicer.”
“You wouldn’t have come.”
I let out a slow breath, hit by the honesty of it. “True.”
The silence stretches between us.
“What if someone says something?” I ask. “If word gets back to the network before the finale...”
“They won’t.” He reaches across the console, interlacing his fingers with mine.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” I ask, turning to look at him. “Why you stayed up all night watching me? How your brothers knew I was? Why you told everyone I’m your girlfriend?”
He tightens his grip on my hand. “Because you are.”
“Don't I get a say in that?”
“You fit,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Didn't we just prove that? My family is a lot. You didn't just survive them, you liked them. And they liked you.”
“I’m not sure your mother did—”
“Of course she did. That’s just her way.”
I look down at our hands. I don’t know where this sudden need to lock things down has come from, but it feels reckless.
“Max, what’s going on?”
He doesn't answer and I take a breath.
“You know what I like about us. We’re honest. I mean we’re not doing an honest thing, but we’re honest with each other.”
His jaw pulses.
“I know about Miles, alright? He’s not right for you, and I need you to see that.”
“Miles? From work?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Season two wrap party,” he says. “Word is you couldn't keep your hands off him.”
“What?” The shock makes my voice thin. I rack my brain, trying to find a single moment that could have been twisted. There was one quick, professional goodbye hug, but I hugged almost everyone that night. “Who told you this?”
“He did. Said you’ve been rubbing up against him lately, too.” Max stares at me as we take a sharp bend.
“Watch the road,” I say, my heart racing. He looks back at the road, but his jaw is still set. “Max, I don’t like Miles. I haven't been rubbing against anyone but you. Why the hell would he say that?”
He doesn’t answer, but his hands are tight on the wheel. He actually believes it—or he’s insecure enough that the lie is making him crazy. I slide my hand onto his lap, gripping his thigh.
“Why on earth would I even look at Miles when I’m with you?”
Max relaxes slightly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. “That’s what I thought,” he says. “But he’s into all the film stuff. I don't know about any of that.”
“Miles is also into following half-naked influencers online and listening to podcasts about becoming a high-value man,” I say, my fingers tightening on the grab handle as Max banks into a sharp curve. “And I bet he can’t take a corner half as fast as you.”
Max slows the car down to a reasonable speed. His hand slides over mine on his lap.
“Then let’s make it official,” he says. “Problem solved.”
He makes it sound so easy. But a label changes everything. Right now I’m sleeping with the talent. That’s bad enough, but being his girlfriend is worse. It turns an unprofessional mistake into a conflict of interest and makes every decision I’ve made on this show look suspect.
If the network or the audience finds out, I’m not just unprofessional. I’m a fraud who rigged a multi-million-dollar production for my boyfriend.
I wish he could see that.
“Look,” I say carefully, “this only works because it’s private.”
Max lets out a short laugh that isn’t amused. “So that’s the plan? We keep sneaking around and pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”
“It’s not pretending. It’s just…contained. When filming’s over, maybe we can figure out what this is.”
His jaw tightens. “Maybe.”
“I’m just trying to protect the show—and my career—”
“And what about me?” he snaps.
I don’t answer. I stare down at the footwell.
Max shakes his head. “You know what? I’m done playing this game. I’m not going to be your secret until it’s convenient.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then prove it.” He turns to face me. “Commit. Or we’re done.”
“You’re seriously giving me an ultimatum right now?”
“If you can’t say you’re mine, then this”—he gestures sharply between us—“ends here.”
“If that’s what you want,” I say. “Then we’re done.”
Max just stares at me for a second, like he didn’t expect that answer.
I don’t say anything else. I keep my eyes on the road ahead. I can’t do this right now. I have an elimination to run tonight and a hundred other things demanding my attention.
The rest of the drive passes in suffocating silence. I glance at him once from the corner of my eye. His jaw is tight, his focus fixed straight ahead.
When we pull up to the mansion, I’m reaching for the door handle before the engine has even cut.
“Heidi—” Max’s voice is softer now, but I don’t give him the chance to finish.
I climb out and head straight for the house without looking back.