Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I mean,” she says with a wince, “Fizzy isn’t wrong. You’re just as hot as any of the Heroes—in a totally objective, still-my-superior-at-work kind of way, of course. And you two have chemistry.”
I motion to her. “Give this woman a raise.”
“I—” Connor says, but I jump in again, going for the kill.
“You said yourself that you didn’t want the show to be overly produced. Wouldn’t that include editing interviews to look like I’m talking to someone when I’m not? Let’s talk it out for real! Viewers should see me hearing the questions and reacting in real time.”
Connor runs an exasperated hand down his face and then turns his green eyes on me. “All right then. I have my own request.”
“A quid pro quo. I respect it.”
“I was thinking how great it would be if you could talk River into appearing in the first episode. Have him walk the viewers through the science.”
I belt out a laugh. This poor, naive man. “You don’t know River Peña. He’d sooner die.”
“I assumed as much,” he says. “But I also know how persuasive you can be.”
There’s an awkward beat of silence.
“I’m just going to…” Brenna points behind her before heading in the other direction.
I look at Connor again. “River is pretending that none of this is happening. Nobody is that persuasive.”
“Based on personal experience, I disagree.”
Connor gives me a knowing smile, and while I’d like nothing more than to stand around and flirt with him all day, he has a point. “I’m not sure I can convince River to do anything, but a good idea is a good idea. No promises, but I’ll try.”
“Likewise about the confessionals. I can’t promise anything,” he says, and extends a hand for me to shake, “but I’ll try.”
Connor wraps his hand around mine and we shake once… twice… and reluctantly let go. He glances briefly over his shoulder, then back at me. “You good?”
I nod and watch him walk over to Rory to discuss something. Liz comes to find me to ask if there’s anything I need before we wrap for the day. I tell her nothing, but that’s not exactly true. What I need is for Connor Prince III to do something that makes me not want to be near him every second, and I need him to do it soon.
twenty-four CONNOR
I wake up before sunrise on Tuesday and get a brief shot of professional bliss before dread hits me like a shadow chaser. Yesterday’s shoot was good—brilliant, really—but if I thought watching Fizzy flirt with a bunch of gorgeous, interesting men right in front of me would be difficult, I was only partially right. It was unbearable. And we’ve only just begun.
The truth is, if we thought we were onto something with the guys during the casting call, that awareness was amplified tenfold seeing them on camera with Fizzy. There were a handful of awkward moments, and not everyone clicked, but her chemistry with a couple of them was off the charts, palpable enough to feel all the way in video village, where some of the bigwigs were watching on the monitors. They congratulated me at the end of the day with dollar signs in their eyes, already feeling the tendrils of something great. I should be ecstatic, buoyed by their enthusiasm and plotting how to capitalize on it. And I am.
But I’m also a touch lovesick.
No better way to get my mind off things than exercise. And it’s early enough that I have time to kill even after my run. I call Stevie and test her a bit and wish her good luck on her state capitals test. I’ve just hung up and am walking out the door when my phone rings. Thinking it’s Stevie again, I answer without thinking.
It’s not Stevie.
“Hey, Dad.” I jog down the stairs. “I’m on my way to work. Can I call you back?”
“I just need a minute.”
At the driveway I pause, taking a calming breath. It’s always the same shit: my time isn’t important; his call is urgent. And I know what’s coming. I climb in, the phone connects to Bluetooth, and my father’s voice fills the car. “I talked to Stefania last week, and she mentioned you’re doing reality TV now? That right?” I swear I don’t have to tell anyone anything anymore, because my daughter will always do it for me. I’m also not sure if I’m more annoyed that he’s been stewing about this for a week and is just now asking, or that the last time I talked to him was more than four months ago. I’m glad he has a better relationship with Stevie than he had with me—marginally—but everything with him comes with a cost. “When we spoke you said you were working on another conservation project.”
This isn’t a conversation I want to have with my dad on any morning, certainly not today. “The company is trying out a few new things this year. I’m a part of that.”