Copyright © 2025 by Flaming Hearts Press Media LLC

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ISBN: 978-1-963546-24-8

Epigraph

"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight."

—e.e. cummings

Chapter 1

 The Final One-on-One Dinner Date

Nothing fills me with happiness more than knowing this is almost over. I can almost taste the end. The cameras are far enough away to make it seem like this little scene is real—but close enough to remind me it’s all a show. A very stupid reality show, in my opinion.

The show’s called The Final Play. It matches star athletes with the partner of their dreams. That’s all I knew when I signed on. My agent pitched it to me last minute—after one of the original contestants backed out. And now here I am, a contestant vying for the heart of the heartless. Not by choice. Long story—one that starts with bad press and ends with a contract I should’ve read twice.

“Look alive,” Betty, my producer, says through my earpiece.

Her request falls on deaf ears. I’m done. Burned out. Over it. I’ve been here six weeks. And every time Jax Wilde pins a golden rose on me—because he’s supposedly interested—I know he’s just being facetious. A jerk, really.

But Betty’s right—it’s my job to think of something to say. After long, soul-draining conversations with the other nineteen contestants—now down to three, two after tonight—I’ve confirmed I’m the only real actress in the bunch. So it’s my job to act like I like him.

I paste on my fake smile and googly eyes—the ones I’m tired of seeing in the mirror.

Jax Wilde, star wide receiver for the San Diego Bull Sharks, is already glaring at me.

“So, when are you going to say it?” he asks. The corner of his mouth hikes up into an arrogant smirk.

“Say what?” I snap. He’s given me permission to drop the act.

“Thank me for choosing you to sit down for this spread.” He gestures grandly at the table, arms outstretched, as if he’s presenting a royal feast.

I hadn’t even noticed the display—smoked lobster tails, prawns boiled, baked, and fried in crispy batter, crab legs piled high with tangy sauces and mouthwatering sides. You’d think I’d care; I’ve been dreaming of the day I could take myself out somewhere truly fancy—five stars, Michelin chef, the whole deal. But right now, it all barely registers.

I fold my arms. “Did you buy it?”

He leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing to slits. Gorgeous brown eyes, according to the other girls. Me? I barely notice them. Then suddenly, as if possessed by a tornado, he lunges forward.

“Okay, you miserable—” He cuts himself off, but I know what he wants to say.

I lean in too. Our faces nearly meet over the pile of crab legs.

“You mean bitch,” I say for him. “Because I am a bitch—and so are you.”

“Alright, knock it off!” Betty yells in my ear.

And by the look on his face, I can tell Kim—his producer—just chewed him out too.

This always happens when we’re in a scene together.

“You know your lines. Now say them,” Betty says.

I stop glaring and erase every insult from my mind. Straighten my back. Deep breath.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says before I can speak.

Bullshit. He doesn’t think I look beautiful. I’m not even his type—he’s made that painfully clear more than once. And, well, ditto.

This is a romance.

I am the heroine.

I am in love.

I am in awe.

This man is not an asshole.

“Thank you,” slips off my tongue like honey. I barely recognize my own voice. “And look at this delicious food, I…” My mouth freezes mid-sentence as laughter threatens to burst free.

“I…” I try again. My lips quiver. I close my eyes. Don’t laugh, Zara.

“Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather share it with,” I blurt, too fast—and then it happens. I burst out laughing.

Jax shakes his head like I’ve failed not only him, but the crew, the show, and maybe even myself.

“Really?” Betty groans in my ear.

I laugh harder. “But I can think of someone better to share this with. Something, actually. Like that fly buzzing around it.”

“You know what?” Jax shoots to his feet. “I’m out. Bring this shit to my room—I’m eating it alone.” He jabs a finger at me. “And don’t give her any.”

And that makes me laugh even harder.

What a jerk.

Chapter 2

 5 Hours Later

When I returned from our date, Heather and Ashley wanted to hear all about it. The cameras were rolling. I didn’t want to look those poor, sweet airheads in the eyes and lie—but I did.

I told them we had a lovely, tasty dinner of seafood. Too bad I don’t eat seafood, which is why I’m currently inhaling the catered Thai food in the kitchen. Bright-eyed, small-faced Ashley wanted to know if Jax and I kissed. The first words that came to mind were hell no, but instead I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, darling—he’s all yours.”

She lit up like a harvest moon. I was glad to give her that.

Ashley, with her tiny high-pitched voice and Disney-character looks, has been Jax’s favorite from the start. Of course she’s his type. She’s every guy’s type. Bubbly. Men love that word.

“She’s bubbly,” they say, like it’s a personality trait and not just the sound of her laugh echoing in their skulls.

Then I took a plate piled high with carbs and carried it to my room—which, thankfully, I now share with nobody but myself—and ate. With a full belly made from guilt-free gorging (I’ll worry about my diet when I’m back on the set of a real TV show or movie), I went straight to bed.

* * *

Bam, bam, bam...

Someone’s knocking on my door like they’re the cops. The vibration ripples through me, and I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

“Zara?” a familiar voice calls.

“What is she doing here?” I whisper, blinking hard. Maybe I’m dreaming.

“I’m coming in,” she says—and then in walks Anna Park, my agent.

One look at Anna and I feel a wave of resentment. She reeks of the outside world—the place I want to be right now.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, then glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s 11:33 p.m.

Anna is wearing jeans and a Bruins sweatshirt. I’ve never seen her dressed so casually—and she’s been my agent for three years. She looks exhausted. Deep purple digs in under both eyes, and she’s not even trying to hide them. Her neat bob is pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her pale, bloodless face.

I clutch at my rapidly beating heart, convinced I’ve screwed up my comeback after that dinner disaster.

“What’s going on?” I ask, short of breath. Six weeks down the drain because of one bad dinner. Stupid me.

She sighs, long and forceful. “I’ve got some good news,” she says, and I perk up. “And a qualifier of that good news.”

I wrinkle my nose. “A qualifier?”

“Heather’s been sent home. It was filmed. That was the deal with the dinner. Jax had to choose between you and her.”

“Dinner was a disaster. He should’ve sent me home, not Heather.” I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “He knows he’s getting under my skin.”

Anna grunts like I’ve said the wrong thing, then folds her arms.

“Didn’t you hear me say I have good news? Heather is gone, and you’re a finalist for a reason, Zara. You haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Figured out what?”

This time, her arms drop like the weight of her entire day just sank into the floor.

“You have five million new followers on social media since this gig,” she says. “And you’ve been cast as the sister in a new Rowan TV series called Next In Line. It’s kind of like Succession, but grittier. It’s a major role.”

My jaw drops. I want to scream with joy—but the way she delivers the news, so dryly, makes me pause.

I square my shoulders. “Okay… what else?”

There’s a look in Anna’s eyes I don’t trust. I’ve seen it before. She’s thinking. Or rather—trying to outthink me.

“Zara…” she says, walking over and sitting beside me on the rock-hard bed. “I barely inked this deal for you. We’re back, but you did not make this easy. And I don’t want you ruining it. So go to wardrobe, get your makeup on, and play your part. It’s time for the final pin.”

Silence falls. I’m still confused.

“Is that the qualifier?” I ask. “I mean… after tonight, this is over, right?”

Her lips curl into a big smile.

“Indeed it is. So…” — she pauses — “I want you to have all the right reactions. Got it? Your future depends on it.”

Chapter 3

 1 Hour Later

The scene is bustling. Crew members, as tired as usual, move around setting up lights, cameras, and set pieces. I can’t take my eyes off the final pins. Something about Anna’s visit still doesn’t sit right with me.

I turn to her—she’s still here, on set, locked in deep conversation with Betty. Neither of them looks my way, even when I try to catch their eyes.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Ashley says sweetly.

I jump, startled. I didn’t hear her walk up beside me. When I finally pull my attention away from Pinky and the Brain across the room—plotting something about me—and look at Ashley, I nearly gasp.

She’s devastatingly beautiful tonight. No wonder Jax’s been crushing on her since day one. I mean, she looks like a Disney princess.

We hug. Her body is so delicate in my arms, like she might break.

“Me too,” I say. “If you ever need to send an SOS to escape the catastrophe about to go down, I’ll be your knightess in shining armor.”

“Oh, Zara,” she chuckles softly. “He’s not that bad. You just don’t like him for some reason. It’s odd.”

I open my mouth to defend myself point by point, but… what’s the point, at this juncture?

This ridiculous show is almost over.

We’re in our pretty gowns, faces full of makeup, itchy extensions reattached to our scalps. I just can’t see the logic in Jax choosing me, so I won’t ruin what should be a fabulous night—for Ashley—when he picks her, and I can finally go home, soak in my tub, and sleep in my own bed.

That’s all Anna wants from me—just the right reaction to the final pinning. I get it. I’ll play along. I’ll clap and cry and hug Ashley. I’ll shake Jax’s hand and say, Well done.

No…

I have to look like I’ve lost. Like I’m disappointed by the outcome.

I’ll hug him. Loosely. I don’t want his body on mine for too long. And when I’m asked how I feel, I’ll say, “Hurt, of course, but I always knew she was the one.” That’s what a girl’s girl would say. And I’ve worked hard to establish myself as one of those.

“You okay?” Ashley asks.

She looks genuinely concerned. While my thoughts were racing, I’d been standing here looking completely stupefied.

I close my mouth and force a smile that gradually becomes real as fantasies of freedom start to wash over me. “I’m fine. Congratulations.”

“You know… he could choose you,” Ashley says, though there’s no real conviction in her eyes.

The thought makes my stomach nosedive. I can’t shake how worried I am about that possibility.

My gaze shifts back to Anna and Betty—but they’re no longer where they were. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe my central nervous system is just getting the best of me.

Still, I’ve been turning over the question in my mind: How could Jax choosing me possibly benefit the both of us?

Me? Sure. I’m a PR disaster, and any attention—even fake love on a fake show—is great for my career.

But Jax? He’s no PR mess, at least not that I know of. Why else would he be cast as the show’s Knight in Shining Armor if he were?

“We’ll start recording in fifteen,” Hansel, the show’s director, announces over the loudspeaker.

Ashley and I lock eyes, wide and nervous. She takes my hands and squeezes them.

“No matter what, let’s stay friends, okay? I know you don’t like him, but I like you. I’ll be your referee—and I’ll be fair.”

I give her a tight smile as she laughs at her own big-hearted promise. The thing is, what I want to say is: I don’t ever want to see his face again. Ever.

But I’m spared from having to let her down gently as we’re called to our spots under the soft, flattering lights.

As makeup and wardrobe put the finishing touches on our appearance, Jax enters the stage.

Beside me, Ashley gasps—sharp enough to reveal exactly what’s on her mind. She thinks he looks handsome.

I’ve seen more handsome men. I’ve dated more handsome men. Good-looking guys are a dime a dozen. It’s what’s inside that matters.

Still… objectively speaking, Jax is handsome in a black suit that fits him in all the right places. Most women would like—no, love—his hypnotic bedroom eyes and chiseled jawline.

So yeah. He’s good-looking. So what.

What really gets me is his expression.

Usually, he’ll toss Ashley a wink or a smirk—some little breadcrumb to let her know she’s his gal.

I gnaw nervously on my bottom lip.

“Don’t do that, Kara,” Janet, the makeup artist, scolds.

I grunt and roll my eyes as she wipes red lipstick off my teeth and reapplies it.

Something’s off. Jax isn’t acting like his usual cocky, spotlight-loving self. The one who relishes rejecting a hopeful contestant he clearly thinks is beneath him.

Oh…

I exhale slowly, the tension easing in my shoulders.

He’s not being smug because he’s not about to break a heart tonight—not mine, anyway. He knows I’m not in love. He knows I won’t be heartbroken.

Good. That makes two of us.

I stretch my neck from side to side. Soon. Very soon. I’m only minutes away from freedom. I’ve already made a vow: I will never do another reality show again. Ever.

“Everybody take your places!” the director calls.

Chaos buzzes around us.

I glance at Ashley—she looks nervous for the first time tonight.

Smiling, I wink at her and nod toward Jax, hoping to put her at ease. He’s yours, lady. He’s all yours.

Soon, it’s quiet on set. Action has been called.

“Welcome to the final pinning ceremony,” Dave Lyons says, stepping into frame.

Dave—our handsome host—is so much shorter than Jax that they’re never filmed standing next to each other without Dave standing on a platform. 

He launches into his usual monologue about our journey to love. How “bumpy” the road has been for both ladies, which makes me grimace. Bumpy for Ashley? No. For me? Yes. What is he even talking about?

“But Ashley and Zara,” Dave continues, “have both captured our Knight in Shining Armor’s heart. And now, Jax, the time has come to pin the lady of your dreams.”

Dave nods dramatically—he really is a good host for this kind of gig—and turns to face us.

My heart patters like heavy rain.

Something’s not right. Jax isn’t smiling at Ashley. He’s looking straight at me. His gaze is long and deep, like he’s trying to telepathically tell me something.

What the hell is going on?

My head spins as he picks up the final golden pin.

“Zara.” He clears his throat. Then smiles.

It’s a fake smile—I know it too well. The same one he’s worn through every forced interaction we’ve ever had. The smile we practiced.

“Would you please…”

I shake my head instinctively.

No. No no no no no.

“Stop shaking your head!” Betty shouts in my earpiece.

Then Anna’s voice follows, even louder. “Smile! Don’t you drop the ball, Zara. Your career depends on it!”

“Huh?” I whisper, barely able to get the word out.

Because Jax has asked to pin me.

And the world is spinning.

Faster.

So fast—

I lose my footing.

And the next thing I know, I’m falling.

Everything goes dark.

Chapter 4

 Two Weeks Later

Needless to say, I’ve been trapped in a nightmare ever since Jaxon Wilde of the San Diego Bull Sharks chose me to be his partner.

I’ve been hiding out at home. All cast members are still under NDA, banned from exposing anything about the production. Which means I can’t post, I can’t vent, and I definitely can’t explain myself—not even to Ashley.

Poor Ashley. I heard that right after I passed out, she ran off set and refused to return. Neither of our producers threw contracts in our faces or demanded we finish the scene strong. It was a wrap. When I came to, she was already gone.

We never exchanged numbers. I tried requesting her on several social platforms, but she followed each one with a block.

Needless to say, she’s mad.

Maybe she thinks I knew Jax would pick me. And... if I’m being honest—deep down—I did.

It’s the only thing that explains Anna showing up at the house in clothes that looked like she was dashing out for NyQuil at 11 p.m. Of course she didn’t tell me the plan. If she had, I would’ve caused such a ruckus...

Or maybe not.

Who am I kidding? My career is very important to me.

Tonight, the final episode of the season airs.

Tomorrow, Jax and I—who haven’t seen each other since before I hit the floor—will meet in Anna’s office in Century City to discuss... whatever.

I’ve been practicing avoidance like it’s an Olympic sport. Cocooned in my little house in Encino. A quaint cottage with tall trees shading its farmhouse windows and French doors. It was my first real purchase from my acting career. My escape from the world beyond my property’s borders.

But I can’t hide out forever. It’s time to face the music.

I settle into a warm bubble bath, aim the remote at the TV mounted on the bathroom wall, and prepare to finally binge the series. I’m especially eager to see how production managed to spin me as the winner—considering our first interaction, which is also when I decided I hated him, was an unmitigated disaster.

Here goes nothing.

Chapter 5

The first few seconds of the show begin, and I’m already triggered. My breathing slows. All I want to do is turn the TV off.

But I can’t. I have to watch.

What still baffles me is how I was declared the winner without loyal fans storming the network with pitchforks and foaming outrage.

First up: Heather, playing the theme from Titanic on her flute.

Thank God I wasn’t around for that. I would’ve exploded with laughter—like I am now.

“What the hell is going on?” I manage to say between tears, wiping my eyes.

Then comes Lilith from San Diego, reciting a poem.

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

If you pick me,

I’ll pick you.”

Dear God.

Embarrassing. And desperate.

Which Lilith absolutely was—right up until the second pinning ceremony, when her eagerness finally became too much for even Jaxon. Letting her go was the kindest thing he did all season.

Still, I can’t deny it: every girl’s introduction was solid TV. Watching it now, it almost feels like any one of them had a real shot with the guy from hell. And Jaxon plays the role of the noble bachelor—our so-called knight in shining armor—so well. Too well.

Of course, anyone using their prefrontal cortex knows that kind of man is a myth.

I can’t take it anymore. I skip ahead.

Jaxon and my first introduction is the one scene I’ve been dreading. The only meet-and-greet that went tragically wrong.

I fast-forward until I see myself emerge from the backseat of the limo.

A wave of prickles rushes through my skin—and not just because I’ve been in the tub too long.

There I am.

My red gown hugs my body like it was sewn on. Cap sleeves, high slit. My hair is pulled back from my face, the rest cascading in big, sand-colored curls behind me. Tiffany, my designated hair stylist, hated the way it turned out—mostly because I arrived four hours late to call time.

I wasn’t even sure I was going to go through with the show. The night before, I watched two episodes from the previous season before realizing I couldn’t stomach any more. The desperation for one man? Pathetic, actually.

But what was I going to do? Not show up? Give up on my comeback? Let the world keep thinking I’m the “crazy actress” who stole for no reason at all?

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Just thinking about what happens next makes me sink deeper into the water, wishing I could disappear beneath the surface.

Regardless... I look pretty. Stunning, even. Jaxon raises his eyebrows and smiles—all teeth—like he’s impressed.

But that’s not what happened.

I was there. I know.

He stiffened as I approached. Then he looked away, turned to the pit of producers, and said:

“Really? You’re giving me the shoplifting actress?”

That’s what he said.

I stopped in my tracks, gasping.

After a beat, I snapped. “What did you call me?”

“You shoplifted. That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

“You arrogant, classless prick. This is a TV show. I’m pretty sure you’re not the—” I threw up air quotes, “—Prince Charming they’re trying to pass you off as. You asshole!”

I screamed that last part at the top of my lungs, fists clenched, head thrown back.

“Cut!” Hansel, the director, yelled.

We were both pulled aside—me to Betty, him to his producer.

Betty reminded me of the role I agreed to play. Stick to the plan, she said. Do this right, and your career will smell like roses.

And of course, I agreed.

I don’t know what Jake, Jaxon’s producer, said to him, but he came back with a reluctant apology.

“That was rude of me. I’m sorry,” he said with zero conviction.

We were told to smile. So we did. Sort of.

I tried. But the more I forced it, the more my lips trembled.

Jaxon just sighed, over and over, like I had let him down.

I was humiliated. Not just because he embarrassed me, but because I’m an actress. A damn good one. I was almost nominated for an Emmy—twice, I was told.

But what he said... it cut deep. It triggered something in me. My nervous system went haywire. I couldn’t recover. We couldn’t get the shot.

Eventually, Hansel gave up and said he’d fix it in post.

And oh boy… did he ever.

I sit up straighter in the tub, pushing toward the front to get a better look.

That woman on the screen? It’s definitely me. 

“You look handsome tonight,” I say.

But I never said that.

“Whoa… You’re the first princess who’s taken my breath away,” Jaxon croons.

My jaw drops.

He’s never said that to me. Not once.

“I can’t wait to know you better,” I say, eyes flirting.

Then I offer him my hand.

He takes it. Kisses it.

I gasp. “Holy shit,” I whisper, eyes glued to the screen.

I blink hard.

Maybe I’m imagining this.

“What the hell?” I glance toward my bedroom, where my phone sits on the dresser.

I need to call my agent, Anne Kim.

I start to rise—then stop myself.

No.

I have to see the rest first.

I carefully step out of the tub, pause the video, dry off, and get dressed.

Because something tells me I’m about to find out exactly why I—or this fake version of me—won the final pin.

Chapter 6

My eyes are wired, head unsettled. I’m exhausted, but there’s no way I can sleep. It’s like I’m tweaking or something.

What the hell am I watching?

And they were slick with the edits between Jaxon and me.

Like the group brunch date at that comedy club—I knew they wouldn’t show what really happened there.

When Jaxon walked in to greet us, all the women applauded. Except me. Of course.

The producers didn’t even prompt it. They were just that smitten. Though I think it had less to do with Jaxon himself and more to do with triumphing over the competition.

He noticed I didn’t clap. Narrowed his eyes at me. I returned the glare. The room went dead silent as we locked into an unspoken standoff, neither of us willing to be the first to look away.

“Stop it,” Betty hissed in my ear.

“Tell him first,” I whispered through clenched teeth like a trained ventriloquist.

Jake must’ve reined him in, because he finally turned to the rest of his harem and said, with all the confidence of a frat king:

“Ladies, the spread looks good, huh? But don’t forget your girlish figures.”

They giggled.

I gasped. Loudly. The only one offended.

“Cut,” Hansel called.

And once again, claimed he’d “fix it in post.”

Which is why I just watched myself giggling with the rest of them.

I’ve said “WTF” so many times over the past six hours, the letters are permanently etched into my brain.

Four weeks in, Jaxon took me on our first one-on-one date. We went bike riding.

The first thing he said to me was:

“Okay, hot fingers, why’d you do it?”

“Screw you,” I snapped.

“Cut!” Hansel shouted.

“What?” I threw my hands up. “I didn’t even say the F-word!”

We reset. The crew was exhausted by then—tired of our constant sniping. Both of us were told to try again, nicer this time.

I remember yelling, mostly to the sky but also at Jaxon:

“Why am I still here?”

I was ready to hurl my bike into the bushes, storm back to the house, pack my things, and leave. I’d done my job. I’d supported every teary contestant who cried about not getting enough time with Mr. Asshole. For the ones who thought they were already in love with him after two minutes of eye contact, I reminded them there were plenty of fish in the sea. I even offered to hook them up—with hot actor friends of mine.

Of course, they didn’t air that part.

Some of the women even asked why I was still there if I had no feelings for Jaxon. Barbara, the show’s fixer, snapped at me:

“It’s not good when the other women don’t believe you like him. Convince them.”

So I did.

I changed my tune, said things like, “He’s okay,” or “He can be nice when he wants to be.”

But on the day of my meltdown on that bike trail, something weird happened.

I turned to Jaxon, voice shaking, and asked him directly: Why do you keep picking me?

He just stared at me.

Blank. Like a deer in headlights.

It was odd, because that was his chance to say something smug, call me sticky fingers again, maybe even admit he was keeping me around to torture me.

But he said nothing.

And now, after six hours of watching the show play out like it’s a romantic comedy starring two people who barely tolerated each other in real life, I’m starting to wonder...

Did he know from day one?

Did he plan to kiss all the other girls, lead them on, make them swoon—only to pick me in the end? Knowing he’d never have to actually date me? Or any of them?

Was I the final twist in his fake fairytale?

“That’s it.”

I crawl across my bed to retrieve the remote from where I last threw it.

He knew.

He never meant to pick any of those women. Never intended to date them. Never wanted to fall in love. He played with all of their hearts—for sport.

And mine, for spectacle.

Tomorrow—no, today, technically, since it’s already after midnight—I’m going to give him an earful.

Chapter 7

 6 Hours Later

I didn’t even try to sleep until 3:00 a.m.

The meeting is at nine.

I was seventeen minutes late getting out of the car.

I’m exhausted—so much so I can barely remember the drive from Encino. Only that traffic sucked. But stopping and going, narrowly avoiding collisions… that’s second nature now. I’ve lived in the county for more than ten years. I’m a pro at navigating arguably some the worst traffic in the world.

Before leaving, I chugged three cappuccinos because I need to be on my game. I have questions. Concerns. And Anne needs to answer them, put my mind at ease.

Is what they did even legal?

I signed the contract without reading it thoroughly. Anne rushed me, and I was desperate. She promised the terms were standard: I’d be paid handsomely, no nudity, no sex, and I could terminate my participation if I ever felt unsafe.

So technically… this is on me.

They used what was obviously very good AI to depict me falling blissfully in love with a man I revile. And I might’ve signed off on it.

Still, I’ve been thinking. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

I’m running through the options in my head when the parking garage elevator doors open.

And there he is.

I jump slightly, surprised to be staring into the eyes of the last person I want to see right now.

The world stands still as we stand here, staring. I don’t know what to do next. I don’t want to get trapped in an elevator with him. But... God, he looks good.

Black athletic pants. Matching jacket. He’s clean. Fresh. Not a trace of worry or exhaustion on his face. Meanwhile, I look—and feel—like I’ve been dragged through a cyclone.

“You’re going up,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s an order.

That bossy tone of his is like nails on a chalkboard. I almost tell him I’ll take the next elevator—but I need him soft today. I need him pliable. He has to go along with my plan, and if I put him in combative mode, then he’ll push back. 

So I say nothing. I step in and take a position as far from him as possible.

Of course, he doesn’t move.

No, he plants himself dead center, like the elevator’s his personal stage.

Asshole. I really don’t like this guy.

He’s so unaware. So smug.

The longer I stand here, the more his presence bothers me. So, to push him back, I fake a coughing fit. Loud. Uncovered. I don’t know much about athletes, but I’m pretty sure they’re obsessive about their health.

“How’s it been going?” he asks, entirely unbothered.

There’s a smirk. Barely perceptible—but I see it. He knows I’m faking.

I give up the ruse with a sigh. “Did you watch the show?” I ask abruptly.

He looks ahead. “Yeah.”

I wait. But apparently, that’s all he has to say.

“What did you think?” I press.

He shrugs. “That guy really liked you.”

I chuckle despite myself. “That girl really liked you.”

Then I tilt my head. “But... come on.”

His brown eyes cut to me—sharp. Like he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“I don’t like you, Jaxon. And you don’t like me. So what the hell are they doing?”

He sighs like he’s deflating—letting every ounce of air drain from that tall, lean, perfectly sculpted body.

The elevator dings.

“It’s just a show, Zara,” he says, stepping aside to let me exit first.

I take the hint and step out. “Yeah, but it’s a fake show. Aren’t you...”

I search for the word, too tired to come up with the perfect one.

“Offended,” Jaxon supplies, walking beside me.

“Yes,” I say, relieved he gets it. “Offended.”

At the receptionist desk, a very pretty, very thin, very young woman shoots to her feet like she’s just been told to stand for royalty. I’ve seen this type a dozen times since signing with the agency. Turnover’s high. Faces blur.

“They’re here,” she chirps into the phone. I presume she’s talking to Anne.

“I mean, are we just going to let them get away with this?” I whisper to Jaxon, now that I’ve got him on the ropes.

The door to the agents’ offices opens immediately. Another young woman—nearly a carbon copy of the receptionist—appears and gestures to us.

“Follow me.” She’s curt, like she’s projecting Anne’s irritation that we’re late.

Jaxon steps off ahead of me, keeping pace with our escort. He walks tall, steady, like he has zero intention of stopping to hash anything out with me.

I sigh, nerves buzzing under my skin. I wish I could get a better read on him.

Still, according to the report Anne sent a few weeks ago, my reputation is back on track, my dignity somewhat restored, and all that’s left is to put this absurd show behind me for good.

Jaxon and I will part ways. He’ll go off with one of the girls from the cast. I’ll film Next In Line, reclaim my career, and move the hell on.

Happy endings all around.

And honestly? I really do think Jaxon will be on board with my proposal.

So I quicken my pace to catch up with them, fairly assured that today will be the last day I ever lay eyes on Jaxon Wilde.

And then—finally—my life will be back on track.

Chapter 8

“You’re late,” says a man who’s nearly the same height and build as Jaxon. He’s older—mid-to-late forties, I’d guess—and has the air of someone who used to be an athlete himself.

I don’t know why I expected Jaxon’s agent to be an entertainment guy, like mine. Maybe because I keep forgetting that Jaxon and I are from completely different worlds. Eons apart, actually. If it weren’t for that show, I would’ve never crossed paths with him.

Jaxon takes a seat on the long leather sofa. “Traffic,” he says.

The man folds his arms across his chest—broad, muscular, still clearly in shape. “Aren’t you at the W in Westwood? That’s practically down the street.”

They glare at each other.

I watch, quietly intrigued. There’s a crackle of distrust in the air. His agent—at least I assume that’s who he is—seems to be silently asking Jaxon a question, trying to read the answer in his face.

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” Anne says, stepping in, all authority.

She looks far more put-together than the last time I saw her—sleek black skirt suit, tailored to perfection. It’s her power uniform. Probably cost a couple grand.

I’m relieved to see her like this again. Sharp. Focused. Confident. The Anne I know. The Anne who fixes things.

And I know... it’s now or never.

“I saw the show,” I say, settling onto the opposite end of the sofa from Jaxon. “None of it’s real.”

I paste on a fake, condescending smile. “But that’s okay. I must’ve signed something that said it was perfectly legal to turn me into a walking AI girlfriend for the sake of that dumb show. But I’ve been thinking—it’s not too late to turn this around.”

I sit up straighter. “I watched all the available episodes, tracked the girls, and I think there are a few really good options for Jaxon—”

Anne presses her fingertips to her temples. “Zara, be quiet.”

My mouth stays open. I have so much more to say.

Anne flops into her oversized black office chair—it looks like a sleek ergonomic throne. “You are the winner, Zara.”

I look helplessly at Jaxon, who’s doing a great job avoiding eye contact. Surely, he doesn’t want this either.

“Wait—” I raise a hand, trying to stop this train from leaving the station. “Jaxon, did you really want to choose me? You had so much chemistry with Ashley and Heather.”

He shakes his head like I’m being wildly inappropriate.

“Or…” I push on. “Is picking me your way of getting out of this as a single man? Because I don’t love you, and I never will.”

“Same,” he snaps. But it comes out low—almost a guttural roar.

Anne claps her hands together. “So, Roger—six months. They’ll do press. And in two days, the reunion.”

“No.” I shake my head vigorously.

“Yes, Zara. Or…” Anne closes her eyes and scratches her forehead. “Find yourself another agent.”

When she opens her eyes, her expression is calm—but there’s something pained in it.

My body feels light. My head tight.

Anne has never said that to me before.

“Sorry, Zara. You’re pushing me to my limit. You’re a great actress. You could be big. I still believe that. But why the hell did you shoplift?”

She jabs a finger upward, toward the ceiling. “The camera was right there. You saw it. I saw you look at it. And you still took that five-dollar face cream.”

She takes a breath. Steadies herself.

I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.

And she’s right. I haven’t had the right attitude. People love you when you’re up. But one small mistake, and they come at you with pitchforks and ridicule.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. My voice cuts through the silence like glass. “You’re right.”

I sink deeper into the corner of the sofa, refusing to look at Jaxon—who, to his credit, is staying very quiet.

“Let’s go ahead and even the score—make Zara more at ease here. Should we do it now?” the man finally says, dropping into one of the armchairs. I still don’t know his name.

“What do you mean, ‘even the score’?” Jaxon asks, suddenly finding his voice.

“You know her demons.” Roger focuses on Anne. “She deserves to know his.”

“No. No, no, no…” Jaxon mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here. Not now.”

“Agreed,” Anne says.

It’s strange how in sync she and this man are. As if they’ve sketched this out in advance.

The man turns to me, calm and clear. “I’m Roger Gordon. PR manager for the San Diego Bull Sharks.”

I arch a brow and glance at Jaxon, jabbing my thumb toward him. “He’s got demons?”

Roger raises an eyebrow. “Ever heard of Hunks of Junk Jocks?”

I snap my attention back to Jaxon, who’s now shaking his head slowly. I see it—the faint rose blooming beneath his skin, the short, jagged breaths.

I’m about to learn his soft spot.

Something he’s just as ashamed of as I am of that stupid face cream.

Chapter 9

They don’t have to tell me.

They show me.

On an iPad.

Hunks of Junk Jocks is a website exposing professional athletes accused of mistreating women. Post after post—some with photos, some with long captions—details Jaxon Wilde’s alleged misdeeds. Lying. Ghosting. Using his status to lure women into bed. Screwing them, then vanishing. Fifteen of them even say he gave them the clap.

“So… did you give them the clap?” I ask, recoiling at the thought.

“No,” Jaxon replies, defensive.

I study his eyes, trying to figure out if he’s lying. I can’t tell. But then I remember something, and shrug. “You know what? I don’t care. You’re a hypocrite, though. Remember what you said to me during our first meeting?” I nod, slow and righteous. “Hypocrite. A real one.”

Jaxon scoots forward on the couch. “I apologized for that.”

I tilt my head. “Did you mean it, though?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

I raise a finger. “But. You flirted with nearly every woman on that show.”

“To be fair, that was his job,” Roger interjects.

Jaxon points at me. “Exactly. It was part of the role.”

“But you made out with almost everyone,” I snap. “I think I’m the only one who kept my distance from your mouth.”

“Your choice, not mine.”

I jerk back at that. Stalled.

That was a comeback I didn’t see coming.

“And,” Jaxon adds, “I’ve been tested for everything. The clap included. I’m clean. Always have been.”

He says it firmly, like it’s the one thing he needs me to believe. And maybe I do. Maybe.

I only look away when Anne claps her hands together, loudly. “I’ve got another meeting. Now that you both know why you need each other, let’s wrap this up.”

My head’s spinning as Roger and Anne volley ideas back and forth, totally in control of the two tools in the room—Jaxon and me.

“Six months and, let’s say... seven days,” Anne says, sinking back into her sleek chair like the queenpin she is. “You know. Keep ’em on their toes.”

“Half a year?” I squeak.

“In two days, we tape the reunion,” Roger cuts in, talking right over me. “You two need to look in love.”

“Understand,” Anne says, “we’ve seen the post-show surveys. There are a lot of unhappy ladies. So the stage is going to be hot.”

“But they’re all under NDA,” Roger adds.

“They’ll still try to get under your skin,” Anne warns, eyes darting between us. “They’re crafty. Season after season, same story. They’ll want you to crack. To expose yourselves.”

I think I nod. I’m not sure. I’m too busy reeling.

This is more than learning lines. More than acting.

This is performance… but with a script I never wrote.

And God help me, I never wrote that I was in love with Jaxon.

“This is too much,” Jaxon says, finally pushing back. “You’re laying a lot on us. Why not cancel the reunion? Say I’m in training camp. Or just send one of us.”

I slap my chest. “Me? You want me in front of the firing squad?”

“No,” he says, quieter now. “But you can handle them. You’re strong.”

I pause, surprised.

That’s twice now he’s said something almost… complimentary.

“You both will be there,” Roger snaps, commanding. “And speaking of next season—you,” he points at me, “will attend every home game. But don’t worry. They’ll never make the playoffs.”

He winks at Jaxon.

Jaxon flips him off.

“Ooh, fire in the belly. Maybe they will,” Roger taunts.

“Okay, boys,” Anne says, standing abruptly. “This is not a locker room. Or whatever man-space you all hype each other up in.”

She checks her smartwatch. “It’s set. Sadie will send your schedules. You both have my direct line—use it only if you must. Now…” She gestures toward the couch.

“Stand.”

We rise.

“Show up on time for whatever’s on your schedules,” she finishes. “Don’t be late. Don’t be absent. And for God’s sake—look in love.”

              ****

Releases on November 13, 2025.

Preorder available at Google Play, B&N Nook, Kobo, and Apple Books!

Not available for preorder on Amazon, but it will be on release day!

Inflation pricing of $3.99!