Page 9 of Playing With My Heart Strings

“I-I mean?—”

Before he can continue stammering like an idiot who doesn’t know how to do his job, the executive producer interrupts. “Ezra, I’ll take over from here, thanks.” She dismisses him, and relief flashes across his face.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” He practically runs off stage.

The executive producer turns to me once he’s gone. I hadn’t bothered to ask her name, which was probably rude of me, but I also consider it rude to have been forced into this situation in the first place. Besides, that first day of interviews was so hectic, I never had the opportunity to getanyone’sname besides Daniella.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Here, let’s take a seat and talk.” She gestures to the stools on stage.

I sit, and she follows suit. She’s still wearing the god-awful lipstick that makes her look more clownish than anything and also dons a matching bloodred pantsuit.

“I apologize, but I don’t believe I ever got your name.” I reach out my hand to shake hers, which she takes. Her handshake is firm. Much firmer than I expected, but I suppose when you work in this industry, commanding attention is a must.

“Colette St. James. I’m the executive producer of the show. Rob never bothered to tell you who I am, I’m gathering,” she scoffs, and I get the impression she’s not a fan of Rob.

Interesting. Maybe I can use this to my advantage.

“No, ma’am, he did not. I assure you, I’m…not like Rob Acerra. He’s a bit?—”

“Callous? Oh, I know,” she cuts me off. “Anyway, enough about Rob. What questions do you have?”

How about what the fuck I’m supposed to do? And the girl who was “preselected?” What the fuck does that mean?

“I—” I try to get a word out, but she immediately starts talking over me.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you the rundown of everything that’s going to happen, and then we can go from there.” Colette proceeds to tell methe exact same thingEzra told me about there being thirty women to listen to—How many minutes is thirty songs?—and that I’ll narrow it down to nine, which solidifies the fact thatsomeonewas preselected.

She does not allow me to ask any questions.

“Wait, Colette—” I call out to her, but she’s already gone, leaving me to marinate in my confusion.

“Welcome toHeart Strings, the brand new reality show brought to you by Sparks Studio Productions in partnership with Ace High Entertainment. I’m your host, Jarrod Stone.”

I stand backstage with my arms crossed over my chest. All of this is so ridiculous.

“Let’s meet the star of the show, folks. He’s country music’s rising star, and he’s looking for a partner, in music and life…”

God, that’s so bad.

“Please welcome Dusty Wilder!” Jarrod gestures toward the side of the stage, and I plaster on a fake smile, waving as I walk out on stage.

“Pleasure to be here, Jarrod, thank you.” I tip my hat to the camera after shaking his hand.

“So, Dusty, the fans are dying to know. Why’d you come onHeart Strings? And how is a guy like you, a successful musician and heartthrob, still single?” Jarrod looks at me expectantly.

Just as you rehearsed, Wilder. Don’t fuck this up. Remember what Daniella said.

“Well, Jarrod, like you said, I’m looking for a music partner. Someone to record an album and go on tour with. In regard to your other question, I guess I’ve just been waiting for the right one to come along.” I look off stage to see Daniella giving me a thumbs-up.

“Well, buddy, I hope we can find you just that. Best of luck to you.” He pats me on the shoulder. “All right, folks, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let’s bring out our first musician!”

The first few singers feel like a fever dream. One of them, Jacky or Jordan or something, was good? But shit, this is more difficult than I thought it would be.

Footsteps approach on the other side of the barrier as the next woman sets up to perform.

Here we go again.We’re filming half today and half tomorrow, so at least I won’t have to listen to thirty people in a row. Truthfully, I’m more curious about the girl who was apparently good enough to make it past the auditions with me.

“Hi, I’m Aspen Barlowe,” the girl on the other side of the wall introduces herself, and any thoughts I had about the mystery woman disappear when I hear her smooth, melodic voice.

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