Page 6 of Enemies Off Camera
FOUR
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 careerisvery 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 spinmeas the winner—considering our first interaction, which is also when I decided I hated him, was an unmitigated disaster.
Here goes nothing.
FIVE
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 fromTitanicon 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.
