Page 21 of Enemies Off Camera
“Ready Zara to enter stage right,” I hear in my ear.
Finally,I take my seat.
In the audience, all eyes are on me. Expressions are somber. Tension thickens the air like fog. My survival instincts switch to high alert. I get it—the viewing audience feels duped. And based on what they’ve heard so far, I’m not a “girl’s girl,” no matter how production painted me.
“Are you okay?” Jaxon’s voice interrupts the mantra looping in my head.
I nod—barely.
We’re sitting too close on this faux-romantic loveseat. We were instructed to snuggle up, to let the worldseehow much we love each other. Only now do I realize how much unconscious refuge I’ve taken in the heat of his arm pressed against mine, and his thigh—tense, tight, and hollow—against my leg.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back,” he says softly.
I scoot half an inch away.
Across from us, Ashley sits in the single chair—the exile seat. Frankly, I don’t like what this setup impliesany more than she does. No matter what Anne said about Jaxon not really being into her, that’s not what I saw. That’s not what any of the girls saw. Sheshouldbe in my seat. That’s what her glare says. That's what this whole room says.
“This is so terrible,” I whisper. “Why did you even make her think she had a chance when…” I trail off, turning toward Jaxon and letting my expression finish the question.
Our eyes meet. Have Ieversat this close to him in real life?
Sure, the show used whatever magic it needed—AI, editing, maybe even a little puppeteering—to manufacture intimacy. But this?Thisfeels new.
I smell his minty breath. His lips look softer than I remember. Have I ever noticed them before? Why am I noticing themnow?
“I know,” he says.
My brows shoot up.
Then higher still when he adds, “I should’ve thought better.”
“Everybody take your places,” the floor director calls out.
Our first meeting flashes through my mind. The awkward dates. The night he had dinner delivered to his room like he was over it before it started. The kisses he gave to nearly every woman like they belonged to him. It all rushes back.
Don’t fall for whatever act he’s putting on now, I warn myself.
But I lean into it anyway, using it as a moment to strengthen my character. I gaze at his objectively handsome face, bat my lashes, and grin like a boy-crazy teenager. He meets me halfway with a sensual smirk.
Good for him. I’m one hundred percent convinced Jaxon should’ve been an actor instead of a football player.
We hold the look just long enough to sell the illusion.
Then, from his host’s seat, Dave Lyons’ smooth, affable voice—the only kind that could sell this much bullshit and still sound charming—calls my name.
Showtime.
FOURTEEN
“How are you feeling, finally being able to let the world know you’re a couple?” Dave asks, right after saying my name.
This is one of the questions Ididprepare for.
“It’s a huge relief,” I say, leaning my shoulder into Jaxon’s as he stretches his arm across the back of our plush purple velvet love seat. “Keeping the secret has been hard. We had to sneak around just to be together. But now? We’re here. Out in the open.”
I turn to Jaxon, bat my lashes, hold eye contact for three seconds—just like I practiced—and then shift my gaze back to Dave.
“What do you say to the other women who question the authenticity of your relationship?”
