Page 9 of Enemies Off Camera
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.”
