Page 31 of Heart to Heart
I’d never been to Pamplona, but I’m positive its famed Running of the Bulls had nothing on twenty-five women told without being told that the man of their dreams was waiting for them down a marble corridor. Women in heels and lived-in slippers turned into Olympic track and field stars as we sprinted in the direction of the parlor. Having been caught between the foyer and the corridor, I’d had no choice but to run for my life like Simba inThe Lion Kingwhen the first click of a heel on marble told me the herd was about to stampede.
So, run I did. But fast I’m not. Medium-paced, I was quickly overcome by the others, catching the occasional elbow and hip-check that I didn’t believe were entirely accidental. At the head of the pack were the leggier of the ladies, since being built likerunway models hadn’t been enough, they also had to be blessed with gazelle-like grace and speed as well. Somehow though, I was able to maintain a position in the middle of the pack and was within the first half of the ladies to enter the parlor, skidding to a stop behind Brittney L.
Cameras were rolling, that much was evident from the theatrics that unfolded before us. Tristan stood with his back turned, looking out the window, channeling Christian Grey from the movie poster. He had on a new pair of trousers, nearly the same color as the ones he’d been wearing. He’d removed his jacket, and I wasn’t sure whether that was to give him a more casual look, or due to it not being a perfect enough match to the new trousers he had on. Personally, I liked him better without the jacket. The fitted, white button-down shirt he wore hugged his broad shoulders, tracing every curve and plane of his biceps, and I found myself gawking at the sight of him. If Tristan’s state of dress had anything to do with my ginormous gaffe, then it would appear these ladies owed me one.
As though sensing we’d all assembled like thirsty Avengers, Tristan turned around with a big smile on his face, his teeth the same shade of ivory as his shirt. His hair looked a little more tousled than when I’d met him on the stairs, like he’d run his fingers through it a few times. I preferred a tad messy over slicked back any day of the week. Perfectly polished, although camera ready, looked too used car salesman. He’d also removed the tie he’d been wearing; a bright red one that had complemented the blue of his suit. In doing so, he’d unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt.
My God, I’ve created a monster.A sexy, delicious monster, with a damn fine clavicle. Damnit, Avery, get your shit together.
“Ladies, we meet again.” His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they briefly landed on mine, I could feel my face burning.Whatever he’d been thinking when he looked at me—good, bad, or indifferent—I couldn’t tell, as he maintained the same smiling, unreadable expression with me as he had with everyone else. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you all. All of you are so accomplished and different in such extraordinary ways and have made quite an impression on me—some of you more than others.”
My cheeks burned, knowing that at that moment, the camera was most likely panning to me, capturing side-eye and snickers from the rest of the women on its way to fixating on my horrified face. Unlike Tristan, a poker face I had not. My lips held in a tight smile, as I tried not to give too much of my horror at being mildly called out by the Sexiest Action Star Alive away. I hoped that translated to unflappable stoicism to the viewers at home.
“Tonight will be about getting to know each of you a little more. To see, going into the first elimination, who I have a connection with. Does that sound good?”
I nodded my concurrence among a chorus ofYeahs.Okay, so I would have a second chance to make a first impression. That could only work to my advantage, right? This time, I wouldn’t have baked goods to launch. It would be just me and Tristan. I’d apologize again and hope to God he found me charming, or just more interesting than five of the twenty-four supermodels I was up against. I could totally do this.
Probably. Maybe.
Tristan scanned over each of us again, “Okay then, the first woman I want to get to know better is…”
I crossed my fingers at my side, my stomach twisting in knots, as Tristan paused for dramatic effect. This would be where the network inserted a commercial break with one of the former contestants hocking tampons, all while I stood waiting, so nerved-up I felt as though I were going to vomit. If I was having this much anxiety pre-elimination, imagine how theactual elimination would go. At this rate, I would probably pass out.
“Bianca,” Tristan called out the last name I wanted to hear. Stifled groans and frustrated exhales all around me told me that others agreed. “Care for a heart-to-heart?”
Jesus, please don’t let me snort-laugh when it’s my turn and he asks me that question.Amen.
“I would love to.” The crowd parted for Bianca like her name was Moses. A smirk adorned her deceptively angelic face as she strode toward Tristan, locking arms with him as he turned to escort her out the French doors to a patio off the parlor.
Surrounded by rose gardens, the patio was a focal point for many of the show’s more heated discussions. It boasted a large fountain in its center, and many contestants would toss pennies in it for good luck, presumably to curry favor with whomever that season’s love interest was. Unless they’d wished for a fleeting fifteen minutes of fame or a boost in their social media followers, most of those wishes went unanswered by their requited. Near the back of the patio, benches were scattered among the gardens, providing a setting primed for romantic interludes.
I couldn’t explain why, but it unsettled me knowing that Bianca was out there alone with Tristan. As hypocritical as that seemed, considering what my main objective here was, of all the women in this room, Bianca was the last person I wanted to win. Tristan, if he genuinely was here for love, wasn’t going to find it with her. Women like Bianca weren’t motivated by love. They were motivated by status, power, and wealth. I didn’t know Tristan, and maybe that didn’t matter to him, but based on my interaction with him and the way he reacted to Cake-Gate versus how he could have reacted, I suspected there was more to him than a handsome face, rock hard abs, and a successful Hollywood career.
“Psst…Avery. Are you going to stare out that door all night like a stalker, or do you want to come join the rest of us?” I snapped out of my reverie to see Sasha standing with Taylor and Genevieve. The others had dispersed, some sitting on the couch, glasses of wine in their hand as they awaited their turn on the patio, while others milled about in separate groups.
Still troubled and confused by the possessiveness I already felt toward a man I’d just met, I sauntered over to Sasha and the others, trying to depict as much of a calm coolness as I could after the events of the day.
“Her parents probably paid producers off, so he’d choose her first,” Genevieve scoffed. “Rumor has it she’s only here to score a modeling contract.”
After seeing Genevieve’s interaction with Tristan right before exiting the limo it didn’t surprise me that she would feel threatened by Bianca. Everyone here had to have sized up their competition by now, forming opinions over who the girl to beat was and who wouldn’t survive the first week. Something told me the conversation Genevieve would be having right now if I had been the first one chosen would have had the opposite tone.
“It’s still early,” I offered. “We’ll all have our turn.”
Taylor laughed. “You’ve seen this show, haven’t you, Avery? No one is entitled to anything here.”
“She’s right,” Sasha agreed. “As the evening wears on, the claws will come out. Time with Tristan is a precious commodity. Second, third, and fourth impressions, they can be the difference between moving on or elimination. Every night is a war. And the cameras will only turn it into a slaughter if you’re not prepared for it.”
I knew she was right. Drama at the expense of feelings fueled the ratings. The more drama, the more people tuned in. But I also knew that those behind the drama, those who caused themost of it, rarely made it to the end. Though this time, I feared, may be different.
CHAPTER 17
AVERY
Bianca had beenwith Tristan for approximately eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds, according to resident stopwatch, Kennedy, who’d probably grown so accustomed to keeping track of billable hours over the years that she was sensitive to each passing second. Grumbles erupted among the women when she began announcing the minutes as they passed by. We all knew this wouldn’t last all night, that Tristan couldn’t possibly have one-on-one conversations with all of us. We all knew his spending more than five minutes with someone was noteworthy and that none of the rest of us were going to get that kind of time with him. And we all knew that if we didn’t get a chance to sit and talk with Tristan tonight, we may be going home come elimination.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that was especially true for me. I needed to know where Tristan and I stood. Assault with a delicious weapon couldn’t be the last and only impression he would have of me, for both my standing in this competition and by sheer principle alone.
Minutes later, when Bianca walked back inside with Tristan, arm in arm, she somehow seemed even more self-righteous thanshe had before, which was damn impressive. As they stepped over the threshold and into the parlor, she whispered something in his ear that made him grin before she reluctantly let go of his arm, glaring at the rest of us as though daring us to try to stake a claim on her territory. Thank God we were humans and not animals because otherwise, there would surely have been some territory marking.
