Page 83 of Heart to Heart
“I guess they should have been more careful.”
“Were you born without the ability to feel empathy, or was that something you acquired along the way?”
“Oh please, Tristan. It’s not like anyone takes these shows seriously. Producers do things to spice things up all the time. Besides, they didn’t have to carry out my suggestions. Theychose to. As far as I’m concerned, my hands are completely clean.”
“Because that’s how you operate, huh? Always pulling the strings but never actually getting your hands dirty. People are just pawns to you, aren’t they?”
“You know, Tristan, for as tirelessly as I’ve worked to get you a second chance in a town where Tate is a dirty word, you would think you would watch how you speak to me.”
“If the only way I’m going to resuscitate my career is through manipulation and lies, then I’m choosing the wrong career path.”
“Welcome to Hollywood.” Wanda snickered. “There isn’t a single career in this town that isn’t based on manipulation or a little white lie here and there.”
“Then maybe I want to be represented by someone who doesn’t need to cheat and lie to get to the top.”
Wanda’s end of the line went silent for so long I thought she’d hung up. “What are you saying, Tristan?” she asked when she spoke again.
“I’m saying you’re fired, Wanda.”
She laughed an almost hysterical, maniacal, over-the-top laugh that shouldn’t have surprised me coming from a woman who was basically a caricature. “You can’t be serious. Everything you have going for you, that’s all been because of me. There’s no way producers of the show are going to keep you on now.”
“It’s all set. The show is continuing to the end of the season.”
“Okay, then, good luck getting work afterward. Your name is now synonymous with a joke of a reality TV dating show. No agent in town is going to want to work with you. You were lucky I took pity on you.”
“You know what, Wanda? Piss off.”
I ended the call, slamming the phone down on the counter. A year ago, losing an agent like Wanda Van Thorn would havedriven me back to drinking, all hope of reclaiming my life gone. But now? Now, I felt free. Free to pursue my career on my terms. Free to love the woman I wanted to be with. Free to ensure that this season ofHeart to Heartwould go down in the history books.
CHAPTER 48
AVERY
We stood in a line,the six of us waiting in the rose garden in the balmy Southern California evening. My sunset orange dress, cinched at the waist, with pleated chiffon that fell to my ankles, billowing slightly in what little breeze there was. We were supposed to be going live in two minutes.
We stood there, waiting for the routine briefing that didn’t come, instead left to exchange inquisitive glances as we watched producers and Kamila in a huddle, going over something that seemed important. Never a good sign when it came to this show.
We hadn’t seen Tristan since the panty raid, meaning I hadn’t been able to talk to him about his confession and what that may mean during tonight’s elimination. Now that he came to understand that I knew what he knew, would he keep me? Would I be one of the final three?
I wished I could take back what I’d told him at the villa, that he could know that this wasn’t just about the money for me anymore—it hadn’t been for a while now.
The pow-wow happening in front of us broke up, and Kamila made their way over to us in a sequined purple pantsuit. Something big was going to occur tonight, so big they wouldn’teven make eye contact with us. As the seconds ticked down, the camera crews assembled, surrounding us. A crew member began the countdown. Ten seconds later, we were on the air.
“Good evening, and welcome toHeart to Heart. I’m your host Kamila Lewis, and believe me when I say I am shook.”
“Shit,” Bianca muttered next to me.
“I second that,” I whispered back.
“You know, every season, we say that things can’t get any crazier, that the twists and turns the season takes are unprecedented. Well, in a season chock-full of, shall we say, surprises, we’ve got another one for you. And let me tell you, it’s jaw-dropping. However, don’t take my word for it, let’s have this season’s star tell you himself. Tristan, would you come out here, please?”
Tristan appeared from where he’d been hidden behind a decorative hedge at the entrance to the rose garden, looking like sex personified in a V-neck, white T-shirt underneath a black suit coat paired with dark wash jeans. He had officially entered his don’t-give-a-fuck era in front of millions of viewers.
“Good evening, ladies,” he addressed us with the same carefree smile I remember admiring in magazines. “First, I want to apologize to you for certain things that have transpired on the show that you’ve all been subjected to. I’ve taken full responsibility for everything and parted ways with the person behind it.”
A gasp erupted from Jessica, who apparently knew the person he was speaking about, which meant it was someone from their circle. A circle a sheltered girl from Michigan would never be able to penetrate.
“This show has operated under the same basic structure since it premiered over a decade ago. At this stage of the competition, I would be sending three of you home while theremaining three advanced to the next stage. I’m not doing that tonight.”
