Page 19 of Insta Bride
“Babe, come with?”
“They want you.”
I looked around. Most of the guys refused to catch my gaze. I got it, I’d been the asshole trying to shore up a second option when Elena kicked my ass to the kerb, or if we had a change in partners.
I thought I’d been strategic. But, thinking about things from Elena’s point of view, I understood. The guys didn’t owe me a bloody thing.
“Seb?” I asked her beach-walking buddy from the other night. He might not owe me, but he did owe Elena, I hoped. “Can you just look out for her while I’m gone, just in case—”
“Sure. Not because you asked.” He slung an arm over her shoulders in a way that made me want to throw punches. “Lena, how about we make a round of coffees. Your boy will probably need one after he gets reamed by production.”
Lena.
Seb had graduated to nickname status while I still suffered from blue balls.
Only after I knew Elena would be safe from Campbell and Kenzie’s bitch-fest did I head down to the beach. Our so-called diary room was a gazebo with the ocean as a backdrop. Apparently, it was a pain to manage the audio, but the visuals were spectacular.
I approached with apprehension. My game plan had blown up and I doubted they’d be able to cast me as the bad boy all women wanted a piece of, the profile all companies would want as a face. No, I felt the noose tightening around my new narrative as the asshole everyone wanted to stitch up for twenty years of hard labor.
“Bree. Emi.” I nodded as a sound producer checked my microphone.
Shit. My day just got worse. Sitting next to my one-night hook-up was another hook-up. Except that Emi had been a quick fifteen minutes in a copy room. She’d given me a time challenge and I didn’t disappoint.
I had no words.
“Ladies, how can I be of assistance.” Yes, I could probably do them both in under half an hour, but did I want to?
Elena didn’t date cheaters.
We weren’t really dating.
It wouldn’t technically be cheating.
But no. I didn’t want to do Emi or Bree. The only woman I wanted—had just given me permission to kiss anyone I wanted, except her.
My balls turned midnight blue. At what point would they literally fall off?
“You’ve given us some great footage,” Bree started with her professional smile in place.
“I aim to please.”
“We can see that. Except, the sample viewers love Elena. The editors love Elena. Management love Elena.”
“I’ve only met Elena, but there’s nothing not to like.”
“You’re not listening to us.” Bree said slowly for emphasis, “Everyone loves Elena.”
“So, what does that mean for me? And I assume this isn’t being recorded if you haven’t put me through hell getting the lighting right.”
“No, this isn’t being recorded, yet. This is a warning. There may be a ceremony tonight.”
We’d expected an elimination last night, but it had been replaced with a group dinner. “You think that’s us?”
“Either tonight or tomorrow morning, all couples will vote for the couple least likely to make it in the outside world. You haven’t won any favors.”
“The women love me.” I could have had any one of them, ten times over.
“The women tolerate you.” Emi said with the patience usually reserved by mothers for errant sons. I thought Emi was a make-up artist or stylist—why was she in the diary tent acting important? “The women like the attention and they hope we’ll edit them favorably. You know, wanted by the resident bad boy before they fell in love with their Prince Charming.”