No. “I can fire you. You can’t fire me. That doesn’t make me your employee, Scott. That makes me your boss.”
I expect him to withdraw from this losing battle, but he shakes his head like I’m wrong. I know I’m right… Right? “My production company has sole ownership over anything the Calloway sisters film on network television. If you fire me, you need just cause and you can’t jump to another producer. I’m your only shot at having a reality show, Rose.”
I remember that clause, but I never thought it would be an issue. I figured I’d be around Scott maybe twice during the whole filming process. But these were his first words when he walked into the conference room: “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.” Lovely.
My eyes grow hot. I have to concede on this one. He won. Somehow. I hate it.
“So, now that we have that clear,” he says, sitting up and edging closer to me. His knees almost knock into mine. I go utterly rigid. “There are a few details we need to go over in case you misread them in the contract.”
“I don’t misread things.”
“Well evidently you weren’t using a portion of your brain or else you would have realized that you work for me now. And we wouldn’t have wasted…” He checks his watch. “…five minutes of my time.” He flashes me a sardonic smile like I’m a little girl.
“I’m not an idiot,” I retort. “I graduated at the top of my class with honors—”
“I don’t care about your fucking degree,” he says sharply. “You’re in the real world now, Rose Calloway. No university is going to teach you how to navigate this industry.”
Doubt surfaces. I don’t know much about reality television, but I’ve been immersed in the media long enough to know it can help someone as much as it can destroy them.
And I need that help.
I understand exactly why the network would take an interest in the daughters of Fizzle. My father’s brand has beat Pepsi for the past two years in sales, and he’s working to make Fizzle the soda of choice among southern states. We should be as anonymous as the face behind Coca-Cola, but ever since my family was thrust into the public eye, we’ve been under intense scrutiny, and it’s all because of my younger sister’s scandal.
My brand should have exploded from all the media and press, but the name Calloway Couture has been linked with Lily’s dirty secrets. And what once was a thriving fashion line in H&M has been destitute in boxes and boxes, piled in my New York office.
I need good exposure, the kind that will have women desiring a one-of-a-kind coat, a unique pair of a boots, an affordable but chic handbag. And Scott Van Wright is offering me a primetime reality show that will tempt viewers to purchase my pieces.
So that’s why I’m agreeing to this.
I want to save my dream.
Scott says, “There will be cameras in your living room and kitchen at all times, even after the three-person crew leaves. You’ll only have privacy in your bedrooms and bathrooms.”
“I remember this.”
“Good.” Scott clicks his pen. “Then maybe you’ll remember that each week, I expect to have interviews with the cast, which includes you, your three sisters—”
“Not three,” I say. “Only Lily and Daisy agreed to the show.” My eldest sister, Poppy, wouldn’t sign the contract because she didn’t want her daughter to be filmed. My little niece has already endured enough paparazzi since Lily’s scandal.
“Fine, she would have been a boring addition anyway.”
I glower.
“I’m just being honest.”
“I’m used to blunt honesty,” I tell him. “I just find yours crass.”
He eyes me in a new way, as though my words carried a plume of toxic pheromones. I don’t understand. I am so mean. I am glaring like I want to rip off his penis, and yet, he’s attracted. There is something seriously wrong with him.
And maybe my boyfriend.
And really, any guy who’d like to be with me. I’m not even sure I want to be with me.
“As I was saying…” His knee brushes mine.
I roll backwards, and he only grins more. This is not a cat and mouse game like he believes. I am not a mouse. And he’s not a cat. Or vice versa. I am the fucking shark, and he’s a lame human in my ocean.
And my boyfriend, he’s the same species as me.
“Continue,” I snap.
“I’ll be interviewing you, your two sisters, Lily’s boyfriend and his brother.” 6 people + 6 months + 3 cameramen + 1 reality show = infinite drama. I’ve done the math.