Angie has already pulled herself off the grass. “I’m so sorry! I panicked and tripped!”
“You attacked me on purpose!”
“I didn’t!”
Megan quivers her lip into the nearest camera. “That was not an accident!”
“Go comfort her,” Dev hisses as he appears at Charlie’s side.
“But it was obviously Megan’s fault,” he hisses back.
“Mic.” Dev nudges Charlie forward with a sharp elbow, and he stumbles toward the carnage. Awkwardly hovers over the woman pretending to be injured.
Then Dev is at his side again, demonstrating how to do this. Dev crouches down next to Megan, and Charlie follows, squatting beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Dev whispers, “Hold her hand.”
The words tickle the sensitive skin behind Charlie’s ear, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks as his fingers intertwine with Megan’s.
“You’re going to be okay, Megan,” Dev says breezily. He’s so effortlessly good at all of this. Charlie feels miserably out of place attempting to play the part of the concerned boyfriend. Megan leans into Charlie, cries into the front of his chambray shirt.
Charlie thinks, if they edit Dev out of these shots, it will be a nice moment between him and Megan. He might even seem like a decent prince.
* * *
“You know Megan wasn’t really injured at the Quest, right?” Lauren S. tells him. Or maybe it’s Lauren L.? “That whole thing was just for attention.”
“Hmm.” He nods and pretends to take a sip of his glass of chardonnay.
She takes a gulp of her gin and tonic. He mentally adds copious amounts of free alcohol to the list of things he didn’t expect. “I’m glad her team didn’t win just because she pitched a fit.”
“I think… our time is up,” he attempts, and a producer steps in, escorts one woman out and another woman in. They call this the social hour, though it’s actually a period of several hours where he’s poured into a Tom Ford suit, escorted to a closed bar, and plunked down on a couch to talk to contestants one-on-one.
Or, more aptly put, they talk at him.
As soon as Rachel is brought in, she says she has something to confess to him, and promptly launches into a rehearsed speech about her recently broken-off engagement to a man she dated for two months. Becca shows him pictures of her dog, who suffers from arthritis, and a woman named Whitney, who he swears he’s never seen before this moment, talks for twenty minutes about her parents’ divorce when she was three.
Not a single one of the women asks him a personal question about himself. They tell him a lot about himself—about how he’s so handsome, so smart, so ambitious, and so generous. Delilah, the software engineer, announces that they have similar values. He almost asks her to cite her sources. He thinks about his phone call with Parisa, her insistence that he’s lovable. He can almost see the early stages of love in the sparkly eyes of these women. But they’re infatuated with some idea of him. Charles Winshaw: millionaire tech wunderkind philanthropist with a slight addiction to physical exercise. In their eyes, his silence makes him mysterious, and he’s filled with dread thinking about what will happen when the Cologne Charles guise begins to slip.
A little before midnight, it’s finally Angie’s turn, and Dev suggests Charlie take her outside for a stroll. The show has shut down the street in front of the bar, and Angie takes Charlie by the arm. With her other hand, she reaches up to press her fingers gently to one of his black eyes, concealed beneath the layers of his makeup. He flinches. “Does it still hurt?” she asks, pulling her hand away.
“Uh, not really, but I—”
Angie doesn’t wait for him to puzzle his way through the sentence. She grabs his arm and tugs him forward until his body falls against hers, so he’s pinning her back against a brick wall.