‘When will he get here?’ I panic as she throws her bags into the waiting taxi. ‘I need shampoo and conditioner. I need to make myself look more… less… more… waxed and polished,’ I say, making myself sound like a rusty second-hand car.
She shakes her head and gives me a condescending look. ‘That gown makes you look mental.’
Sadly, she’s right. I should turn it round and tie it at the front. And I will, as soon as I think of a suitable retort. She is really getting on my nerves.
She slams the boot shut. ‘You’ll not last five minutes in the villa. People like you never do.’
People like me? Distinctly average, underwhelming, under-achievers with no sex appeal?
In just a few words, she has popped what little confidence I had like a balloon. She’s voicing my worst fears. How can they hire someone this judgemental?
‘Maybe you need to take a long look at yourself first and concentrate on your own issues. It’s easy to stand there and judge others, but your opinion doesn’t make it fact. It just makes you sound bitter and jealous.’ I do namaste hands like Lois. ‘And by the way, dragons aren’t real.’
‘Fuck you,’ she yells back. ‘Why don’t you try working for a living? And FYI getting your ass out on TV is not real work.’
This is becoming very tit-for-tat now, but she has hit a nerve. A very raw nerve. I have come halfway across the bloody world to get my ass out on TV.
‘I will be reporting you to the ombudsman and requesting that I never have to see you again.’
She yanks the car door open and turns to me, ‘I hope you get the shits real bad. And I mean REAL bad.’
Mean fudging cow.
‘I hope you choke on your own vomit,’ I retaliate, instantly regretting it.
It’s the jetlag and two days without food.
A movement distracts us.
‘Hi there,’ says Cameron, getting out of the taxi looking very startled. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Libby.’
Chapter 6
The taxi whisks Hortense and her bags away, leaving Cameron and I facing each other. He gives me a cautious look before reaching out to shake my hand.
I have blown my chance to make a second good impression.
‘Hi,’ I say, embarrassed to the core that I’ve been caught being so rude and that I look such a mess. The opposite of a bombshell. I couldn’t look less of a bombshell if I’d hurled myself through the hedge and rolled around in monkey poo.
‘Hi,’ he says again.
I’m not sure he knows what to make of me. I’m pretty certain that he’ll be regretting his decision to pick me for the show. He has a tall, firm-shouldered, slim-waisted physique, long toned legs and the sort of easy vibe that commands attention. I glance at the smart-looking suitcase by his side. And he has good taste. I see he has casual but expensive footwear. I’m trying my hardest not to gawp, but he’s making it extremely difficult. He could easily be an actor/model/singer/the ex-husband of Gwyneth Paltrow. He is a hundred times better-looking in real life than onthe video call which, unfortunately, has automatically catapulted him way out of my league.
‘Shall we?’ He indicates for us to go into the villa.
I hear him clear his throat and realise, too late, that my gown will be flapping open at the back, revealing my backside like a randy baboon to a prospective mate. I grab the flaps and pull them closed, not daring to turn around.
‘Good trip over?’ he asks politely as we make our way through the villa to the lounge area.
‘Sort of,’ I say, one arm clamped behind me to keep the flaps tightly together. I wave the other hand around to make my point. ‘Apart from the jetlag. The lost luggage, the unfriendly welcome and two days without food or water. Not to mention the serious lack of shut eye, because it has been like trying to sleep in a bovine birthing suite. But yes, it was all fine, thanks.’
Cameron bursts out laughing, revealing the cutest little gap between his two front teeth. ‘Sorry,’ he says, trying to hold it in. ‘I don’t mean to laugh. You Brits are so funny. It doesn’t sound like you got off to a great start. How can I help?’
I melt at the kindness in his voice and oh, that accent. That dreamy Canadian accent.
He leaves his case by the table and flops down on the sofa. He looks very tired.
‘It would be great if you could help me to get my luggage back,’ I say, indicating my gown.
