I figured this date couldn’t be worse than dating AI Linc, and yet here I am, being interrogated by Ellswood’s weirdest, and the real Lincoln Bridges is sitting there with another woman he’s clearly into when my lips are still raw from our kiss.
“Okay, last one,” Zeek says, and I’d scream if I weren’t so curious which whopper he’s saved for his finale.
I nod, barely holding it together.
“Do you watch any reality TV shows likeSurrealLife,Home Innovations, or, say,Luxe Ladies?”
And that does it.
As I grab my purse off the booth seat, about to stand, Zeek reaches for my hand, his dark eyes pleading.
“Ebony, give me two minutes to explain.” The urgency in his voice is so alarming that it stalls me.
All I can think is,Why is he tryingso hard to keep me here?We’ve been in this restaurant for less than half an hour, and the spark is not in the room with us. We’re clearly not a match. So what could he possibly need to explain that he thinks will make a lick of a difference?
Maybe it’s the old me—not the one who puts her mother in her place, but the one hoping he’ll say anything that’ll help me understand what Leslie was thinking when he matched us. But I listen.
Then immediately wish I hadn’t.
The reason this date feels like a strange interview is because, well, it is. In a plot twist I never in a million years would’ve seen coming, Zeek—or Zaire Harrison—is the casting director forLuxe Ladies of Ellswood.He knows exactly who I am and is prepared to offer me an obscene amount of money to join the show.
With my highly publicized divorce, and now my reentry into society as the divorcétante, apparently I’ll be “perfect” for the cast. I’ve got the profile that fits the “tone and dynamic” the producers want to create.
Bydynamic, he means messy drama, built-in storylines, and audience appeal. Perfect, considering not only have they already signed Nora Whitfield for the next season, but they’re bringing back Sherry Easton—a.k.a. the wife of software mogul Warner Easton and the infamous hair-dryer-hurling baddie who hurt Nora, got kicked off the show, and was harassed so bad by #TeamNora that she had to go into hiding.
Jesus, that top-tierLuxe Ladiesmoney must begood.
“So, would you like to be our newest cast member?”
It just feels like it would be passing the puppet strings from Cornelia and Mom, this entire society, over to them. All I’d have to do is say the word. Downplay Julian’s disloyalty and play nice for ratings. Meet his unborn child. Throw hands at Nora over dinner during some tropical vacation with the cast under the guise of “bonding.” Just forget about the pieces of me I’m only just rediscovering.
Again, live my life on their terms.
I won’t do it.
That courage I felt earlier to choose myself? It stretches my lips into an easy smile. “No thank you.”
Shock twists the lines of Zeek’s face. “Are you serious? Do you know what kind of ratings we’d get if you were both on the show? What it would do forTheDivorcétante Chronicles?”
Again, becausenois a complete sentence and I’ve reached my time capacity on this fake date, I repeat myself, then push to my feet.
Somehow, he translates that simple answer as a need to speak louder. “Ebony, you don’t understand, this is going to be huge. There’s talk of Warner Easton relocating his entire hub to Ellswood,” he adds, as if the prospect of a huge software company moving in—likely boosting jobs and population—should somehow convince me. As if a spotlight on our little pinprick on a town is incentive.
Still no.
Wildly, the man follows me to the doors and grabs my arm to stop me from exiting. But he quickly releases me as I fix him with an unyielding stare.
“Nevertouch me,” I say.
Zeek, clearly realizing his mistake, throws up his hands and takes a step back, smiling like I’ve just proven why I’d be perfect for the rough-and-tumble cast. “Sorry, I’m just surprised, is all.” He pauses, tugging at the lapels of his blazer. His movements are frantic, like mentally he’s still grasping at straws. “Well, what about your friends, the rest of the divas? We could take them too to make things easier for you. Whitney is definitely queen bee material or an instigator; Priscilla’s the sweetheart; and, uh, the newcomer for Chanel—”
“What don’t you understand aboutno? Leave me and my friends alone,” I snap, my voice cutting through the restaurant chatter. I inhale deeply, finally noticing all the phones aimed at me—and the familiar faces.
A few feet behind him, Linc is staring at me, as if he’s waiting for the signal to destroy Zeek.
I swallow, forcing a smile. “Please pardon my interruption,” I say to the people gathered, then turn and head for the exit, stepping into the warm breeze, feeling like I might explode.
“What was that?” I murmur to myself.
