The two of them fist-pump while I scowl.
Turning to Kira and Victor, I say, “Is this really the kind of show ABN wants to produce?”
“You mean one that people watch?” Victor lets out a high-pitched giggle.
“It’s a terrific format,” Kira adds. “And it’s exactly what our division needs—a massive hit.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “So, what happens after the first season, when I’ve picked a wife? Is my career finished?”
Dylan empties her can of Red Bull. “Of course not! You and your wife become hosts of the show and we have new contestants on every season.”
“Nope. Sorry. I know you’ve put a lot of work into this … research and everything … but I can’t do it.”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Victor says, scratching his head. “According to your contract, you will do it or you’ll get fired and we’ll sue you for breach of contract.”
Kira makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Oooh, that would bad.”
I turn and glare at Dwight, waiting for him to say something, but he’s fully engrossed in opening a new package of antacids. I clear my throat and stare at him until he finally makes eye contact.
“Uh, okay,” he says finally. “What if we tweak it a bit? Have one female co-host and go for the ‘will they or won’t they’ vibe?”
Dylan slams her hand on the table and shouts, “Yes! That! Love it! Love the creative flow in the room right now. We pick one gorgeous woman and set you two loose in the forest … or wherever.”
Victor nods enthusiastically. “I’ve never met anyone as positive as you, Dylan. You say yes to everything.”
“Thanks,” she says with a wink. “That’s my motto, actually.”
Kira looks down the table at me. “You should really take a page out of her book, Will. Be a little more open to new ideas.”
“Take some risks in your young life!” Dylan says with a grin.
I stare at her for a moment, trying to process what is happening. I’m totally fucked. That’s what’s happening. “I don’t want to sound difficult here, but what I do is legitimately dangerous. You can’t just bring in someone with no survival experience and no … physical strength or stamina. It would be extremely reckless.”
“Of course we would never risk anyone’s life,” Kira adds. “We’ll make sure everything is completely safe.”
“Absolutely!” Dylan adds. “Safety first. That’s my motto.”
“I thought it was …” I start, then give up.
“I can make this work,” she says. “Trust me. I’ll find the perfect woman and the perfect situation to put you two in. It’s going to be epic. The build-up to the show will be beyond incredible. By the time it airs, Will Banks will grace the cover of People Magazine on their Sexiest Man Alive edition.”
Dwight nods. “I think I speak for both Will and myself when I say how exciting this is. Truly a great opportunity for him.”
“Right?” Dylan asks. “Isn’t this what he deserves? To be at the top of the unscripted heap for years to come?”
“He certainly does.”
“He’s got what it takes.”
“But, I don’t—”
“Now, don’t you dare be modest, young man!” Dylan clap her hands along with her words, shouting, “You. Are. A. Star.” She holds her hands together and says, “You just don’t know it yet.”
Whiny Princesses and the People Who Love Them…
Arabella
“Oh, bugger,” I say, staring at my mobile phone screen at a Google alert concerning me. It’s an article about the eerie resemblance I bear to my dead mother, Queen Cecily. “I should've known they wouldn't let this anniversary pass us by without pouring salt on the wound.”
Arthur, who clearly just got the same alert as me, says, “Bastards.”
“I'm sorry, hon,” Tessa says, patting me on the knee.
We’re in the back of the limo, waiting for Gran, who, in spite of being in her eighties, insists on wearing high heels to every event. I swear she does this just to get the bodyguards to hold her arm wherever she goes. Gran has a thing for strapping younger men with guns. Anyway, we’re on our way to the wedding of the season at which I’m supposed to be hunting down the dull men from the dossiers so I can be the bride at the biggest wedding next season. Spoiler alert: I’m not going to look for any of them, and if one of them does somehow approach me, I’m going to brush him off like a piece of lint on a pair of black pants. I’m not in the mood for love.
The truth is, I was already fuming before this article came out. I’m still raw about not being allowed to become the ambassador for the Equal Everywhere campaign. Also, now that I’ve been told I can’t wear my non-existent red dress, it’s all I want to wear. Instead, I’m in a chiffon robin’s egg blue gown with a modest (read boring) boat neck. I’ve paired it with extremely dull two-inch beige heels. Oooh, beige. Who’s the sex cat now?
But it honestly won’t matter what I’m wearing because all that will matter is this stupid article. “Why couldn't they have released this a few hours from now?” I sigh. “Now all I'm going to hear about for the rest of the day is how I'm the reincarnation of my mother. As if I don't get that enough.”
Gran slides into the limo wearing a sparkling gold Dior dress. She's so tiny that if she wears anything drab, people barely know she's there and if there's one thing Gran likes, it's for people to know when she's arrived. She settles herself in, then looks at me and narrows her eyes. “What's up your royal tush today?”
“Nothing. I'm absolutely thrilled to be attending yet another function with my foulmouthed, feisty grandmother as my plus one.”
“You should be thanking me. I turned down several offers just so you wouldn’t have to go alone,” she says.
“Of course you did,” I say, feeling like even more of a loser than I did when I woke up this morning.
“Go easy on her, Gran. The media is making quite a fuss about what would've been our mother's fiftieth birthday.” Arthur shoots her a look that says our little Arabella can't handle any type of criticism. I know he's doing it to be nice, but it irritates the living shit out of me.
“Don't patronize her,” Gran says. “It's the last thing she needs.”
I'm about to thank her when she adds this little gem. “She'll always be a baby if you treat her like one.”
“Thanks for that,” I say.
“You're most welcome.”
“I was being sarcastic. Just because I resemble her, everyone assumes I can't handle more than some weak tea and light conversation.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Gran says, patting me on the hand. “Is that what you believe?”
“Yes. And to be honest, I'm sick to death of being ordered around and underestimated by everyone.” I give Arthur a dirty look. “Including you.”
“Arabella,” Gran begins in a tone that says I'm about to be subjected to her off-the-cuff wisdom. “If you don't like being ordered around, underestimated, and compared to your mother, do something about it.”