“Nice to m-meet you.”
Dammit. Rory felt the blood surge to his face at his stumble, but thankfully, neither man reacted, probably putting it down to nerves.
“Take a seat, Rory,” Allan said, shaking his hand too. “We like to have an informal chat first.”
The heat in his cheeks intensified. So much for reading off a cue then getting the hell out of here. He’d been naive to think this audition would be easier without having to learn lines. Or maybe he’d tried to downplay the possibility of curveballs to clamp down on his nerves.
Whatever, he was so screwed.
“You come highly recommended for this part.” Sherman swiped at an electronic tablet, probably skimming his CV. “Chris is a respected agent.”
“We’ve worked together for a few years now,” Rory said. “He’s a good guy.”
Sherman’s impressive bushy brows drew together. “Yet he hasn’t put you forward for any speaking parts before this?”
Shit. Here came that first curveball. So he trotted out his prepared spiel in case he was faced with this very question.
“I’ve preferred stunt work to give me a good grounding in the industry. I’ve always been better at hands-on learning.”
“Admirable,” Allan muttered, eyeing him with speculation. “So why would an economics major who graduated top of his year at university choose to do stunt work instead?”
Another question he’d prepared for, phew. “Because movies are magical, and driving cars at top speed beats sitting behind a PC all day.”
Sherman laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Approval glinted in Allan’s eyes. “I’m an accountant myself but couldn’t stand working a nine-to-five job behind a desk for more than six months.”
“So how did you get into this business?”
Allan grinned. “Shouldn’t we be asking you the questions?”
Rory hesitated, hoping he hadn’t screwed up, but the men laughed again.
“Relax, Rory, we’re just messing with you. Having this kind of informal chat is exactly what we wanted, to see how personable you are, how you’ll come across chatting to the contestants on the show, that kind of thing.”
Trepidation tightened his throat. “So there’ll be a lot of that on the show?”
He’d spent endless hours watching every Survivor rerun he could, taking note of exactly how much talking the host had to do. It had been comforting to see that the bulk of it was left to the contestants, with the host mainly introducing the challenges and asking brief questions at the tribal council. He’d envisaged Renegades being similar.
“You’ll be reading from cues mostly, as we’ve found it’s easier to have scripted reality than a free-for-all,” Sherman said. “But you’ll be filming in the outback for months at a time, so we’d be foolish to choose a host who couldn’t interact with the crew and contestants socially as well.”
“Makes sense.”
Rory grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny as both men continued to study him.
“You certainly have the look we’re after,” Allan said, staring at him with cool, impartial assessment. “Strong. Rugged.”
“Uh, thanks,” he said, as Sherman snapped his fingers.
“Don’t get us wrong, Rory, we’re not going to objectify you, but it doesn’t hurt when the host looks like you and wears tight T-shirts to draw in a greater female audience.”
He tapped his tablet screen. “From our research, this kind of outback reality show tends to attract predominantly male viewers, and we want to broaden our audience.”
Being told to wear tight T-shirts to accentuate his pecs and biceps sure sounded like objectification to him, but if it meant landing this role and a healthy paycheck, the tighter the better.
“It also helps that you have stunt experience,” Sherman said. “Where we’re filming, in far north Queensland, can be a challenging environment, and we want a host who’s . . . how can I say this politely . . . not too precious?”
He must’ve looked confused, because Allan added, “Some industry types, especially in hosting roles, can be all about ego, and we want someone down-to-earth.”
Rory nodded and bit back a smile. They could’ve been describing Benedict Dixon to a tee. He’d been dreading this informal chat at the start of it, but it looked like he’d impressed without trying or having to say too much.
“Do you have any questions for us?”
He’d prepared these carefully and rehearsed them out loud in front of the mirror so felt confident in asking.
“How soon will filming commence?”
“Location scouting will take place soon, with actual filming starting about six weeks later, though our timelines are fluid and prone to change,” Allan said. “Will that be a problem?”
“No, not at all.”
So much for spending more time with Samira. It looked like their fledgling romance was destined to fail no matter how much he wished otherwise.
“And how long will I be on set?”
“We expect the filming of all episodes to wrap up within three months, giving us time to do extensive editing before it screens.”
“Okay.” Rory nodded, trying to project enthusiasm when being holed up on a set in the middle of nowhere and forced to make small talk with crew for three months seemed like a life sentence. “Sounds good.”
When he didn’t ask anything further, Sherman said, “Great. Ready to read for us?”
“Absolutely.”
This, he could do. Relieved he’d got through the first part of the audition fairly unscathed, he strode onto the stage and faced the cue machine.
“Ready?” Allan asked, and when Rory nodded, he hit a button that started the cues rolling.
He’d done this very thing with Pia in her office, reading off giant cards, so he soon slipped into the role, injecting the right inflections into his voice, controlling his breathing, allowing the words to free flow without halting.
He had no idea how long he read for, but every time he glanced at the men, they appeared to be leaning forward, wearing matching approving expressions, so he took it as a good sign.
When the cues rolled to an end, he exhaled softly, surprised at how relaxed he felt. The tension had left his spine, and the slight viselike pain at the base of his skull had vanished.
Applause rang out and both men stood.
“That was great, Rory,” Sherman called out, and Allan added, “Impressive.”