“Yes?”
“Hi. My name is Parker Stone, and I’m the executive producer onName Your Price.”
“The TV show?” she blurted in surprise.
“Yes. I’m calling to—”
“How did you get this number?” Olivia cut him off, still stunned and with her mind jumping to catastrophic conclusions over how far the video of her and Chuck had spread if an executive producer was calling her. She walked farther into her apartment and pulled the shades on the windows in her living room, suddenly feeling the need to hide.
“Mr. Walsh gave us your contact information.”
Olivia stopped yanking her curtain halfway and rolled her eyes so hard, she thought she might pull a muscle. “Of course he did.”
“What’s that?”
“I said,of course he did. And how did you track him down, put out an ad for most insufferable actor in Hollywood?”
She thought she heard him stifle a laugh.
He came back with the sound of a hidden smile in his voice. “No. We actually found him through his agent once the videoof the two of you went viral. He graciously shared your contact information with us.”
Olivia felt betrayed and wanted to punch a pillow. She walked into her bedroom and sat on the foot of her bed with a huff. “Graciousis too generous. I’m sure there was an ulterior motive, which I have to assume is why you are calling me. So, what do you want?”
He softly chuckled. “I appreciate your candor, Ms. Martin. Mr. Walsh mentioned we might encounter it when reaching out to you.”
“Yes, I’m sure that was theexactdescription he used. So, what is it?”
He cleared his throat and came back sounding rather serious. “The clip of the two of you online has reached massive viewership in record time and is still growing. We see it as an opportunity. We’d like to meet with you to discuss doing a segment on our show. We are prepared to make an attractive offer.”
Olivia’s blood cooled as she let his words sink in. She had zero desire to be on TV; her mother’s charisma and penchant for fame did not live in her veins. But she couldn’t ignore her money issue. She needed more cash than she had, and a brief stint on TV might be worth it.
“How attractive?” she asked.
“That’s what we’d like to discuss with you. In person. Tomorrow.”
She popped up from her bed, annoyed he was being vague and that she’d considered taking the bait. “Why can’t you tell me now? I’ve seen your show, you know. You guys offer money to people to do awful things like work at a sewage plant for a month or live in a cabin with no phone or TV. My situation is a little different.”
She wandered into her kitchen and opened the pantry. This conversation—her whole morning, actually—was making her want to stress-eat. She found a hidden box of strawberry Pop-Tarts she’d missed in her sweep of Chuck’s junk, his one guilty pleasure, and tore open a wrapper.
“We understand, Ms. Martin. And that’s why we are prepared to make a substantial offer. We want to film a segment like we’ve never done before, and we think you and Mr. Walsh are the perfect opportunity.”
“Hmm. Well, the only problem there is that we can’t stand each other. If you want to film people fighting, there are about a hundred franchises that beat you to the punch.”
He went quiet again and came back with the sound of another sly smile in his voice. “Sure, but none of those shows had the perfect setup fall into their laps like we have here.”
The Pop-Tart had gone stale. She threw it in the trash.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we want to give you an opportunity.”
“To do what?”
“What you said on the street yesterday.”
She burst out laughing. “You must be out of your mind. Like I said, no price high enough.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Martin, Mr. Walsh said no price high enough. You said a million dollars.”