Yes. Sorry, Chels. Xo
She waited for a response, and when she didn’t get one, she decided to brave finding the viral clip online. Given the spread, she had her choice of major social media accounts to view from. She picked one on Instagram and through one squinted eye watched herself peel off her shirt and throw it at Chuck.
“Don’t read the comments. Don’t read the comments. Don’t read the comments,” she muttered as she navigated to the comments.
An abundance of fire emojis, heart eyes, and sweating faces filled the comment section, along with a few fruits and vegetables that had been repurposed into innuendos.
Hot.
I’d get with him for $1
You’d have to pay me NOT to get with him.
That’s @ChuckWalsh. Dude’s an a-hole.
Umm, how about some love for the hottie in the cutoffs?
They owe it to the world to make beautiful babies.
Isn’t she, like, some dead movie star’s kid?
Someone tell @AstridLarsson_Official that the love child that killed her marriage is rampaging in L.A.
The last comment made her regret looking. She closed the app and took a deep breath. The spotlight, any form of it, was not something she wanted. She’d had qualms over dating a celebrity for that exact reason, but Chuck had nullified thosequalms the first time he’d looked at her and pulled her in so deep that she couldn’t bring herself to worry about him being semifamous. But spotlight by proxy aside, the main reason she didn’t want to be in the public’s eye was that she knew it would rekindle interest in her parents. She did not need to be the reason complete strangers started slandering them online again some thirty years later. Sheespeciallydid not need Astrid Larsson to be made aware of her modern existence. She’d gone her whole life without ever crossing paths with the woman her parents had wronged, and she wasn’t about to start now.
This hadTERRIBLE IDEAwritten across it in bold shouty caps.
But.
Liv, that’s a lot of money.She heard Mansi’s words again and could not deny them. With a sigh, she decided to get a better idea of what she might be getting herself into withName Your Price. She’d seen the show a few times but only in passing and had never really paid close attention. On her phone, she navigated her way to the show’s website and clicked the video link to a clip from a recent episode.
The show’s host, TJ Price, a tall, confident man who fit the Game Show Host mold so well that Olivia could see the veneers in his mouth, narrated the overview. This episode followed a woman from Manhattan who’d agreed to work on a farm in rural Idaho for six weeks. Olivia had to admit, seeing her swap stilettos for Muck boots was rather entertaining.
She clicked to another episode preview and saw a businessman trade in his suit and tie for a trash collector jumpsuit.
A third preview strayed from the society-type-getting-their-hands-dirty theme and followed a young man so painfully shythat he couldn’t even look at the camera on his journey to auditioning for a part in a live musical.
In all cases, TJ met with them on occasion for interviews to check in on how they were surviving their newfound misery. Each contestant had a significant chunk of money on the line if they lasted in their new environment, didn’t quit their job, and made it through a live show. The whole trajectory of their experience was condensed into a single hour-long episode.
Olivia considered and realized that not everything the contestants were challenged to do was objectively terrible, though most of it was, but the point was that it was terribleto themand that was what made it entertaining to watch.
The list of things involving Chuck that were terribleto herwas not short, and before she even started making it in her head, wondering what the show might want to put them through, she got a text from a number that she should have blocked.
Hey. I know you’re mad at me, but please show up tomorrow.
She read Chuck’s message and didn’t respond. He was right: she was mad at him. And she planned to show up tomorrow, but leaving him wondering if she would gave her enough satisfaction to peacefully enjoy the rest of her Sunday.
Chapter
3
On Monday morning, Olivia arrivedat theName Your Pricestudio office with Mansi. She knew Chuck would bring his agent, and having Mansi at her side made her feel both more confident and like they were heading into a divorce mediation.
She’d worn heels and high-waisted pants with a fitted blouse because she knew Chuck would show up looking irresistible in whatever he wore, and she wanted to be on the same level. Sure enough, as she and Mansi marched up one end of the walkway leading to the office, Chuck and his agent came up the other, and the sight of Chuck made her heart bungee-jump through her torso the way it did every time she saw him, even when she was mad. It was as reflexive as blinking. Something in him called out to something in her, and it was hard to ignore.
He was effortless in dark jeans and a tight tee. His sandy hair fell in a perpetually disheveled mop that needed an occasional hand through it to keep it in check. Sunglasses hid his hazel eyes, but Olivia could feel his gaze raking over her with alook like he wanted to bite her lip. He tucked his own bottom lip between his perfect teeth and let it slowly release like rising dough.
“Good morning,” Mansi said when the four of them met at the path’s intersection. She shot out her hand to Chuck’s agent. “Mansi Patel.”