One To Watch(25)

“And we’re out!” a producer called as they cut to commercial. “Back in a hundred and twenty!”

A hundred and twenty seconds—Bea didn’t know what Lauren was going to say to force her to continue this torment in two minutes flat, but she was already rushing toward her.

“Bea! Bea, what the hell?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bea didn’t want to freak out in front of all these people, but she no longer felt above it, not after what had just happened. “These men hate me!”

“Bea, no—shit, shit, shit.” Lauren put her hands on her head, looking a little panicked herself. “I told that guy to walk off, okay?”

“What?” Bea was flabbergasted. “Why would you do that?”

“Ratings, Bea! People are going to vilify him and love you. They’re going to think you’re the bravest person on the planet, and they’re going to be desperately invested in you finding the perfect guy you deserve. But that must have felt awful—you had no way to know it was fake. I’m sorry, I should have told you beforehand.”

Something clicked into place in Bea’s mind—

“This was your plan to make America love me? To humiliate me on TV?”

“I’m seeing the flaws now.” Lauren grimaced.

“It was a bad plan!”

“Back in ninety!” the producer called.

“What about the others?” Bea demanded.

“What others?”

“The other men! You saw how they looked at me. Why would you set me up to be mortified?” Bea asked bitterly.

“You’re wrong,” Lauren insisted. “Jaime, Sam, Asher—they’re good guys. You’ll see.”

“Sixty seconds!”

“I want to walk off this set right now,” Bea rasped, her voice breaking.

“Your contract prohibits that pretty expressly,” Lauren pleaded, “but even if it didn’t, I still believe in this show. In all the lives you’re going to change—including yours.”

“Thirty out!”

Lauren looked into Bea’s eyes, her expression desperate—

“Bea, by the time this is over, you’re going to be the most beloved woman in America. But only if you stay and fight. Can you do that? Forget me, forget the show. Think of your career—your future. Think of all the women at home, glued to their televisions, who know if you find love, that means they can too.”

Bea pressed her lips together and nodded. Lauren sprinted offstage as the producer counted them back to air in five, four, three, two, one.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Johnny said brightly, as if completely disconnected from the mess that had recently played out before him. “What do you say, Bea, are you ready to meet your next five suitors?”

Bea lifted her chin and did her best to put on a good-natured expression.

“We’ll see, Johnny. If they keep walking out, maybe they’ll save me the trouble of having to hold the first kiss-off ceremony!”

Johnny looked rather like a deer in the headlights as he faked a laugh at Bea’s joke. “Okay, then! Up next, please meet Wyatt.”

Bea turned to the edge of the stage, where the next man was walking toward her. If Lauren had called Central Casting and asked for an all-American football hero, Bea didn’t think they could have done any better. Tall and muscled with blond hair, Wyatt wore jeans and boots and a charcoal flannel shirt buttoned smartly, as if this were a cozy business meeting instead of an appearance on live television. Ducking his head shyly, he looked even more nervous than Bea felt, and she warmed to him immediately.

“Hey—um, hey. Hey, Bea.” His voice shook, but he brought her into a hug that was kind and sure.

“Hi, Wyatt.” Bea felt her temper melting away. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Wyatt stepped back to meet her eyes. “What that guy did before, walking away like that. I don’t think that was right. Not right at all.”

“Me neither,” Bea said softly.

“I really like your dress.” He smiled. “Actually, I guess it’s pants. Is it pants?”

Bea laughed. “It’s a jumpsuit.”

“Well, whatever it is, it looks beautiful on you.”

Bea suddenly felt tears behind her eyes—totally disarmed by this small act of kindness, this show of support. Wyatt looked at her with concern.

“Are you okay?”

Bea nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and as the shadow of his tall frame blocked the hot lights for just a moment, Bea closed her eyes and exhaled. This was possible. All she had to do was keep going.

After Wyatt, the second group of men was pretty similar to the first: a parade of athletic men with bulging arms and narrow waistlines, perfectly symmetrical faces that soured with displeasure as they laid eyes on Bea. The second man in the group stopped short when he walked onstage, but recovered with relatively little awkwardness.

The third veered toward incredulity: “Uh … seriously?”

The fourth said “Wow” over and over again. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”

“Wow?” Bea ventured.

“Wow,” he parroted back.

“Who are you?” asked the fifth man.