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“That’s what we need to brainstorm,” I say. “So far, we’ve tried pointing out his hypocrisy, but I think we need to get them to come up with their own Jordy horror stories. I think Lauren and Kim are in denial a little.”

“Gee, you think?”

“But if they think about their own experiences more critically, something might click.”

Maya nods briskly. “Roger. Can do.”

“Can do what? We haven’t figured out the plan yet.”

“What’s there to figure out? We’ll find a way to make them share Jordy stories. I understand the assignment.”

“But how? Thehowis generally the hardest part.”

“Eh. I’ll figure it out.” She starts to walk to the door.

“How?” I repeat.

“I’llfigure it out.The only thing I want to help you plan right now is an outfit. Come on.”

With that, she vanishes, leaving me to sigh in frustration and follow after her.

“Honestly, they all look great,” Maya says as I pull on option three, a cropped, boxy T-shirt. “I don’t think you have the ability to look bad in anything. It’s like a superpower.”

“Hardly,” I say, but I can’t help but smile as I look at myself in the mirror.

Maya stands beside me and examines my reflection in the mirror. “Stay with the crop.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally. Jordy will appreciate the strip of skin.”

“Did he tell you that once?” I ask absently, tugging on the bottom of the crop while I survey myself in the wardrobe mirror.

“No, but I love when girls have a little skin showing there, so I have to assume Jordy does, too. He’s an asshat, but he has good taste.”

My ears prick up at that. Does she mean she loves it aesthetically, or she finds it attractive? Before I can ask, she plows on. “Are you nervous? I don’t even wannathinkabout how I’m gonna get through three hours alone with that… that chunk ofswamp scum.”

“Burn.”

“But seriously, are you good?”

“Maya,” I say, folding my arms. “I am more than good. It’s Jordy who should be nervous.”

She nods, and bounces on her heels. “You’ve got this,” she says.

“I’ve got this,” I echo. And smile.

It’s a strained smile, though.

The production team has arranged a small mountain of dessert on a wooden table, in a forest clearing approximately a hundred meters from the mansion. They’ve included the chocolate fondue as promised—although they’ve improved it somewhat by including marshmallows, pretzels, and sliced bananas along with the strawberries. It’s no helicopter rideover the lake at sunset, but, in a marvelous stroke of good luck, according to Isaac, apparently the chocolate itself is something to be excited about. Lucky me.

“We got it in Switzerland,” he’d said when we arrived, like that was supposed to mean something especially impressive. When I hadn’t reacted as excitedly as he’d hoped, he’d tutted. “Swiss chocolate is made with milk from Happy Cows. Something something, the grass they eat is watered by glaciers. It’s fucking fancy, okay? You’re welcome.”

The surrounding trees have been draped with strings of twinkling fairy lights, which I’m sure will look picturesque when the sun has set enough to show them off. As the crew sets up the cameras and lighting, Jordy saunters over to stand beside me. I clench my teeth as soon as he comes close, and fight the urge to get as far away from him as I can.

“I wish we lied and told them we had fried chicken on our first date,” he says. “I’d kill for some right now.”

“Didn’t you already lie to get that helicopter ride?” I ask mildly. “Don’t be greedy.”