Page 19 of Fan Favorite

B ennett Charles was no longer in love.

In fact, as he stood in the dining room, sweating his ass off in front of an army of hostile bachelorettes arranged across a three-tiered riser, Bennett Charles had never been less in love in his entire life.

Unless love was an anxious stomach expelling protein farts at a totally unreasonable pace.

An hour ago, these girls had been kissing him and using words like adore and smitten and wet , and it’d felt like the last time he’d summited Kilimanjaro—like standing on top of the world, all the possibilities endless because there you were, doing something most people could never do, alive.

But now these very same girls were glaring at him like they might rip his arm off and beat him in the dick with it.

And there, in the back row, was Edie Pepper.

All Bennett could think about was escape.

How in the hell was he going to get off this show without becoming the most hated man in America?

The tabloids had destroyed Wyatt Cash. The entire Key universe turned against him—former contestants gathered to dissect the story on podcasts, gave quotes to magazines, and posted savage memes across their social media platforms.

Exactly what these girls would do to him.

Bennett scratched the back of his neck wildly, like a dog with a sudden itch, before remembering he was on camera.

He dropped his hand so quickly it smacked into the side of the faux marble pedestal where thirteen oversized gold keys were displayed in diagonal rows.

The pedestal rocked and a single key slid off and fell to the rug.

Bennett watched it settle next to his shoe and was once again forced to contend with his skinny ankles that stuck out between the intentionally too-short gray suit pants that Wardrobe had chosen for him, and the shiny loafers with no socks that were not on brand for him at all.

Hiking boots. Over-the-ankle hiking boots. That was Bennett Charles.

Bennett stared at the Key to My Heart on the floor, paralyzed by the weight of his sudden rejection and the imminent exposure of Bennett Charles vis-à-vis Charlie Bennett.

How was any of this his fault? He didn’t invite Edie here—he would never invite Edie here—yet the girls’ collective rage was aimed directly at him.

“I cancel you! You’re canceled!” McKayla, the bartender from Tucson, slurred from the front row.

She removed her shoe and threw it across the dining room, where it rebounded off a tripod before a harried production assistant crawled under the cameras’ sight lines to retrieve it.

McKayla wobbled on her remaining heel and jabbed her finger at the production team. “Canceled!”

That’s the other thing the girls were furious about—the abruptly canceled cocktail party.

Bennett glared at Peter, who was standing just off camera with his arms crossed over his chest, that same smug look on his face.

What a dick. Obviously, he’d been the one to cancel the cocktail party.

Another thing that wasn’t Bennett’s fault!

Bennett kept trying to refuse things. Refuse to do the key ceremony, refuse to be filmed talking to Edie, refuse to do interviews, refuse to be Peter’s puppet.

While Jessa had lined the girls up on the risers, Bennett had taken back some control and cornered Peter in the kitchen.

“You know what I’m going to do when this is all over, Pete?

” he’d seethed while Peter leaned against the refrigerator like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I’m gonna find your ex-girlfriend, and after I give her the ride of her life, I’m gonna tell her what a pathetic shithead you are. ”

“Like I told you, she came to us. We didn’t go looking for her.”

“Don’t you have a shred of loyalty, man?”

“C’mon, dawg, calm down.” The way he said dawg , like he was mocking him. “This is good TV. Think of all the women across America who are going to be so in love with this love story.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. She leaves tonight.”

“Definitely not,” Peter said, straightening to his full height. He had one fucking inch on Bennett. At most! Asshole. “She stays. We’re doing a storyline.”

“Then I’ll fucking leave,” Bennett said, already looking for an exit that wasn’t blocked by a camera or lighting rig.

Peter stepped closer to him. “Let’s not go down this road, all right?

We’ve already been over your contract. I’m sure you remember you’re on the hook for—what is it, three million?

Or four?—if you don’t complete the season.

And, seriously, you don’t want me to call Carole Steele, who owns half the media outlets in America—I’m sure you can imagine what she’s gonna do if you don’t play ball.

So, let’s just cut the shit. It’s you and me, all right?

” Peter turned and yelled to a PA. “Can we get a drink over here?” He smiled at Bennett like they were friends. “What do you want?”

“Bourbon,” Bennett said despite himself. “And not the cheap shit you give the girls. And a Smartwater.”

“Can we get a nice bourbon and a Smartwater over here, please,” Peter yelled to a PA.

“Listen, I know this feels shitty. I do,” he said, turning back to Bennett.

“And we don’t like to do it this way, either, but it’s just how the sausage gets made.

And let’s keep it in perspective. There are worse things than having a girl you actually know, who you actually trust, looking out for you. ”

Bennett, through clenched teeth, said, “I don’t know her, Peter.”

“Of course you do. You’ve known her your whole life. People don’t ever really change.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is that a threat?”

“What is what supposed to mean?” Peter cocked his head and looked at Bennett like he was crazy. “And is what a threat?”

“You think I’m real fucking stupid, don’t you?”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific.

Because if you’re asking if I knew you were a big nerd in high school and changed your name, then get over yourself, Bennett.

Everyone was a fucking nerd in high school.

You don’t think your background check told me that a month ago?

Calm down. That’s not the story we’re trying to tell. Here’s your drink.”

Bennett took the whiskey and drank it fast. Then he did the same with the water, because chugging Smartwater was better than triggering his asthma in front of this fucking prick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

It made sense that Peter would’ve already known at least some of this. Still.

“How am I supposed to trust you when you do shit like this?” Bennett said finally. “I’m not going to let you play me on live television.”

“First of all, we’re not live—”

“I’m not kidding, Peter. I will slap the shit out of you.”

“Bennett, c’mon,” Peter said, shaking Bennett lightly by the shoulders.

“Why do you think I want you to look like an asshole? How does that help me? I want you to be Prince mother-fucking Charming in this motherfucking fairy tale. And to do that, I need you to man up, stop whining, and charm the shit out of the girls for all the housewives, gays, and preteens of America. Can you do that for me?”

Bennett pictured Edie looking at him with those big puppy dog eyes, which normally would’ve turned him on—he loved that kind of open adoration—but instead just filled him with shame. He was sweating now in places no man should sweat; even his feet felt slide-y in these stupid loafers.

“Why should I?” Bennett said, the reasonable part of him embarrassed by the petulance in his voice.

“Because the entire world is going to love you for it,” Peter exclaimed, his eyes shining a little too brightly.

“When you treat Edie with the same love and respect you give the rest of the girls, you’re gonna look like the sweet, stand-up guy America loves.

And when we make her over and send you on your Cinderella fantasy date, you’re gonna be like, ‘What’s that sound?

’ Oh shit, it’s panties dropping all over the world.

And when— eventually —you send her home because you’re different people now, it’ll be beautiful and real and nostalgic, and they’ll love you even more when you find your wife with whatever interchangeable influencer you choose.

So how about you give me some credit—I know how to make good TV.

I know how to make you look like a fucking king.

” Peter paused and took a step back. They locked eyes.

“And I also know how to make you look like a real fucking dick. Know what I mean?”

Bennett knew Peter was referencing the incident in the hall when he’d yelled Get that fucking camera out of my face!

And then, if that wasn’t enough, when Bennett had shoved the camera, and also Greg, unfortunately.

That one second of footage was enough for Peter to edit Bennett into the kind of guy who yelled and pushed and became unhinged.

For the rest of his life, he’d be swearing to everyone he was not that guy . He was a nice guy with a bad edit .

“The girls are already pissed off—if we have a key ceremony, I’m really gonna look like an asshole,” Bennett said.

“Nah.” Peter clapped Bennett on the shoulder. “Eliminations are just part of it. The women of America don’t blame you for that. Want me to send Makeup over for that neck?”

Bennett’s skin felt prickly all over. “Is it all red?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”