Page 6 of Say Yes to the Nemesis

Tomorrow, everything changes. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can’t shake the feeling that Wren being there is going to complicate things in ways I haven’t even thought of yet.

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WREN

I can do this.I’m a grown-up.

Those two phrases are a mantra I repeat to myself as I walk into the TV studio. I can do this.Thisbeing walking into my first full day as an executive producer atThe Last Kiss, the longtime dating reality TV show. I’m not sure how much reality actually goes into the events of the show. As I walk down a long hallway, I see photos of seasons past.

There’s a bachelor down on one knee before a bachelorette on a horse. A bachelorette in the crowd during a parade, flashing her breasts at a bachelor on a parade float. Four bachelorettes at the famous rose ceremony, all waiting hopefully while the bachelor they are competing to win holds a rose out, teasing them. As I continue to walk by photos of women being dunked in water and running away from geese, my thought is that if any of it is real, the contestants are complete fools.

And yet, I’m still nervous about starting my job. This is the first time I’m working outside of my brother’s company. It feels like a big step for me, a kid who has been coddled by her overbearing big brother for too long.

And now, my main goal is to succeed on my own merit. No help from Jay. No influence from the hunky bachelor-to-be,either. Ryan is technically doing me a favor by letting me stay on the show.

All I want is to be anonymous. Not Ryan’s pet project. Not Jay’s nepotism hire. Just Wren, the PA who does her job and everyone respects.

This was supposed to be my reset. My chance to be something more than Jay Rustin’s little sister. If I blow this? I might as well go back to folding T-shirts for his merch line.

I step into the production office and pull up short. The showrunner and executive producer Elena is mid-speech, passionately lecturing the show’s director, Marcus White, and a young-looking Japanese woman. Elena pauses, her expressive hands spread wide and cuts her eyes over to me.

“You’re late,” she says. Her accent wrapped around the words, thick with the warmth of her native Spanish. Intonations rose where they didn’t in English, giving everything she said a kind of melodic urgency. “Come in, Wren.”

She gestures to me with a perfectly-manicured hand. I gulp and step into the office, which holds a large conference table stacked with photos of beautiful women. This season’s bachelorettes, I presume. There are usually ten or twelve women selected for this show and one bachelor they all compete for. The man is generally a minor celebrity; from my research, past bachelors have been child actors, a failed politician, one of the Baldwins, and one-hit wonders.

Of course, the cherry on top of this flaming sundae? The bachelor is Ryan Haart. My brother’s best friend. The guy who once said I looked like a burnt Q-tip in a bridesmaid dress. That guy. And now I’m going to spend the next two months watching him make out with Instagram models on camera.

“I’m so sorry. I was told to be here…”

“Sit!” Elena orders. She points to a chair beside the young woman. “We were just talking about people not living up to our expectations.”

My eyes widen as I slink to my seat. Is she talking about me? Elena’s the one who told me to be here at eleven!

The girl next to me gives me a sympathetic look. She sits up and offers me her hand. “Hana. I’m an assistant producer.”

“Wren. Same,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“If you’re done, ladies,” Elena huffs. “I asked you two to be here because we had a bachelorette drop out at the very last moment. You two will be handling the bachelorettes, so I thought you should be included in the decision-making.”

Marcus smiles at me and then pushes a headshot across the table. “This is the bachelorette who just backed out. She was a contortionist for Cirque du Soleil. And she had her master’s in education.”

I look down at the headshot and see a blonde with a magnetic smile. “Ah. Too bad.”

“She worked for us. She was supposed to be our inside man,” Elena says, frowning. “We already had a plan in place that she would make it to the very end. Then our bachelor could pick who he really wants to be with. Now we’re back at the beginning.”

Marcus taps a headshot with one thick finger. “I still say Shannon would be a good replacement.”

“Shannon? No way.” Hana wrinkles her nose. “She’s a real estate agent. I’m so sick of real estate agents. There were five last season.”

Elena sighs. “Who, then?”

“None of these are really good candidates. They’re all boring. We need someone smart to be our mole.”

“Are we calling her a man on the inside or a mole?” Marcus strokes his chin.

Elena’s gaze flicks to me. “And you? What do you think?”

“Me?”