Who Needs Reality? (Team Northwest Sweet Romance Book 1)

by Lia London

  “You are, in the public eye, the walking personification of Angels & Tycoons.”

  “What? Why? The show hasn’t even aired yet. What does that even mean?”

  A few long seconds of silence followed. “Did you really help Antonio’s kids with toys and shoes?”

  Jill scrunched up her face. “Y-yes. Was that a bad thing?”

  “And have you really paid for numerous vacations for Milo over the years?”

  “Where are you going with this?” Jill sat up, legs crossed with her feet tucked under her.

  “Jelly beans, Jill, are you that stupid?” She didn’t sound mean, but she did sound exasperated. “A story like that will get out. It’s too amazing. It’s too angelic. You’re a tycoon running around granting wishes.”

  Jill scoffed. “An angel who just got cut off from her parents’ funding now that I’m a big reality star.”

  This time Parker swore. “Stories don’t get better than this. Every sympathy vote in the nation is going to go to you no matter how you do.”

  ***

  Out of sheer curiosity, Jill created a Twitter account and cruised the tweets about the show. Near the top of the stream, she saw a GIF of when she’d kissed Milo’s cheek onstage after the first episode. The caption said, Does the Winner Still Love the Loser? Several tweets showed Jill and the other girls hugging under the confetti. One photo-shopped picture showed Jill dropping cash on top of Antonio and his brothers. Then one side-by-side pic showed the confetti kiss next to a grainy shot of Milo and Amaya snuggling under fireworks with a caption that says, This Loser Scores Two Hot Stars in One Summer.

  Jill deleted the account and stared around the hotel room, deflated. Sure, she had accused him of doing that very thing, but seeing it verified in living color hurt.

  ***

  The next morning, Jill woke up feeling utterly drained. Nothing felt right without Milo. It was like cooking in someone else’s kitchen when you couldn’t find the things you needed. She needed Milo. She needed to find a way to get home to him.

  Though her father’s admonitions about money still rang in her ears, she knew there had to be another way. She looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and flinched. Wow. I look terrible.

  An idea formed.

  She skipped the normal preliminary steps, the ones about showering, fixing her hair, or putting on make-up. Maybe that would discourage The Turd (her mental name for Charles Sleazy Snoots III) from too many close-ups.

  No such luck. Leonel fell into rapture.

  “This one is a professional! She comes to Leonel raw and untainted so that he can work from the ground up!” He clapped his hands together and made an announcement. “Artistes! Please remind your creations to come to you as unmolded clay. Leonel and his team are the experts. They should stop trying to beautify themselves. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

  Crap. Well, she had tried … by not trying. Time for Plan B.

  Scene 17: The Grand Finale

  After two more days of pompous lectures about the finer points of emoting, breathing techniques, and haut couture, Jill figured she could handle anything The Turd threw at her. He had run them through several rounds of improvisational techniques, all designed to create very specific, predictable scenarios while buying time for the actors to remember their lines. If nothing else, she could appreciate the free, genre-specific acting lessons. Her sour, self-pitying mood played well in all the scenes, and as long as she puffed out her chest and kept the dialog moving forward, The Turd found no fault with her.

  The first night of the national-level competition began with more improvised scenarios. Jay Walker oozed his charm. “Jill, playing Katinka, has just found out she has cancer, and her newlywed husband, Dwayne, playing Victor, is trying to comfort her.”

  Aware that the camera framed a close-up of her in a very skimpy nightie, Jill folded her arms just the right way to enhance the cleavage. Dwayne came up behind her and laced his arms underneath, adding to the lift. He kissed her shoulder and neck for longer than necessary, while Jill worked up some tears.

  “It’s going to be all right, darling,” he said. “We detected it early. This is curable.”

  “But the radiation.” Jill chewed on a knuckle and let the first tear crawl down her face. She raised the other hand to comb through her long locks. “I’ll lose my hair.” The Turd will love that shot. She turned away from the camera as if to go to the bed, but swung back around when she knew her whole body would show. “And the baby.” She let both hands slip down to cradle the puffed-out belly.

  Dwayne gaped at her. “The baby?”

  It took effort not to laugh in triumph, but she turned it into a spluttering sob. Antonio’s trick worked. She totally looked pregnant. When she rubbed her lower back, and leaned into the waddle a bit before sitting, she knew she’d sold the ploy perfectly.

  Poor Dwayne.

  His shocked response to the plot twist gave him a stellar facial expression. Without skipping more beats than normal for a soap opera, he sat on the bed, caressing her belly. “Katinka, we’ll find a way to save you both.”

  Jill used her sobs to replenish the breath needed to keep the ‘baby’ in place. She was not the bimbo The Turd wanted.

  Dwayne smoothed his hands around her body and lowered her back on the bed, careful to position himself between the camera and the baby bump.

  Unwilling to be thwarted, Jill clasped her hands behind his neck. “Darling, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  He pressed his chest against hers, sifting her hair onto the pillow as per training. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll help you forget it all tonight.”

  Turning her face toward the camera, Jill angled herself for maximum drama as he kissed her collar bone. Her voice was a sultry moan. “It’s the baby.”

  “Sh, darling. Not tonight.”

  “But … she isn’t yours.”

  Dwayne looked utterly dumbfounded, his lips puckered just above her ear. “Who…?”

  Wait for it, buddy. Sorry to do this to you, but …Jill looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My trainer at the club, darling. That handsome black man from New York.” As much as it sickened her, she banked on the Country Club execs chopping her from the show for that one, regardless of what the American public voted.

  Dwayne’s face reddened with rage, and the techies showed mercy by bringing up the lights.

  As the audience applauded, Dwayne let Jill up, and the two glanced up at the giant screen that showed how the shot had been framed. A still of him lying on top of her, kissing her neck as she faced the camera filled the back wall.

  Crap. That looks a little too hot. Jill pressed a thin smile into place and turned to face the judging panel. She stood there wearing almost nothing, her body relaxed back into its usual shape. Part of her wanted to laugh with victory, and part of her was about to melt into a terrified puddle on the floor.

  Slick massaged his temples, and Kamilah dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  “Jill, Jill, Jill … You do keep us on our toes, don’t you?” Slick didn’t sound pleased.

  “You said not to be boring.”

  “You’re going to give some poor scriptwriter nightmares, Jill.”

  I hope so, Slick. They deserve it.

  Kamilah finished with her tissue and applauded. “Jill, you were brilliant. They can’t kill your character off now. Your instincts for self-preservation are magnificent!”

  Jill’s mouth fell open. Wait? What? NO!

  “She’s not really pregnant, is she?” Mendel’s voice cracked.

  “Not that I know of.” Milo was still trying to wrap his head around what he’d just seen. If that was a fat suit fake bump thing, it was crazy realistic.

  “Well, wouldn’t you know?” pressed Mendel.

  “Dad, Jill and I aren’t sleeping together.” He gave his father a shut-up grimace and pointed at Carlos and Emilio, who had watched their benefactress through surprised eyes.

&
nbsp; “It’s a body suit, Mendel.” Mabel’s hands clasped her face. “A really good one.”

  Milo dragged his hands over his face. Was Jill trying to win or lose? She sure didn’t seem to mind pouring on the sexy for the show now. It turned his stomach.

  “All right, America, it’s time to vote!” Jay’s arms wrapped around Dwayne and Jill. The delay tactics began with dramatic music, a commercial break, a close-up on the contestants, and another round of acknowledgements to the judges.

  Milo glanced over to see his mother frowning at her phone. “Mom, who are you calling?”

  “I’m trying to vote for Antonio and Jill, silly.”

  “Mom, no!”

  “What?” She looked up, frustrated.

  “Give all your votes to Antonio, Mom. Jill doesn’t need them.”

  “But …”

  “Mom, please.”

  Carlos and Emilio huddled around her. “Here, let me show you how.” Carlos took her phone and tapped in the text numbers.

  “This show would be twenty-five minutes long if they’d just get on with it,” grumbled Mendel.

  “Tell me about it,” agreed Milo. “And when you’re up there on stage, it’s even worse. They’ve got cameras in your face watching your every reaction.”

  “And how did you react?”

  “You saw me. I probably did damage to my internal organs just clenching enough not to pass out.”

  Mabel pointed. “He’s got the envelope!”

  Milo crossed his fingers. “This is it.” Come home, Jill!

  Jay beamed, pretending to be nervous for the contestants. The cameras panned across their faces, and Milo pled silently to God, the cosmos, and Karma.

  “Going home tonight will be … Miranda Akim.”

  Carlos whooped and picked up Emilio in a tight hug.

  Mabel sat back, kicking her feet in the air and hollering, “Go, Jill! Go Antonio! They’re still in the game! That’s our girl!”

  “They’re up to twenty-thousand now!” Mendel nodded vigorously. “That’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

  Carlos and Emilio wiped happy tears from their cheeks. “This is amazing! We’re going to be rich!”

  Milo sat with his hands plastered to his cheeks staring at the beautiful but tearful face of Miranda filling the screen while the others danced around in relief. Then Jill slid her arm around Miranda and the two collapsed into each other’s arms, weeping.

  “Aw man, she’s so nice to comfort that girl.” Carlos stopped directly between Milo and the TV. “Look, she’s even crying with her. How do girls do that?”

  Milo shook his head, but he knew why Jill was really crying.

  Call me. A single text from Parker.

  She answered on the first ring. “Jill?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Who comes up with all these schemes? Who’s cueing up all this magic? Are these plot twist ideas all coming out of your brain?”

  Odd. Not ‘Congratulations on winning another round.’ Jill sighed, keying open her hotel door. “Guilty, I guess. Is Charles the Turd ready to kill me?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not part of the show anymore, remember?” said Parker.

  “Believe me. I feel the difference. This sucks.”

  “Jill, you missed your calling. As fabulous as you look onscreen, you need to be writing the soap scripts. Slick’s right. The guys they have now can’t keep up with you. You need to be story-boarding for Angels & Tycoons.”

  “Writing the scripts? You mean for a job?”

  “A potentially decent-paying job. Better than a first-rung actor, for sure. They start you around three grand a week for knocking out a one-hour episode.”

  Jill ran a quick mental calculation. “Which is actually only about forty minutes of play time once you count ads and theme music.”

  “You’re smarter than you look, Barbie.”

  Jill’s gloom morphed to giddiness. “Are you kidding? I mean, is there even a chance I could ever do that? I love writing. It’s the only class I ever aced. Except drama.”

  “It’s real, and I’ll totally pitch the idea to the execs as a friend, but I suggest you find a way to lose without ticking them all off in the process. You want them to like you, just not hire you as their newest bikini model in the background.”

  Jill groaned. “No joke.”

  “Unless you want to get paid for being an extra. About a hundred bucks a day on an on-call basis. Good luck living in L.A. at that rate.”

  Jill clutched the phone with both hands. “Parker how serious are you about this?”

  “Got a laptop with you? You’ll be stuck down here for at least another week. Try to write a couple of sample scripts. They don’t have to be full-length. Just give them a flavor.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “And get yourself voted off ASAP—without pissing them off. This is going to be tough. People love this great generous angel bit that’s already circulating about you, and now … that sympathy cry with Miranda. You are The Angel.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Go Team Northwest.”

  “Hey Parker?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks!”

  Jill hung up and hit the speed dial for Milo.

  He answered groggily. “Hey, Jilliet. Wherefore art thou not in bed getting thy beauty rest? Isn’t it exhausting being pregnant?”

  Jill’s heart stopped. He didn’t sound mad. He’d made a joke. “I had to tell you something.” She shared Parker’s idea and then waited for his response. Yes, they’d had a horrible fight, but no one on the planet knew her better. No one would understand what this meant.

  The silence on the other end of the line grew. “Milo? Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  “That’s brilliant!” She could hear a smile in his voice.

  “Isn’t it?” Her heart pounded faster.

  “You’re excited about this?”

  Jill kicked off her shoes. “Shouldn’t I be? This is so cool.”

  “Are you excited enough to keep doing it? I mean …”

  “You mean if I get a job doing this, I’ll have to be steady and reliable. Yes. Milo, writing is the only thing I enjoy doing. I bet I could knock out four scripts this week.”

  “Four one-hour scripts?!”

  “Four scripts capable of filling the time between detergent ads and AARP promos, yes.”

  “Do you have any ideas yet?”

  Jill yawned. “I have a few ideas churning already. They’re still a little fuzzy, but once I start typing, they’ll come.”

  “Fuzzy, as in cats?”

  Rolling her eyes, Jill sank back onto the plush pillow. “Yeah, Milo. I’m writing soap operas for cats now.”

  “Soap o-purrr-ahs?”

  “Har har.”

  “Instead of One Life to Live, it could be Nine Lives to Live.”

  Jill chuckled. “You’re so goofy.”

  “As the Litterbox Turns, All My Kittens, General Animal Hospital …”

  “Okay, which one is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. Just be sure you work in the line, ‘I was trying to do the right thing’ every episode. I hear that’s a big thing.”

  Jill narrowed her eyes with a smug grin. “Have you been watching soaps in your spare time?”

  Milo made a grunt of denial. “Just a few high-light vids. Best Moments of Blah Blah Blah.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. If you want to compile a list of required—”

  “No, Jilliet. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Oh. Right.” She knocked her toes together, stalling the good-bye. “Well, thanks for listening.”

  “I’m proud of you, Jill.” He hung up.

  Jill cradled the phone to her cheek. That felt like my old Milo. She wondered if that meant they could start over from their comfortable place. She channeled the desire and angst into her writing and four hours later, she yawned and clicked save, her first complete script.

&n
bsp; Milo looked at the caller ID and felt a tension knot form in his neck. Amaya. He still hadn’t talked to her yet. Had the long intervening weeks been enough to send the message?

  “They want me to come next Tuesday night to watch a rehearsal—maybe join in some of the stuff they’re doing.”

  “That’s fantastic. Tell me again what we’re talking about?”

  “The Northwest Dance Project. It’s a dance company and school.”

  “Right.” Where was she going with this? He could tell she was very excited.

  “Would you come? I sure could use your moral support again. You were my lucky charm on that last big dance, and that’s what got me this gig.”

  Milo’s stomach wriggled and tried to hide behind his liver. “What about Chieko?”

  “Yeah, bring her, too. That’d be nice. They said I could bring a friend if they stayed quiet and didn’t take pictures.”

  Milo sighed. Maybe there would be time after to clarify their relationship status. “I’ll be there. What time and where?”

  Antonio leaned against the wall of the elevator. “I miss the boys. I want to go home.”

  Jill couldn’t imagine how he felt. “Have you called them?”

  “Yeah. They’re doing okay, but …”

  Jill grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We got this.”

  Antonio nodded as the door opened. Dwayne and Tallahassee stood in the hall right in front of them. They eyed the clasped hands before smirking.

  Jill let go of Antonio’s hand and strode past their disapproving glares. “Oh Master Leonel? I am here at your service, waiting to be transformed by the magic of your brushes.”

  One of the other make-up technicians peeked around the bank of mirrors. “Leonel’s not here today. No make-up for this group. It’s rehearsal today.”

  “Rehearsal?”

  “Yeah, didn’t you pick up your script?”

  Jill spun around to where the girl pointed at a table. Dwayne stood there, his arms folded smugly across his hay barrel of a chest. “No chance for you to screw up the scene this time, Miss Ripley.”