Ten Rules for Faking It

by Sophie Sullivan

  “I would have been discovered as the next sexy pop sensation, and you’d have to do the show alone,” Stacey answered, taking the stairs ahead of her.

  “I’m sure. They’d do a special on you about how you were wasting your amazing ass … ets and talents in a deejay booth.”

  Stacey glanced back over her shoulder, completely into the idea. “Some people would have suspected because my speaking voice is already so sexy.”

  “Lucky thing I spoke in time to stop that from happening,” Everly said.

  “Destined to be together. Hey, you can pitch the podcast idea today.” Stacey held the door at the top of the stairs open.

  Everly bit back her groan. “One thing at a time. How about that?”

  “That would be boring.”

  The small lobby of the station was quiet at this time of the day. Their receptionist wouldn’t be in until later in the day. Awards from long ago filled one portion of the wall beside the window that looked out on the parking lot. To the right was a large sunshine logo with the station numbers inside. They could definitely use some brand updating, but she hadn’t mentioned that idea to Chris because she was usually too busy trying not to get tongue-tied around him. You could mention it to the whole group. It could be the new thing you try.

  Everly spent many of her off hours at the station, working on programming, contacting guests for interviews, or updating social media. That way, when she and Stacey had their weekly meetings, they could focus on the content of the show.

  Maybe Chris just wanted to switch some things up, build on the momentum of a wider audience from her … Hmm, let’s call it the Unfortunate Incident. TUI in close circles.

  Stacey paused. “Did Simon phone?”

  Everly shook her head. “Nope. I doubt he will. I think the coffee and bagels all over the floor made things clear.”

  “You do anything last night? Maybe add something fun to that list?”

  Everly laughed, gesturing to the door. “Hung out. Looked up kittens.”

  Stacey’s eyes widened, but she opened it. “Careful. No hoarding.”

  “One is not a hoard.” The door drifted shut behind them.

  “That’s how it starts.”

  Stacey pushed through the swinging door that opened up to the hallway, which led to the control room.

  The early-morning deejay, Mason Hearth, waved as he spoke into the microphone.

  “Sorry about our internet being down, folks. I’m going to make it up to you with a no-repeat, thirty-minute hit list.”

  Everly winced. Yeah. Sorry about the whole internet thing. Mason’s producer, Mari, had her head down in her own booth. Passing the meeting room, a storage room, bathroom, and a couple of smaller rooms, Everly and Stacey went into Chris’s office together.

  Chris sat behind his desk, looking through a stack of paperwork. When his head popped up at their approach, Everly was surprised he looked tired. His hair was mussed, his tie off, and his suit jacket hung across the chair in front of his desk. He looked … sexy. Note to self: Boss is hotter when he’s frazzled. P.S. on note to self: Do not notice things like your boss being hot.

  “You look like you’ve been here all night,” Stacey said, taking the chair that didn’t have his jacket.

  Chris stood up, his gaze, which felt intense, on Everly as he moved around the desk. “I have. I came in late last night.” He moved his jacket and gestured to the chair.

  Unease poked at Everly’s insides. Why was he watching her like that? Did he regret bringing her chocolate pie? She didn’t regret eating it and wished she had a large slice right this minute. Something to do with her hands. Something to focus on other than his stare. This had to be about the backlash over TUI. Chris leaned against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest. Had his chest always been so wide and sculpted? No, Ev, he worked out extra hard last night and now he’s all muscle. He’d rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up, and she got stuck staring at his forearms. Okay, okay. He has nice arms. Big deal. Didn’t you just swear off men? No. Maybe you should have. Just some men. Like guys you don’t connect with and bosses. She’d swear off those men.

  Letting her gaze wander up, she felt a jolt of something she couldn’t put a name to zip through her veins. Why the hell was he looking at her like that?

  “What’s going on, Chris? You’re staring. It’s making Everly nervous,” Stacey said.

  Everly widened her eyes at her friend. She wasn’t wrong, but still. “I’m fine.”

  Chris looked over at Stacey and smiled. When his gaze returned to Everly, he sighed. Ahhh, Everly Dean. Making men everywhere sigh in frustration.

  Rubbing a hand over his face, he moved back behind his desk. This time, when he met Everly’s gaze, there was the familiar layer of detachment. Cool professionalism.

  “Sorry about that, Ms. Dean. I haven’t had much sleep.”

  Seriously? The man brought her chocolate pie and now they were back to last names? And not even in the cool jock-style way. Everly shared a “what the heck?” glance with Stacey, who shrugged.

  “No harm, Mr. Jansen.”

  Stacey snorted. “Jesus. You did not wake me up at the crack of stupid so I could witness you being weird. What are we doing here?”

  Chris took a deep breath, and Everly realized that he was nervous. Which was incredibly strange and had the added bonus of making her feel more of the same.

  “We’ve had over a thousand phone calls in the last two days, regarding your … incident,” he told Everly.

  There were only so many times she could sink into a pit of shame. Not your fault. None of it was on you. That didn’t make the mental replays of each of the events feel any better.

  “I’m calling it the Unfortunate Incident in my head,” she said. Did you need to tell him that? “Sorry.”

  Chris’s lips twitched. He waved a hand and then folded both of his on his desktop. “Please, don’t apologize. People are livid on your behalf. Our email got so overloaded, the server crashed.”

  Everly winced. “I heard. Also, I can’t log on to the email.”

  “I changed the password,” Chris said.

  Everly frowned. “What? Why?” He didn’t think she could do her job.

  “There was a lot of correspondence, and I figured you didn’t need to read through all of it.”

  “It’s my job,” she said, stiffening.

  His gaze was … assessing. Like he was measuring her for something she didn’t know about. “It’s my job, as station manager, to step in when I see fit. To make decisions on behalf of my staff and this station.”

  She nodded, feeling chastised.

  “None of this is her fault,” Stacey said.

  Chris leaned back like he was growing more comfortable with the conversation as Everly went in the opposite direction.

  “I didn’t say it was. But here’s the thing … your show hasn’t been producing the numbers we need. Then there was”—his lips curving up—“the Unfortunate Incident. Listeners are invested. You wouldn’t believe some of the messages and emails. Some have offered to take care of Simon for you.”

  “Hell, I offered to do that,” Stacey interrupted.

  Everly glared at her. Now wasn’t the time for jokes.

  Chris carried on, looking directly into Everly’s eyes. “Others have sons or nephews they’d like to introduce you to. Several men called the station to tell you they’d be happy to go on a date with you anytime. Some people left irate messages about fidelity and loyalty. There were over two hundred calls just to wish you a happy birthday.”

  Everly felt her face flame. Chris got up quickly and moved to sit on the edge of his desk, directly in front of them. The rest of Everly heated up inexplicably.

  Stacey, however, bounced in her seat. “Wow. That’s wicked cool.”

  When she looked at Everly expectantly, Everly could only shrug because she wasn’t sure which part was cool. She didn’t want anyone to take care of anything—she realized this morning that she could
n’t have been all that invested if her heart didn’t even feel bruised from the breakup. Her pride had been knocked around, but that was different. She also didn’t want to meet any of their listeners’ sons or nephews out of misguided pity. If she said yes to that kind of arrangement, her dad would be all over setting her up with “a stand-up man” from his law firm. No, thank you. Though the idea that so many people rallied on her behalf was, as Stacey said, wicked cool. And interesting. They worked their butts off to gain an audience and higher ratings. One unforeseen mishap and now they were popular? She could get her own dates. But you’ve already acknowledged you need to branch out. Try something new. Suddenly, pitching the podcast seemed like child’s play in comparison to where she thought this was headed. Also, she didn’t need birthday wishes from strangers, but that part was also kind of sweet.

  Chris blew out a hard breath like he was bracing for something, and that’s when Everly’s nerves really bit into her skin. He was going somewhere with this.

  “The owner of the station wants your segment—wants both of you—cut.”

  Everything slowed down, and she felt like she was watching from afar, seeing her own jaw drop, feeling the panic coursing through her, easy to see on her face. Beside her, Stacey blinked rapidly.

  One hand gripped the edge of his desk, but he held up the other, and his words came out hurried. “Let me just tell you what I’m thinking before either of you freak out.” Clearly, they both looked like freaking out was a possibility. “I told him I think it’s the wrong move, but he brought up the numbers, the low audience, and he jumped all over the dead air like he was waiting for another reason. I’ve been here all night because I have an idea that I think will not only blow the ratings through the roof but possibly secure you the coveted morning spot.”

  Rule five was being dropped in their lap. You’d have leverage to pitch the podcast. Her heart was beating too hard in her ears for her to fully process what he was saying.

  “You want to fire me over fifteen seconds of dead air?” Stacey’s voice went hard.

  Chris shook his head. “No. I don’t. I’m not going to. Honestly, it’s not about that. It’s the owner looking for an excuse. I have an idea that’ll put you both on the map and make it so you can ask for the moon.”

  Everly breathed in and out slowly, tapping her fingers against her thigh. Index, middle, ring, pinkie, back. Repeat. “I don’t want to be on the map, and I don’t want the moon. I just want to do my job.”

  Chris turned his body so it felt like the two of them were in an intimate and private conversation. Like the space between them diminished into nothing. Her stomach flipped like a fish out of water.

  “I know, Everly. But the bottom line is, we have to do something. I think both of you are great, but unless we come up with something, he’s going to use the other day as an excuse to can you both.”

  “He can’t do that,” Stacey said, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring down her nose at him.

  “When you guys signed the new contract, it explicitly stated that he could. For the betterment of the station, numbers, or listener enjoyment. He’s a businessman. His bottom line is money.”

  Of course it was. That was the whole point of owning a business—to profit. She understood that; it’s where the line “It isn’t personal” stemmed from. She and Stacey were nobodies. Not to Chris. He’s got an idea to avoid this.

  Chris’s eyes darkened, darted away, and then back. “Now, will you hear me out?”

  Stacey leaned around Chris to catch Everly’s hand. “Breathe, babe. Let’s just see what he’s proposing, and if we don’t like it, we’ll go and see how he does covering the spot this morning on his own.”

  Knowing her friend was trying to lighten the mood, Everly forced a small smile, but it didn’t settle anything inside of her chest.

  “Everly?” Chris looked at her with so much concern, she lost her words for a moment. “Will you hear me out?” That was the second time he’d used her name and both times lowered her defenses, tumbled the wall he usually put between them.

  She blinked as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Did she really have a choice? You always have a choice. She was going to have to add to her list or maybe just put an asterisk at the bottom: Have a backup plan. For everything.

  “Yes.”

  [7]

  Everly watched the internal debate play out across Chris’s features. How had she never noticed how straight his nose was before? Or how, up close, there were little flecks of gold mixing with the greens in his eyes? More importantly, why are you noticing now? She did her best to remain patient, but she really wished he’d hurry up and tell them what he was thinking. She didn’t want to lose her job. You won’t lose your job. You can’t lose your job. Listen to him.

  “The audience wants a fairy tale, and I’m proposing we give it to them. Reality television has a huge market, and with what happened, it got me thinking we could work the audience interest into that framework. On the surface, the idea is simple—listeners will nominate potential dates. You go on three dates a week for four weeks. Each week, you choose the best of those dates, and that guy goes into the final round. In the fifth week, there’ll be four men for you to go on a second date with.”

  Everly’s head was spinning. This was fairly simple?

  Chris’s enthusiasm was hard to miss. “You’ll drop two that week and in the sixth week, you’ll choose between the final two. The entire time, the audience will be allowed to weigh in on your candidates. I’m thinking you do some social media posts about the dates and your feelings on them. The audience already connects with you. They’re going to want what makes you happy. Either way, the choice, of course, will be yours.”

  Her tongue wouldn’t work. Never mind peanut butter; her mouth filled with concrete, and something lodged in her throat. Maybe her heart. Or her lungs. She tapped her fingers against her thigh, but it didn’t help. She pushed her right thumb into her left palm. Hard.

  “Ev, breathe,” Stacey said, pushing Chris’s rolling chair back. She gripped both of Everly’s hands and forced her to meet her gaze. “Hey. It’s okay. Breathe.”

  She choked out a breath, shaking her head like she could clear the craziness from her brain.

  “Are you okay?” Chris’s worried tone cut through her haze.

  Stacey turned to look at him, releasing one of Everly’s hands. “You just asked to set her up on a bunch of dates as a way to boost ratings. You may have noticed that she has a touch of social anxiety, so maybe you can see why this might have thrown her.”

  Everly dug deep to find her voice and her professionalism. She appreciated Stacey understanding and having her back. But she was thirty and could speak for herself. “To clarify, you think if I select some listener-suggested dates, it’ll boost our ratings and make the owner back off?”

  Chris nodded, the excitement in his gaze dimming. “I think it’s unique and fun and could mean great things for the station but also for you professionally and personally.”

  His words were careful, making her think maybe this was his way of having her back. He wasn’t pressuring. He was laying out an idea.

  Chris stood and paced behind his desk for a moment before going to stand over by the window. There was something in his gaze when he looked at her, something she hadn’t seen before, even when he’d dropped the wall between them at her house the other day. Softness? Caring? Don’t misread a look while you’re emotional.

  “Everly, this isn’t something you have to do.”

  She forced herself to breathe slowly. Evenly. He was serious. He had her back, for whatever reason. Could she do this? Online dating was the norm these days, and she hadn’t had any luck with her current methods. It gave her control, which she loved, but also pushed her boundaries, which she didn’t like but knew she needed.

  “What if I don’t?” she asked, curling the fingers of both hands into tight fists.

  “We’ll put out a press release thanking everyone for ral
lying around you. Then I’ll fight to keep you and Stacey here.”

  It was a risk. Either way.

  A strange calm, almost numbness filled her chest. “Tell me more.”

  He nodded. “The idea is similar to The Bachelorette. We screen possible dates recommended by our listening audience. The station pays for you to eat dinner with these guys. Just a regular first date, no expectations other than the hope that you’ll find your Mr. Right. At the end of the six weeks, the choice you make doesn’t bind you into anything. You simply choose a man you’d go on a third date with.”

  Stacey covered one of Everly’s fists with her hand. Everly sent her a smile, letting her know she was keeping it together. This is like your regular segment meeting; just discussing an idea to boost ratings.

  Right. “Define screening.”

  Chris straightened, his gaze growing more serious. “Extensive screening. Background checks, applications, and security on each date.”

  She frowned. She liked the safety aspect of it but … “That sounds awkward with a third wheel.” Though maybe it’d help when conversation lags.

  “It’ll be discreet.” Chris sat down across from her again. “I know you’re shy. I know you don’t love being in large groups of people. Everything will be tailored to suit you, to fit into your comfort zone.”

  She arched her brows but said nothing. Everyone in this room knew this was so far out of her comfort zone, it might as well not exist.

  Chris continued, “You don’t have to talk on-air. Though you could. You have a great voice. You and Stacey can add it to your segment if you feel comfortable. I was thinking you could do a blog post after each date, or we could get a hashtag going. We utilize Instagram and Twitter to give people a rundown. Stacey can be your wingwoman. If you want, and you’re comfortable, she can talk about the dates, share what you say on the blog, be the on-air voice. People are going to love this. They want you to be happy. This brought fans out of the woodwork on your behalf. It’s powerful.”

  He really had thought about this a lot.