Like she has any right to be resentful after what she did to my car. “You could always have waited for the next elevator.”
“I’m late for an appointment,” she informs huffily.
“Thanks to your dramatics. I’ll be late for mine too,” I say coldly.
She goes to hit her floor number but seeing that it’s already lit up, stands stiffly as far away from me as possible. The doors close and we’re the only two people in the shiny elevator.
I refuse to look at her. If I do, I might start another fight and I should be focused on how I’m going to score a spot on the show, not whether I should strangle her or kiss that bratty mouth.
I adjust the sleeves of my shirt, making sure they’re lined up with the jacket sleeves. Then I brush invisible lint off my chest. Fidgeting. It’s what I do when I’m in an uncomfortable situation. I hear a snicker from beside me and refuse to give in, but my eyes slide over.
Nice dress. It shows off her hourglass shape. Her breasts are still heaving. They would look great on top of me.
She catches me looking and I look away. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Anything I can do for you?” she murmurs sarcastically.
I glance at the twin spots of high color on her cheeks. I don’t fancy a slap, so… “No, not a thing,” I answer coolly.
“Good, because that’s what you’ll get.”
After that, we ride up to the fifth floor in total silence. When the doors open, I can’t get the hell off the elevator fast enough.
There must be at least two hundred people milling about in the hall, waiting their turn in front of the studio audience. The two most important questions they need to answer are…
Do I look good on-camera?
Am I willing to do just about anything for that prize?
I can answer one of those two questions easily. Yes, I look damn good on or off-camera. And yes, I would do just about anything for the money this game show is offering. It’s my last chance.
“You here for the audition interview?” A harried looking production assistant approaches me moments after I step into the hallway.
“Yup.”
“Right. Get to the back of the line. At the end of the hall,” he says rudely, and points.
I look down that hall. That long, long hall. His shitty attitude makes me want to punch him one, but I pull together what’s left of my dignity and go to the end. I’m not going to fall at the first hurdle. I need the prize money.
Talk about a sea of humanity. The money has attracted a wide range of people. Most of them have dressed to be remembered. There are costumes, club clothes, even a few people clad all in leather. I bet the girl in a chicken costume is willing to do just about anything for money. I wonder if a suit was the right way to go. Who will remember a suit?
The road hazard is already waiting at the end of the line. She rolls her eyes so hard when she sees me she could do permanent damage. “Oh,” she coos sweetly. “You must be in the wrong place. This is the line for the common people.”
“Cranky little thing, aren’t you?” I retort coldly, as I take my place behind her.
She ignores my comment and turns her head to look at me. “I thought you would be here for some big-shot meeting instead of auditioning for a reality game show.”
“What a surprise…you were wrong about something.”
“Yes, I was, but I have you pegged now.” She’s all happy now, she made it on time for her appointment, and she is now in a position to give me a hard time.
“No doubt, you’re dying to tell me.”
She nods, looking me up and down thoughtfully. “Yeah, well, I realize you were just putting on a front. Tell me, was that car a rental? Is that why you freaked out the way you did?”
How the hell does this woman do it? Every single time she opens her mouth, she manages to annoy the fuck out of me again. “No, it’s not a rental.”
“Oh. I see. Then it’s something you bought—or somebody bought for you—when times were better. When you had a little more security. Now? You’re just a regular person who’s desperate for the chance to make some cash. Pretty pathetic for somebody who insults another person for having a crappy car.”
All right, I shouldn’t have been so nasty and judgmental about her car. It was only because she pissed me off by laughing at the damage to my car. Still, she’s right—I’m not in any place to judge. Does that stop me from squinting down at her and making things worse? No. “And yet, I still drive a better car than you.”
Her eyes widen ever so slightly with hurt before she turns her back on me.
Why do I feel like a jerk? Like I just made a big mistake?
I don’t have time to think about it because another snooty looking PA, a woman, comes out and walks down the length of the line. “All right, people, we’ll be taking you in groups of twenty for the audience to look you over.”
“Audience?” several people mutter, looking at each other.
The listing said nothing about being in front of a live audience. That doesn’t bother me—if I’m going to make it on the show, there will be a lot more people watching. Might as well get used to it now.
“We didn’t expect so many of you, so let me tell you how this interview is going to work,” she continued, her eyes flicking towards me and lingering for a couple of seconds on me.
I sense my advantage and smile back.
She turns away with a smile. There’s promise there.
Dakota is shaking her head in disgust.
This distracts me and I turn to her. “What?” I mouth.
“To think you called me a bimbo. What are you? Flirting with the staff to get some special attention? Ugh, you make me sick.”
I open my mouth to say something equally rude and the PA says, “Can I have your attention please?”
The long line of people go dead silent as everybody waits to hear what she is going to announce.
“As the ad stipulated, there’s a chance to make one million dollars as a result of winning the game. You read that correctly,” she pauses. “But there’s no way we’ll make winning a million bucks easy on you.”
Chapter 4
TRENT
There are sighs and grumbles all down the line.
“Of course not,” Dakota mutters in front of me.
“If you are chosen to be a contestant on the show, you will receive text messages which contain instructions for stunts that the audience has voted for you to perform. These stunts will all be outrageous—this is the nature of the game. If any of you believe this is not the game for you, now is the moment to walk out.” She stops and pauses.
Not one person leaves the line.
“Good. If you have the courage to perform a stunt, a predetermined sum of money will be added to your overall total, and you’ll be sent to the next level of the game. With every level you go up, the amount of money you can win increases. If you do not perform a stunt or fail, however, you will forfeit all of your past earnings and be kicked out of the game.”
“What kind of stunts will we be asked to do?” someone down the line asks.
“What happens if we get in trouble for the stunts?” another asks.
“If I end up in jail, are you gonna bail me out?” a woman asks aggressively.
All good questions, none of which the PA answers. She just raises her hand for silence. “That kind of information will only be divulged if you are chosen to be a contestant.”
Probably a liability issue, I guess. They’re not allowed to make any promises. And I’d go so far as to guess that no, the show’s producers would not want to be held accountable for the repercussions of the stunts. After all, if a contestant doesn’t feel comfortable, or if they feel a stunt will result in harm or jail time, they shouldn’t do it. That’s how the producers will wash their hands of the entire situation. It’s almost insulting.
But I need the money.
“Over the course of the game, the number of players will of course, dwi
ndle,” she continues. “Until only one remains standing. That player will be the winner who will take home the million dollars.”
A cheer rises from the crowd and fills the hallway.
I’m not cheering. There’s nothing to cheer about and I’m too focused to cheer. Let the rest of them act like idiots. I’m here to win.
I notice I’m not the only one too focused to applaud.
Little blondie who needs to take driving lessons is also silent, her brow creases in a frown. She’s probably thinking of the nature of the outrageous stunts.
It’s a shame she’s such a raging bitch, or else I’d ask what she thinks of all this. I’m sure she has a good reason for being here. As crass as she comes off, there’s still a touch of class to her. She’s gorgeous, but she didn’t dress like a whore to get the audience’s attention. I can’t help but feel a grudging sense of respect for her. But only because of that.
“All right. Let’s take the first twenty.”
The line starts to move as the first group of people are let into the studio. There’s a buzz of excitement, intrigue, and a hell of a lot of nervous tension. I have steel nerves and even I’m feeling a little edgy. The thought of performing outrageous stunts in front of a live audience broadcast across the country isn’t something I cherish. I’m fairly sure I’ll want to leave this experience off my resume, even when I win the million. And I do intend to win. My palms are a little clammy, but I remind myself that this is the sort of energy I feed upon. It strengthens me and solidifies my resolve.
I steal a glance at Dakota. I wonder what she’s thinking, still standing in front of me and keeping to herself the way I am. She barely flinched all throughout the description of what we would have to do. She’s pretty determined. It’s a shame she won’t win, if she even gets the chance to play.
After a few minutes, the line moves again. And again. It’s not taking long for the audience to decide whether they like their potential contestants. How are they choosing them? At random? What happens when they reach a limit? It’s not like they can call people back in. I guess somebody knows what they’re doing, but it all seems a little random to me.
Time passes and we keep moving.
Soon, I can see the door and people going through it as each new group is called in. There’s no chance to get a feeling for what’s going on in there because nobody comes out of the door as the assistants are obviously shuffling people out of another door. The walls must be pretty tightly soundproofed too, since I hear nothing coming from in there.
Within two hours, it’s our turn. Time to shine, Trent. We’re guided into the studio and led through a series of doors. As we are taken around a corner, I start to hear people, shuffling, coughing, clearing their throats, and murmuring among themselves. It sounds like a fairly big audience. I plaster on my brightest smile as we take another corner, and step onto a brightly lit set.
The audience applauds, but without much enthusiasm. They’ve been at this all morning. The man in the button-down shirt and khakis who is holding a microphone and wearing a smile that looks like it was painted on by the makeup crew doesn’t look tired, though. He’s fucking radiant. Grinning and looking excited to see us so jazzed up. I’m thinking maybe, there’s a caffeine IV somewhere that he keeps taking hits off.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen! You are our last group of the day! I know our audience is tired and I’m sure you are, so let’s get right down to it!”
The set is bare but for a nest of cream sofas and a long coffee table. This must be where the host will hold live interviews with the contestants. A crew member directs us, and we start to form two lines in front of the audience. The lights are in our faces and it is impossible to make theirs out.
Dakota stands next to me, I have to jerk my chin and point to motion for her to move down a little so there’s room for me. She wants to edge me out. Probably knows I’ll win and doesn’t want me in the running. When she doesn’t move, I move her by stepping onto the low stage and using my larger body to force her into taking a few steps to her left.
She almost falls.
A few members of the audience notice this and laugh.
She doesn’t laugh, of course. Her hazel eyes burn with fury as she glares up at me and very deliberately stamps on my foot.
I wince but hold back any stronger reaction than that. There are more laughs from the audience. God, it really doesn’t take much to entertain people these days.
Still grinning like a Cheshire cat, the host turns to face all of us. “My name is Chip Douglas.”
“No, it isn’t,” Dakota mutters to herself.
I secretly agree. Nobody’s name is Chip.
“And I’m sure one of the production assistants has already explained the rules of the game. The audience has already picked nineteen other teams to participate—all we need is a team from this group!” He encourages the audience to cheer at this, while those of us on the set look at each other in surprise.
“Team?” one of the others asks.
“Yes, a team. Two people. We’re looking for two people with the right…chemistry.” Chip’s smile seems a little more demonic all the time. He knows this is a surprise to all of us and he is enjoying himself thoroughly. “Sorry. Did they not tell you about that part?”
“You know they didn’t, because you probably got the same response from the other teams,” Dakota pipes up.
“So it’s not just me you’re rude to,” I murmur.
“Listen, you smug ass,” she mutters under her breath. “I’m not here to argue with you.”
“No. You’re here to argue with the guy who’s hosting the show,” I hiss.
Chip walks over to us. “Are you two a couple?” he asks, winking at the audience.
They chuckle knowingly, and it’s enough to make my skin crawl. “Definitely not,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re complete strangers.”
“He stole my space in the parking lot,” she announces vindictively.
“No, I damn well didn’t. She doesn’t know how to drive.”
“He needs glasses. I was already in there well before him.”
“She needs a good spanking,” I finish with clenched teeth. At that moment, I would have liked nothing better than to have her splayed on my lap and my palm striking her sassy ass.
I hear her gasp with shock.
The crowd howls with laughter.
“Ouch,” Chip replies, tugging at his shirt collar with one finger. “It’s getting a little heated in here, folks. I think these two need to hug it out.”
“I don’t think so,” we reply in unison.
The audience goes wild with laughter.
I feel a flush creeping along my neck, threatening to reach my face. It’s one thing to be in front of hundreds of people but quite another to hear them laughing at me.
Chip turns to the audience with another wink. “I don’t know about you folks, but I think I see the start of a beautiful friendship here. Or at least, a working relationship. What do you think?”
“Yes!” They cheer, whistle, and stomp their feet.
“I don’t believe this,” Dakota mutters over their cheers.
I have no response, because I don’t believe it either.
“What’s your name?” he asks her, pointing his microphone in her direction.
“Dakota,” she says with a quiver in her voice. Yes, it’s one thing to pretend to be brave but another to know you’re in the hot seat.
“And you, big guy?” Chip smiles at me, sounding like we’re old friends instead of strangers. His eyes are too green to be real, his skin too tan to be natural.
“Trent,” I reply.
“Dakota and Trent,” he shouts in the microphone. He turns towards the audience his face glowing. “I like the sound of that, don’t you?” he says persuasively to the room of people sitting in front of us.
There’s an earpiece in one of his ears and I’m sure somebody watching from somewhere in the building is feeding him instructi
ons. They like us together. They want him to get the audience to choose us as the last team.
I want nothing less in the world than to work with her—except not winning the money. Getting that million is more important to me than anything, even my pride. Or else I wouldn’t be auditioning for a damned game show in the first place. I’m going to have to swallow my pride just one more time if I’m going to get what I showed up for.
“Audience, pick up your voting devices and press ‘One’ if you want to see Dakota and Trent team up, or ‘Two’ if you think we should pick another team.” Chip smiles at us with the look of a man who knows what’s coming.
I know what’s coming, too. I can feel it. Because my luck is just that shitty today.
We look up at the screen behind us. Sure enough, the vote’s unanimous. We’re a team.
“Thank you for coming,” Chip says to the other eighteen who came in with us. I feel sorry for them for a second—they waited all that time and nobody paid attention to them. But I feel worse for myself, truth be told, because I’m stuck with the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.
Hatred just about radiates from her as she glowers up at me.
The audience, meanwhile, eats it up with a spoon.
“Well, you two. It looks like you’re going to round out our teams for this season of the show! How do you feel?” He shoves the microphone in my face, still wearing that outrageous grin.
I wonder if he just had Botox or something and his face is semi-frozen that way. “Excellent.” I look down at Dakota, who glowers up at me. “It’ll be a good competition.”
“I’m sure it will,” Chip agrees—and judging by their applause, so does the audience. “One of the assistants will take down your personal information just outside this studio. You’ll get your first text message tomorrow, containing instructions for your first stunt.”
I’m in a sort of daze as a crew member ushers us to a door, then steers us in the direction of a production assistant who takes down our names and phone numbers. We sign waivers releasing the production company from liability—saw that one coming—and are free to go.
Dare Me Page 2