The Blitzed Series Boxed Set: Five Contemporary Romance Novels

by JJ Knight

  “We’re good with her for the day,” Amara says. “We’ll hit it again tomorrow.”

  Shelly pops her head in. “Blitz, Studio B for Giselle in five.”

  Gah. Her again.

  I turn to Jessie, who is sitting in the corner with my bag. “What do I have next?” I ask her.

  She pulls out the paper schedule. “Just says dance block,” she says. “Then a costume fitting in an hour.”

  I wait for Amara and Blitz to leave, then ask the dance coach if we’re good for today.

  “Sure,” he says. “You do much better with Blitz anyway.”

  “This dance is hard for me,” I say, heading for the door. I wave for Jessie to follow.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Studio B,” I say. “I want to know if there are cameras.”

  Jessie follows as I hurry down the hall. If I see anyone, I might lose my nerve.

  The windows to the studios are very small, only six inches wide. I peer in, and catch a glimpse of Blitz and Giselle in the mirror before they are out of range of my limited vision.

  I take a deep breath and open the door.

  The music is a blues number with a sultry low female voice. Blitz has Giselle bent over his arm and leans over her, his face lowering closer and closer, before she turns him aside in a dramatic rejection.

  They’ve had him take off his shirt for this rehearsal, so he wears only the form-fitted dance shorts.

  Amara looks up, but doesn’t want to disturb the dance, so she says nothing.

  And there is a camera. In the corner, one of the crew members squats down, holding a rig.

  Why are they filming Giselle with Blitz but not me?

  I swear they want her to win. Maybe she’s made some behind-the-scene deal. Maybe all the voting is just for show, and it doesn’t count.

  My stomach turns over.

  The dance is arresting. Giselle rolls out of reach and Blitz is on the ground tumbling toward her and bracketing her body with his.

  Giselle wears a skin-colored body suit, so when he does this, a quick glance would suggest she is naked. With his bare chest, this footage could look like anything.

  I want to go over there, break it up, call everyone out on what they are doing. But I don’t. I just stand there like an ice statue, unmoving, barely breathing.

  Giselle’s legs come up and around Blitz’s body, and they roll together this time. Blitz notices me and stops abruptly. Giselle keeps rolling and ends up alone at the end of the mat.

  “What the hell?” she says.

  “Hey, baby, everything okay?” Blitz asks.

  I look at him, and Giselle, then Amara and the camera. “Who decides what is filmed?” I ask. “Who chooses the clips?”

  “Devon, honey,” Amara says. “He’s the director. If you feel you’re getting shortchanged, take it up with him.” She walks me to the door. “This session is closed.”

  I turn back to Blitz. He’s not happy about Amara escorting me out.

  “I’ll come find you as soon as we’re done here,” Blitz says.

  But he doesn’t insist on them letting me stay.

  I don’t know where to go. I won’t talk to Devon, of course not. But I don’t want to go in my dressing room where there are cameras. Or any room, really. They could be anywhere, waiting to film me looking dejected and angry.

  The safest place is the hall. Or maybe the parking lot. I leave Jessie in the viewing room to hang out with the other assistants who are waiting to be called on, and walk outside.

  It’s a gorgeous day, typical Southern California, and I just walk and walk. Some of the studio buildings are quiet, and others are bustling with people, crews, vans of equipment, and props moving back and forth.

  I wonder if I can go in any of them, but most of them are keyed, like ours, so I doubt I have access. In fact, I can’t even get in ours unless I call Jessie. And she has my phone.

  Locked out. It’s fine. I wander some more, sitting for a while on a park bench prop by a couple of fake trees. It’s fun, feeling like I’m in the middle of television magic. People work their whole lives to be exactly where I am, and never get here.

  They get injured, like Jessie, or give up or just never get their chance. I need to see the good side of all this. Have fun with it. Blitz and I are secure. I shouldn’t worry about the show. Blitz and I are more than a few dances, bigger than some misleading footage or an audience vote.

  I have to have faith.

  The giant tower clock on the central building tells me I need to figure out how to get back in the building. Fortunately, the camera crew is packing a van outside the door, and I walk in with them.

  Time to do a dress fitting and get my sexy on.

  Chapter 33

  The fourth show brings a new level of anxiety for me. It’s the last elimination and I don’t feel I can bring the sexy out in front of an audience.

  I’m last in tonight’s lineup. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Someone has already been eliminated from the show, but nobody knows who.

  Mariah seems to have the least footage from the week, looking at Blitz’s schedule, plus she was having trouble with her number. So I wonder if the people who know have already stopped pushing her, since it’s pointless. From a pure ratings standpoint, the last two people standing should really be me and Giselle. Based on what I’ve seen filmed, that seems to be what they are going for.

  They open with Giselle. I know they want to start strong with a sexy show. She comes before anything else, no clips, no montages, just her and Blitz, rolling on the floor.

  The format shifts a little. Barry has an interview set this time, three stools and a wide-screen TV just above and behind them. He runs clips for Blitz and Giselle to comment on.

  During rehearsal for this, I was warned that some of the clips and questions would be practiced, but at least one clip and question would be a surprise. The footage I saw earlier that day didn’t include any of the lunch conversation. It was typical stuff, an interview about my feelings for Blitz, how I felt about getting this far, and a clip from the previous week’s ballet.

  So they are going to hit me with something. I’m trying not to worry.

  The runner comes for me shortly before my number. I stand up and arrange the outfit carefully.

  It’s nothing like anything I would ever wear. They continued the royalty theme, with the base being a blue sparkling dress. But it’s been destroyed, parts of it ripped, other parts singed on the edges. Over half of it is melted away. I look like a princess from a dystopian land.

  Which, I guess, I am.

  The tears and ragged edges have to fall just right. Even though there are flesh-colored pieces inside the holes, so I can’t accidentally get exposed on live television if something shifts, there isn’t a lot of dress left.

  My hair is wild. It’s meant to get in my face, and for Blitz to push it back. Cecilia back-combed the curls so it’s an enormous mass flowing down my back. It’s wild enough that we’re taking a commercial break between my dance and my interview for the stylist to check me before we do the interview.

  The makeup is intense, smoky eyes and vivid lips. I’ve never looked like this. Blitz saw the dress earlier, but not the hair and makeup. I don’t know what he’ll think.

  Our rehearsals yesterday and this morning were so intense that we struggled to make it home before engaging in fierce, powerful sex. If it weren’t for the threat of the cameras, we would have totally done it at the studio.

  I feel like a walking nymphomaniac, constantly thinking about the dance, the music, and the heightened emotion of what we’ve done. It’s like a drug.

  Jessie follows me and the crew member to the backstage area. As usual, Kendra is there to double-check my look. “You are going to wow them this time,” she says.

  “It’s definitely different,” I say.

  “Be a Renaissance woman.” She turns to the dance coach. “Is she ready?”

  “They are going to s
et the stage on fire,” he says.

  And with that, we head into the backstage area.

  Mariah and Blitz are doing their interview. I can see their legs on the stools even from the far stage wing.

  “And what about this move?” Barry asks. “Do legs really spread that wide?”

  That gets a whoop from the audience.

  They talk about the dance they just did, and I realize the “surprise” footage is rapidly recycled footage from the live dance. Of course. I relax. This will be fine.

  The lights go down and Blitz and Mariah head across the stage. Blitz dashes ahead, squeezing my arm as he passes. He can’t see me well in this light, so I’m still going to be a surprise.

  The commercial begins. I’m about to go into place, when a crew member holds my arm. “You can wait. There’s an entire short feature about to run before your number,” she says. “You’ll go out at the next commercial break.”

  What? A whole feature?

  I can’t see the screens at all, but I can hear the sound. Right now, there’s just general audience noise as they wait. The crew has already reset the stage during the interview, so all is quiet.

  Then the theme music, and Barry’s back.

  “After tonight, only two girls will remain to claim Blitz’s heart,” he says. “Earlier in this broadcast, you got to see a behind-the-scenes look at the rather spicy love affair our wayward dance bachelor has conducted with Giselle.”

  He pauses to let that sink in, or maybe there’s a clip running.

  “Tonight, in our Sex Blitz episode, you’ll see that our sweet girl-next-door Livia has a naughty side as well.”

  Oh God. They didn’t run the footage for the interview because they are going to run it here.

  But it’s not. Instead, I hear the dance coach talking. “Blitz, slide her into the perfect splits.”

  I can picture this. It was a rehearsal two days ago, the sexy dance. Blitz and I were pretty feverish. And I remember this moment, because as soon as Blitz got me in the splits, he jokingly pressed his face between my thighs.

  I know when that part airs, because the audience cheers and whistles.

  I back away from the stage and breathe in and out, concentrating on the sound and expansion of my chest. Barry talks more, but I don’t hear him. We knew cameras were there. When I signed up for this show, I told myself I had to stop being afraid, and just do what needed to be done.

  But my parents. My church. What if the little dancers from Dreamcatcher saw it? Would Gwen’s mother allow Gabriella to watch us? Had she seen and been shocked? Would she never want to do private lessons again?

  My father’s words come back to me. “You are easily swayed, Livia. You can’t be exposed to things that lead you to wicked ways.”

  This is wicked. This is exactly what he meant. I’m not just being swayed. I’m the one doing the swaying.

  A crew member touches my arm. “We’re in commercial. Time to go out.”

  I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by my fear, by the repercussions of what I’m doing here.

  “It’s time,” the crew member says again. He looks around, as if he needs help.

  Blitz arrives. “You okay, Livia?” he asks.

  For a moment I don’t answer. I can’t speak, that same cold dread coming over me as when we were at the premiere.

  He pulls me close. “You’re all right. Remember, it’s just you and me.”

  He leads me out, and this time I’m able to move. “You will be spectacular,” he says. “Because that’s who you always have been.”

  I want to believe him. I want to feel all right. I have walked away from my past. And my father was wrong. I am not weak, not easily led astray.

  I am strong. And he will not shame me.

  I stand in our marked spot, waiting for Blitz to grab my waist.

  He doesn’t talk anymore, just wraps his sure arm around me. He’s shirtless in this scene, and with as little as I’m wearing, my skin connects with his. This grounds me. His body. Mine.

  Blitz belongs to me, and I to him. His body is mine. His ardor. His love. His sex. This is healthy and part of who we are.

  I’m not my father’s daughter.

  I’m my lover’s love.

  ~*´`*~

  When we hit our last pose, the audience is on their feet. They were given paper fans to cool themselves off, a little joke to draw attention to the heat level of the show, and everyone is fanning each other. I can see the white movements even with the glaring lights.

  When we go to commercial, Blitz has to help me out of the pretzel-like position. I feel wrung out, like I’ve run a marathon.

  Kendra runs out to check my hair, spraying it away from my face and patting it down. Then she dashes off again. We head over to Barry’s stools.

  Barry has snatched one of the fans and is waving it at his face when the lights come up. “Whew!” he says. “Is it hot in here?”

  My breathing has barely slowed down. Blitz takes my hand. He lifts it as if he’s going to kiss it, our signature move, back from our private days and one that has become ours on the show. The fan site has sold thousands of the “Kiss my fingers” T-shirts.

  But he bites me instead.

  I don’t smile, just look at him. Our eyes meet and I feel very powerful, like I’m not the frightened young girl anymore, and this man, regardless of his position, is at my mercy.

  He sees it and tilts his head.

  “Look at these two,” Barry says. “I think we know what’s happening after the show!”

  Another roar from the crowd.

  The video flashes on behind us. As I was warned, there isn’t footage I expect, but one from the dance practice with Blitz and Giselle. It shows all of us, then zooms in on me, angry, my eyebrows raised.

  Then it freezes.

  “Now that’s a woman who isn’t going to let anybody take her man,” Barry says.

  Blitz lifts my hand automatically, then catches himself, shrugs, and this time, kisses it. “I love this woman,” he says. “Doesn’t matter who you vote for.”

  The crowd goes nuts.

  “Well, let’s see what America thinks,” Barry says. He gestures to the center stage, where Giselle and Mariah are walking out.

  Blitz and I leave our stools to go stand in place. This time, despite our instructions, none of the girls hold hands. Both Giselle and Mariah seem really stiff and angry. I guess they heard what Blitz said.

  But it’s not as if they didn’t know.

  We wait for Barry to do his theatrics. I watch Blitz. He seems annoyed that he’s still not wearing a shirt. I sense that he’s getting done with all this too. At least this is the last elimination.

  “We have one safe girl who will definitely be back next week,” Barry says. “And that is…”

  He looks around the audience to buy some time to add to the suspense.

  “Mariah!”

  Both Giselle and I look at her with shock. We didn’t see that coming.

  She gets hugs from both of us and stands next to Blitz.

  “And our other girl remaining on the show this week is…”

  The heartbeat music comes on again, a soft chime pulsing through the room.

  “Livia!”

  I turn to hug Giselle, but her mouth is wide open.

  “What?” she shouts. “That’s ridiculous! I’m the best thing on this show!”

  Barry keeps a completely straight face as he says, “Apparently not.”

  I move next to Blitz, mostly to get away from her. Anger is coming off her like a heat wave.

  “It’s time for Giselle’s farewell dance with Blitz,” Barry says.

  Mariah and I start to walk offstage, but I hesitate. Giselle is not going up to Blitz. She’s off script.

  “I am not going to dance with that fucking asshole!” she shouts.

  I sense a scramble in the back, some shouts to crew. I guess they’re going to have to scrub the footage during the slight delay before it broadcasts.

>   Giselle is not done. “You fucking crucified me, trolled me, and now you think you can get me off your show?” She pushes Blitz in the chest.

  “Folks, this is a little off the plan tonight,” Barry says.

  “Giselle, I don’t even know how that Tweet got out,” Blitz says. “I would never have done that.”

  “This is my big fucking break,” she says. “And you wrecked it.”

  “America cast their vote,” Barry says, his voice still in announcer mode.

  “Then America fucking sucks!” she says.

  “And with that, let’s have a commercial break,” Barry says.

  As soon as the feed is cut, two burly crew members come onstage.

  “Don’t grab me,” Giselle says. “I’ll take myself out of here.”

  Blitz goes to her and wraps her in an embrace that makes me have to steel myself. But I can’t leave. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. So Mariah and I stay near the edge of the stage.

  Blitz pulls away from Giselle and looks her straight in the face. I can see he’s loading up his charming playboy act. “You’re going to take away my last dance? I sure hate to miss that. And I don’t want anything to cost you that legal drama you are angling for. Show everyone you’re a pro.”

  This gets her. She breathes fast, out her nose. “I was promised I would be one of the final two.”

  “It was a legit vote,” Blitz says. “None of us have anything to do with it.”

  “Right,” Giselle says. “And pigs fucking fly. We all know everyone’s voting for Livia.”

  I look out in the studio audience. A sea of rectangle lights in the seats means people are videoing this left and right. They should have put the phones in locked storage. Some shows do that now, I hear, to stop illegal videos. This is going to go viral if nobody stops her.

  I’m about to go out there myself, but Mariah holds me back. “Let them handle it,” she says. “After next week, this whole thing is over.”

  She’s right. What does it matter what Giselle says?

  But she’s a risk now for the live broadcast. Without a microphone, I doubt any of the phone footage picked up what she was saying. “You think she’s right?” I ask Mariah. “Did they bother to use the vote?”