Chapter 2

Christian

"Repeat after me: act charming, don't mention any girls in your life, and make that contest winner feel like she's the only girl in the world. I want every media outlet to sing your praises for being so good to your fans after this. Got it?"

Those were the words my manager, Frank Renaldo, had uttered to me before the show, staring me down until he was sure I understood.

Seeing the less-than-enthused look on my face, he'd added, "Be glad all you have to do is call the girl. Justin McCoy had to serenade his contest winner with his newest song and have dinner with her."

All you have to do is call the girl.

It sounded easy enough. I was no singer, but a phone call I could do. Frank and I both knew if I had to serenade this girl, her eardrums would probably combust, and I'd be paying for her medical bills, not her dinner.

But all I had to do was flatter her, according to Frank, and that was what I did best. Except I was hearing nothing but silence on the other end of this FaceTime call. I had initially seen a flash of the contest winner's face, but she had since disappeared from the screen entirely. All I could see was the tiled ceiling above her.

"Hey, are you still there?"

Was I ever going to catch a break? I had come here with a plan, and so far, nothing was going as I had imagined it. I thought I would come in, woo the ladies of Hollywood Tonight and whoever won my contest, and go home.

I used the word "my" loosely. I didn't have much to do with it. The contest was pretty much all Frank. All I had to do was slap my name on it, send the winner an autographed picture and a ton of merch, and have a short video call with her. After that, I could just sit back and watch all of the good press come through.

And yet, I had a feeling this was going to end in nothing but embarrassment for me, based on how the first part of this night had gone. I mean, this is not what I signed up for. I was on Hollywood Tonight, not the Roast, for Christ's sake. I came here to be fawned over, not compared to an animal and period cramps. I also kinda wished I had access to a mirror. Were my nose hairs really that long? They didn't look long in the preview of my face on screen. 

"Hello?" I tried again.

Still nothing, apart from some background noise and a lot of shaking, like she was throwing her phone around. Not that that was much better than silence.

"Are you there, Mystery Girl?"

Well, I tried. I made a valiant effort. Time to call the runner-up –

"I have a name, you know," she snapped. She sounded pretty irritated, but it was a start, although I still couldn't see anything but the ceiling.

"Ryder," the blonde host said in a sing-song voice, giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world. "I think we found her."

Well, no shit. Wasn't that the point of all of this?

"Well, what's your name then, sweetheart?" I asked, glancing up momentarily and shooting a wink at the audience. At least they loved me. There was nothing quite like walking out to the cheers of an adoring crowd.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she said.

Well, damn. She didn't like being called my mystery girl. She didn't like pet names, judging by the tone of her voice. And she didn't want to tell me her name. What the hell was I supposed to call her, then? Contest Entry #587?

I wasn't sure if that was her actual entry number. It was just a guess. But what if it was a good guess?

Note to self: ask Frank what this girl's entry number was to see if I'm psychic once and for all.

"Fair enough. But I'm sure everyone here is curious. Come on. I know I am. Don't leave us hanging like that, sweetheart."

She didn't tell me what to call her. She only told me what not to call her, so I figured I'd just call her whatever I felt like calling her until she gave in and told me her name.

"Would you stop calling me that?"

To be honest, despite all of the evidence to the contrary, I sorta thought she'd like the pet name. In my defense, in my experience, girls loved pet names. They also just so happened to be the easiest, most noncommittal way to make a girl happy. Most of the girls I was with didn't even realize I only called them "baby" or "sweetheart" because I wasn't 100 percent confident I'd get their names right and didn't want to take the risk. I wasn't trying to get decked when this face was the one paying the bills around here.

"I will as soon as you tell me your name, sweetheart."

"Not happening."

On the bright side, this was finally getting interesting for me. I could tell from her voice that she was getting riled up. I wasn't a fan of being brutally roasted, of course, but I didn't mind a good chase. I could play along if playing hard to get was her strategy. I had never been one to turn down a challenge. I just wished she would show us her face instead of staying out of sight. From what I'd seen so far, she wasn't exactly hard to look at.

"Tell you what. How about I try and guess your name? And if I'm right, you have to tell me, or it won't be fair." I paused and looked down at the slip of paper I'd been handed with her information on it. "Because I'm thinking your real name isn't Amanda Huggenkiss."

Actually, all of the information she'd given sounded like total bullshit, now that I was taking a closer look at it. I was pretty sure her number was the only real piece of information she'd given. It didn't make any sense unless she secretly wanted to win. Why go through so much effort to hide your identity only to put your real phone number on the contest entry?

"Well, no shit."

Ouch. Her sarcasm was much less endearing when it was being hurled at me and not some annoying red-head.

"You should probably watch your language. You do know you're on live TV right now?"

"You should probably mind your own business. You're not my mother."

I had to hold in the huff that was threatening to come out. While I was trying to fake a good attitude for the audience, her sour disposition wasn't doing me any favors. I could deal with a little sass, just not when I was live on-air and had an image to maintain. I couldn't exactly flame her ass right now even if I wanted to – which I kind of did.

"Why are you being so rude?" I finally asked. I was just a nice guy trying to have a nice conversation with this girl. It wasn't my fault she was being so unreasonable.

"Why are you being so sensitive?"

I let out the huff I'd been holding in. "I'll have you know girls happen to like sensitive guys."

"Is that what your mom told you?"

The two hosts laughed out loud. I was pretty sure they'd been laughing the whole time, but the cackle they let out this time was particularly loud and ego-splitting. I was getting butchered here, and no one was helping me out.

"I'm sure hearing this kind of thing from a fan is a first for you, Ryder," the brown-haired host said, leaning closer to me to make sure I heard her.

Before I could say anything, Mystery Girl/Contest Entry #587 responded. "Well, that would be because I'm not a fan."

The two hosts had nothing to say, for once. Now they decided to abandon me. I was feeling pretty betrayed by that point. I had gone on here to be fawned over and praised. Where was the fawning and the praise? Where?

You know what? No. I could handle this girl. She wasn't nearly as clever as she clearly thought she was. "Alright, is your name Emily?"

"Right. Of course you'd pick one of the most common names out there. Great job."

I rubbed the back of my neck, letting out a forced chuckle that was embarrassingly akin to a goat's bleat. Okay, that was a dumb guess. I could do better. I had to do better. Okay, okay, what were some popular – but not too popular, because apparently that was a thing – girl names?

"How about Elizabeth?"

"Wow, shocker. Another common name. Are you insinuating I'm common?"

I forced out another laugh. "Of course not. Is your name... Olivia?"

"Are your parents siblings?"

The two hosts kept laughing at everything she said, but this time, it was more like they laughed out of habit, or maybe shock. God, I hoped my mom wasn't watching.

"Of course not," I said. What was wrong with this girl? Every good thought I'd ever had about her flew out the window. I'd thought she was funny at first when she was arguing with those girls, but that was all over. "How about... Chloe?"

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you'd gotten enough oxygen at birth?"

"Er... Dorothy?"

Okay, okay. I knew that one was bad. I panicked, alright? I was usually calm under pressure, but this girl was on another level. I hadn't mentally prepared myself for this kind of interaction. When I came here, I had a completely different scenario in mind. Like I said, I'd expected more flattering and less degrading.

She understandably had an immediate retort for that one. I couldn't even blame her this time. "What do you think this is, the Wizard of Oz?"

"Uh... Kate?"

Please be Kate. Please be Kate. Please be Kate.

"Do you have the brain capacity of a fruit fly, or what?"

For fuck's sake, I'd had enough. What the hell was wrong with this girl? No one treated me like this. No one. Who did Contest Entry #587 think she was? "Will you just tell me?" I snapped.

Amusement interlaced every word that came out of her mouth next. She was enjoying this. She even let the top of her head make an appearance on the screen, raising her dark eyebrows at me. "Am I making you angry?"

Come on, Christian. Get your shit together.

"Well, I'm just confused as to what your deal is," I said carefully. I had lost control for a second. That wouldn't happen again.

"I'm sorry," she said. There was almost a twinkle in her eyes, the color of which I couldn't quite make out through the screen. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to make an ass out of you. I can't take all of the credit."

It took everything I had to stop the scathing words that were about to tumble out of my mouth – well, what I hoped would have been scathing words. So far, she had been the only one excelling at that.

After taking a deep breath and making sure I had calmed down enough to speak, I continued. "Will you please just... tell me your name?"

"Oh, man, would you look at that?" I got another glimpse of her face as she raised her wrist up as if she were checking the time. Except she wasn't wearing a watch. "My time here is up. I'd really love to keep talking to you, Christian, but I have to go walk my goldfish. Bye."

And then she hung up.

Just like that.

She. Hung. Up. On. Me.

What the hell had just happened? Why had I agreed to this damn contest and this damn prize and this damn phone call?

"It'll be good publicity," Frank had said.

Good publicity, my left testicle.

I managed to laugh it off with the hosts after she hung up, still pretending to be a good sport. On the outside, I was fine, but I had a lot of anger seething below the surface that I couldn't let bubble up without jeopardizing my image.

As fun as my job was and as much as I liked being famous, moments like these where I had zero control over a situation that directly ended in my embarrassment really fucking sucked. I didn't want to be the laughingstock of the nation by losing my shit on a major talk show, but it looked like I was going to be ridiculed online for this, anyway.

If only I'd known that it was all downhill from there.