I hurried to keep up with her. “He lives in a trailer.”
“By choice.” She jogged down the front steps of the home. “Trust me, I’ve seen his sponsor contracts. For what Chevy is paying him, he could buy a dozen trailers. Plus—” she came to a stop. “Didn’t Emma grow up in a trailer? That’s a good spin, actually. Maybe he can go home with her. Add some authenticity to everything.”
“She doesn’t like him,” I fought back.
“Of course she does. They get along fine.” She brushed something off my shoulder. “Besides, Cash. This is TV. She doesn’t have to go for Layton, she just needs to make the viewers believe that she’s going for him. A few kisses, a make-out session… that’s all we want. And we’re talking about two very attractive people. No one is going to be suffering through this.” She tilted her head at me. “But very chivalrous of you, Cash. Why don’t I grab a camera, and let’s do this conversation again—I’d love to catch it on tape.”
I backed away, my hands held up in surrender. “She’s not going to go for it.”
Dana gave me an evil smile. “Ah, but contractually, she doesn’t have a choice.”
53
#gimme
EMMA
I was all about a fake storyline with Layton. I needed anything that would keep me away from Cash, and Layton’s audience was over eighty percent men. You think women watched videos about fishing and barbecue sauce? A series of photos and videos with him and I should be able to recruit a few million of his followers—and it was a win for him too, given my mostly-female audience.
I could pretend to fall for Layton. That held no risk for me.
54
#branding
CASH
I’m embarrassed to say that every night that first week I waited for her to come back to my bedroom. I started wearing pajama pants to bed, just in case she did.
She didn’t. Instead, she ghosted me. Nothing cruel—just quiet indifference and avoidance. When Dana announced the Layton/Emma storyline, I watched her closely, expecting resistance, but she seemed fine with the change. Almost happy with it.
I sat in the backyard hammock and watched her sitting next to him on the edge of the pool. The kitchen staff had mixed Pina Coladas, and we’d all had a few. I reclined back against the faded red fabric and watched her from behind my sunglasses, the alcohol dulling my senses to an almost manageable level.
“Hey.” Eileen settled into the chaise lounge beside my hammock and stretched her legs out along the length of it. “Dana wants me to come over here and flirt with you. So, you know, roll with it.”
I eyed Dana, who was gesturing a grip toward us. “Okay.” Rolling with it was doable, especially considering Layton had just put his hand on Emma’s thigh.
She patted the chaise beside her. “Move over here and sit.”
I considered the option, which would involve me climbing out of the low-slung hammock without busting my ass. On a typical day, it’d be easy, but I was wobbly from the alcohol. “I’m good.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll share my margarita with you.” She held out the frozen red concoction, which would make my tongue look like blood.
A river of condensation rolled down the side of the frosted glass. I yielded. “Fine.”
“You know, it’s not that hard, sitting next to me.” She watched as I swung my legs over the side and then carefully stood. “I’ll even make it worth your while.” She set the drink on the narrow table between our chairs and reached up, untying the top of her bikini and letting her breasts hang free. It would have been a noteworthy moment if they weren’t exposed in every frame of her music video.
I nodded, unsure of what she reaction she wanted. “Nice.”
She snorted. “Nice? Do you know what I paid for these babies?” She fluffed her hair to one side and picked up the margarita. From the other side of the pool, Layton let out a wolf whistle.
“Focus on EMMA, Layton!” Dana barked.
“Screw Emma,” Eileen said softly, shielding the comment with the drink. “Nobody wants to look at her.”
I swallowed my opinion and glanced at the other couple. Emma was grinning at something Layton had said.
“You can touch them if you want.”
I glanced back at Eileen, who was circling one nipple with the tip of a fingernail. “I can’t. Sponsor rules. But thanks for the offer.”
The camera guy, who was zooming in close on the action, almost tripped over the end of Eileen’s lounge chair.
She huffed in irritation. “Sponsor rules? What kind of bullshit is that?”
I glanced at Dana, who was focused on Emma and conveniently ignoring the rider in my contract that stipulated that I couldn’t be in a frame with nudity or drug use. I had a clearly defined brand, one that didn’t include groping a pop star’s giant fake boobs.