Page 5 of The Final Rose

Ok, yes, so maybe I’m avoiding looking directly at Sebastian Riggs. He’s so handsome it should be illegal. It’s wild to admit it when it’s my fifth year with the show and I’ve seen some pretty people. I live in Los Angeles, for god’s sake!

Opposite of what people might think, working with pretty people made me care less about my appearance. I met so many gorgeous, breathtaking women that now I know I can’t compete. So, I don’t even try.

I put on mascara each day because I like my eyelashes long, but that’s it besides the obligatory sunscreen. And then, of course, there are my clothes.

I have about ten branded t-shirts from the show and while I could wear anything, and no one would give a crap, I like not having to think of an outfit in the morning. I’m always wearing shorts, except for that one chilly week of the year when my ten-year-old pair of jeans are required.

All in all, beauty doesn’t register anymore. The lack of mine, nor the abundance of some people’s

Sebastian Riggs shakes that resolve a little.

It’s the accent, I decide. It has nothing to do with his intense water-blue eyes, perfectly shaped mouth, or lustrous hair. God, he’s got me calling his hairlustrous! But no, I’m certain it’s the accent that makes him more appealing than your average L.A. boy-toy.

When I look up, his goddamn intense gaze is pinned on me.Oh, here we go.

“What part of the schedule didn't you get?” I ask, confused. Really, I dumbed this down for him.

“Are you asking for my first impressions and then it’s lunchtime?”

“Hmm, yes. That’s correct.”

He glances at his watch. “How long will the interview take?”

Doris snickers behind him, and I nod, understanding. He’s assuming I’m going to ask a couple of questions and we all can go on our merry way. Nothing is ever that simple when you’re changing camera angles.

“Everything takes time,” I say, trying to be conciliatory. I don’t want to scare him too quickly. “Don’t worry too much about the schedule.”

“I wouldn’t dream about it.” He replies, and I almost miss the glint in his eyes. He has a good sense of humor, and I have to bite my cheek not to chuckle with him.

“You have to tone that down.”

“Tone what down?” He clamps his mouth closed when Doris brushes off his hair and sprays a general amount of product with no notice.

“You’re kinda bitchy.”

Sebastian flashes me a look.

“You’re a little snarky. Sounds like you don’t want to be here.”

He considers that. “I want to be here. I’m just having a laugh.”

This time I don’t hold the chuckle back, “Did you have media training?”

He scoffs. “Naturally.”

He’s so… different from everyone else here. One second, he’s sarcastic and unruly and the next he talks like he’s Mr. Darcy himself. It’s mind-boggling and not hot at all.No sir, an English dude with a sarcastic streak is the opposite of hot.

“Well, I’m going to give you a few tips for free, anyway,” I say, and I am not discouraged when he rolls his eyes. “The lenses take you at face value.”

“Pardon?”

I hold my chuckle. “People out there will buy what you show. They don’t read between the lines; they don’t give you the benefit of the doubt. They aren’t interested in your tone. If you complain about the show, they will assume you don’t want to be here. If you make fun of the girls, they will make you the bad guy.” To this, his mouth closes in a flat line. “If you talk like a royal, they will think you’re Prince Charming.”

He huffs. “And am I correct to assume that’s the face you’d like me to show?”

“Yes. I’d love to have Prince Charming falling in love on TV. But I want you to be real too…”

“Because drama brings ratings.”

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