Page 11 of Make The Cut

“Great. You’re hired. I’ll send you the details.”

When I run out of the bathroom with a grin on my face, Skye’s eyes widen. “Wow. That must’ve been some call.”

“I got a job!”

She leaps out of her seat to hug me. “Oh, Poppy, I knew you would get it! What’s the job?”

“Just a stylist job, but it’s better than nothing.”

“It’s not better than nothing. It’s great news.” Of course, she’s happy for me. She’s my best friend. So why do burning flames of jealousy eat at my heart? “We need to celebrate. When do you start?”

I glance down at my phone. To my surprise, Naoya has already texted me.

How soon can you start? I have to go to an awards show tonight and I don’t know what to wear.

I can start ASAP.

“Probably… today.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. “So, I should wrap this up soon.”

She waves a carefree hand as I go to flag down the waitress for our bill. “I’ll get it. Consider it my treat.”

“You’re the best friend in the world, has anyone told you that?”

Skye laughs as I grab my purse and start heading for the door. “Only my best friend, every time I see her.”

Chapter Five: Naoya Sugawa

Timothy Jacobson is a nondescript, average-looking kind of guy.

Upon first glance, you wouldn’t think the skinny, middle-aged man who falls just short of five-eleven and wears nerdy-looking glasses with black jeans and thrash metal t-shirts is a multimillionaire. Let alone a multi-billionaire who has a lot of metaphorical weight to throw around the TV industry.

He’s also a huge pain in my you-know-what, but that’s a story for another time.

When I first pitched the idea of a talent show to my agent, he went straight to Timothy Jacobson. After all, the guy’s been an executive producer on countless similar shows:The Voice, Dancing With the Stars, and The X-Factor. He promised to make my show a success.

It would be easier to believe—and to work with—him if I liked the guy. The trouble is, I think he’s a tool.

He’s now leaning back in the chair across from my desk in my home studio and office, but while I should have the upper hand in this scenario, I feel more like I’m being given a lecture at college. Not that I ever went, having skipped straight into the music industry, much to my mother’s consternation.

“So, Naoya, here’s my vision for the show. You and Rose—”

I clear my throat. “I thoughtIwas the one who had the idea for the show. I’m the one who came up with the premise.”

Timothy, aka TJ, waves a hand with a skull ring on it, the only piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen him wear. “I’m the one who told you to invite Rose on to make it a success. Look at Blake and Gwen onThe Voice. Having some kind of chemistry between co-stars adds to the success of the show.”

I shake my head. “I’m not aco-starwith Rose. We’re both there to do two jobs, which is to judge the contestants and mentor them. It’s not about some stupid publicity stunt or relationship drama.”

“Maybe not to you, but viewers eat that stuff up. Think of the ratings, Naoya.” He stabs a finger in the air as if to punctuate his point.

“Rose has already agreed to the show. What more do you want me to do, have a fake relationship with her?”

“I’m not saying you have to fall in love with her. But you guys dated before. What’s so wrong with seeing where that same chemistry could lead you?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Timmy—can I call you Timmy—you’re kind of missingmypoint. The purpose of the show isn’t to be some reality show where people speculate about my real or fake relationship with Rose. It’s about finding promising musical talent and pairing it with up-and-coming designers—”

“You’re not getting it. And it’s TJ or nothing else. Yeah, we know the premise of the show. But what’s going to keep these people coming back? Sure, you can have all the talented singers, dancers, or fashion designers you want. But if they can’t connect with you and Rose, they won’t want to keep watching.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple. I should never have agreed when he and my agent insisted on having Rose McCartney join the show. She’s more trouble than she’s worth. Our relationship ended with her throwing a Slurpee on me on a ski lift. My nose nearly froze off on the ride down. “I guess you’re right about that.”

---