Page 16 of Make The Cut

“Why do you have an email with a comments digest from that celebrity blog?”

I swallow, my pulse speeding. There’s only one blog he could be talking about. “Sometimes I like to follow up on celebrity gossip. Why are you reading my emails anyway?”

“Because it popped up just now.” He clenches his fingers around my laptop screen, tightly enough to break more than just my computer. “What—are you writing about me?”

“No,” I say. Too quickly. I gulp down the rest of my beer and cringe at the taste. It burns, the drink sour on my tongue.

“What have you been doing for these last few years? When you were bored at work or when you said you were working on some fashion project… What were you doing?”

I get up off the couch, the empty beer can tumbling onto the floor with a hollow clang. “I was doing what I needed to survive in this city.”

He slams my laptop shut and shoves it onto the coffee table. “No, you weren’t. I would’ve helped you. I’m your brother. That’s my job.”

Anger spikes in my heart. How dare he talk about helping me? All I ever did growing up around my brother was help clean up the messes he left behind. It wasmecomforting Mom after he broke his collarbone jumping into the creek on a stupid dare from our older brother, River. Or promising her that he would call home when he never did. Or making excuses for him countless times when he stayed out late with his girlfriend in high school. I can’t remember the last time my brother helpedme.

He was always the golden child who could do no wrong. The one who got picked on by River and was comforted by Mom after he broke his collarbone in a stupid dare. The one with the shiny talent and brilliant singing voice. The one who made everyone around him too easy to overlook.

For once, I wanted to be the one who people were talking about. Even if they didn’t know it was me behind the anonymous blog.

“I didn’t want your help. I wanted to make it on my own.” Fury blazes in my eyes as I snatch my computer from the table and shove it deep into my bag.

“Well, you didn’t.” His blue eyes are devoid of any warmth as they bore into mine. “You would never have been able to spill all that celebrity gossip about Ryder Black if you weren’t my sister.”

His words sting because they’re true.

Even after all I’ve tried to make of myself, I’m nothing without him.

He snorts and stomps over to the door. “Get out.”

“Ryder—“ My voice cracks and I hate myself for it, for the way that my anger always dissolves into tears. “Ryder, you know what?”

He stares down at me, his blue eyes flat and cold. “What, Poppy?”

“You’ll never amount to anything. All you do is run away from your problems. You make messes butneverbother to clean them up.” As I spit the words at him, I mean them. And yet I don’t.

Something in me doesn’t mean anything I’m saying, except that clawing need for self-defence burning inside me, the need to protect myself from feeling guilt or remorse by piling on more things I can feel guilty for. If I can just hurt him the way the truth has hurt me, I’ll be okay somehow.

Ryder yanks the door open. “Leave, or I’m calling security.”

Chapter Eight: Naoya Sugawa

“Alright, Mitchell, what have you got for me?” I lean back in my chair as I survey the boardroom.

My assistant, Mitchell, took charge of this meeting since he asked me to give him more tasks he could do by himself. Being swamped with recording my next album, doing promo for the show, and finding new contestants, I agreed happily a week ago. Now, I’m not so sure that was a good idea.

“Well, I was thinking that you could do a YouTube series to promote the show,” he says.

“A YouTube series?” I repeat. “We’re already filming a TV show and you want me to do aYouTubeseries?”

“With all due respect, sir—“ Mitchell swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Naoya.”Siris what people call my father.

“With all due respect,Naoya,” Mitchell continues. “Look at what other TV shows have done. This doesn’t have to be anything fancy. It could just be a relaxed, chill sort of production. LikeBridgerton, they had the actors do fun quiz games or paint portraits of each other. You and Rose could do something, you know, to sort of showcase your chemistry and show viewers how you are behind the scenes.”

“I’m listening.” I fold my hands behind my head. “But what do you think of the idea, Rose?”

Rose looks up from texting with her irritatingly loud and long fingernails, which she had painted specifically to show off her brand new, sparkly engagement ring. The tea room incident wasn’t a complete waste of time, since it overwhelmed her ex-boyfriend with jealousy and possessiveness. So much that he proposed marriage on the spot. “What?”

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