Page 30 of The Invitation
“Our hero is on his way,” Myla says, bursting into the room again. “And, let me tell you, you lucked out.”
I lift a manicured brow. “Really?”
She sits across from me. “Trust me. This could be a lot worse. He’s handsome and charming. That’s not always the case.”
“That’s a relief.” I blow out a steady breath. “Thank you for telling me that. It helps.”
“Of course. Now, I want to go over a few things with you because Jonah has already gone over these things with your counterpart.” She whips an iPad out of nowhere and turns it so I can see the screen. A bullet point list of items is clearly delineated. “The show's premise is to see if two people can be matched by their search histories.”
The blood drains out of my face. “Wait. You’re not actually looking at my search history, are you?”
“We will need to film a shot making it look like you were one of several applicants and were chosen based on your results. We don’t have to do that today. Actually, we’ll probably shoot that more toward the end so we can angle it to match the scenes you’ve captured.”
Thank God. That’ll give me time to search for regular people’s topics.
“We’ve created a list of scenes for you to film,” she says, pointing at the second bullet point. “Some will be filmed by our crew, and you will film some on your own. We’ll give you cameras and review all of that with you this afternoon. You’ll be required to film confessionals.”
“Excuse me?”
She laughs at the surprised yet concerned look on my face. “I just mean you’ll sit for solo interviews where you’ll record yourself. I’ll send you a list of questions after each scene to get you started.”
I nod warily.
“This is going to be a lot of fun, Georgia. Do you have any questions for me?”
I did, but now my brain feels like scrambled eggs, and I can’t think straight.
“All right.” She glances at her watch again. “Our hero should be coming. We’ll do introductions, discuss any questions you might have, and then we’ll sign the contracts. Once that’s finished, we’ll take you both in separately to film intake interviews.”
“Sounds good.”
The door creaks behind me. Myla’s attention shifts in that direction, and her face breaks into a wide smile.
“Hey, Georgia,” Sutton says, bounding into the room. Her eyes are wild as she sweeps her gaze from me to Myla and back again. “Myla, could I speak with Georgia alone for a moment, please?”
The uneasiness in her voice set off alarm bells in my head. My palms sweat as they grip the arms of my chair, and my freshly painted nails dig into the soft material.
“Sure,” Myla says, hiding her confusion well. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Thank you,” Sutton says.
Myla slips through the door, closing it softly behind her.
“Sutton, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“Georgia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear to you that I didn’t know.”
Every fiber in my body warns me of danger—to get up and flee from the scene of a crime I can’t identify. But before I can even question her regarding her apology, the door opens behind her.
“Please,” Sutton pleads, her gaze holding mine. “Please believe me. I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know what?” I ask, my heart pounding so hard that I can hear my blood pulse through my ears.
Goose bumps prickle my skin as I slowly turn to my left.
No. No, no, no.
“Georgia?” Ripley’s voice is a note too high. “What are you doing here?”
