Page 34 of House of Deceit

Her nostrils flare with anger, but the fire I see within her is what I saw on her application. What drew me to her.

What made me pick her.

“Listen, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you. It’s not fair to put my career aspirations on your shoulders. Let’s talk about how you’re feeling right now.” I have to draw myself back, break down the anger and put on the itchy clothes of the therapist. The thing I’ve never had to be for any other contestant.

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” she asks, incredulously. “Before we move one step further in this competition, we are going to get on the same page about a few things.” She perches on the edge of her chair and stares me down. “You might have picked me initially, but I am the only reason you’re still working this season. I picked you, too.”

She pauses, lets that sink in, and I realize she’s right. I almost didn’t get to participate in this season at all. But she decided to stick with me. While the half a million dollars is attractive, she has what she currently needs and could go home to search for a real job. She could tank this to spite me if I don’t get my temper under control. Not only that, but she has taken an even bigger chance on me than I did on her.

All I can promise her is a maybe. I can’t guarantee she’ll get brand deals staying here, and she could lose her apartment if I’m wrong. It’s sobering to realize someone could rest everything they have on your shoulders.

“Here’s my first freaking condition,” she continues, “if you want to remain my wrangler. This will be the last time you bring up this mix-up. If you throw it in my face again, I’m done.

“And guess what? You picked me. Me. No matter what stack it came out of, every single answer on that application was me. The only issue is you thought I had a dick swinging between my legs. What makes you think I’m any less capable? I’ve not been eliminated yet. You still have a shot at your dream and I still have a shot at winning.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. She’s right. All of it. I picked her out of that stack for a reason. It doesn’t matter that she’s a woman. My gut told me the person sitting before me was the one. Now I need to back her.

“We need to get the audience to fall in love with me so they’ll vote for me, which means you need to direct me,” she says, her tone still not allowing for any bullshit.

“What?”

“Direct me. How do I need to come off to the audience in this interview?”

I pause for a moment. “You need to come off strong, like you’re not worried about this hiccup. I want you to show them you still have fire and you’ll do anything you can to win.”

“What does that look like? Tell me what to do.”

I’m intrigued and look at her with new eyes. The smattering of freckles across her nose and her big blue eyes read as the girl next door. Her lush body makes you want to touch her, kiss her, hear how she responds. And the fire within her makes you want to stand by her side against anything.

“Okay, first untuck your legs from under you. Sit on the edge of your seat like you can barely stand to be seated when all you want to do is compete again. Get another chance to prove yourself.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be so cold in this house all the time!” She smiles as she does what I instruct. Her following my guidance sets off a different kind of warmth in my chest.

“You’re going to have that same fire you came at me with. You’re going to have the strong voice; you’re going to tell everyone at home who wants you to go home to fuck off. Don’t fidget and don’t touch your hair. Are you ready?”

She straightens and I see the fire overtake her.

“Oh yeah, I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

I flip the camera on, the light giving her a glow.

“So, Charlie, how does it feel to be on the chopping block in the first week?” Her answering smile has a bite to it, daring anyone to come for her, and I know she wants this as much as I do.

I feel like a spotlight is on me as I sit in one of the black leather chairs designated for the bottom two. Every square inch of me is covered in sweat, and I’m grateful Courtney forced me to pack this black wrap dress. Trying to keep my mind off the fact I could go home in mere moments, I try to focus on not picking my nails. Alec was adamant the habit would deplete people’s confidence in me.

My legs cross and uncross, my body calling to get up and expel this energy, but I’m locked down in this moment. In this blasted chair.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re not going to go home tonight,” Sharon says from beside me. Her roots show a hint of gray that seems to be completely covered by her chocolate hair dye.

Her dress is a pale yellow with a high neckline. She fiddles with the lace on her sleeves but gives me a reassuring smile.

“You could be the one who stays,” I tell her, but I pray I’m wrong. I pray I’m here another day.

If it was me at home, I would vote for Sharon to stay. Courtney and I always loved to vote for who we thought of as the underdog in the weekly eliminations. Even though it was rare they would last, we always tried.

I tug at the sleeves of my dress, the fabric suddenly feeling like a burlap sack against my highly sensitive skin.

“We’ll see,” she says simply as the robotic voice starts counting down the last thirty seconds before we go live. Everyone still standing scrambles to their chairs, ready for Jacob Jacobson to come on the TV at any moment.

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