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“She’s in Paris doing that thing with Yamamoto,” Fern explained.
“Chance Leopold, then,” Cat said. “We’ll go with a male host.”
“Unfortunately, he’s in rehab,” Fern said, scrolling through her phone and searching for another idea.
Cat dropped onto a chaise longue, thought a moment, then shook her head. “There’s no one. I won’t have time to bring anyone up to speed. We’re screwed.”
Fern chewed on her lip, waiting. Finally, Cat returned her gaze to Fern. “It has to be you,” she said reluctantly. “You know the show, the contestants. It’s not ideal, but it is what it is. Don’t screw it up,” she said before standing up and positioning herself in front of the camera.
Fern couldn’t speak, couldn’t believe she had heard Cat correctly. She wanted her, Fern, to be the host?
“Jesus, Fern,” Cat said. “If you embarrass me, I swear to God...”
“I won’t, I promise,” Fern said, praying that it was true.
“I’ll text Alfonso with the change,” Cat said. “You’ll still be able to handle all your usual duties, right?”
Fern nodded, though she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take care of all the behind-the-scenes logistics and fill the shoes of a supermodel in front of the camera. But she had to. This was her chance.
“And make sure you clear the set of all nonessential crew before the contestants arrive,” Cat said, sliding a headband over her forehead to pull her platinum hair away from her face. “And for fuck’s sake keep everyone away from me.” She set a hard gaze on Fern. “If anyone asks, I’m not here.”
“Got it,” Fern said. Few people knew that Cat James was the driving force behind One Lucky Winner and Cat wanted to keep it that way. Nondisclosure agreements were signed, threats were made if anyone revealed Cat’s involvement. Yes, she would do promos to build buzz around the show, but Cat didn’t want anyone to know of her involvement until the final, jaw-dropping episode. Because of the secrecy of the project, Cat insisted on a closed set. There was too big of a chance of footage being leaked, so while there would be a crew, it would be scaled down, an elite few. This made sense to Fern. One Lucky Winner was entirely unique and the first game show of its kind to offer such a huge purse. Ten million dollars! It was staggering. And with the over-the-top challenges, people would be talking about them for years. They would be talking about her. Finally.
Cat sighed, examining her face on the screen. This was the part of the tutorial that Fern knew Cat hated the most: when people saw her stripped of makeup. Her pale skin, skimpy lashes, the purple shadows beneath her eyes, the tiny lines that marched along her lip line, the deeper ones that clotheslined her forehead, all on display for the world to see.
But this is what her audience wanted, to see the magnificent transformation from plain to pretty, from boring to bombshell. It cost Cat for others to see her at her most vulnerable, but it’s what attracted her huge audience. Fern thought her boss was beautiful with or without makeup.
Cat waved her hand impatiently, nudging Fern aside, and Fern stutter-stepped backward, out of the frame of the camera.
Cat pressed the button to go live. “Good evening, Lovelies. It’s Cat James and I’m so happy that you are here with me.” Cat held up the crystal-encrusted tube. “Did you know that women have worn red lipstick for thousands of years? Cleopatra, Queen Victoria I, suffragettes, Marilyn, Audrey, Rihanna, Salma, Jennifer, Gaga. They all have mastered the art of the red lip. Well, tonight, we are going to do the same. Are you ready to become your most beautiful, most powerful you?” Cat lifted her chin and gave the camera a sly smile. “And we must discuss the most-talked-about new cultural phenomenon. Have you seen the promos? Are you feeling lucky?”
Fern left Cat to her livestream and made her way down the grand staircase, nodding numbly to the set director and her assistant, her heart thumping. This was her chance. Fern was now the face of One Lucky Winner. She could finally prove to Cat that she was much more than a trusty assistant.
Fern found herself in the doorway of the villa’s library. It was a beautiful space—not her favorite room on the estate (that was the kitchen), but with its dark wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and hushed, old-world aura, it was in the top five. The room smelled like a mixture of lemon cleaner, a heady scent of wine, and red roses.
Fern tucked her thick black hair behind her ears and checked the slim silver watch on her wrist. It was nearing nine o’clock. The contestants would be arriving soon. All their months of hard work, her hard work behind the scenes, was paying off. One Lucky Winner was finally becoming a reality. But now this could be the project that could shoot Fern to the stratosphere, professionally speaking.
For the last six months, Fern had worked meticulously on all the details. She had been the one who liaised with the contestants, answering their questions, making their travel arrangements, making them feel like the stars of the show that they would soon be. She worked with the tech company who installed hundreds of cameras throughout the property, directed the landscapers, the maid service, the carpenters, and contractors, miraculously managing to bring the vision for One Lucky Winner to life.
Most of the time Cat was there hovering, watching, demanding, critiquing and, try as she might, Fern couldn’t help but resent her boss. She owed Cat so much but when would that debt be paid? From the looks of it, never.
Ten years ago, Fern and Cat had worked at the same company. Cat was a director in the company and Fern was a lowly intern for the powerful CEO. The CEO was particularly handsy, devastating Fern, who, at twenty-two, had walked into her first job with stars in her eyes.
The CEO was handsome, charming, and had a way of making Fern feel like she was the only one in the room. Special. She shrugged off the way he treated most of her other coworkers with indifference, even scorn. They obviously weren’t working hard enough, weren’t dedicated enough. But Fern was. She poured her heart and soul into her obscenely low-paying job. At first, the hand on her lower back, the feathery touches across her breasts, seemed incidental. Just two colleagues standing close to one another, bent over the day’s schedule.
Then, Fern started to find herself alone with the CEO in his office. Door shut. The accidental, innocent touches lingered, turned into something else. Fern wanted none of it. She knew better than to get involved with her boss. She thought he was impressive, brilliant at his job, but Fern would never sleep with him. It never crossed her mind. She avoided being in a room alone with him, but that proved to be impossible. When the boss called you into his office, you went.
Fern did her best to sidestep his advances, but she could see he was getting impatient. But whom could she tell? The woman who sat in the cubicle next to her? Could she tell Cat James, the glamorous director of social media for the company? No, Cat barely even knew Fern was alive and didn’t acknowledge her unless it was with impatience or disdain. Fern had no one.
One afternoon, the CEO ordered Fern to his office. Fear filled Fern’s body. Had she done something wrong? She wracked her brain, trying to think. She tried to be so careful, so thorough in her work. No, she had made no big mistakes. Nothing to warrant such a chilly summoning. He shut the door and Fern was sure she was going to be fired. For what, though? It was the sound of the turning lock that turned her stomach liquid.
She fought back, at least tried to, but the CEO was stronger than she was, had the element of surprise. Fern managed to get away from his grasp, running to the door and flipping the lock before being dragged backward and pushed up against a wall. Fern wanted to scream but couldn’t. Strange, Fern thought, how life was going on as usual outside the office door. Meetings were being held, phone calls made, while in here, Fern was living a nightmare. Still, she struggled until the CEO grabbed something from his desk. A letter opener, sharp as a dagger, and held it to her neck.
“Enough fighting,” he breathed in her ear. “Let’s play.” He slid the letter opener down her chest, over her stomach, and beneath her skirt. Fern felt the blade bite into the skin of her thigh, felt her underwear flutter to the ground.
Suddenly, Cat James was there.
She gave the CEO a tongue-lashing and threatened a lawsuit. The CEO laughed, telling her that no one would believe either one of them. Cat led a disheveled Fern from the office. Security was waiting for them as soon as they reached Fern’s desk. They were both fired and led from the building. Cat told her not to worry—she had been fired when she was just starting out as a young journalist. Fired for trying to do the right thing. It was the way of the world and their plight to carry.
