about him?”
“We didn’t tell him that Saturday Knight is a fake persona. He doesn’t know your real name is Ayana Lewis, and I want to keep it that way.”
“Why is that?”
“We want to maintain a sense of reality, and the less he knows about your real personality, the better he can direct you as a wildcat.”
“So you’re telling me that he doesn’t realize my role on the show is an act?”
“No, he doesn’t. As you know, the rest of the cast doesn’t know either. Remember the confidentiality clause in your contract binding you to keep quiet about your true identity.”
“Of course I remember.”
“So you’ll keep up the act?”
“Yes, but I refuse to be tacky.”
“Deal. On another note, I’ve been introducing the new director to the cast individually before we start shooting. He’s meeting with Trista now and will be in to meet you shortly.”
“No problem.”
As they were talking, in walked the new director. Ayana looked at the handsome man and nearly gasped. He was tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and an athlete’s build. His head was shaven, giving off a slight glisten. His eyes were warm, the color of chestnuts, and his skin looked as if it had been dipped in milk chocolate. The white cotton shirt he wore seemed to glow against his dark skin. He was handsome in a rugged urban-cowboy-type way. In fact, he was exactly her type. If they were in another setting, she could envision the two of them sitting down and having a friendly chat over a cup of coffee. However, she had a job to do and wasn’t going to let his good looks distract her.
“Brandon, perfect timing,” Ed said, turning toward the door. “Let me introduce you to Saturday Knight, the show’s hot-blooded diva.”
Ayana took a step backward and went into character. She sucked her lips, put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes in his direction.
“Hello.” Brandon extended his hand.
Ayana looked down at his hand. “Whatever.”
“Ed, I’ll be on set,” Brandon said, turning his back to Ayana, ignoring her rude behavior and directing his comment to the creator of the show.
“Okay, sounds good.”
Brandon walked out without giving her a second look. Once he was gone, Ed closed the door. “Nice work. You did a damn good job of showing him how nasty you can be.”
“That was nothing. Wait until I get in front of the camera. Then I’m going to really cut up.”
“Perfect. That’s what I want to hear. Divorced Divas is leading in the ratings and I want to keep it that way.”
“Don’t worry, Ed. You can count on me to do my part.”
“See you on set, Ayana.”
When Ed left the room, Ayana closed the door and walked back to the clothing rack. As she was looking for another outfit, she thought about how rude she had been to the new director and began feeling guilty. He didn’t deserve to be disregarded, but as long as she was under contract, she wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize her future.
Ayana changed into a pair of white skinny jeans and a sheer black blouse with a deep V-neck that showcased her ample cleavage. She completed the casual outfit with a pair of four-inch cork platforms. The shoes added to her height, making her a towering figure of six feet.
Ayana left the dressing room, and as she walked down the long hallway, she took a series of deep breaths. With each step, she dreaded the beginning of another season of lies. To make her job tolerable, Ayana tried to find something to focus on. Last season, she’d concentrated on the shelter in Jamaica. The thought of helping the women and children in her homeland had gotten her through the catfights, backstabbing and blind dates gone awry. This season, she hadn’t picked a focal point, until meeting the director. Although she had treated him like dirt on the bottom of her designer shoes, she found him extremely sexy and attractive. Even if she couldn’t have him personally, she could at least fantasize about his muscular body being pressed against hers. That thought alone would sustain her for at least a few episodes.
Chapter 5
I must admit, Jon was right. Saturday Knight is one pretty woman. Her body is made by Frederick’s of Hollywood, but her attitude is made by Freddy Krueger. Her ugly interior totally cancels out her gorgeous exterior, Brandon thought as he walked down the hallway toward the set. The first scene of the day was being shot in a sprawling Central Park West penthouse that the show leased for taping. Brandon was the first on set. He sat in his director’s chair and waited for the ladies—Trista, the Good Girl; Petra, the Russian; Brooke, the Flirt; and Saturday, the Bad Girl—to arrive.
The beginning of the day’s show centered on Saturday’s blind-date follow-up. Last season had ended with her being set up with three seriously wealthy men. Now the audience would find out if she picked one of the three. If not, her search for love would continue.
Trista was the first to enter the room. She had once been married to a strict CFO of a finance company. He detested tardiness and was always the first to arrive and the first to leave. His mantra was that time was money, so he waited on no one. His punctuality had rubbed off on Trista. They would still be married if he hadn’t gotten caught embezzling millions from the company. After he was sent to prison for ten years, Trista instituted his mantra and didn’t waste any time filing for divorce. She wasn’t going to waste ten whole years waiting around for him.
Brandon looked at the petite redhead with a pixie haircut. She was soft-spoken and had a girlish quality. She looked more befitted for a family with two kids and a dog than a cutthroat reality show. But for contrast, Ed had Trista going on dates with rocker types who wore leather, torn jeans and tattoos—the opposite of her sweet personality.
As Brandon was reading over the show notes one last time, he heard footsteps and commotion coming down the hall in the form of two loud voices.
“I’ma do you a favor, and let you have first pickings over the men that I turn down.”
“I no want you damn leftover!” a voice with a Russian accent bellowed.
“If I didn’t give you my throwbacks, you wouldn’t have any dates at all.”
Brandon turned toward the entry of the living room as the two women marched in. I should have known it was Saturday arguing with someone.
“No true. I have entee man I want,” Petra responded.
Petra Kazakova was a Russian immigrant and former model who’d married the head of a cosmetics conglomerate. The two had divorced when he was caught wearing lipstick in a compromising situation with his business partner. Petra’s dates for the show ran the gamut from European millionaires looking for trophy wives to taxi drivers. The broken English spoken by Petra and her dates often had to be accompanied by subtitles, which Ed loved because he thought it made his show unique.
“You should want some English lessons. It’s not entee.... The
