Better Than Revenge (Special Edition)

Chapter 2: Christian

Chapter 2

Christian

"Repeat after me: act charming, don't mention any girls in your life, and make that contest winner feel like she's the only girl in the world. I want every media outlet to sing your praises for being so good to your fans after this. Got it?"

Those were the words my manager, Frank Renaldo, had uttered to me before the show, staring me down until he was sure I understood.

Seeing the less-than-enthused look on my face, he'd added, "Be glad all you have to do is call the girl. Justin McCoy had to serenade his contest winner with his newest song and have dinner with her."

All you have to do is call the girl.

It sounded easy enough. I was no singer, but a phone call I could do. Frank and I both knew if I had to serenade this girl, her eardrums would probably combust, and I'd be paying for her medical bills, not her dinner.

But all I had to do was flatter her, according to Frank, and that was what I did best. Except I was hearing nothing but silence on the other end of this FaceTime call. I had initially seen a flash of the contest winner's face, but she had since disappeared from the screen entirely. All I could see was the tiled ceiling above her.

"Hey, are you still there?"

Was I ever going to catch a break? I had come here with a plan, and so far, nothing was going as I had imagined it. I thought I would come in, woo the ladies of Hollywood Tonight and whoever won my contest, and go home.

I used the word "my" loosely. I didn't have much to do with it. The contest was pretty much all Frank. All I had to do was slap my name on it, send the winner an autographed picture and a ton of merch, and have a short video call with her. After that, I could just sit back and watch all of the good press come through.

And yet, I had a feeling this was going to end in nothing but embarrassment for me, based on how the first part of this night had gone. I mean, this is not what I signed up for. I was on Hollywood Tonight, not the Roast, for Christ's sake. I came here to be fawned over, not compared to an animal and period cramps. I also kinda wished I had access to a mirror. Were my nose hairs really that long? They didn't look long in the preview of my face on screen. 

"Hello?" I tried again.

Still nothing, apart from some background noise and a lot of shaking, like she was throwing her phone around. Not that that was much better than silence.

"Are you there, Mystery Girl?"

Well, I tried. I made a valiant effort. Time to call the runner-up –

"I have a name, you know," she snapped. She sounded pretty irritated, but it was a start, although I still couldn't see anything but the ceiling.

"Ryder," the blonde host said in a sing-song voice, giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world. "I think we found her."

Well, no shit. Wasn't that the point of all of this?

"Well, what's your name then, sweetheart?" I asked, glancing up momentarily and shooting a wink at the audience. At least they loved me. There was nothing quite like walking out to the cheers of an adoring crowd.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she said.

Well, damn. She didn't like being called my mystery girl. She didn't like pet names, judging by the tone of her voice. And she didn't want to tell me her name. What the hell was I supposed to call her, then? Contest Entry #587?

I wasn't sure if that was her actual entry number. It was just a guess. But what if it was a good guess?

Note to self: ask Frank what this girl's entry number was to see if I'm psychic once and for all.