And morally, I feel reprehensible about it all.

Especially since Richard sent me a text reminding me I have one day to decide, with several of the photos of Julia and me attached.

It pissed me off more than ever. It stirred a feral, protective part of me to life.

So now, with a new fire burning inside of me, I storm across the set. Julia is out of cell service range at the drive-in movies with her family, which is just as well. My intuition tells me that this conversation will go poorly, and I’d rather she not be here to bear the brunt of it.

The first thing I did on my way over here was reach out to a contract lawyer recommended by my agent. Out of everything that’s gone on over the past several weeks, the thing that’s unsettled me most is the camera inside the house. So I want a professional—who is not paid by the studio—to tell me what that could mean for the contract. And my legal obligation to participate in the show.

It’s a long shot, but I have to try. Because I know I didn’t consent to that, which means Dick Wad trespassed and put an unauthorized camera on private property. It feels an awful lot like a crime.

Richard is a slippery motherfucker, though, so I’d rather not hang my hat on something before I know the legalities. It’s also not something I want to give away to him until I know that there has truly been a violation.

I’m not in a position to sacrifice the money, but it’s gotten to a point where I need to lay out in clear terms what I will and will not do for this show. If that means he fires me, then I will have to live with that.

I don’t bother knocking. I grip the metal handle and rip the door open, skipping the bottom step, going straight for the top one and pulling myself into Dick Wad’s dingy little office.

My plan is to sock it to him.

But the problem is he’s quite busy socking it to Evelyn.

My eyes widen, and my jaw drops as I take in the scene. Evelyn is bent over Dick Wad’s desk, palms flat, dress flipped, ass up, makeup smudged, and Richard is balls deep inside her, thrusting away.

Evelyn’s mouth pops open in a perfectly round O shape, while Richard booms, “Get the fuck out, Bush!”

But I don’t respond. I just stand slack-jawed, feeling naive for one of the first times in my life as I watch them both scramble apart with red cheeks and heavy breaths all while Dick Wad continues to tell me to get the fuck out.

Evelyn scrambles to push her dress down as Richard draws away. She approaches me with wild eyes, tears brimming along her dark lashes. “Emmett, you have to know why—”

I hold a hand up to stop her coming any closer. “Evelyn, it’s okay. It’s just a show. We’re not together. You don’t owe me shit.”

“He promised me an audition, a real Hollywood audition.”

A sob lurches from her throat and my stomach drops as I watch this woman begin to unravel in front of me. I don’t particularly like Evelyn, but I do feel a flash of empathy for her. Pity maybe. Unfortunately, she’s fallen for Dick Wad’s creepy fucking promises.

But I suppose that in a way, I have too.

“Good luck with that,” I say, my voice heavy with skepticism.

She drops her head and hustles past me, tears of embarrassment glistening on her cheeks. Which leaves Richard and me alone. Belt jangling, cheeks puffing, he looks like a tomato—with very white teeth—set to explode.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, marching in here like you own the place,” he says, rounding his desk to face me.

“That’s rich, coming from the guy I just caught pounding his favorite contestant. Although I guess we all know why she’s your favorite now.”

“You think you can just talk to me like that?”

I make a show of glancing around his trailer, mind buzzing with what this development could mean for me. “Now? After this? I’ll talk to you however I damn well please.”

“Watch yourself, Bush. I don’t respond well to threats.” Richard puffs up like he has some hope of intimidating me. This kind of bluster is old hat for me though. I’m not the least bit affected by his attempt at intimidation.

What I am affected by is the overwhelming realization of how colossally fucked-up this entire experience is.

It’s fake. It’s transactional. It’s manipulative. It’s fucking soul-sucking.

My knee-jerk reaction to joining the show had been that it was a line even I wouldn’t cross. I should have trusted my instincts. Instead, I was blinded by dollar signs. And now the weight of my own regret is downright crushing.

What have I done?

I allowed this man to put a price tag on my integrity.

No more.

“You disgust me.” I scoff the words, shaking my head in disappointment. “And I quit.”

He huffs out a condescending chuckle. “You can’t quit. I own you.” He reaches across his desk, picking up what appears to be a printed version of my contract.

It dangles from his stubby fingers. Taunting me.

“No. You don’t.” Julia does, I think. But I don’t dare utter her name in his presence. Because this is all on me. And I need to make it right.

He’s fucked with a man who’s never been in love before.

And now I know exactly how I’d act in love.

Irrational.

“Rip it up. I’m done,” I clarify before I spin on my heel and leave his grimy trailer.

He utters threats to my back. They slip off me like rotten eggs from a Teflon pan. Nothing he says matters, because I’d blow my entire life up to spare Julia another moment of strife.

He took photos of her in my house. Without consent.

And it has me feeling fiercely protective. Bordering on vengeful. I want to douse his precious show in gasoline and be the one to toss the match on it. Then stand back and watch all his hopes and dreams for Romance Ranch go up in flames.

Which means I need to go confess to my oma and opa that I just cost them a lot of money.

I sit across the table from my oma and opa, concern etched across their features.

I suppose showing up looking guilty as sin and telling them that I needed to talk was cause for concern. Mostly because this is entirely out of character for me. But in the time between leaving Richard’s office, going to my cottage, and packing an overnight bag—because I sure as fuck am not staying there with cameras set up—and heading here, the weight of everything that’s transpired became unbearably heavy.

“I don’t know where to start. All I know is I can’t do this show, and I need to stay here with you guys tonight.” I untangle my linked fingers on the table and straighten in my chair in an attempt to appear open and honest. Talking like this is hard for me.

I continue since they say nothing. “I thought I could do this. I thought it wouldn’t matter, and then—”

“You met someone who did,” Oma interjects, voice wobbling, her eyes tearful.

I nod, feeling choked up as my fingers twist between each other again. “Yeah. And now I… I don’t know. I thought I could make it one more week. I wanted to do it for you guys, I really did, but I just—”

“I think,” Opa says gruffly, “what you’re trying to say is you’re in love with that girl, and the thought of pretending to date anyone else makes you want to vomit.”

I glance up at him, eyes shrink-wrapped with tears of relief, because yes, that’s exactly how I feel. And for a man who says so few words, the ones he chooses land with force.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I think I might be in love with her. Is it supposed to feel like this?”

“Like what, honey?” Oma says gently as she stands up and rounds the table to sit beside me.

“I don’t know. Like every time I try to focus, my brain short-circuits and goes back to her. Like my chest hurts. Like I’d burn down the fucking world and do morally reprehensible things all just to keep her safe.”

“Oh, baby,” Oma says, leaning her head against my shoulder while rubbing slow circles on my back.