I’m trying to swipe on a little powder in the back of the limo as it winds its way around curved roads, leading to the house where I will be living for six weeks in Riviera Maya, Mexico. The flight from San Francisco to Mexico left super early, so I’m still half-asleep. Despite years of traveling for work, I still can’t sleep on planes, so I’m both sleep-deprived, and feeling rough because I rolled out of the house after lying awake all night, wondering what I just got myself into. Even as the beautiful scenery flies by me, I can’t appreciate it, because I’m so nervous. And the information packet sitting in my lap isn’t helping.

It’s loaded with information about the house, the show, and the rules. There is some vague stuff about the guys I will be meeting, but it just has initials and professions, which isn’t super helpful when trying to prepare myself for what is waiting for me. The limo driver has been chattering at me about the house, and how beautiful it is, and telling me about the pool and the view of the ocean. But all I can think about is how I’m going to manage to keep my shit together and not embarrass myself or the company for the length of the show.

The night before I left California, Carrie called me to prep me on the rules, which were all covered again in writing in the packet. No sex, no sneaking off, no quitting in the middle without a very good reason: and she was super serious about that last one. Apparently, the season before, the guy the show was centered on just disappeared in the middle of filming, and it turned out he’d run off with one of the production assistants. The network had turned their “love story” into a lucrative spin-off show, but Carrie was still furious with them both. She made it very clear she’d kill me if I tried anything similar, and I wasn’t about to test her.

I’m just planning on getting through this with some publicity, and my dignity intact.

The car pulls through a set of iron gates that open up to a long, winding driveway. It takes longer than I expect to get to the house, and we drive past a series of gorgeous flowering plants and huge palm trees, which create a super isolated feeling around the property. I feel safe, and scared, at the same time. Even if I wanted to disappear, there is nowhere for me to go. I suspect that Carrie planned it that way.

As I’m lost in thought, we drive up in front of one of the most beautiful houses I’ve ever seen. The white stone and pink thatch of the roof are even brighter against the blue sky and green plant life, and a stunning tropical bird sits on the front step, as if placed there by the production team. I get out of the limo and take a long, deep breath of the salty ocean air, and I feel myself relax a little bit. I know it won’t last long, but I try to enjoy it while I can. Then, as if on cue, my cell phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I groan and reach for it, and see that it’s Tyler. I’m just about to answer when a tiny woman in a headset comes running up and snatches the phone from my hand with a tsk-ing sound.

“Sorry, but no cell phones are allowed in the house, honey. One of the most important rules. You can have it back at the end of shooting. And once a week, you’ll be allowed to video chat with whoever you need to. But no talking show details. Anyway, Anya! Wonderful to finally meet you in person. I feel like we’ve done nothing but Skype for weeks!”

Carrie isn’t what I expected at all. I was anticipating a super type-A business woman in a fussy Lilly Pulitzer outfit or something. Instead, she has a shocking blue pixie cut, full tattoo sleeves, and is wearing a punk rock band shirt over shredded leggings. If anything, I’d expect her to be producing a reality show set in a tattoo shop… not a dating show. But I get a feeling I’ll like her, despite the fact she has completely upended my life for the next six weeks. I smile at her and shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Carrie. This is not what I was expecting at all. It’s really… nice.”

Carrie laughs. “What were you expecting? A Daytona Beach spring break house circa 1998? We have an audience that expects luxury and no matter where the show takes place, it has to be beautiful. Luckily, Riviera Maya is a lovely place all on its own, so finding the perfect house wasn’t much of a challenge. Speaking of a challenge, however, are you ready to meet your fellas?”

I peek around Carrie’s shoulder to the front door of the house, which she has left open. I can make out some of the men milling around inside, but not enough for a proper assessment of what I’m walking into.

“Can you give me any kind of warning before I go in there?”

Carrie smiles gently and takes a step closer, breaking the distance between us, almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her. “Anya, I’ll give you the same warning I give all of our girls. Some of these guys are decent men who will just flirt with you, and are probably here for the free vacation. Some are douchebags, but I promise you, they are harmless. Without a villain, there show wouldn’t be interesting, though, so we need a few of them of them to round out the cast. Now, I can’t promise you’re going to find the love of your life in that room, but we will do everything we can to make sure you have fun, keep you safe, and hopefully, you’ll find Mr. Right before this is all over.”

I nod and square my shoulders, feeling a little more confident than I did a moment ago. I’m still terrified, and feel like I’m walking into a lion’s den, but at least I think Carrie might be on my side. The limo driver walks up carrying my luggage and then disappears off to the side of the house. I go to follow him, but Carrie stops me.

“He’s got you covered. I’ll show you your room after we introduce you to the men. You’ll have your own private entrance to your bedroom, and it will have a lock only you can access. We learned our lesson on season three.”

“Woah, hold on,” I say grabbing her arm before she can walk away. “What happened in season three?”

Carrie waves me off. “Nothing! Come on, let’s get you inside so we can start filming. We’re already running a little late.”

I follow her inside, apprehensive again thanks to her vague “season three” allusion. It doesn’t help that the minute I step through the doors, twelve sets of eyes all turn on me, with varying levels of interest. Well, eleven sets of eyes; there is a twelfth guy in the back, just short enough that he’s obscured by a refrigerator of a man. All I can make out of the guy in the back is his hipster hair, swooped up in what looks like a man bun, and I instinctively roll my eyes.

Well, that won’t be happening, I think as Carrie pulls me to the foreground. I hear whispering from the back, but Carrie shushes everyone.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet this season’s single lady, Miss Anya Cole. She is the CFO of a very successful tech company, she’s brilliant, she’s beautiful, and it’s up to you to convince her you’re worthy of her love. We’re going to let her get settled, and then we’re going to bring her back so we can do the introduction scene on camera. Go ahead and get dressed in whatever you want to be first seen in, and meet us back here in twenty minutes,” Carrie says as she takes my hand and leads me through a state-of-the-art kitchen, down a hall, and toward a door that is separate from everything else.

I try to catch as many glances as I can at the men as I walk by, and I only register a few of them. I recognize a football player from Colorado, a dancer from a movie that Tyler dragged me, and…

Wait a minute… Do I know manbun?

“Carrie, who is the guy at the back of the room, hiding? The one with the hipster vibe?”

Carrie turns back before she opens the door and looks at me thoughtfully for a second. Then it clicks.

“Oh! He’s the lead singer of band that is nominated for a Grammy or something? Last minute addition to the roster. I owed his manager a favor. He seems like a quiet guy who doesn’t really want to be here. I wouldn’t count on him making much of an impression or sticking around very long,” she says as she unlocks the door. Then she takes my hand and presses my thumb against a keypad. A series of charms goes off, then the lock clicks again.

“I really am the only one who can get in here, huh?” I say as I marvel at the security.

“Correct! You have the biggest bedroom in the house, with a private bathroom, your own access to the pool and beach, and a private veranda. Though please keep in mind, the only room in the house that is actually ‘private’ private is your bathroom. Otherwise…” Carrie pushes the door open, and gestures for me to follow her inside. I do, and my eyes go wide when I see where I will be staying for the next six weeks.

The floors are beautiful, cream-colored tiled, and a huge, king-sized bed is raised up on a platform so it has overlooks the ocean through a massive picture window. All of the furniture is marble and dark wood, and my luggage has been set out on a series of racks for me to unpack. Even the bathroom is exquisite; the shower is more of a wet room, surrounded by glass and two separate shower heads. It’s so big you could practically throw a dance party in there. The bathroom has pool access too, but the door leading out there is frosted, preventing anyone outside from seeing in. If I didn’t have to be on this stupid show, I’d probably never leave the room.

When I wander back out of the bathroom, Carrie is waiting for me with a giant grin.

“Lovely, isn’t it? I think you’re going to be really comfortable here.”

I laugh. “I may never want to leave.”

“You say that now, but give it a week or two of being watched every minute of every hour and I bet you’ll change your mind.” Carrie points up to the corners of the bedroom, and I suddenly notice the cameras that have been mounted everywhere.

“Oh, Lord. You weren’t kidding. You’re going to watch me sleep?”

She nods her head, sadly. “Unfortunately. Almost none of the mundane stuff will make the show, I assure you. But don’t do anything that will embarrass you, or my bosses will make me use it, I can promise you that.”

I raise my eyebrow at her. “I thought you were in charge?”

“Honey,” she waves a hand at me. “I’m just a producer. I may run things on the ground, but at the end of the day, the people that own the show make the rules. And that is definitely not me. I’ll look out for you the best I can, but ratings are king around here.”

I nod, glad I know the score. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say. Carrie starts for the door.

“Take a few minutes to unpack and get comfortable. This will be your home for a while, after all. Then put on whatever you want to be your first on-camera outfit, and get ready to come meet the guys! We’ll do some introductory interviews after, then we’ll get lunch ready.”

She disappears before I can say anything else, leaving me in my cavernous bedroom. I flop down on the bed and wiggle around, relishing the feel of the soft comforter underneath me. Then I jump up and start unpacking my clothes. Usually, I live in “dress-to-intimidate” power suits, but Tyler took me out and made me buy a whole new wardrobe for the show. Nothing crazy or overtly sexy, but definitely things that are more revealing than my usual vibe. He also confiscated all of my flannel pajamas and made me buy little silk nightgowns, which, despite the no sex rules, he insisted I needed for any on-camera shots of me in bed. I said he was ridiculous, but now, catching sight of all these cameras watching me, I think maybe he made the right call.

I go through the clothes I’ve just hung up, and decide on a black leather skirt, a black cotton sweater with a tiger on it, and a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals. Then I take my hair out of the loose ponytail I’ve had holding it back and let it fall out naturally. After putting on some of the “camera-ready” make-up they’ve left on the vanity, I take a deep breath and leave the bedroom. I can hear noise from the living space, like everyone has already gathered back and is waiting for me. I forgot that guys get ready a hell of a lot quicker, even when you’re a low-maintenance, can’t-be-bothered type like me.

I round the corner, and everyone is staring at me again, including Carrie, and all of the camera guys. I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to this, I think as I put on a giant, totally fake smile.

“Hi, everyone,” I say with an awkward half-wave. Carrie laughs and directs me to the center of the room, so the cameras are angled on me. Then the men form a crescent around me so I can see all of them. Well… most of them. The hipster is still half-hidden behind the dancer, and I see Carrie staring at them, slightly annoyed.

“All right, guys. We’re going to start rolling in a minute. Everyone stay natural. Our host, Darius Miller, is about to arrive on set, and he will get the ball rolling. Just let him direct the action, and be yourselves! He’s been at this since the beginning, so he knows what he’s doing better than any of us,” she says as she waves a giant, handsome bear of a man into the house. I sort of recognize him as a former football player, and host of a daytime chat show with a perky lady. He’s wearing a tailored suit despite the heat, and he looks extremely polished, if a little bored. Darius walks up to me and shakes my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Anya. I’ll do my best to keep this rabble in check,” he says with a wink. It helps to feel like so many people are on my side, though I’m still convinced ratings are the most important thing to everyone. Carrie and the camera guys start setting up shots, and Darius stands next to me as lights flash in our eyes. Carrie raises her hand.

“All cameras about to go live! Darius, whenever you’re ready!”

Darius clears his throat, then flashes a megawatt smile. “Anya, this is it! Your first time meeting the men who will be competing for your heart! What do you think about this collection of handsome gentlemen before you?”

I inadvertently laugh. “They are certainly an interesting collection, that is for sure.”

“Well, let’s find out who these fellas are, shall we?”

Carrie gestures to the camera men. “Okay, we’ll cut here, and start getting shots of each guy as they introduce themselves, then we’ll edit in their individuals tonight. Guys, start on the left and work down. And Jesus, Daniel, will you get out from behind Max? I can’t spend six weeks trying to film you between Max’s biceps and chest.”

My stomach drops and I feel all of the blood in my body stop flowing. I lean forward and peek around the dancer, and that’s when I finally see his whole face. He’s scruffy, and his hair is different, and he’s older in a “lived-in” way, but it’s Daniel. My Daniel. I take several panicked steps backward and bump into the fireplace, knocking over a vase that was on the mantle. A production assistant rushes to clean it up and Carrie comes running over.

“Anya? What is going on?”

I spin on her, furious. “Is this some kind of joke? Did you do this on purpose? What is wrong with you? Will you do anything for ratings?”

Carrie looks back and forth between me and Daniel, and she looks genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. What is going on? Do you two know each other?”

I snort. “You could say that. We only dated in college for four years before he dumped me.”