Chapter 13

Blake

“She is not Sir Blake Berringer’s girlfriend.

She was not a regular contestant.

Everything that has been published lately is pure conjecture, or coincidence, completely unrelated to the show My Billionaire Bachelor…”

Flashbulbs go off all around Candace and me. We stand as a unified front before the press corps, beneath a banner which reads in pink cursive: My Billionaire Bachelor. Then, in black and neon splatter: SEASON 6!! I’ve donned a cool, ice-blue suit and a black tie for the occasion. My hair was styled meticulously by the new makeup artist, whose name I can never recall to save my life.

“Are you ready to do this?” Candace asks from behind her smiling–or clenched – teeth.

“I would have quit a long time ago,” I smile-talk back to her, “if Roxanne hadn’t begged me to do this for you.”

Candace swats me hard on the back with an open palm, probably meaning for the gesture to be one of camaraderie. “Good man.” She says that with her actual, unsmiling mouth, then nods and smoothens her black blazer and matching skirt. She wears coral-colored lipstick today, hardening an already intimidating and rigid mouth. But I feel comfortable facing the cameras and the reporters with this hard-headed bitch at my side. I might have been born doing this, but she was born ready for it.

Deny the pregnancy. Deny the relationship. Finish the show. Those were Candace’s ironclad demands.

Increase security. Find Roxanne reliable and safe work outside of show business. If Jared comes back into the picture, all bets are off. Those were our demands.

Candace and I both turned to Roxanne for the final say, and she nodded in affirmation once. I agree with my baby. If this deal sounds good to her, then it sounds good to me.

I tried to get my phone back during negotiations, too, but Candace shook her head before I could finish asking the question. “Your girlfriend has my phone number,” she said. “If she really needs you, she can call me. Then I’ll decide if she really needs you.”

“Thank you all for coming today,” Candace warmly greets the members of the press, putting on a face for them that I’ve never seen her wear before. It’s so strangely inviting. “Thank you for giving us the opportunity to straighten the record before all this conjecture gets too far out of hand.”

“Is Roxanne Meriweather pregnant?” an eager reporter shrills from the flock.

“I cannot absolutely disclose that,” I lie. “But I can tell you that the sources cited in all of these claims are very soft, so it is doubtful.”

“Doubtful,” Candace echoes assertively.

“There have been rumors that she was fired from My Billionaire Bachelor. Can you confirm or deny that, Ms. Madden?” someone else yells.

“Miss Meriweather was offered an opportunity at another location,” Candace clarifies. “There’s been so much confusion regarding the salmonella outbreak in the Greece episode, we decided it might be best to just put some space between her and the show for the rest of the season. We do not discriminate against pregnant women, of course, but the media has been very distracted by our makeup artist’s appearance in one episode. She is not Sir Blake Berringer’s girlfriend. She was not a regular contestant. Everything that has been published lately is pure conjecture, or coincidence, completely unrelated to the show My Billionaire Bachelor.”

A flurry of flashbulbs hit us, and my hands tighten into fists. I hate this. “Sir Berringer,” someone calls to me. “Who is the girl from the background image?”

“No comment,” I say closely to the mic.

“Are you at liberty to date a staff member from the show, if you so choose?” someone else calls.

“No comment.”

“Do you regret agreeing to do the show, considering your issues with the media in the past?”

“Absolutely not.” It’s only half of a lie. I did this show for Roxanne, and in that sense, there are no regrets. But I wish the paparazzi didn’t poison everything. Now the mother of my child is vexed by them, so much so that she had to change career paths midstream.

Candace tells me that she sings in a lounge called Fancy’s now.

“Thank you all so much for your time and your interest,” Candace bids them farewell. “In this world of ever-increasing technology and in a troubled economy, it’s easy to be fooled by our own eyes, fooled by charlatans who desperately need to make a buck. Let me say that we bear no ill will toward the publications which have wrongfully reported on this alleged development. Thank you again.” She ends it with the flourish of one last princess wave and exits stage left.

I follow behind her and pat her back. “You should have gone into acting,” I tell her with a little chuckle. “That was very believable.”

“And look at you over there,” Candace returns smilingly, “with all your no comments.” She winks. “Just remember: keep it up for three more dates, lover boy, and then you can go make out with Roxanne in the middle of Times Square if you want to.”

“I can do that now,” I remind her. I do not like the way she sounds as if she believes that she owns me. I’m doing this out of loyalty to Roxanne. No paltry contract could hold me. “You remember that.”