Chapter Twenty-Seven

Elliot hadn’t cried since he was ten years old and his parents told him they were getting a divorce. His tears had done nothing to salvage the situation then, and they wouldn’t do any good now. But this was as close as he’d come in all that time. The same morose mix of feelings were there—the sadness, the helplessness, the frustration of being powerless to change the outcome—the oppressive understanding of a singular truth: Love doesn’t matter.

She was leaving, and he couldn’t stop her.

She was giving up, and he couldn’t force her to fight.

Love didn’t make a difference.

That same hot thickness filled his head and chest, suffocating the breath out of him. What was worse was he couldn’t argue her logic. This may all have been a commercial construct to him, but to her it was her life—her job, and she’d drawn the line.

Yes, he’d known it was inevitable, but he’d also hoped they’d figure something out. Hell, with Cassie on his side, he’d been halfway to a solution, but what was the point anymore? Ginger was all but giving him away.

Hand on the doorknob to leave her room, he had to bite his lip not to say anything when she let out a muffled sob. Any words out of his mouth could be met with more horrible dismissals, and like she couldn’t watch him “fall in love” with someone else, he couldn’t take any more rejection from her. His reasons for coming here had been spot-on. Too bad The Panel couldn’t see him now. They’d understand his reasons, finally, and they’d leave love out of the equation.

Opening the door, he startled at the sight of Jenna, knocking on his hotel room door.

She whirled to face him, wide-eyed with surprise.

Without thinking, Elliot glanced over his shoulder at Ginger—within eyeshot of Jenna, head in her hands, crying her face off.

Jenna’s mouth opened with a slight gasp, and Elliot was completely torn. He didn’t know which fire to put out first. The sight of Ginger actually crying was like a knife to the chest, but Jenna’s presence on his doorstep was a hurricane just off the coast. A severe threat. He could either step back into Ginger’s room, slam and lock the door, or slip out like nothing was happening, when something was obviously happening.

Instead, he took a page from Ginger’s book and attacked. “What are you doing here? Where’s Kat?”

“I—You—Um—” Her words skidded until they found some traction. “I wanted to—”

On second thought, Elliot didn’t want to hear it. He closed the door to Ginger’s room and leaned into his anger. “What kind of game did you come here to play, Jen? Because you already destroyed the playing field. You adding new rules, too? You can do whatever the fuck you want no matter how unfair it is?”

Still trying to regain the ground she’d lost, her eyes went soft, sympathetic. “Elliot, can we talk?”

He refused to take one step nearer. “I don’t want you here. They made me keep you. The Panel saved you. You weren’t even supposed to be in Paris.”

Her eyes glazed with tears. “Please, talk to me. I’m not trying to make things harder. I want you to understand—I want you to remember—”

“I remember. I remember all the promises you made, and all the ones you broke. I remember every second. You don’t have a chance in hell with me.”

For a moment she was quiet, arms loose at her sides, lips partly open. Then her gaze shifted, landing on the room number on Ginger’s door. “Did any of us?” Without another glance at him, she pivoted, back stiff as she walked to the elevator.

Storming forward, Elliot held the card key up to his room and slammed inside. He picked up the first thing he found, a boot, and hurled it against the wall above his bed. The thunk was unsatisfying.

Moments later, he heard another bang, but this one sounded like it was coming from the wall. He glared at the adjoining door. “Can you people not leave me the fuck alone?”

His neighbor knocked again.

“What?” Elliot whipped the door open to find Matt in a T-shirt and sweats, his hair a disaster like he’d been woken from a dead sleep.

“You need help with anything?”

“No.” He tried to shut the door, but Matt’s big hand came up to stop it.

“I got a text from Ginger,” the producer said. “She says she’s packing it in.”

“And?”

Matt had those deep-set eyes like Al Pacino in The Godfather. Made him a little scary to look at. “And I can’t help but think you’re partially responsible for this.” The grave tone of his voice was just as intimidating.

“I have no control over her. I have no control over anything, in case you assholes were worried you weren’t doing your job thoroughly enough.”

“Hey, brother. You’re the one who signed on for this. I wasn’t the one moving the pen across those papers for you. So how ’bout you calm it down a little?”

Elliot and Matt were the same height, but when it came down to who would win in a street brawl, Matt was bigger, and he looked like he had some experience with it. Elliot backed off, leaving the door open between their rooms.

Instead of coming through it, Matt leaned on the frame. “Sucks not being able to have what you want.”

“It does.” Elliot sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head hung, gathering his thoughts to try to make some sense out of them. He’d need his wits about him if he expected to make it through the next two weeks.

“For what it’s worth, I think she cares about you,” Matt said.

“Jenna can go to hell—along with the rest of you.”

“Wasn’t talking about Jenna.”

Elliot looked up. “Doesn’t matter though, does it?”

“I said ‘for what it’s worth.’ I know it’s not worth much.”

“It’s not,” Elliot agreed. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

Elliot broke open the seal on the minibar and pulled out all the mini bottles. He tossed them onto the bed, selecting a gin and drinking it down in one swallow. Matt took the whiskey.

“Also—for what it’s worth,” Matt raised his bottle for Elliot to clink, “I know how you feel.”

Elliot lowered his voice. “You better not be talking about Ginger.”

“Nah…”

This time, they both had a seat on the bed, choosing from the remaining alcohol. Elliot went with vodka.

“You planning on taking Cassie to the end?” Matt asked.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re not even trying anymore.”

“Nope.”

“There’s two weeks left,” the producer said. “You never know what’ll happen.”

Whose side was this guy on? Oh, yeah. That’s right. The show. Always about making good TV. “Well, let me tell you what’s not gonna happen, Matt. I’m not gonna wake up one day and suddenly want to spend the rest of my life with Jenna Gibson. That’s a guarantee. So you can quit barking up that tree. I’d rather die alone.”

“Tell me your secret, then. How’d you get over her? Because if there’s a pill to take—some kind of seminar I could go to—”

“There was something else I ended up wanting more.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Elliot clinked bottles with him. “Also, her choosing the other guy ended up being a big turnoff.”

Matt looked at Elliot like he was full of shit. “Did you not love her, then?”

“You can’t believe everything you see on TV.”

“Right.” Matt chuckled, then sighed heavily. “Maybe it’ll be the same with Ginger. Out of sight, out of mind.”

The thought of Ginger being out of his sight demolished his will to go on. The alcohol soured in his stomach. “Ginger’s different.”

“So what’s the plan?” Matt asked.

“Plan is I pick Cassie, and we do a slow fade into oblivion. She can have the money. I just want out.”

“Gotta let you in on something, Hale.”

Elliot unscrewed another mini bottle of vodka. “What’s that?”

“Cassie’s who we want for next season.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Good. But it means you have to wind up with someone else.”

Elliot’s blood hardened in his veins. His entire body went rigid. “Thought you didn’t get to decide that, Matt.”

“Your choice at the end will be Jenna or Hannah.”

Matt worked closely with The Panel so he would know. “Hannah? What about Maggie? Or Daisy?”

“Michelle knows you won’t pick Hannah over Jenna.”

“The hell I won’t—” Elliot stood, the floor tilting in his vision. The alcohol hit him all at once.

Matt rose to meet him eye-to-eye. “I think it’s time to reconsider what you came here for. Ginger’s a lost cause. She’s gone. Cassie’s ours now. You need to dig deep, consider what you’ve been through with Jenna. If you hadn’t gotten distracted with Ginger, admit it—Jenna coming back would have ended the show right then and there.”

Was he right? Getting drunker by the second, Elliot tried to imagine it. A world without Ginger in it. The show without her breathing down his neck and looking over his shoulder. All the lackluster connections with the other women, the missing spark. If there had been no Ginger, would Jenna’s return have been the light at the end of that long, depressing tunnel he entered when she rejected him?

Was Michelle right, too?

“People don’t come here and put themselves through this because they trust themselves to do the right thing, Elliot. They come for help. That’s why you came back, right?”

That’s what he’d told himself anyway.

Matt didn’t need an affirmation on his theory though. “I see it. Your entire Panel sees it. Hell, I think Ginger even sees it, and that’s why she’s leaving. Your path is clear, but you have to trust the show. It works.”

“It didn’t work for her.” It was his final argument. The one thing Matt couldn’t argue. The show stuck Jenna with Eric. She hadn’t wanted Eric.

She’d wanted him.

“She’s back, Elliot. The show’s still working for her. Her journey was just a longer one.”

“I can’t believe this.” Unwilling to stand anymore, Elliot dropped onto the bed, his head spinning, his mouth bone-dry.

“You have to trust us. We know what we’re doing.”

“I need to speak with Michelle.”

“You’ll get to. Once they give their blessing to the final three.”

“When does that happen?”

“Tomorrow you’ll see Maggie and Daisy. One of them will go home. Thursday you’ll be with Hannah. Friday is Jenna. The Panel’s decision comes Saturday.”

Elliot bent forward to hold his head in his hands. “So that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Elliot arrived at the Louvre on time Friday morning. Jenna stood in the Tuileries Garden beneath an umbrella to protect her perfect hair from the misty rain.

He approached as the challenge grew in her eyes. “It still hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet?” he asked.

She gave him a snarky smirk. “Not yet.”

“We’re rolling,” Kat reminded them both.

Elliot forced a smile. “You look beautiful.”

She snorted before letting her face relax into a grin more genuine. “Thank you. So do you.”

“Ready to go hunt down some art?”

“Ready if you are.”

With his hands tucked safely in his pockets, he extended his elbow for her to link an arm through. He took her umbrella, and they walked toward the pyramid entrance. Elliot scanned the crew, double-checking, and triple-checking to make sure Ginger was gone. Days ago, in the gardens of Versailles, they’d walked hand in hand in the sunlight. Missing her sat like a dead weight in his chest, and the day grew four shades darker.

“So what’s good here?” Jenna asked.

It would have been funny if Ginger were asking the question. “Depends what you’re in the mood for.”

“Obviously the Mona Lisa.”

“Obviously.”

“Is the Venus de Milo here, too?”

“Last time I checked,” Elliot said.

“Well, what do you want to see?”

“I was under the impression we have a list.”

Jenna stopped walking, turning to stare up at him. “Are you planning to give me a chance or not?”

She was right. He wasn’t even trying. With Ginger gone and The Panel already locked into a decision, he either had to find a way to be okay with the ending they’d scripted or leave the show. Elliot did well financially, but he wasn’t sure his low six-figure income would be enough to fend off the lawsuits he’d have to deal with if they found him in breach of his contract. “Why did you come back here, Jenna? And don’t give me the flowers and hearts reason. Tell me something real.”

A sharp dose of reality could be exactly what they both needed.

She grimaced. It wasn’t what he expected, and his doubt kicked in again.

“You’ve made mistakes before. Haven’t you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“We all get carried away sometimes. This environment is…intimate. Everybody knows everything, everyone’s studying you, watching every move, judging how you act every second of every day. Right?”

He frowned. “Sure.”

“It makes you question everything. Even the deepest feelings, the ones that feel truest to who you are. My feelings for you scared me. So they scared The Panel. It was all happening so fast, the emotion, the connection…the love.”

Elliot understood. He’d gotten swept up in it, too.

“They said it couldn’t be you,” she said.

“The Panel?” Elliot thought about what Matt had told him last night. That Cassie was off the table. Had they done the same with Jenna? Had they already picked him to be there now, starring in his own season?

Ginger had known all along…

Jenna nodded, but her eyes told the truth. She hadn’t been allowed to choose him. Not really. She’d been talked to and manipulated the same way he had been last night when he and Matt drained the minibar and commiserated about unrequited love.

“But I’m here now.” Her voice softened, an echo of the intimacy they’d once, briefly, shared. “Free to follow my own heart. I wish you were glad to see me.”

“I am,” he whispered, his head lowered in thought.

Jenna ran her hands down his arms. Finding his curled fists in his pockets, she enclosed them in her cold grasp.

“I think,” she said quietly, “we should go find this little painting everyone’s so jazzed about and make up for a lot of lost time. What do you say?”

Something in him broke then. Some shred of hope for a different outcome, or his will to beat the system. Ginger was gone. She’d given up. She’d left him there, knowing exactly what was about to happen. She’d let him go. For the show. There was no point resisting it anymore. 'Matched' had gotten to him, and now they had him right where they wanted him. He was all out of plans for the moment. “I say let’s do it.”