“What is it you want to know?” I pretended to shuffle the papers while waiting for him to launch into how unhappy he was that he’d lost the coin toss and was singing second in tomorrow’s finale. I looked forward to shutting him down.
“I know you’re sleeping with Wynne.” Like a sucker punch, his words literally winded me. He might as well have kicked me in the nuts. “I have to say, I’m surprised. You’re known for sleeping around, but I didn’t think Wynne was the type to screw her way to the top.”
Slashing my eyes to his, I warned, “Watch your mouth.”
His brows shot to the sky. “Am I wrong?”
“Hell yes, you’re wrong. Why would you even suggest such a thing?” I stared him down, wondering if he had evidence or if he was simply guessing.
“I see how close the two of you are,” he shot back at me. He was guessing.
“I’m close to you, too. It’s my job as your coach,” I countered.
“Yeah, but you’re not visiting me late at night and then leaving the next morning,” he added with a smile. Mother fucker. The little shit knew. My mind raced with what to say, or better yet, how to diffuse the situation.
I dropped to my chair and ordered, “Have a seat.”
He sat and let out a fake sigh. “We both know I’m going to lose, especially now that you’re with Wynne.”
Deciding to go with the age-old strategy of deny, deny, deny, I said, “First of all, nothing is happening between me and Wynne. If you lose, it won’t be because of me, but because America doesn’t think you’re good enough to win.”
“That’s bullshit! The judges have a vote, which we both know you’ll sway. You have a vote, and we know you’ll pick Wynne, and America has a vote.”
“Yes, but America has the biggest vote. A vote that you have a fifty-fifty shot at winning, so tell me Ferris, what is this really about?”
His face clouded with anger. “With you fucking one of the finalists, I’d say the odds are against me winning, wouldn’t you?”
Sick of playing games, I came right out and asked, “Do you have proof that I’m sleeping with Wynne?”
“I want a guaranteed contract,” he responded. And there it was. The real reason for his visit. The little shit knew he couldn’t win on his own merit, so he figured he would blackmail me. “When I lose, and we both know I will, I want a legitimate recording contract that’s equal to the one Wynne will get when she wins. I also want a check for five-hundred thousand dollars.” Like hell, I thought.
“Or?” I asked.
“Or nothing,” he snapped, fidgeting in his seat. My calm demeanor was starting to get to him. “I’ll simply tell Jayne that you’re screwing Wynne.” I fought back a laugh. Jayne would send his ass packing, especially if she knew he was trying to blackmail me. So what if he saw me leaving Wynne’s room? If he had proof, he would have shown his hand by now. He didn’t have dick for proof and we both knew it.
“Tell her,” I challenged. His eyes rounded in surprise.
“B-b-but—” he sputtered.
Lowering both elbows onto my desk, I leaned forward, and growled, “Fucking tell her, you tiny-dick moron. I dare you. Who do you think you are? If I want to fuck Wynne, I’ll fuck her. Who are you to stop me? No one, that’s who. I own this show. Therefore, I can fuck who I want, but I’m not, so tread carefully with your lies and innuendos, you little twat.” He shot up from the chair so fast it tumbled over onto the floor behind him.
“This whole thing has been rigged from the beginning,” he fumed. Clearly this wasn’t going according to his plan.
“The only one rigging anything is you. Instead of working hard to make yourself unbeatable, you’re in here lamely attempting to blackmail me. All this shows is how little faith you have in yourself. This, right here, Ferris, is why you will never make it in this industry. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”
I didn’t go to Wynne that night, nor did I text her to explain why. It was too risky. I thought about calling her but decided against it. She was better off not knowing. When Jayne failed to pay me a visit, I knew that calling Ferris’s bluff had been the right move.
Friday, I made sure to keep rehearsal as professional as possible. Wynne was quiet which bothered me. Each time I tried to pull her aside to explain, we were interrupted. Finally, I just told her everything was fine and to trust me. She seemed better after that. Ferris was his usual dickhead self. Only now, he was more so, if that was even possible. The fucker kept messing up the duet and bitching about how my voice didn’t sound like Chris Stapleton’s. No shit. Maybe it was because I wasn’t Chris Stapleton.
I didn’t go to Wynne that night, either. I wanted to, but again, I wasn’t willing to risk it. Just because Ferris didn’t have anything on us, didn’t mean he couldn’t get it. Tomorrow this whole thing would be over, and we could all move on. Wynne would have a few days of postproduction, but after that, I was going to whisk her back to Aspen and chain her to my bed.
The day of the finale was insane. Not only was it New Year’s Eve, but it was snowing like crazy outside. Between fittings and last-minute dress rehearsals, I barely had time to breathe. Wynne was all smiles which was good. What bothered me was that Ferris, too, was all smiles. The fucker knew he was going to lose, so why was he smiling?
By mid-day, my unease had grown to out and out worry, but what could I do? I was flying blind. If Ferris knew something, he wasn’t talking. I was stuck. I felt cornered. The last time I felt this way, my entire career blew up in my face.
I was sweating by the time we
made it to the stage that night. The crowd went wild as Wynne’s name was announced. The judge’s song choice was first. Like a pro, my girl nailed Janis and took a piece of the audience’s heart. She also earned a standing ovation from the judges’ table. Ferris was equally as good with his rendition of “Mine”. Round one was a tie.