She beamed an encouraging smile in Evie’s direction. ‘You know the kind of thing. I’m thinking you serve up some kind of foraged meal and sleep in a shelter made of sticks you’ve built yourself. Perhaps do a river crossing. The public will lap it up. You can eat your words on national TV, you restore Jack’s reputation and hopefully we boost the ratings of both shows in the process. Really, it’s genius.’
‘No way!’
Evie was on her feet to protest, beaten by a split second by Jack Trent on the opposite side of the boardroom table. He was a good foot taller than her, a dark green shirt beneath his jacket picking out the darker tones in his eyes, and he certainly commanded attention. The eyes of everyone around the table, including her own, swivelled in his direction. Even his choice of daywear came from a camouflage colour palette. Shock-horror. For the first and possibly the last time, he agreed with her.
* * *
‘You’re not messing with the Survival Camp format,’ Jack said shortly. ‘This ridiculous charade has nothing to do with me. Reprimand the socialite princess if you want to, drop her show, sue her for damages, I really don’t care. I’m not the one who’s done anything wrong here.’
Socialite princess? How dared he?
‘Excuse me?’ she snapped at him indignantly.
‘Legal action is a possibility,’ the PR manager sitting on Jack’s right said.
Cold tendrils of dread thundered into Evie’s heart. She glanced sideways at Chester in a panic, her mouth paper-dry as the implications of that raced through her mind. Chester had turned an interesting shade of grey, undoubtedly thinking of his own commission. They could probably take her to the cleaners over this. Jack probably could too, if the mood took him. Months of tabloid coverage yawned terrifyingly ahead of her. Her reputation and her new jewellery business would be in tatters. The thought of her father’s reaction made her feel sick.
‘Although it’s not necessarily the best option,’ the PR continued.
A tentative surge of relief kicked in because although it was clear from this that there was another option, it clearly wasn’t going to be pleasant.
‘Doesn’t really matter who’s wrong or right.’ The executive producer took over again at the head of the table. ‘I don’t care and the viewing public don’t give a toss either. The only thing that’s important is that putting the two of you together right now is TV gold. The public are siding with Jack right now but the tabloids are still sowing that nugget of doubt. The tide could turn at any moment.’ She looked directly at Jack. ‘Mud really does stick. Doesn’t matter that there’s not an ounce of truth in it, it’s been repeated so much now in so many places that public belief in the credibility of your skills is bound to be called into question. The best way to refute this is to take it and run with it. On screen.’
‘Survival Camp is a serious premise,’ Jack said. ‘Not some reality-show fluff. It has a serious message behind it. Look at her.’ He waved an incredulous hand in Evie’s direction. ‘She wouldn’t last five minutes. Absolutely no way.’
The instant dismissal fired up a surge of defiance in her belly.
‘I’m as fit as you are,’ she snapped at him.
He laughed out loud and indignant anger burned in her cheeks, undoubtedly clashing horribly with her pink designer suit.
‘You really think a few yoga classes can give you the stamina to cross a river unaided, sweetheart?’ he shot back.
‘I don’t think you understand,’ the producer cut in. ‘You’re both under contract to do more shows. We’re within our rights to change the format as we see fit—just take a peek at the small print. Plus Adventure Bars are making noises about withdrawing sponsorship of Jack’s show. I’ve managed to talk them round on the strength of the potential publicity of this joint show. I don’t think either of you realise what a mess this is.’
‘Adventure Bars?’ Evie said.
The producer flapped a hand at her.
‘Nutritional snack bars for hardcore outdoor types. They sponsor Jack’s show. They are also,’ she added in a pointed aside to Jack, ‘sponsoring that spin-off outdoor activities initiative you’re hoping to roll out in schools. You really think that’s going to get off the ground if your main sponsor pulls out and you can’t restore public confidence?’
The injustice of it all made anger sear through Jack’s veins. He had to admit that the revelation that his sponsors were getting cold feet was news to him. He dug nails into his palms.
He’d piloted an outdoor survival course aimed specifically at kids and the interest had blown him away. He knew better than anyone about what a difference something like this could make to a generation of bored couch-potato kids who were either hanging around street corners waiting to be sucked into crime or were hooked on TV and video games. His sister Helen crossed his mind, never far away. If he could divert one kid from the path she’d taken, all the hard graft would be worth it. But no matter how hard he worked, taking it to the next step depended on consumer confidence and investment. Thanks to Princess Knightsbridge over there, both those things now hung in the balance and he was prepared to do anything to pull that situation back.
He realised with a burst of fury that he would have to do the one-off show. It could be the only way to make sure he obliterated all doubts about his integrity. And if she thought he’d be giving her an easy ride she was deluded.
The executive producer looked at Evie.
‘Without this show, Evie, I’m afraid renewing your contract for Miss Knightsbridge will be out of the question. Without the joint show we’d have to find alternative ways to minimise the bad publicity. The best course of action would probably be to quietly write you out. Of course we’d have to find a new central character for the show—’
‘I’ll do it,’ Evie cut in immediately. What choice did she have? Without this show her public image was worth nothing. There would be no more magazine articles, no more talking-heads fashion slots on daytime TV. Her fledgling jewellery business would fail before it even began. She’d be back to the quiet life, cruising along alone with no aim or direction, and this time the quiet life would probably come with hate mail. ‘I’ll do the foraging and the sleeping outside and the rubbing sticks together to make fire.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘I’d prefer not to do water though.’
Jack laughed out loud mirthlessly.
‘You think you can get through an outward-bound weekend without getting wet, sweetheart? You obviously haven’t watched the show. Think again.’
Of course she hadn’t watched the show—was he insane? She didn’t do the great outdoors. The nearest she’d ever got to it were camping holidays as a small child, and they’d never happened again after her mother died. As her Miss Knightsbridge image demanded, she did luxury hotels, spa treatments and shopping. On her own time she did comfy pyjamas, tea and toast, and American TV show box sets. Not a foraged meal in sight in either her public or private persona.
He was already up, striding towards the exit, his entire demeanour exuding white-hot anger. So all she had to do to regain public affection, keep her TV show and stop her fledgling jewellery business from going under was survive a weekend in rough terrain with a companion who hated her guts.
Just bloody great.
* * *
‘You’re going on a TV show with Evie Staverton-Lynch?’ Helen’s voice on the phone practically bubbled with