(The Game Show — Chemistry Roulette)
Out of place, that's how Callie felt as she stepped into the large, shiny silver building.
The dress wasn't hers.
Neither were the heels, the lipstick, or the false lashes threatening to slide off her eyelids under the studio lights.
What was hers? The nerves that chewed on her stomach like a rabid jackrabbit, and the voice in her head that whispered she didn't belong here.
Callie Monroe tightened her grip on the thin clutch that held her ID, a breath mint, and her last shred of pride.
This was just a game. A well-paying one. Win, collect the prize, and vanish before the city swallows her whole.
Callie tugged at the hem of her red satin dress, accurately aware of just how out of place she felt. The heels Melinda had sent pinched her toes. Her red curls bounced nervously as she looked around.
'God, I can't believe I let her talk me into this.' She breathed anxiously as she walked into the backstage area.
"Name?" a voice barked from a table.
"Callie Monroe." She immediately supplied.
The woman skimmed the list, found her name, and handed her a numbered heart-shaped badge. "You're number 12. Good luck."
"Thanks," Callie muttered, pinning it on.
From the backstage, the booming voice of Harvey Knight, America's most dramatic host, echoed.
"Ladies and gents, lovers and loners—welcome to the hottest stage in New York! Tonight, you'll flirt, you'll feel, you'll pair up—or flame out. But only one couple walks away with five thousand dollars and a chance to make sparks fly!"
Applause exploded.
The venue was nothing like Callie expected.
Spotlights crisscrossed a glossy stage. Cameras panned the crowd. A massive gold-and-crimson banner hung above the main screen: CHEMISTRY ROULETTE: Find Your Flame! The energy was buzzing—music pumping, influencers posing, and a crowd full of strangers who looked like they'd walked off magazine covers.
Soon, the contestants were called up one by one for a live pairing segment. Callie watched as men of different looks and aura were welcomed to the stage; she internally facepalmed as women winked and giggled, throwing themselves at the wealthier, well-dressed men.
Then came the name that made the audience swoon and Callie frown.
"Contestant number 7—Grayson Wolfe!" Harvey boomed.
A pause. Gasps. Whispers.
A tall man stepped out from backstage. Dressed in a sleek black suit, Grayson walked like he owned the floor—and maybe he did.
His dark hair was neatly styled, his jawline sharp enough to cut stone, and his blue eyes were cold fire.
He wasn't smiling.
He was assessing.
'In the end, finding a wife was not hard after all; it was just like picking popcorn out of a bowl.' Grayson thought.
Callie stared at the mysterious man with a slight crease on her brow.
He looked like every Wall Street fantasy and Texas nightmare rolled into one—tailored charcoal suit, wristwatch that cost more than her daddy's tractor, and a confident, annoying face like he already owned whoever he would be choosing tonight.
'Ugh. He looks like he'd sue someone just for breathing wrong.' She thought.
For some reason, she felt like this mysterious man had the same personality as Old Richard, the man her father had asked her to marry: controlling, cold, selfish.
If this was all they had in the show, then she would pass; she wasn't going to run away from one devil to run into the arms of another—a more dangerous one, she might add.
Above all, Callie's mental health was her priority; she never risked her life and happiness for the sake of quick cash.
With disappointment, Callie saw as one by one, female contestants lined up, trying to win Grayson's attention.
Flirtatious giggles. Flashes of cleavage. Even a cheek kiss.
Grayson looked unimpressed. Bored. Like he'd rather be reviewing stock portfolios.
He was starting to regret his decision. Maybe he shouldn't have trusted Okani.
Then Harvey's voice boomed again.
"And now… contestant number 12—the redhead in the red dress, Callie Monroe!"
A spotlight beamed down on Callie.
She instantly pulled her nerves together and stepped forward.
She didn't strut. She didn't twirl.
She just walked up calmly, her back straight, eyes clear—and not fixed on Grayson like everyone else.
The audience leaned forward in anticipation.
Grayson tilted his head slightly, noticing her.
She was…different.
He extended a hand, waiting.
Callie stared at his extended hand. Then at him. Her lips parted slightly—then curved into a tight, dismissive smile.
"Contestant Twelve," the host grinned. "Tell Mr. Wolfe why you're the perfect match for him."
Their eyes locked.
Callie's boots might've been replaced with stilettos, but her gut instincts hadn't gone anywhere.
Danger. Trouble. Control.
She'd known men like him before—polished, powerful, always ready to buy what they couldn't earn. And right now, he looked at her like she was for sale.
"Not interested."
She walked past him without another word.
The audience gasped. A pause. A stunned hush. The crowd froze. The cameras zoomed in.
Grayson blinked once, jaw tightening. A muscle flicked in his cheek, and something flashed in his eyes at the outright rejection.
The host stammered something. Producers whispered behind the curtain. But Callie just turned, heels clicking against the stage floor, and walked away.
Harvey choked back a laugh. "Ooooh… hot rejection, folks! That's chemistry, all right!"
Callie returned to her spot, heat crawling up her neck and cheek, but her chin never dropped.
She could see the stinky eyes the other ladies were giving her, but she ignored them; they could go ahead and have him, she didn't care.
'You got this!' She internally hyped herself up.
She didn't need his money. She needed hers. On her terms.
Even if it meant crossing the city in borrowed shoes and fake lashes just to chase a shot at freedom.
Grayson stared after Callie—not angry, but intrigued.
For the first time tonight…he smiled.
And it wasn't friendly.
He had never been rejected, and publicly so. He carved everything about the red-haired sassy lady into his mind because he believed that somehow, the annual game show might have come to an end, but theirs had just begun, and he never loses.
As Harvey shifted his attention to the winners of the game show, the rest of the girls were quietly ushered off the stage and back to the backstage area.
In a hurry, she placed back the heart-shaped badge number on the table and quickly ran out of the place; it was soon time for her shift at work.
So much for coming to the game show. Every man she saw was a red flag, especially that Grayson of a man. If she dared to have taken his hand, she would have willingly given off herself to live like a puppet.
She believed in herself, she knew that if she looked harder, she would find a job that would help her cover at least the monthly payments for her mother's treatment.
As she entered the cab, hope filled her heart as she remembered that she had an interview tomorrow with Apex Whisky Co. She hoped they would look past her field inexperience and take her in for her qualifications.
She knew herself; she was raised with grit, and there was nothing she believed she couldn't do.
'Sorry, Melinda. I couldn't go home with that gray man,' she sighed quietly.
At least, the game phase was over, or so she thought.
What she didn't know was that Grayson Wolfe wasn't used to losing.
And he wasn't done with her yet.
***
In Grayson's living room, a man in a white hoodie, transparent glasses, and a laptop in his hands stood in front of Grayson, who was sitting on his sofa, wearing a formidable look on his face.
"Sir, the last of the broadcast has been taken down," The man in the white hoodie informed as he clicked something on the laptop in his hand.
Grayson slowly nodded, "And the lady?" He asked, tapping his foot on the floor.
The man in a white hoodie pushed his glasses in place, "I've got everything about her, too. Her name is Callie Monroe, from Bandera, Texas. Her family owns a small ranch, and she had recently moved here; she currently lives in Brooklyn, where she shares a very small apartment with someone else." He gave his detailed findings about Callie.
Grayson frowned. "Callie Monroe..." He tested the name on his lips.
Her background was dry and boring as fuck, but then, why did she have such courage to treat him the way she did tonight? How did she even get on the game show in the first place?
Something was fishy about that redhead, and his interest has been piqued. He needed to know what gave her such nerve to disgrace him in front of the world tonight.
"Work? How about her work, Tony?" Grayson questioned.
Tony was silent for a few seconds before speaking, "She doesn't work far from her home. A few blocks from her apartment is a dive-in bar where she works every night, and some mornings, too," Tony provided.
Grayson's frown deepened.
Could he just have been insulted by a nobody?
"Send a message to Okani, he's accompanying me to Brooklyn by tomorrow." He ordered.