Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

Rosanna started pacing, shaking her hands out, muttering under her breath in the exact way she did while brainstorming with her PR team.

Curious as to what had her boss this hyped, Kristi scanned the top document, her confusion increasing rather than di min ish ing.

‘What’s this reality show documentary about?’

It sounded interesting, if you were crazy enough to want to be stranded on an island with a stranger for a week. ‘We doing the PR for it?’

Rosanna shook her head, magenta-streaked corkscrew curls flying.

‘No. One better.’

Flipping pages, Kristi spied an entry form.

‘You thinking of entering?’

Rosanna grinned, the evil grin of a lioness about to pounce on a defenceless gazelle.

‘Not me.’

‘Then what …?’

Realisation dawned as Rosanna’s grin widened.

‘Oh, no, you haven’t?’

Rosanna perched on the edge of her desk, studying her mulberry manicured talons at length.

‘I entered your details for the female applicant.’ She gestured to the flyer, pointed at the fine print. ‘You’ve been chosen. Just you and some hot stud on a deserted island for seven days and seven long, hot, glorious nights. Cool, huh?’

There were plenty of words to describe what her boss had done.

Cool wasn’t one of them.

Kristi dropped the entry form as if it were radioactive waste, tentatively poked it with her toe, before inhaling deep, calming breaths. Rosanna might be tolerant but there was no point getting wound up to the point she could happily strangle her boss.

‘I want you to turn Survivor for a week.’

This had to be a joke, one of Rosanna’s bizarre tests she spontaneously sprang on employees at random to test their company loyalty.

Clenching her fist so hard the documents crinkled, she placed them on the desk, desperately trying to subdue the buzzing in her head to form a coherent argument to convince her boss there wasn’t a chance she’d do this.

Only one way Rosanna would listen to reason: appeal to her business side.

‘Sound’s interesting, but I’m snowed under with jobs at the moment. I can’t just up and leave for a week.’

Rosanna sprang off her desk as if she hadn’t spoken, snapped her fingers.

‘You know Elliott J. Barnaby, the hottest producer in town?’

Kristi nodded warily as Rosanna picked up a flyer, waved it under her nose. ‘He’s making a documentary, based on the reality-show phenomenon sweeping the world. Two people, placed on an island, with limited resources, for a week.’

‘Sounds like a blast.’

Rosanna ignored her sarcasm. ‘Prize money is a hundred grand.’

‘What?’

Kristi tried to read over Rosanna’s shoulder. ‘You never told me that part.’

‘Didn’t I? Perhaps I didn’t get around to mentioning it, what with your overwhelming excitement and all.’

Kristi stuck out her tongue as she speed-read the prize details.

A hundred big ones. A heck of a lot of money. And if she was crazy enough to go along with her boss’s ludicrous scheme, she knew exactly what she’d do with it.

For an instant, the memory of dinner with her sister Meg last night flashed into her head.

Meg’s shabby, cubbyhole apartment in outer Sydney, the sounds of ear-splitting verbal abuse from the quarrelling couple next door interspersed with the ranting of rival street gangs outside her window. The threadbare furniture, the stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen counter, the lack of groceries in the fridge.

And Prue, her adorable seven-year-old niece, the only person who managed to draw a smile from her weary mum these days.

After what she’d been through, Meg was doing it tough yet wouldn’t accept a cent. What if the money wasn’t part of her savings that Meg refused to touch? Would that make a difference to her sister’s pride?

‘Healthy prize, huh?’

Kristi didn’t like the maniacal gleam in Rosanna’s astute gaze. She’d seen that look before. Ros lived for Endorse This; the company wasn’t Sydney’s best PR firm for nothing. While a fun and fair boss, she was a corporate dynamo who expected nothing short of brilliance from her employees.

And every time she got that gleam, it meant a new client was up for grabs, someone whose promotion would add another feather to Endorse This’s ever-expanding cap.

Deliberately trying to blot out the memory of Meg’s apartment and the unnatural hollows in her niece’s cheeks, Kristi handed the flyer back.

‘Sure, the money’s impressive, but not worth shacking up with some stranger for a week, and having the whole disastrous experience filmed.’

Rosanna’s injected lips thinned, her determined stare brooking no argument.

‘You’re doing this.’

Kristi’s mouth dropped open and her boss promptly placed a finger under her chin and shut it for her.

‘I had a call from Channel Nine last week. They’re checking out PR firms for a new island reality show, Survivor with a twist, they said. That’s why I entered you. If you do this, we’re set!’

Oh, no. No, no, no!

If the gleam in Rosanna’s eyes had raised her hackles, it had nothing on the sickly sweet smile reminiscent of a witch offering Hansel and Gretel a huge chunk of gingerbread.

‘And, of course, you’ll be in charge of that whole account.’

‘That’s not fair,’ she blurted, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut when Rosanna’s smile waned.