Definitely not Carter and Makayla. Never them. But it didn’t matter. The second our lips touched, it was like you’d lit a fuse in those two teenagers, and the result was a very believable, very chemistry-laden first kiss that the viewers never got over.

Shelby got an obscene amount of hate mail calling her a slut for cheating on Lyle and breaking Jackson’s heart. It was unrelenting, and she couldn’t take it after that. When she and Lyle started to date after the show ended, people never really stopped accusing her of cheating.

I concentrate on the kids on the screen, trying to see them through objective eyes. I barely recognize myself, to be honest. Eighteen-year-old Cameron was lanky and squeaky-voiced with longish dark-blond hair and smooth cheeks. There’s definitely something there between Shelby and me, though. Outside of our characters, even. Of course, I know what that something was, but now I can see how obvious it was on-screen, once the writers put us alone together in a small space. We seem to circle each other’s orbit and spark with chemistry. Shelby tucks a long blond curl behind her ear and bites her lip. I lean down and smile at her and she grins back, all moon-eyed. When I bend to meet her lips, she raises on her tiptoes and captures mine perfectly. On-screen, my cheeks are ruddy with the wooooo! coming from the “live studio audience.” In the conference room, I’m grateful for the thick beard that covers my face these days.

The scene goes black and Lyle’s grin is shit-eating. “Am I wrong?”

I clear my throat. “You’re basing everything off an on-screen kiss?”

Shelby clears hers right after. “From a decade ago, no less.”

Lyle narrows his eyes shrewdly and crosses his arms. “First of all, fuck you if you think for one second that I didn’t know you were together during that. Sneaking off after shooting, all those meaningful staring contests.” He jerks his pointed chin at me. “I will hand you my net worth right now if you weren’t making out with her in the closet during lunch breaks.”

My heart thuds in my chest. For so long, everything was a secret. It’s been years, but I don’t feel like I can divulge anything yet. And especially not to Lyle. The fucker.

“Fine,” he says, after a long silence. “Don’t admit it. I don’t actually care. But that”—he points to the screen—“is exactly how I know you can pull this off.

“You two, regardless of what you were behind closed doors”—he raises his eyebrows suggestively—“were peas in a pod and about as wholesome as two child stars could be, since neither of you bothered sticking around Hollywood long enough to spiral.”

My skepticism is obvious. “Really? What would you call what happened to Shelby five years ago then?”