Chapter 9
Geri vacillated between annoyed and unsettled.
She was still pissed that the producers had gone to such shady lengths to get her on this show. They could’ve just asked, for God’s sake. A stupid reality show to help some charities? Sure, why not?
Eh. Maybe this meant her gut feelings had been off. It wouldn’t be the first time. Her dad had raised her to be suspicious of everyone. Always assume everyone had ulterior motives, whether they were trying to get a bigger tip or screw her out of a lucrative contract. Always expect the worst.
On her way out of her room, Geri pulled her hoodie tighter around her shoulders. She’d almost neglected to pack it—she’d been on her way to the Caribbean, after all—but she’d experienced a few hotels that were chilly enough to warrant it. Especially in hotter climates. So she’d learned the hard way to make sure she packed some sweatpants and sweatshirts, if only for lounging around in her suite.
Normally, she wouldn’t venture out in one, but this entire place was so damn cold, she kept the hoodie on as she headed downstairs to have lunch with everyone else.
The hotel restaurant was freezing cold, and it was stark and empty without so many people. There were a couple of employees—a bartender and a server—and the only patrons were the twelve “contestants.”
The place sure wasn’t quiet, though.
“That golden ticket was insulting,” Art said to the others. “Who in their right mind would take that kind of deal just to get out of a show like this?” He scoffed and brought his drink to his lips. “I don’t like how they got us on this stupid show, but I’m not giving up everything I’ve worked my ass off for just to get out of here early.”
“The nerve of these fuckers,” Dan said. “And what nonsense. All of this. If they wanted money, just throw a black-tie gala, feed us some godawful banquet food, and tell me who to make the check out to.” He rolled his eyes.
Beside him, Elena scowled. “Is this the way they get money for charity now? Trick us and, I don’t know, probably embarrass us, given how these stupid shows usually go?” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t even imagine what other ‘challenges’ he’s going to throw our way.”
“As long as they don’t have us eating anything weird,” Eric muttered. “They tell me I’m eating a crocodile’s nuts or something…” He draw a finger across his throat. “I’ll happily be the first eliminated.”
Nods and murmurs all around.
Geri was inclined to agree with her affronted peers, especially about being asked to eat something ghastly, but she wasn’t inclined to stick around and listen to them all bitch about it. At least until someone could get a signal and reach out to an attorney back home, there wasn’t much to do but go with the flow of this silly game.
She took her plate and drink, and stepped out onto the empty patio. With her food on one of the wrought iron tables, she shrugged off her hoodie and dropped it into an empty chair. The humidity was thick and the heat was intense, but it was a pleasant change after the icy hotel. The lack of bitching from her fellow contestants was replaced by the chirping and shrieking of seabirds and—she guessed—birds in the jungle just beyond the patio. The tide rolled gently in the background, and a nice breeze whispered through the fronds of palm trees and potted plants.
This wasn’t so bad, all things considered. When she’d come to the island, she’d resigned herself to being around people all the time. Even during the periods when she could relax on a beach with a book, there would always be voices and activity nearby. The only real solitude she could expect was in her suite, especially since the noise could carry up to her balcony.
This, though—this was nice. The food was good. The chicken breast was cooked perfectly. It had been marinated in some kind of sauce that was both sweet and savory, and spiced with flavors she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was accompanied by some fresh vegetables in lemon juice and a rice dish with some sweet tropical fruits.
Footsteps approached, and she closed her eyes as she chewed. She wasn’t even sure who she hoped it was. One of the bar employees, maybe? Someone coming out for a quiet smoke? Because she really, really didn’t feel like interacting with anyone else. She just wanted to eat in peace.
“Mind if I sit?”
She was pleasantly surprised to realize it was Quinn, and when she looked up at him, he smiled nervously; this wasn’t a man who asked “mind if I sit?” because he was just going to do it anyway. The question seemed genuine, and she appreciated that.
“Sure.” She gestured at the two empty seats.
He relaxed a little and took the one across from her. He also had a plate in his hand along with a glass of ice water with lemon. He’d gone for one of the beef dishes on offer, though she couldn’t quite recall what it was. Something with a brown gravy and a lot of potatoes and other root vegetables. There was also a small salad with a vinaigrette of some sort.
She suddenly wished she’d gone for a salad, too. She’d been too cold to think about getting one inside, but now that she was out here where it was warm, it sounded refreshing.
They ate in silence for a little while. She wondered if he was also enjoying the serene atmosphere of the patio. Compared to the echoing complaints inside the cavernous restaurant, it was remarkably peaceful out here.
She regarded him while she chewed a piece of chicken. Though she’d heard his name over the years, they’d never crossed paths before. Not that she was aware of, anyway. They both rubbed elbows with society’s uppermost strata, but they didn’t move in the same circles. Her father had been acquaintances with the Hayworth patriarch, and her parents had attended the funeral of him and his wife a few months before her father died. They hadn’t been close, though. She had no idea if Quinn had come to her father’s memorial; she’d been so overwhelmed with his sudden death, taking the reins of the company, and consoling her mother and sister that she barely remembered the service at all.
As she was finishing her meal, Quinn broke the silence. “How far do you think we’ll get into this game before Charlie Simmons and Dan Woolman kill each other?”
Geri sat up. “What makes you think they will?”
He gestured with his fork at the restaurant. “Well, I’d bet good money that Dan is screwing Charlie’s ex-wife.”
She glanced toward the restaurant, then back at him. “You think so?”
“They came out of her room together.” He jabbed a carrot with his fork. “And Charlie was looking at them like he wanted to shoot them both.”
Geri laughed. “I’m sure the producers will be thrilled, then.” She reached for her wineglass. “They won’t even have to do any creative editing to fabricate the drama.”
“I know, right?” He popped the carrot into his mouth. “Maybe that’ll keep them from making up as much bullshit about the rest of us.”
“Ugh. God, I hope so.” She rolled her eyes. “I can see why they tricked us—I never would’ve signed up for this voluntarily. Never .”
He quirked his lips. “I’d like to say I wouldn’t have, but I’ve done one before, so…” He rocked his head from side to side.
“Have you?”
“Mmhmm.” He took a swig of water. “You remember that show Fear Factor that was on, I don’t know, eighty years ago?”
She nodded. “You were on that?”
“No, no. But I think the show was trying desperately to be a Fear Factor knockoff. It involved a lot of stunts and physical challenges. They weren’t scary or anything—well, most of them—but they were kind of humiliating.” He swirled his water like wine. “I think they were going for how much will you let us laugh at you in exchange for winning or something.”
Geri cocked a brow. “How did you do?”
“Came in third,” he said proudly, then rolled his eyes and laughed. “God, it was so stupid. So fucking stupid. I mean, it was kind of fun at times? But mostly it was either painful, humiliating, or both.”
“Painful?” Alarm zipped through her. “Really?”
“Well, yeah. When you’re swinging across monkey bars and you fall, it’s gonna hurt even if you land on a mat.” He grimaced. “I did this one thing where we—well, it doesn’t matter, but when I fell, there were these like padded poles below us? I don’t remember what they were for, but they were like horizontal telephone poles covered in padding. I landed right on my back over one of those.” He shuddered and brought his glass up to his lips. “I still feel that one sometimes.”
She made a face. “Oh God. That doesn’t sound fun.”
“It wasn’t.” He tipped his head toward the hotel. “So who knows what these assholes have up their sleeves? Right now, it seems like their idea of entertaining television is having us come up and punch numbers into a computer.” He rolled his eyes. “ Real exciting material, there.”
Geri laughed. “Well, I think I’ll take boring over getting hurt any day of the week.”
“You and me both.”
“I still don’t know how legal it is, how they roped us into it, but…” She gestured toward the marina where not a single boat was moored. “I’m not really sure how to leave, you know? Or, well, without liquidating most of my assets.”
“I know, right? And I don’t know how legal it is either.” Quinn stared out at the ocean with unfocused eyes. “The people running shows like this—they’re fucking weird. And they know all kinds of shady-ass ways to manipulate people and sneak things into contracts.” He met her gaze. “It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if they figured out how to make this perfectly legal.”
She deflated. “Awesome.” She picked up her wineglass again. “So I guess all we do is go with the flow and hope for the best.”
“I guess so.” He held up his glass, a playful glint in his dark eyes. “May the best contestant win.”
She laughed and clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”
Geri was tempted to wear her hoodie to the boardroom the next morning. She’d called down to the front desk about the temperature a few times, and she’d been assured they were working on it. So far, though, the hotel was still fucking freezing , and it was getting seriously uncomfortable. Here she was on a tropical island, and her damn nose was cold. What the hell?
But the producers’ book had given a rundown of what everyone was expected to wear to the various challenges, and… fine. Whatever. She’d wear a pantsuit to the boardroom. With any luck, the next challenge would be outside and she could wear shorts and a T-shirt or something.
Though she wouldn’t have been surprised if they were asked to bundle up before going out into the sweltering tropical heat. It was a reality show, after all. Anything was possible.
In the boardroom, everyone sat around the big table, same as before. There were cameras in the room, same as before.
Three familiar RightPriceTek employees stood at the edge of the room, dressed in suits, with blank faces. Kevin didn’t come across as nearly as friendly as he had when he’d picked Geri up at the airstrip. Mark’s expression was blank. Tyson… well, he always looked like an asshole waiting for an opportunity to be an asshole.
And of course, in walked Rich, their charming host who’d fooled them all into signing up for his stupid show.
“I hope everyone slept well,” he said with a big smile. “And I hope you’re enjoying our amenities.”
No one responded, but he didn’t acknowledge that.
“We’ve calculated the results of yesterday’s challenge, and we’ve selected a winner. The winner is, quite simply, the most generous donor among you.” He held up a small plaque. “The winner of this challenge also receives this. Should you lose a challenge, you can redeem the elimination pass and have someone else eliminated in your place.”
There was a quiet murmur of interest and enthusiasm. Geri couldn’t help the laugh; seemed like everyone was not only accepting their role, they were getting into the spirit of competitiveness.
“Now, as I mentioned yesterday,” Rich said, “the scores are adjusted based on percentages of net worth. To keep things simple, we use those percentages to work out a point system, and players are awarded points commensurate with their contribution. Everyone got it?”
Nods all around. As weird as this reality show was, Geri thought that was a smart way to keep things fair and simple.
“The winner of yesterday’s challenge…” Rich clicked a button. “Elena Simmons, with nineteen points.”
Elena beamed. Charlie, of course, scowled. Knowing what she did about him, Geri suspected he was fuming at the idea of her donating his hard-earned money. Or of her having it in the first place.
Geri’s late father’s words echoed in her mind: “This is why you get a prenup, Geri. I don’t care how much you love him—you don’t marry him unless he signs one. Otherwise you’ll be the one losing half your fortune to someone like Elena Simmons.”
Words to live by.
After giving Elena her pass, Rich ran through everyone else’s points, reading them off in descending order. Geri was relieved to come in fifth with thirteen points. Charlie Simmons, unlike his ex-wife, landed third to last with just six points. That wasn’t a surprise; though Elena was hardly generous, Charlie was well-known for being a stingy son of a bitch.
“Only two contestants remain,” Rich said. “One of whom will be eliminated.”
Eric and Lynette both shifted and twitched in their chairs as they waited for the verdict.
“Eric,” Rich said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Your pledge earned you”—he clicked the remote, and as the number appeared, added—“three points.”
Eric swallowed. Lynette chewed her lip.
“If Lynette’s total is below three,” the host continued, “you’re still in the game. If she scored four or five, you will be eliminated. And if she receives three, then there will be a tiebreaker.”
Eric and Lynnette nodded, both grinning with some competitive fire as they fidgeted nervously.
On the screen, Eric’s name was replaced by Lynette’s, with a blank spot where her points would be.
Geri was almost annoyed by how she was hanging on every word. How the suspense of the moment had her almost literally on the edge of her seat. She hated that she was getting into this.
“Lynette.” Rich held up his remote. “Your pledge earned you…”
Geri leaned in. She thought some of the other players around her did the same.
After what seemed like way too damn long, Rich clicked the button.
Beneath Lynette’s name:
Four .
Lynette pumped her fist while Eric slumped back in his seat and swore. Everyone around Lynette congratulated her, while Quinn and Art offered sympathetic shoulder pats to Eric. Eric didn’t look thrilled, but he shrugged as if to say, “Eh, what can you do?”
“Well, Eric.” Rich smiled. “We’re sorry to see you go.” He nodded to Kevin and Mark, who went around to stand behind Eric. As they did, Rich said apologetically, “Unfortunately, you have been eliminated from the competition.”
Eric started to get up, but Mark’s hand on his shoulder kept him in his chair. Eric seemed confused, but not particularly alarmed. It was a reality show, after all—they should probably expect the unexpected.
“Do you have anything to say to your fellow participants or to the people watching at home?” Rich asked.
Eric showed his palms and smirked. “Guess I should’ve added another zero to my pledge.”
Laughter rippled around the room.
Rich chuckled almost soundlessly. Then he nodded to the men behind Eric.
Kevin put a hand on Eric’s forehead and yanked it back. A yelp of surprise had barely escaped Geri’s mouth when fluorescent light glinted off metal. Mark’s arm whipped across Eric’s neck, and a split second later, blood poured out from the gaping wound.
In an instant, the room was in chaos. Art and Quinn both lunged in to try to help Eric, but they were both hauled off him. Without Kevin holding him up anymore, Eric slumped forward, gagging and sputtering as he clutched at his neck with both hands. Someone screamed. Someone shouted to help him , for God’s sake.
Geri clamped her hands over her mouth, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the grisly scene in front of her. Eric flailed and gasped. He ducked his chin and tried to hold his ruined throat together with his hands, but blood poured between his fingers, pooling on the table and splashing onto the screens. He tried to cry out in obvious pain and terror, but he kept choking and gagging. More blood landed on Art and Quinn and the walls and the ceiling. Eric staggered back, stumbling over his chair before falling to the floor.
She couldn’t see him anymore, but she could still hear his strangled pleas for help as they tapered from cries to moans to wet gasps and gurgles.
As Eric began to go quiet—as his thrashing weakened to writhing—Rich spoke, his voice icier than the hotel’s arctic air conditioning. “This completes the first challenge. We will reconvene first thing in the morning.”
“Reconvene?” Dan Woolman’s voice had gone hollow with horror. “You just murdered a man! We’re—”
“And now you understand the gravity of the game, don’t you?” Rich smiled thinly, his eyes narrow, and the room turned even colder.
“What?” Kyle demanded. “You’re going to—holy shit, you’re going to kill us if we lose?”
Rich fixed that frosty expression on Kyle. “Everyone likes a high stakes game.”
“How the fuck is this a reality show?” Art threw up a hand. “Who the fuck is going to watch a show where—”
“Consider it a reflection of the reality people like you have created,” Rich growled. “One in which the single-minded pursuit of wealth means those who don’t win are left to suffer and die. We’ve just changed the rules so you greedy fuckers can know what it’s like to die because you came in last.” He grinned a bone-chilling grin and looked from one contestant to the next. “And most of the challenges going forward will have punishments that are more…” He quirked his lips as he pretended to search for the right word. “… tailored to the world each loser has created.”
Several people were obviously close to throwing up. At least two already had. Elena clung to her elimination pass like a life preserver. Quinn and Art were both covered in blood, their expressions like too-young soldiers who’d just survived their first firefight while one of their buddies hadn’t been so lucky.
On the floor, Eric still wheezed, the sound wet and painful.
Then, one increasingly labored breath after another, the awful sounds quieted until, finally, he went still and silent.
Everyone exchanged horrified looks.
Geri could see her own thoughts on every one of their faces:
What the hell just happened?
And how the hell do we get out of here?