Chapter 7
SYDNEY
Stepping into the mansion is like stepping into a different world.
Opulence drips from the rich wood and chandelier that hangs from the ceiling in the massive entry.
My heels echo off the walls as they hit the polished floor.
Fresh flowers decorate every surface and candles flicker along a path, leading me to a room where a massive fireplace is lit and dozens more candles, these of every shape and size, dot the mantel.
Everything about this room screams money. I know rock stars. I’ve been inside their houses. But I’m overwhelmed with the grandeur.
The last to arrive, I step into a room and find all the other women are congregated around several couches, each clutching a glass of wine or mixed drink.
Cassidy looks like she wants to be anywhere but here.
So why is she participating in this show?
I make the mental note to look at her file on my iPad later.
Several women stop their conversations and turn my way. When they realize I’m not Cy, more than one rolls her eyes.
Jade looks bored, sitting elegantly in a chair at the edge of the group. Her black dress is cut down to her waist and the slit shows off more thigh than it covers.
Damn girl.
If she wanted to get Cy’s attention, I imagine that dress will garner it.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead twice over with the looks that Simone and Kendall shoot my way.
What the hell did I do to them, other than exist as competition for Cy?
Fuck you too, bitches.
They can have him.
Keep it together, Syd.
The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Sawyer.
If he were here, he would tell me to keep my emotions out of it.
To stay on track and figure out which of these women is Scarlett.
We don’t know what she looks like, and we don’t even know with certainty that she’s here, but it’s safer to assume she is.
I’m probably most aligned with Cassidy—I want to be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, I have a job to do. Information to gather. And every single one of these women is a source.
The only woman who smiles when I walk into the room is Josie. Though that could be because she was already smiling.
Does she ever stop?
She gestures for me to join her. I respond by pointing at the bar, silently telling her I need a drink first. I stick with club soda with lime.
I’m not forbidden from drinking alcohol.
We all agreed that there may be times I’d draw unnecessary attention to myself if I abstained completely.
But the butterflies that swarm in my belly despite all the firm lectures I’ve given myself tell me I need to stay in control of all of my faculties tonight.
Drink in hand, I turn, but before I can take a step toward the other women and get started with my subtle interrogations, Mara materializes at my elbow.
“Sydney, are you ready for an interview?”
Annoyance flashes through me. The fuck? She’s the one who knows why I’m here. Why is she distracting me from my job?
“Everyone else has done theirs. It’ll only take a minute,” she tells me, as if she can read my thoughts.
Keep up the charade.
With a sigh, I lift the glass to my lips. On second thought, maybe I should have ordered alcohol.
“Lead the way,” I tell her.
We cross the back of the room, sticking to the back wall to avoid the cameras filming the rest of the women.
On the other side, we step into a short hallway, and I follow Mara to a much smaller room.
A woman wearing a headset assesses me from where she’s standing next to a video camera.
The man I assume will be filming is leaning against the wall scrolling on his phone.
“Alicia, this is Sydney,” Mara says. “Sydney, Alicia is another associate producer. She’s going to take it from here.”
Alicia shakes my hand, studying me intently.
Does she know? Has Mara told her? Why isn’t Mara doing the interview?
“You’re not doing this?” I ask her.
She turns, shaking her head. “No, sorry, they need me in the main room tonight. Be quick. Cy’s wrapping with Roman up front, and we need you to rejoin the group before his entrance.”
Alicia assures her that we’ll get through this quickly, and Mara is gone before I can ask any questions.
“So, Sydney,” Alicia says from behind the camera. “Tell us about Cy. What was your first thought when you saw him tonight?”
I wish he wasn’t so attractive.
I tamp down that silent declaration. Saying that out loud would be admitting that he still has any sort of impact on my body other than nausea. And I won’t give him any power. He is still the same fucking douche nozzle he was the first time I met him. I have zero doubts about that.
But why couldn’t the universe have punished him by taking away his hair and his metabolism?
If he were bald and fat, maybe thoughts of him wouldn’t consume me.
Why does he have to have a jawline chiseled from granite with a shadow of stubble I instantly imagined between my thighs?
Why did that same electric spark from all those years ago zap me when I slid my hand into his?
I don’t know, but it was fucking inconvenient.
What kind of reaction would I get if I confessed all of that?
“I was…surprised,” I finally say. At least it’s a partial truth.
Shocked would be a more accurate word. Especially when he remembered my name from our brief run-in at the soundstage earlier.
Even if he doesn’t remember me from all those years ago at his concert.
And why would he? How many other women have thrown themselves at him over the years?
My question to him had been my own little dig—a small reward to myself for having to keep most of my thoughts bottled up.
“How so?” Alicia leans forward, her eyes narrowing, like she’s waiting to uncover more salacious details.
Well, shit.
I hadn’t anticipated the follow-up question. Or her attentiveness.
“He seems pretty down-to-earth, honestly,” I say.
“Everyone knows he’s good-looking, but he’s even more so in person.
And what we can’t tell in all those magazine covers is how good he smells.
” I take in a deep breath, remembering the way his spicy cologne teased my nostrils when I walked up from the limo.
The scent lingered on the shirt most of the day, making me a quivering mess of hormones.
That’s why I couldn’t get him off my mind.
Red light.
Wait. What the fuck am I doing?
I shake my head to clear out the cobwebs my confession just created.
“I…I just don’t get the vibe that he thinks he’s better than anyone else,” I finish lamely.
Which probably proved just how good he is at acting.
The questions continue for an eternity. Short and sweet, my ass. Water boarding would have been less painful. Eventually I’m released from my interrogation. As I step into the room where the other contestants are, Mara is standing in the middle of the space, speaking.
“Okay, ladies, Cy is walking in now.” With that, she rushes back to the edge of the room.
The whole place goes silent, an electric charge in the air.
Even I fall into the trap for a moment before my good senses emerge and knock me back into reality.
Hey, Turner, you have a job to do.
I force my attention away from the door and take this opportunity, when every eye is set somewhere else, to scan the other women.
Each one is wearing a look of excitement. Some more overt than others. Except Cassidy, who seems to be on the verge of tears. There isn’t even a hint of malicious intent. No villains in the mix.
At least not with the man we’re all here for. Or, in my case, pretending to be here for.
“Hello, ladies.” Cy steps into the room, lifting both hands and waving. The move is less charismatic bachelor and more awkward political candidate.
Too bad I can’t vote him off the island.
A snort tries to escape me as that thought pops into my head, so I bring my glass to my lips to cover it, belatedly realizing it’s empty.
The other girls clap to welcome him and Simone hands him a drink. I don’t clap. Hopefully my lack of reaction doesn’t register. With a glass in hand, I can’t. That’s my excuse.
“Thank you. I consider myself the luckiest man on the planet since I get to be here with all of you beautiful women,” he says. “Here’s to our search. Here’s to you. Here’s to love.” He lifts his glass high, then takes a sip of the amber liquid.
I lift my empty glass along with the rest of the crowd, choking back a gag at his speech.
As he lowers his drink, his brown eyes clash with mine, amusement and attraction sparkling in their depths. He takes a step in my direction, but before he can take another, Kendall intercepts him.
“Can I steal you? Somewhere private?” she asks. The way she slurs as she questions him isn’t a good sign for her sobriety.
His attention shifts from me to her, and he cocks a crooked smile in her direction.
My chest tightens. Why is she so anxious to get him alone? My gut tells me that Kendall isn’t Scarlett. Scarlett wouldn’t be drunk on night one.
Would she?
Cy must feel my attention because he looks over and gives me a wink, then leads her away.
“Take me anywhere you want, angel. Surely, anywhere you are is heaven.”
My stomach lurches. Ew. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Jaw clenched tight, I head for the bar. I order another club soda with lime and practically chug it, rinsing the foul taste out of my mouth.
He called her angel, the same pet name he used for me earlier.
Anger floods me. Not because I’m jealous, but because the damn nickname gave me the ick when he used it earlier. And I didn’t think it was possible to make it sound more terrible. Until now. Clearly, it’s a term he uses often.
So he doesn’t have to remember the name of the woman he’s with.
Cyrus Darby hasn’t changed at all.
Kendall staggers as they move toward a set of doors. She’s plastered. Honestly, I feel sorry for her. Not only is she going to pay for it tomorrow, but she also probably thinks that Cy is sincere.