Chapter 7 #2
Once they’re gone, the air in the room thins out, making it easier to breathe. I hover near the wall, looking for signs that one of these women is delusional enough to write those love letters to the object of my contempt.
Eventually Kendall and Cy come back. Her lipstick is smeared and his lips have suddenly turned a distinctly similar shade.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the pit that forms in my stomach. Of course he kissed her. It doesn’t stop Cy from asking Cassidy to speak to him alone, though.
Hallelujah, another reprieve. I drop into the seat Cassidy has just vacated and lean in close to Josie, who she’s been in deep conversation with for the last several minutes.
“What was all that about?” I ask quietly. I don’t want to alert Renee and Brielle, who sit on the other couch behind me, but Cassidy teared up again. She seems miserable.
“Poor thing,” Josie says. “Her ex called her just before she got to the studio this morning. He had to put her dog down. I guess he was planning to take care of her while she’s here.
The dog was older and not doing well, so she scheduled an appointment, and her ex took the dog in.
Apparently, she was in heart failure. Can you believe that?
” Her blue eyes shine with unshed tears.
The only pet I’ve ever had was a cat who was more feral than tame. I used to sneak her food on the back patio. Then one day she stopped showing up, and that was that. I always wanted a dog, but Mom was allergic. Never mind that she was never home. I begged my dad, but he wouldn’t budge.
While I was young, Dad was a stay-at-home parent while Mom worked sixty-hour weeks. She traveled, and on occasion, he would go with her.
When I moved out, he filed for divorce. Mom now lives in Germany, near her company’s headquarters. Dad still lives in Pasadena in the house I grew up in. With a dog. A little Morkie he named Mork, who has his own seat in Dad’s car.
Dad would be devastated if anything happened to Mork.
“That’s terrible,” I say.
Josie nods. “Poor thing. She’s had that dog since she was a puppy.”
Alicia, the assistant producer from earlier, steps into the doorway and scans the room. “Josie, have time for an interview?”
“Sure!” Josie bounces up from her seat and disappears down the hall.
I move a little slower, easing myself to my feet and stepping out onto the veranda.
With a deep breath in, then back out, I look up at the dark sky.
It’s too polluted to see stars, but it’s a break from the bright lights inside.
From the stares and the women and the TV show people.
The breath I release is audible. Pretending to be someone I’m not is harder than I thought it would be.
I didn’t realize how much I would miss me.
“That’s an awfully big sigh,” a deep voice says from the shadows.
I yelp, whirling around. My blood rushes through my ears as I scan the dark space. “What the fuck?”
“Shh.” Cy steps out from the shadows, his bowtie loosened slightly.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I chide.
He grasps one of my flailing hands and yanks me into the shadows behind him.
“I needed a break,” he confesses. “If they hear you, they’ll come looking.”
Hidden away like this, Cy no longer seems like a celebrity. He’s human. One seeking a moment to breathe. Just like I am.
I hold back a growl of frustration. Not at him, but at myself.
Do not go soft for him.
He signed on for this shit.
So did you.
For reasons.
Maybe he has reasons too.
Yeah, they’re pretty apparent. He wants to get laid.
“You still scared the shit out of me,” I whisper yell, trying to ignore the warmth that radiates from him. We’re close, his chest barely brushing mine.
“Sorry.”
“I was going to head back inside. If you’d just stayed hidden, you would have been alone soon enough,” I tell him, taking a step back.
“I-It didn’t feel right not saying anything. Watching you that way.”
Well, fuck. That’s actually kind of a non-creepy thing to do.
“What are you doing out here?” he murmurs.
He’s quiet, the words more vibration than sound. A delicious vibration that has attraction and disgust warring inside me.
Even in the darkness, his eyes hold a spark of light.
If I were smart, I’d tell him I was looking for him. That I wanted my chance to talk to him. As a contestant, that’s what I should be doing, right?
But when I open my mouth, that’s not what comes out.
“I wanted some air. It’s…something else…in there.” I gesture to the door that leads back inside.
He makes a sound of agreement.
“I’m sure people are looking for you,” I tell him, hoping he takes the hint to leave.
He shrugs. “I’ll head back inside soon. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you tonight.”
A huff escapes me. “I’m surprised you noticed with the way everyone else has been clamoring for your attention.”
He ducks closer. “Jealous?”
“Not a chance in hell.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Shit.
Rather than get angry, he chuckles. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You look stunning in that dress, Sydney.”
I don’t focus on the way his lips wrap around each syllable of my name.
Nope, not at all.
His compliment does not create the butterflies that swirl haphazardly in my stomach.
The butterflies now calling me a liar.
I know I look good.
This dress was meant to attract him. But it’s more than just the style or the way it hugs my body.
Like when I slipped it on, there was a physical change inside me.
I relished the softness, the weightlessness.
The way it created an elegance I rarely see and almost never project.
It gave me a sense of confidence that nothing else I owned did. And it still does.
I knew as soon as I tried it on that this would be my favorite.
“You mentioned that earlier,” I say coyly.
Flirting with the enemy
It sounds like a spy novel.
Or a Jack Reacher film.
He runs his fingers lightly along the back of my arm, causing gooseflesh to ripple over my skin.
Is he even aware he’s doing it?
The butterflies spin in a hurricane pattern, and suddenly I’m not a twenty-seven-year-old woman who fucking knows better. I’m sixteen again, caught up in the spell of a man too attractive for his own good.
“You intrigue me, angel,” he says.
That fluttering in my stomach turns into a roiling sensation. “Ugh.” I shake free of his sanity-stealing fingers and step back.
“What? What did I say?”
What’s sad is how genuine his confusion appears.
Damn. I didn’t realize his acting skills were that good.
“Don’t call me that,” I grit out. “I have a name.”
“I know your name. It’s Sydney. Don’t call you what? Angel?”
The roiling butterflies kamikaze dive and nausea swirls in their wake.
“I’m not just a nameless, faceless woman. I have an identity. We’re not interchangeable.” I fling my hand in the direction of the living room.
His brow creases. “What are you talking about?”
I scoff, anger building inside of me now. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Angel. How many pet names do you have on rotation so that you don’t have to remember who we are?”
The teenage Sydney that emerged a moment ago disappears completely, and the crash back to adulthood is violent.
Sorry, Sawyer, but I’m probably going home after this.
“I won’t be just another pet name. Not to you. Or to anyone lucky enough to know me.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Well, now you do,” I snap. “Enjoy your break, Cy. But I need some space.”
Without a backward glance, I walk to the closest door, singing the hallelujah chorus in my head when it opens with the ease that only wealth can bring.
He doesn’t follow me. Thank fuck. I beeline for a staff member and ask for directions to the restrooms.
My heels echo down the tile hallway until I find the correct door. I close it behind me and engage the lock, then round on myself in the mirror.
“You’re a fucking lunatic,” I tell my reflection.
She shrugs as if to say so what?
“Sawyer is going to fire me when I get kicked off tonight.”
He won’t, but I will lose my shot at my own piece of SAFE Haven.
Fuck.
“Will you ever learn to filter your thoughts before you speak them?”
This time there’s a shake of the reflection’s head. Because fuck that.
I turn on the cold water and drop my wrists under the stream, letting the cool temperature douse my ire.
“You’re not sixteen anymore. You have his number. He’s exactly like every other creep you’ve met. Ever.” He’s the king of creeps.
As the adrenaline recedes and my body temperature cools, my sanity comes back.
“I’m probably not cut out for undercover work,” I mumble.
Water turned off again, I shake out my hands over the sink. A sound catches my attention, making me pause. A small click. Followed by a pair of heels echoing down the hall, each step quieter than the last.
Shit. I’m not exactly known for being quiet. Could the person out there hear me?
“Be out in just a minute,” I call.
Nerves flaring to life, I give my reflection one last glance, then I head for the door. It’s time to face the music.
And I’m pretty sure it includes an early car ride home.
I grasp the handle on the door and turn, only to be met with resistance.
The handle doesn’t budge.
“What the hell?”
I crank the knob in the opposite direction. Still nothing. I tug, but it’s no use. The door doesn’t budge.
“Hello? Is anyone out there?” Someone has to be. The sound of their heels tapping against the floor was audible.
I bang on the solid wood surface and press my ear against it, but I don’t hear anything.
“Hello?” I bang again. Still, I’m met with silence.
This was definitely not how I saw my night playing out.
“Hello?”
The little click replays in my mind, the heels on tile.
This is bullshit. I was doing a fantastic job of getting myself kicked off the show on night one. I don’t need anyone’s help. But apparently one of the other contestants thinks I do. Or could it be a member of the crew?
“Am I seriously locked in this fucking bathroom?”