Chapter 8
CY
“Well, Cy, it’s been a busy night for you.” Roman claps me on the shoulder as we stand in front of a wall of pictures of the women I met tonight.
“Yeah.” I scan the photos. Each is a headshot, and they’re interspersed with lit candles and framed maps.
Taking the search theme a little far, aren’t they?
I play like I’m confused. Like my head is spinning with names and information, like I’m overwhelmed by all the burgeoning connections. That’s how a man actually looking for love would act, right?
From what I can tell, Roman is buying it. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth.
Sure, I enjoyed being the center of attention all night.
It was flattering, the way all the women—okay, most of them—interrupted each other for the chance to talk to me.
But it feels just like it did when I was with the band.
And before long, I needed a break, just like when I left Boys Next Door.
Just a few minutes to clear my head. To drop the mask.
Fuck, it’s harder to keep in place than I remember.
It was by sheer chance that I ran into Sydney.
Other than Cassidy, who I talked to before she had the chance, she was the only one who didn’t fight for my time.
And after our run-in, she avoided me like the plague.
For the rest of the night, I bounced between the women, chatting with them the way Roman insisted.
She never sought me out.
In fact, she avoided me.
What she said about the pet names has eaten at me for the last couple of hours.
Is she right? Do I use monikers like that so I don’t have to remember the names of the women I meet?
No. I shake my head and survey the pictures again, quickly matching names to faces. It’s not even the slightest bit challenging. I remember them all.
So take that.
Though nothing sticks in my mind the way Sydney’s image does.
The green eyes full of mischief and intelligence.
Her lips ready to deliver a jab. She’s different from all the other women tonight.
She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. She didn’t once fall all over herself to kiss my ass the way everyone else did. It was fascinating.
Could she be Scarlett?
No.
Scarlett’s letters showed an obsession that can’t be hidden.
Sydney can barely even tolerate me.
Is Scarlett here? Is she one of the other seven? Or did she make up that part about being selected for the show? If she’s here, wouldn’t it be obvious to me?
The questions frustrate me to no end, putting a damper on an otherwise enjoyable evening.
Danny remained close by for my one-on-one conversations, the chat with Sydney being the only exception. He acted as if he were engrossed in his phone, then in hushed conversations with the two associate producers. But he was always close. Unobtrusive. Blending in.
Exactly like a good bodyguard was meant to do.
Maybe he’s gotten new information that will lead us to Scarlett’s identity. That’s his job, after all.
“Do you know who you’re going to ask to continue?” Roman asks, tone serious as he pulls me back into the moment.
Cameras are rolling, dumbass.
I focus my attention back on Roman and nod.
“Yes.”
He leads me out of the office and down the hall to a room I would have thought would house a dining table and chairs. Instead, the space is mostly empty. The women stand in front of me, the whole group of them looking hopeful, expectant. And in Kendall’s case, more than a little tipsy.
But there are only seven.
I scan each face and count again.
Seven.
One is missing.
The one who’s taken up residence in my head.
Sydney.
As if just thinking her name is enough to conjure her, she rushes through the doorway and skids to a stop without even wobbling, despite the sky-high heels that wrap around her ankles.
Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is falling out of its up-do, teasing her bare shoulders.
She looks like a woman well kissed. And I want my hands doing the disheveling.
Jealousy spikes hot and hard in my stomach. Who the fuck has she been kissing?
“Sorry, I was stuck in the bathroom,” she murmurs.
Several of the women giggle behind me and a smile twitches at my lips. The green-eyed monster disappears as quickly as it came on. The producer calls for a reset of the women, and the lights around the room dim. Someone rushes over to Sydney to fix her hair and touch up her makeup.
Though they don’t put her completely back to rights, hairs still framing her face, her cheeks still pink.
“After all,” the producer whispers to the makeup artist, “wouldn’t it be delicious if the fans think she’s been making out with Cy in secret?”
Sydney’s jaw is rigid in a way it wasn’t before. Though it’s only visible for a heartbeat, leaving me to question its existence at all.
I wouldn’t mind making out with Sydney. Secret or otherwise. To taste that unpredictability for myself. To see what other fires she keeps hidden beneath the ice-queen facade she shows the world.
I wouldn’t have minded a sample on the veranda earlier. The heaviness of her breasts pressed against my chest, her breath mingling with mine. I almost dipped my head to find out what would happen if I kissed her.
But good sense held me back.
She wouldn’t have welcomed the kiss.
And I’m not one to press.
Until she gives me permission, it won’t happen.
The word consent was burned into my brain from years with the band. Sober consent.
A lesson we learned the hard way early on.
Kendall stumbles on the riser she’s been placed on, snagging my attention. I step forward, ready to steady her, but Josie gets there first, linking an arm through hers, holding her up while making it look like a friendly gesture.
Once Sydney joins the ranks, the lights brighten, the cameras once more focused on me.
“Okay, Cy. On my mark, we’re going to have you look at the women like you’ve just walked in. And, action,” the producer says.
It’s not hard to take the direction. But I fight the smile that tugs on my lips at the ridiculousness of being directed for a reality dating show.
“Ladies, thank you so much for coming tonight. It’s been amazing getting to know each of you. This decision isn’t easy. You’re all amazing. Thank you for taking time out of your lives to come here and meet me.”
The women all beam at me in response. Although…is it my imagination, or is Sydney’s smile more forced than the others?
“Cy, when you’re ready,” Roman gestures to the table full of small compasses on golden chains.
The line Mara gave me earlier is easy to remember.
I clear my throat, scanning the contestants, noting the excited, hopeful expressions. It hits me then. I have to hurt one of them tonight. I have to send one of these lovely women home.
Guilt pricks at my stomach, but I shove it away. Now is not the time to grow a conscience. This is a necessary evil that will lead me to filming my movie.
Just by saying a name.
Sydney, say Sydney’s name.
“Kendall,” I force out.
I’m not sure I like the magnetic pull the green-eyed siren has over me. She’s already taken up too much real estate in my brain.
Kendall wobbles off the riser with Josie’s help but manages to walk smoothly over to me.
I lift one of the compasses and hold it out.
“Kendall, will you continue this search for love with me?”
I deserve an award for not throwing up as that cheesy fucking line rolls off my tongue.
She smiles and reaches out, grasping the compass and missing. The second time, she snags it and grins. Fuck, exactly how much has she had to drink?
“I will,” she murmurs.
She leans in, and I respond automatically, hugging her. Her lips graze my cheek, and she pulls back, then sashays back to her spot. The women standing near her help her back up on the riser. Then she turns around, compass gleaming in the lights.
The interactions with each of the next five contestants are similar, though less clumsy.
Brielle. I still don’t know much about her, but I appreciate her confidence.
Cassidy. She and I talked first. I wanted to confirm that she was okay being here since she had been crying. That’s when she told me that her dog had just died.
Josie. I like her go with the flow personality even if she does talk a lot.
Simone. The red dress she chose for tonight is like a beacon.
Jade. The other woman I shared a kiss with tonight. In full view of the cameras. She possesses a quiet confidence that intrigues me. And that dress hugs her curves in mouthwatering clarity. But the kiss did nothing for me.
She takes up no extra brainpower.
Which leaves two.
Renee. The older woman I enjoyed my conversation with. The nurse from Kansas City with three brothers. Something we have in common.
And Sydney.
I know next to nothing about her. What she does for a living. Where she’s from. What her family is like.
I open my mouth to say Renee’s name. To offer her my last compass.
Sydney will fade.
They always do.
But while my mind directs one thing, my mouth has a mind of its own.
“Sydney.”
The what the fuck? expression on her face goes perfectly with the cursing echoing through my head right now. What happened to Renee? I planned to say her name.
She remains in her spot, serene smile still on her face, accepting that I just said another woman’s name. That she won’t be continuing on.
Fuck.
But like the magnet she is, Sydney attracts my attention without any effort. Recovered from her shock, she slips between Brielle and Josie. The look on her face is one of a woman heading for a root canal, not a gift and a guarantee that she’s moving on to the next phase.
She stops in front of me, her green eyes locking with mine, and the rest of the world fades. Her light citrus scent envelops me, her pulse beating visibly at the base of her neck mesmerizing me. I fight the urge to reach out, to feel the vibration beneath my fingertips.
“Sydney.” Her name comes out low and shaky. Clearing my throat, I pull myself together and ask her the question.
And for once, I don’t know if the contestant standing before me will say yes.
“Sydney, will you continue this search for love with me?”