Chapter 9
SYDNEY
Waking up feels about as good as a strong punch to the face.
“Fuck, it’s too early,” I groan, burrowing into the three-thousand-thread-count pillowcase.
The one bright spot to this nightmare is the magical material these sheets are made out of.
And this isn’t a nightmare.
This is really happening. Despite the way my body and brain went haywire when Cy said my name, I didn’t have a stroke.
I Googled the symptoms when I finally got to my room early this morning.
Signs of a stroke include facial drooping, arm weakness, confusion, and speech difficulty.
Confusion? Speech difficulty? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I was speechless. After spending less than five minutes with Cy last night, he picked me. Why me and not Renee?
I wasn’t experiencing arm weakness or facial drooping—even if my jaw did hit the floor—so all is well. At least from a medical standpoint.
I can’t say the same about the electric attraction that sparked when his fingers touched mine as he passed me my compass.
Leaning up, I spy it on the dresser, shining like a beacon of my stupidity.
No, not stupidity.
This is a job.
Not a reason I should be wishing I had packed my vibrator.
I can ignore the addictive qualities of his cologne. And I can temper the butterflies his half smirk sends fluttering. But I can’t ignore him. Not completely.
Our ability to find Scarlett is hinged on my ability to play the part.
A part I guaranteed Sawyer and Cole I was doing well when I dug out my contraband electronics last night.
At the light tap on my door, I shoot up, my pulse skyrocketing.
“Yeah?” I croak out.
“It’s Josie.” Her voice is muffled through the door.
There’s a pause then. Like she’s waiting for me to invite her in, but all my electronics are scattered across the king-size bed.
“Mara asked me to tell everyone,” she goes on, “that Roman is on his way over. Apparently Cy is hosting a pool party here in an hour.”
Roman is on his way over because he’s one of the few people associated with the show who isn’t staying on the property. Supposedly, Cy is staying here too, but none of us know where. According to Mara, it’s off-limits. At least that’s what she told Kendall when she asked last night.
“Isn’t it a little early for a pool party?” I grumble. Surely Kendall is suffering the worst kind of hangover.
“It’s after eleven,” Josie says through the thick wooden door.
Fuck, she heard me?
Wait. It’s already after eleven?
Frowning, I pick up my phone. An innocent 11:34 stares back at me.
I didn’t mean to sleep that late, but it’s hard for a night owl like me to change my stripes.
“Thanks. Any chance there are energy drinks in the fridge?”
Please, God, let there be caffeine. The universe wouldn’t be that cruel, right?
“Umm, I didn’t check, but I can go look if you want.”
She reminds me of Katie. Same kind of energy.
With that thought, the sunlight dims and my mood takes a tumble like it does every time I think of her.
If the circumstances were different—hell, if I were different, I’d want to be friends with Josie.
But I’m no good for someone like her. My past has taught me that.
It’s probably better our rooms are on opposite ends of the hall.
Mine is the last of them, and Jade is beside me.
Across the hall is one of the two bathrooms the seven of us are sharing.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll be down soon. Thanks.”
At the sound of her footsteps, I toss my covers aside, race for the door, and bring my ear to the cool wooden surface.
Her footfalls don’t sound like those I heard outside the bathroom last night.
Do they?
With a sigh, I straighten and move away from the door. As I’m gathering my contraband so I can stash it all away, I notice a text from Cole.
COLE
Files are on the server.
I had to cede some access to my systems to Cole so he could help while I’m here.
Last night I asked him to confirm the status of the deeper background checks.
I couldn’t run them until I got the full cast list, and that took longer than expected.
According to Sawyer, the head of the studio told him that it was sent over as soon as we were notified of Scarlett’s threats.
But we never received it.
I only got my hands on it when I asked Mara about it yesterday. That meant I had to remote into my machines and start the checks that way—a pain in the ass from a cell phone.
This one isn’t a run-of-the-mill background check.
This is where I find the deep, dark secrets.
Dark web shit.
Shit I need to go through.
But for now, I have a pool party to attend instead.
Groaning, I type out a thanks, then power the phone down.
I get it and my iPad hidden in the small bag hidden behind the lining’s zipper, then rifle through the swimsuits I packed.
My friends didn’t have to fight me to pick out a few new pieces.
I enjoy the beach just like any other California girl.
Even if the sun would rather crispy fry me than turn me golden brown.
I know my way around SPF. I know what works and what doesn’t.
Same goes for the colors of my bikinis.
“This one,” I say, lifting the teal suit free of the tangle of strings and fabric.
Jessie said this color made my eyes pop.
Whatever. I just need Scarlett to make some kind of move so I can figure out who she is.
Once I’ve changed out of my pajamas and into the bikini, I slide on a pair of cut-off jeans that’s missing the button. They’re my favorite to wear to the beach, the denim soft and smooth from years of use.
I run my brush through my hair, then trap it in a loose ponytail on the top of my head.
A trip to the bathroom is next. I brush my teeth and wash my face, but I don’t bother with makeup—it’s a pool party.
Instead, I slather on a thick layer of SPF 100.
Sunscreen in hand—with any luck, Josie can get my back—I take one last look in the mirror.
“It’s showtime,” I tell my reflection.
By the time I head downstairs and find blessed caffeine—thank you, Universe, for the mimosa-flavored Alani Nu in the commercial-size refrigerator—all of the others are outside. Roman and Cy included.
“Thank you for joining us, Sydney,” Roman snarks.
“It’s about fucking time,” Kendall mumbles, a gigantic pair of black sunglasses covering most of her face.
They’re nothing but background noise.
Because my total focus is pulled to one person. Cy. And his reaction when I step out.
He sits taller, his eyes widening as he takes me in. His tongue peeks out, slicking along his lips, the move creating a pleasurable ache in my belly.
Stop staring.
He started it.
Rather than point that out to him, I turn away, breaking the connection, then glide by him and take the empty seat at the end next to Josie.
“This is the strangest pool party I’ve ever been to,” I whisper.
The canvas chairs have been set up in a semi-circle, with all the cameras around us, the production staff behind them. Cy is front and center, the rest of us surrounding him, each of us dressed for a pool party while Roman is dressed like he’s going to an awards show.
“Now that everyone is here, I’ll explain,” Roman says. “This is your chance to get to know Cy and for Cy to get to know you. I’ll ask each of you a series of questions. Once we’re out of questions you’re free to do whatever you like.” Roman brandishes the cards in his hand like he’s the Pied Piper.
And maybe, in a way, he is.
“Sunglasses off,” Mara commands.
We all obey, though Kendall lets out a pained groan.
The cameras roll, and when Roman speaks again, he’s much more charismatic, reminding us of what we’re about to do so the viewers understand.
“Ready to get to know the women, Cy?” he asks.
Cy assesses us, one after another down the line, his brown eyes locking with mine at the end. A fire burns in them. Attraction and something more. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Recognition?
Doubtful.
Curiosity?
Definitely.
“Absolutely.”
The rough way the word leaves him makes my core clench. Legs crossed, I squeeze my thighs together to regain control.
What the hell was that?
There will be no physical reactions to Cy’s voice. Intentional or otherwise. Unless it’s my upchuck reflex.
“Ladies, ready to get to know Cy?”
There’s a chorus of agreement, but I’m too busy trying to regulate my breathing to join in.
Roman starts the questions. The first couple are for Brielle and Jade, both variations of what they’re looking for in a partner.
Simone’s question is about her travel bucket list.
When Roman asks Cy his question—“Who is your favorite person?”—his cheeks pinken and he ducks his head with a shy smile.
“My house manager, Lois.”
Caught off guard by his answer, I find myself leaning forward. Lois?
He lifts his chin, his eyes colliding with mine again, but that same smile stays in place.
A genuine one that sets the damn butterflies flapping furiously.
“I’m not quite sure how old she is. ‘Cyrus James Darby, a real woman doesn’t reveal her age,’ she tells me.
‘It’s the least important thing about any of us.
’ She’s this amazing surrogate for the grandma I never had.
” He sighs. “My Gran passed when I was five. If Lois and my grandpa ever met, he would be in trouble, except that I think she has a thing for Joe, who also works for me.” His lips twitch in amusement.
“Even though she swears she’s not a cougar.
She’s a fu—fudging badass. Never afraid to call me out.
Half the time it feels like I’m working for her instead of the other way around. ”
He chuckles, the sound deep and genuine.
Damn. I want to meet Lois.
The woman who inspires such a raw, real reaction. Maybe the former pop star isn’t the douchebag I’ve labeled him.
Eh. I don’t know that I’d go that far.
“She sounds like quite the lady,” Roman says. “Maybe we should ask her to be our next searcher.”
Cy snorts a laugh. “If you can get her to do this, my hat is off to you.”