Chapter 34 Adi
Adi
Adi had offered to stay. He had wanted to stay.
He certainly didn’t want to be sitting here, listening to Ranielle Russell clack away at her laptop, acting as if he didn’t exist. He was used to being ignored, but really.
She was the one who had dragged him to the studio first thing on a Monday morning, when he could have been back at the villa, figuring out who had sent that vandalized print.
Sierra had logged on to her online store to look up her recent orders. The prints were fulfilled by a third-party printer so she didn’t need to be hands-on with shipping and fulfillment. It had taken her all of three minutes to find the details.
That print had been ordered the day after they’d arrived on the show, and it had been sent directly to the studio’s address. No name, no specific recipient. The package had been signed for by the receptionist.
It could have been anyone.
Looking visibly shaken, Sierra had told Adi to go, that they were fine. Just another prank. Adi suspected she was more upset at seeing her own artwork defaced than the actual message.
But . . . maybe not. The scrawl bore a striking resemblance to what had been in her sister’s coffin.
WE GET WHAT WE DESERVE
What sort of sick asshole . . .
He shuddered every time he thought about it. And when he remembered Sierra’s attempts to hide her emotions, and Beck looking so aghast that there were creeps in the world who would do this to fellow humans, and Carter—
Carter, who had broken their horrified silence by saying, of all things, “What a stunning use of planar symmetry in this background, Sierra.”
It made Adi want to laugh.
It made Adi want to punch someone.
He was pretty sure, though, that Ranielle Russell had not been the one to send them that painting, no matter how much she enjoyed messing with contestants.
No . . . She had to be thinking that she was in the clear over her little murder spree.
She wouldn’t risk a threat that might turn the attention back on her.
This was the work of a saboteur. Someone trying to get in their heads. Someone who wanted them to screw up during the semifinals. Someone who had been targeting them from the start.
Jarius? Team Dread? Elijah?
He wished he was back in the villas, puzzling it out with his teammates.
He wished he was anywhere but in this stuffy office, not-sopatiently waiting for Ranielle to take a break from her busy email schedule or whatever she was doing.
He knew why she’d summoned him this morning. He knew what she was going to ask.
He still wasn’t sure what he was going to say.
He’d almost forgotten about the host offer in the chaos. Despite what Ranielle had said, it was impossible to imagine the show going on without the Game Master. And to boot Fitzy out, too? It would be a whole new show—the Clue Masters would be livid.
Although Ranielle had made it clear that Hitflix wanted to take the show in a new direction.
With Victor Cunningham. Maybe he would be the new Game Master.
Adi breathed through a nervous tremor. Hitflix had asked for Adi especially, so he would outlast Ranielle Russell, too, when she was arrested for her husband’s murder.
But.
But.
Adi’s instincts told him there was something about the suicide note that wasn’t adding up.
Tell Rani I love her.
The office door swung open without a knock. Adi glanced over his shoulder—then bolted upright.
“Here I am,” sang Symphony, floating into the room. “Traffic was such a bear! I trust you haven’t been waiting long.”
Ranielle’s icy gaze shifted from her computer screen to Symphony and back again. “As it’s now nine thirty-seven, and we were to meet at nine o’clock, safe to say we’ve been waiting for thirty-seven minutes.”
“I’m worth every second,” Symphony chirruped.
Though there was a chair beside Adi, Symphony sank onto the sofa, and Adi’s stomach churned to think how he had done the exact same thing the first time he’d been called to this office.
“Hello, love,” his mother said, beaming at him. “You’re still looking too skinny. You need definition in those arms. I brought some more shake packets—”
“What are you doing here?” he barked, then turned to Ranielle. “What is she doing here?”
“I’ve been asking myself that a lot this past year,” Ranielle muttered. She finally pushed back from her computer and folded her hands on top of her desk. “Your mother will be coming on as a producer next season and—”
“She what?”
“—has therefore taken a vested interest in our search for the next show host,” Ranielle continued, ignoring Adi’s outburst. “She insisted on being here while we discuss particulars.”
Adi’s face contorted—first with surprise, then disgust, then anger. He would never escape his mother.
Symphony crossed her legs and leaned forward, elbows propped on her knee. “Actually. Now that you mention it, I have some concerns about Aditya as host.” Her voice was all sugar and softness, her face perfectly molded into that of the concerned, doting mother.
“What are you talking about?” Ranielle demanded. “This is what you wanted.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Adi drawled.
Symphony’s unnaturally plumped lips fluttered into a smile. “It’s just . . . Aditya is still so young.”
“He’s older than Fitzy was when he hosted our first season,” Ranielle said, not missing a beat.
Symphony carried on as if she hadn’t heard. “And he’s quite inexperienced when it comes to show business. Being a contestant is one thing, but to host? That’s a level of responsibility I’m not sure he’s prepared for.”
Adi’s jaw dropped.
“And of course, he has the rest of school to think about, and college after that. He has his whole future ahead of him. I don’t know if this is the best course.”
“You may be a producer,” said Ranielle, “but Hitflix execs’ opinions trump yours. And they want Aditya.” Adi was tempted to cheer for her—before he remembered that she was almost certainly a cold-blooded murderer.
Symphony kept talking. “I’m not sure he’s really what the show needs. I was watching some recent episodes—”
Adi snorted. Yeah, right.
“—and I think you’ll agree, Ranielle, this show is ready for an infusion of feminine energy. A softer touch. A more elegant flair.” She swished her fingers, and suddenly, Adi understood.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
Symphony looked at him, all tenderness. “Darling, it’s nothing personal.
Even you have to admit, you’ve never taken the slightest interest in acting.
Whereas this is my life. My soul. What I could bring to the show is far superior to anything you, or any of those young people, ever could.
A sense of presence. Confidence. Experience.
And let’s not forget”—she looked back at the producer, puckering her lips—“a certain amount of sex appeal.”
Adi pressed a hand over his eyes. He didn’t know what was worse—that his mom had mentioned her own sex appeal in front of him, or that she had driven here in Monday rush hour traffic to steal his contract.
He knew he shouldn’t be surprised. This was painfully on-brand. But while he’d expected his mother to milk his contract for all it was worth, it hadn’t crossed his mind that she might try to take it for herself. It was a new low.
“Thank you for that riveting sales pitch,” said Ranielle. “But as I’ve explained numerous times, Hitflix wants a contestant as our next host. A winning contestant. And, as our contestants are teenagers, that means, by default, they want a young contestant.”
Symphony’s nostrils flared. Uncrossing her legs, she jabbed a manicured nail toward Adi. “He hasn’t agreed yet. So no—I’m sorry, Ranielle, but I must implore you to reconsider.”
“I am not reconsidering.” Ranielle faced Adi, eyes blazing. “But she does make a point. Are you taking the gig or not? I have a lot on my plate right now, and if you’re declining the offer, then I need you both out of here so you can stop wasting my time.”
Adi’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Defiance roiled inside of him. He was tempted to say yes for no other reason than to see the look on his mother’s face. He would meet his dad, and live at Sweetbrier Resort, and be free of her, finally free.
But something held his tongue.
Because at least one thing his mom had said was true. He’d never had any interest in show business. This wasn’t the life he wanted, no matter the perks.
He was saved from answering by a knock at the door.
Vera walked in, fuming. “We can’t get the”—she cut off abruptly when she noticed Adi, and her nose wrinkled—“spinny thing to work.”
“What are you talking about?” Ranielle demanded.
“The spinny thing,” Vera said, more forcefully. “On Soundstage D. They want you to come take a look.”
“For god’s sake,” Ranielle said under her breath. “Do I have to do everything around here?”
Vera snorted. “Tell me about it.”
Ranielle stormed around her desk. “Aditya, wait here. Symphony, out.”
Symphony jumped to her feet. “We aren’t finished.”
“Yes, we are.”
Ranielle and Vera stalked out of the office. Symphony marched after them. “Ranielle Russell, I will not be dismissed. This discussion is not over—” Her voice faded into the bustle of the studio.
Adi looked from the door to Ranielle’s desk, with its open laptop. Back to the door. Back to the desk.
Well, damn. Here was that opportunity Beck had hoped for.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, considering his options. He could do nothing, and avoid ticking off Ranielle should he get caught. This was clearly the right choice.
Or option B—he could do this one ridiculous favor for Beck, who evidently saw himself as an amateur treasure hunter.
Beck, who just might be as delusional as Symphony.
Beck, who truly seemed to admire Victor Cunningham, even though most people would have hated him.
Beck, who had insisted from the beginning that the Hel-sings needed to be a team. That they were a team.