Chapter 35 Carter
Carter
Carter eyed her reflection in the dressing room mirror, holding still so the costume assistant wouldn’t prick her with a safety pin.
This week, they’d been stuffed into red-and-white-striped vests and suspenders.
Carter wasn’t sure what the outfits were supposed to be.
A barbershop quartet, maybe? Beck had been given a straw boater hat with a red ribbon, which had made him positively giddy, while Sierra flat-out refused to put on a red bow tie.
Adi was late, which was stressing out the costume designers.
Or maybe everyone was stressed-out, period.
Carter was certainly on edge. Not only had they already been delayed nearly two hours because of some technical difficulties on set, but also the Game Master was dead, and Ranielle Russell might be a murderer, and the internet was buzzing with conspiracy theories and rehashing the ribbon riddle and wondering if there really was going to be a big “killer reveal” in the finale, and suddenly this family-friendly competition was the scene of murder and drama and revenge, and here she was, normal-awkward-nervous Carter Kelly, caught right smack in the middle of it.
People expected her to have answers. She did indeed have answers, about Alicia and Louis and Ranielle, but nothing her fans would want to hear.
Hopefully the world would never find out it had been her who had discovered Louis’s body, because then she’d have to record a video about it, and she really, really didn’t want to.
Then there were her parents, who did know she’d found the body.
She’d had to talk them into allowing her to audition for the show in the first place after what happened last season, then there was the drink spiking and the freezer incident, and now this.
They’d been determined to catch the next flight to LA and drag her home.
It had taken hours of arguing before they finally started to calm down. Another hour before they agreed to let her stay.
But if they ever found out about the painting that had been delivered to their villa that morning, or the knife in the cow’s heart, all bets would be off.
She couldn’t leave. Not when they were so close to the finale.
“There you are!” said Sierra as Adi hurried into the room.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Got held up.”
Two assistants dragged him in front of the costume racks and started yelling at him to get changed, fast, fast.
“Well?” said Beck. “How did it go?”
Adi met Beck’s gaze in the mirror as he took off his shirt. He gave a quick shake of his head. “Sorry.”
One word. Barely any inflection. But they all knew what it meant. No info on Sweetbrier Resort.
Beck looked crestfallen. “Thanks anyway.”
“Shake it off,” said Sierra. “We need to focus.”
Beck physically shook himself. “Aye-aye, Captain. Don’t worry about me. I’m focused as a laser.”
A line producer entered. “Who’s ready to get mic’d up?”
“Sierra and Beck are good to go,” said the stylist, putting away the safety pins and adjusting Carter’s vest. She swept her gaze from Carter’s shoes to her face, then frowned and said, “Can we get makeup in here to do something about these eyebrows?”
Carter raised a hand to her face.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll send someone,” said the producer. “Sierra, Beck, with me.”
“See you on set,” Beck said, giving Carter a high five as he passed.
Carter returned her gaze to the mirror, turning her head from side to side. Great. Not only did she have to worry about murderers and saboteurs, but now she had to think about her eyebrows, too.
“Don’t forget these,” said the costumer, handing Carter her glasses.
Carter groaned. “Could we not for this one? They’re uncomfortable.”
“Producer’s orders,” said the assistant.
“The glasses aren’t your idea?” Adi asked, doing up the buttons on his white dress shirt.
“Are you kidding? I hate these things. And the itchy designer clothes. If I could do it again, I’d make Kick It Carter a frumpy, legging-loving nerd with perfect vision.” She sighed. “Also, what’s the point of them fixing my eyebrows if they’re going to be hidden behind these ridiculous frames?”
He grunted quietly, still watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Adi let an assistant help him into a red jacket with gold buttons. “What are these costumes, anyway?”
She shrugged. “Bellhops? Maybe we have to escape the Ritz-Carlton.”
“I’m pretty sure no one ever wants to escape the Ritz-Carlton.”
A guy arrived with a makeup kit and pulled out some tweezers and a pencil. Carter tried not to grimace at each pluck.
“How was your meeting?” she asked, glancing sideways at Adi, while another assistant put product in his hair.
“It was . . . fine.”
Carter peered at him from the corner of her eye. Clearly it had not been fine. “Did something happen?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Do you remember in the limousine, before the kickoff party, when Jarius said you have to want it so bad you’d do anything to win?”
“Sure.”
His stare bore into her, so intense it made her shiver. “How bad do you want it?”
It was, perhaps, the most real question he’d ever asked her. Here they were, mere minutes from the semifinals. Two more rooms and they could have it all. No longer would she be Kick It Carter— influencer, Solve Specialist, contestant.
She would be Kick It Carter—winner, champion, maybe even real-world detective. And she would have done it beside three of the coolest people she’d ever known.
Three people she was honored to think of as her friends.
“I want it,” she whispered. “I want it really bad.”
He held her gaze for one last beat. “That’s good to know.”
Carter had the strangest sensation that maybe she’d said the wrong thing. “Adi—”
“Done,” interrupted one of the assistants. “Go get mic’d up.”
She was tempted to argue. But then she remembered where she was. What they were about to do. “Okay. See you out there.”
Adi watched her in the mirror as she turned to leave. His lips quirked into an almost-smile, but there was something in the look that worried her.
As the makeup artist and assistant turned their focus to Adi, Carter slipped into the hallway and headed toward the set where Fitzy and Louis usually introduced the upcoming round.
How unsettling this would be without the Game Master and his wry quips. Did Ranielle really think the show could be salvaged without him?
She was nearly there when a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her to the side. Her breath caught in her throat, and she opened her mouth to scream as she spun to face—
Fitzy.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” he whispered, throwing his hands up. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”
Carter pressed a hand over her rampaging heart. Fitzy dragged her behind one of the movable set pieces—a wall on wheels.
Once she could breathe again, Carter smacked his arm. “You scared the daylights out of me!”
“I’m sorry. Really.” But she could tell he was trying to stifle a laugh. “I guess I could have been more subtle. I wanted to see you before we start filming.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing. I just . . .” He glanced toward the corridor, then took Carter’s hands and pulled her farther behind the set piece.
Her stomach swooped at the touch, free-falling when he didn’t immediately let go.
“I was talking to Adi earlier, and our conversation got me thinking.” His blue eyes were intent as he held her gaze, his fingers curling around hers.
“Two weeks from now, this season is going to be over. And as far as I know, there aren’t any rules in my contract about dating a former contestant. ”
He paused, the words hanging between them. Carter’s pulse fluttered. This close, she could smell the clean detergent scent of his shirt, the mint from his mouth. This close, she could see the tiny freckle next to his left eye that the makeup artists always tried to cover up.
“So I was wondering,” Fitzy went on, sounding both confident and nervous, “if maybe, two weeks from now, I could ask you out on a date?”
Carter’s mouth went dry. She licked her lips. Fitzy’s gaze dropped, catching the movement. Her entire body thrummed.
“I . . . I would like that,” she said. “Except . . . I’ll be going home.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “But the show will be on break until the next season. Assuming there is a next season. And I don’t have anything else going on, so it would be pretty easy to, you know. Come visit? For a bit?”
She laughed. A short hiccup of a sound.
James “Fitzy” Fitzgerald was asking her out on a date. Was offering to get on an airplane and fly across the country to see her.
A voice in her head whispered that this was preposterous. A boy like him could never like a girl like her.
She told that voice to shove it.
“I’d like that.”
His smile brightened. “Okay, then. In two weeks, expect my call.”
“I will.”
He beamed at her and she beamed at him, and she was so grateful for that fake wall because if anyone saw them in that moment, holding hands and grinning like dopey cartoon characters, she never could have lived it down. But in that moment, she didn’t care.
This boy liked her. Of all the boys, this one liked her. More than that, he understood her. He knew what it was like to play a part for the cameras. To hide behind a persona. To feel like you could never show your authentic, ridiculous self to the world.
Somehow, she knew she could show her ridiculous self to him.
“Guess we should probably . . .” Fitzy jerked his head toward the corridor. “You know. Before they send a search party.”
“Yeah. Right.” Biting her lower lip in an attempt to dampen her smile, Carter pulled her hands from his grip and turned away.
“Carter?”
She eagerly spun back. “Yeah?”
Fitzy’s gaze had become a question, and she very much knew the answer.
She took a step closer, reaching for the back of his neck, while an arm pulled her against him.
His lips were soft, slow, undemanding—and Carter’s knees were useless as she sank into him. Only then did he deepen the kiss, their bodies molding together.