Page 56 of Most Eligible
“The producers don’t care if you have a little cash or—”
“I have a cell phone,” I whisper.
His eyes widen.
“I think—oh no.” I clutch my stomach. “I think I might be sick.”
Rhett stares at me, his face stuck between exasperation and concern.
“Why do you have a phone?” His tone is so stern that I flounder for a moment, as if I might tell him. But he must already know. There’s no other reason for me—for Gracie Hart—to be here.
He narrows his eyes. “How much did you hear—in my room?”
“It’s not—I promise it’s not like that.”
He frowns like he doesn’t believe me, then reaches for the door handle. “Keep looking. See if any of the other women have it. I’m going to find Lainey.”
“You don’t think…” I breathe.
His lips are set in a grim line. “It’s possible. Go.” He opens the closet door and I beeline for the deck.
I sidle up to the pool and crouch down next to Brooklyn, who isn’t in the water, but hasn’t missed the chance to take all her clothes off. Grabbing a potato chip from Olie’s bag, I whisper, “Have you guys seen my jeans?”
On my other side, Nina shakes her head. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost and also run a marathon. You’re all flushed. Where have you been? Are those your pants?”
Nina squints at my legs, then looks up at me with wide eyes. “Georgia, you didn’t—”
“What? Oh shit.” If my flushed skin and ragged breathing weren’t enough of a clue, Rhett’s sweatpants are a dead giveaway. I stand and wriggle out of them, then fling them over the tall hedge beside us. Olie looks at me like I’ve completely gone off the deep end.
“Why’d you take those off?” she asks.
I try to catch my breath. “The cameras will be back on soon. Gotta—” I wheeze, “stay sexy.”
“Too true,” Olie agrees.
The absurdity of the situation hits me all at once: me, crouching next to a pool filled with a half-dozen naked women, searching for my contraband burner phone, which I misplaced in a desperate nude attempt to spy on Rhett, which ended in a hot-tub hookup.
Then, to make matters much, much worse, the lights around the pool flick back on. Everyone goes silent as we hear a familiar click-clacking sound.
Lainey comes onto the porch, my jeans dangling from one manicured finger. A PA is close behind, a camera balanced on his shoulder.
Nina shrieks, covering her boobs with her hands.
“Relax,” Lainey says, bored. “We’ll blur it out. Jules, go get Roland.”
My eyes are trained on the pants hanging from her hand when Rhett emerges from inside the mansion, a stricken look on his face. His eyes dart to the pants, then to me, but they don’t linger. Lainey must have beaten him to it.
She mutters something to Rhett and he nods. A horrible, sickening image sneaks into my brain: Rhett, finding my jeans and turning them over to Lainey.
“Whose are these?” Lainey demands, eyes narrowed as she looks from Nina to me to Olie to the other women in the pool.
Olie, utterly calm, pops a chip in her mouth and shakes her head. “Not mine,” she says, crunching loudly.
The alcohol still coursing through me is making it hard to think about what an effective lie would be or what an innocent person’s face looks like. Lainey’s eyes pin me and my breath hitches. It’s over. It’s all over. It must be, or else why would she have that cruel, satisfied expression on her face?
“Not a crime to have pants, is it?” Rhett asks. Then he seems to realize the number of naked women in front of him and turns around.
“No,” Lainey says icily. “But cell phones definitely aren’t allowed.” She reaches into the pocket of my jeans and pulls out the flip phone, showing it to us with the air of a mastermind villain revealing her grand plan. Even if it’s against the rules, this is exactly the kind of drama she wanted.
