Page 26 of Most Eligible
“Music,” I correct her. “Music journalist.”
“I know,” she says dismissively. “I read some of your little reviews. I would have thought you’d want to prove yourself a bitmore, write about something more substantial. You can’t make a real career off of other people’s work.”
My blood boils at her remark—who is she to insult my work when she’s made a career preying on people’s insecurities?—but I fix a smile on my face.
Lainey Williams may not be used to making mistakes, but her biggest one is sitting right in front of her.
A source close to the couple has confirmed thatLove Shackseason 18 final couple Rhett Auburn and Cassidy Foley have officially divorced. The “Is There a Heaven for Horses?” singer refused to comment, but the couple posted a joint statement on social media, saying that they “still have a lot of love for each other.” Sadly, this isn’t the first time aLove Shackromance has ended in heartbreak, nor will it be the last.
—“All’s Fair in Love and Divorce: Rhett and Cassidy Call It Quits,”Us Weekly, one year ago
Chapter Eleven
I can’t get away from Lainey fast enough. Taking heavy, anxious breaths, I careen down the hallway and sink to the floor in a dark corner. I pull at my body mic until the wires pop from the battery pack, tangling with my dress.
That was close. Far too close.
As seconds pass, my heart rate slows, but not by much. I rest my arms on my knees, head in my hands, and let out a shaky breath. Everything I’ve been working toward for months—all the interviews, background checks, lengthy applications—it could be gone, just like that.
I jerk my head up at the sound of footsteps, expecting Lainey, back for more blood, but Rhett is kneeling in front of me, face puckered with concern.
“Are you all right?”
Tears flood into my eyes and Rhett’s face swims inches from mine. He raises his hand and brushes his thumb along my cheek, taking my tears with it. His skin is warm and cozy, so differentfrom Lainey’s cold, calculated demeanor, that I’m disoriented. I take another shuddering breath, imagining bright strobes flashing around us.
“I’m fine,” I say, plastering on a smile. I sniff and run a hand over my face. “Just thinking about Roland—he issodreamy. And such a good listener.”
Rhett raises his eyebrows, and I smile even wider, really committing to the bit.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says.
I consider him for a moment, his dark gray suit, collar popped open. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just… I need some air.”
He catches my arm. “Come with me. They won’t miss us.” He tugs me toward the end of the hall, but I stand my ground.
“Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
Cocking his head, he gives me a withering look. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know—to get rid of me?”
“Because you’re so threatening.”
“I could be.” I step closer to him, snagging my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Gracie maybe,” he says. “But not you. Come on.” He pulls me with him and, unable to think of a snappy comeback, I follow.
I feel like a naughty kid in high school, sneaking off behind the science wing to smoke a joint—or you know, whatever normal people did in high school when I was hanging out with the band kids at lunch.
Rhett sneaks us down a hallway and through a set of double doors. The grandeur of the mansion vanishes, leaving us in a cement and linoleum stairwell. The only décor on the landing is a stack of unused area rugs and, beside them, a bowl of fake fruit.
“Welcome to behind the scenes.” He takes off his suit jacket, then his mic and battery pack, which he sticks into the fruit bowl. Glancing nervously up into the corners—no cameras that I cansee—I tug at my own disconnected wires until he sighs, turns me around, and starts unzipping my dress.
“What are you doing?!”
“The battery pack is under here, or did you forget?”
I flush and turn back around as he unclips the pack from my dress, his fingers hot on my cool skin.
