Page 58 of Most Eligible
Monica shrugs. It’s a hallmark ofLove Shackdrama, proof that someone isn’t here for the right reasons. It would line up with what Addison said to me on the Ferris wheel.
“She told me,” Monica says. “The other day. We’re sort of friends, but… well, you know how she is.” Which means that Monica doesn’t know Addison is intentionally going for the villain angle.
Or she’s playing the game just as fiercely as Addison and this is her attempt to take out the competition. I have to hand it to her: Monica knows how to win.
Once the cameras cut for the day, I excuse myself under the guise of taking a shower in the extra basement bathroom. I leave the tense bunk room, where Olie is still glaring at Addison, who proudly informed us that she’s not in trouble; the producers just wanted to make sure she and Roland “used protection.”
I scamper downstairs and pass Norbert in the entryway, whistling merrily to himself.
“I’m going out for a little walk, is that all right?”
He peers down at me, halting mid-tune. “It’s dark out!” he exclaims. “You could meet a madman out there—or a racoon! Ye know, when I was a laddie, I caught one with my bare hands.”
I blink at him. “A madman or a racoon?”
“A racoon,” Norbert says seriously. “And he wasn’t messing around. Shall I join ye?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. I just want some time to myself.”
He nods, his forehead scrunching. “I know ye’ve had a rough go of it,” he says. “But I’m looking out for ye, all right?”
“Thanks, Norbert,” I say, patting his arm. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”
I head out through the mansion’s front doors and take off to the right, in the opposite direction of the tennis courts. The wet grass squelches under my sandals, but I don’t stop until I’ve reached the fence lining the property. I lean back against the wrought-iron slats and look back up the hill at the mansion, ghostly in the darkness. Only a few lights glitter in the windows. Lainey maybe? Norbert? Rhett’s suite is around back, so the lights can’t be his, but I wonder anyway if he’s awake.
Tearing my eyes away from the shadowy building, I pull out my burner and dial the familiar number, praying she’ll pick up.
“Serena?”
“Georgia!” she says.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, things have been intense. I only have a few minutes.”
“What do you have? Have you gotten time with Lainey?”
I tell her about the one-on-one interview and the Ferris wheel debacle, and she gasps at all the right moments.
“Addisonpushedyou?” she exclaims. “Holy shit, I’m glad you’re all right.”
“That’s not even the biggest thing,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Roland has been using performance enhancers.”
She sucks in a breath. “Damn. Because of his injury?”
I drum my fingers against my thigh. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“What’s he taking? Did he compete on them?”
“I don’t know exactly what kind, but yeah, I think he did.” If Rhett is to be believed, anyway.
“But he didn’t fail a doping test,” Serena points out. “If he had, he wouldn’t have been allowed to keep playing. How do you know all this?”
“I overheard Lainey,” I say carefully. It’s not untrue—though Rhett was the one who spelled it out. “She knew before Roland was cast but went ahead with it anyway.”
“Georgia”—Serena clicks her tongue—“you need more than overhearing. You need proof. Can you get a picture of Roland’s pills or maybe a copy of Lainey’s emails? You needsomethingmore than hearsay.”
“I know,” I say. “I know. I’ll get it, I promise.”
“What about the other women? Anything interesting there?”
