Page 61 of Most Eligible
“It wasn’t me.” I stand, ready to leave the room. “Whatever you know, whatever I told you in the past… That’s not why I’m here. I don’t do that anymore.” It’s a feat of strength to ignore the wave of guilt that crashes over me.
He remains glowering but stands to match me. “Then why did you have a phone?”
A million lies land on the tip of my tongue, but if I speak, he’ll see right through me.
He runs a hand through his already tousled hair, then crosses the few feet between us. “Look, I know this show is bullshit. If you’ve made a deal withTMZor something, good for you,” he spits. He stops inches from me, hands on his hips, a faint sheen of sweat glossing his forehead. “But I don’t want any part of it. Write about whatever you want, but if you’re just using me for information, then we’re done.”
My cheeks flare to rival the color of my dress. “Why did you even come back? Isn’t this a major downgrade? To go from mediocre country singer to reality show host? I mean, your entire job is to watch someone else fall in love.”
Rhett fumes, hands clenched at his sides. “I came back because I had to. If Lainey thought I was helping you—if she knew—she’d fire me.”
“Why do you care if she fires you?” I shoot back. “Why does it matter so much to you, if you know this whole thing is bullshit anyway?”
“Lainey got me out of trouble a while back. I owe her. And if you’re here to—”
“It’s not like that,” I cut in, the lie sharp on my tongue.
“Tell me how it is then, Georgia,” he says, eyes glinting dangerously. “Because you’re not fooling me.”
He steps closer to me and pinches my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. His lips are inches from mine, his long, simmering breaths making me shiver all the way down my spine.
“I know about the hush money,” I whisper.
He steps back, dropping his hand, and lets out a low, humorless laugh. Then he raises his chin, his expression somewhere between hunger and defiance. “What do you mean?”
I step forward so he has to back up to avoid touching me. “I know the network paid off at least one news source while you were sleeping around and still married. And I also know who you hooked up with, because in case you forgot, it was me.” Ipause, relishing the look on his face. “Were there others, Rhett? Or was I the most expensive sex of your life?” I scoff, and I’m pretty proud of how much I sound like Addison, confident and cutting. “But I guess it wasn’t even your money.”
He shakes his head, eyes on the floor. “Georgia,” he begins, voice low. A thrill slices through me.I’ve got him. “You don’t understand—”
“Don’t tell me that—”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe you don’t have the whole story?” He presses his hand to the wall beside my head, another lock of hair spilling over his face. His breath is hot, foggy on my face. “Cassidy and I were done when I met you.”
We’re so close that if I leaned forward, our lips would touch.
But instead, I pull away, shake my head. “You didn’t answer my question. I don’t care about Cassidy—I care about paying off the paparazzi. Is that how embarrassed you were? How much you didn’t want to be seen with me?”
His face flashes as he pulls back, but I catch his arm. He can’t lie his way out of this—can’t leave like he’s slipping out of my bed at fourAM.
He just shakes his head, runs a heavy hand through his hair. “I thought we might have something, you and me,” he says softly. “But I’m done with this—whatever this is.”
“Occasionally people are not onLove Shackfor the right reasons. It’s those people who take the ‘reality’ out of reality TV, the ‘truth’ out of true love.”
—Lainey Williams, executive producer ofLove Shack, in an interview withCosmopolitan
Chapter Twenty
I dash the tears from my eyes and try to ignore the feeling in my stomach that’s somewhere between a stab wound and a no-anesthesia appendectomy. I do a reasonably good job putting on a happy face for the pre-ceremony talk from Rhett, but I can’t look at him. My throat wobbles every time he speaks.
I thought we might have something.
Just like that, I’ve lost any possibility of him.
Olie and I do tequila shots at the bar and pass an hour by the pool, sitting with our dresses hiked up and our feet in the water. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and I don’t tell her, instead listening to her describe the best way to get into owning Dunkin’ franchises like she does as a side hustle. Apparently you need connections.
“Miss Georgia?” A singsong voice rolls over the patio, and I look up to see Norbert emerging from the mansion, backlit and huge from this angle. “Roland wants to see ye!”
Still numb from my fight with Rhett, I stand and dry off my feet, then step back into my heels and follow Norbert back inside.
