Page 70 of Most Eligible
Olie gasps. Chloe clutches a hand to her heart. I just stare at Rhett, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“No,” Monica protests. “That’s not fair. Where’s Roland? What does he think about this?”
“Roland is resting,” Rhett explains. There’s an awkward beat of silence as my inner skeptic raises an eyebrow. “He’s not feeling well, but he’ll join us later.”
“And remember,” Lainey says, “if you cheat, we’ll know.” She should be directing her words to Addison—or even Olie, but her catlike gaze is fixed on me. I gulp uncomfortably and fiddle with the hem of my “shirt.”
Rhett clears his throat. “You have fifteen minutes to find your starting places and then the gong will—”
Smash.
I nearly jump out of my boots at the noise from the other side of the room, where Norbert is holding a large mallet next to a huge metal gong.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“The gong will sound again,” Rhett finishes. “Good luck.”
Immediately, the room devolves into chaos. Monica lunges for the table of paintball guns and grabs one as she sprints from the room. Olie bares her teeth as she and Addison go for the same paintball gun. Chloe and Philippa melt into the background after they’ve suited up. In the midst of everything, Rhett and Lainey vanish. I grab the last paintball gun and look up at the clock on the wall. Fourteen minutes until all hell breaks loose.
I square my shoulders and take stock of the situation. More to get away from the lurking producers than anything else, I head outside. Jules gives me a little salute as I pass her on the veranda.
“Good luck,” she whispers.
“I’ll need it.” I played laser tag once in high school, but that’s where my applicable experience begins and ends.
The veranda is quiet except for the shrieks and laughter in the distance. But once the gong sounds again, I bet the others will wish they had stayed farther apart. Rather than run headfirst into a paint-bath, I search for somewhere to hide and wait it out. Once someone else is eliminated first, I’ll join the fray. It pains me to think like this, but I can’t afford to go home. Not now.
I’m not sure how long it’s been since the gong, but the producer who’s been tailing me with a handheld camera checks his watch impatiently.
Tugging my skirt down, I kneel to see if I could fit under one of the wicker benches. There’s not enough clearance, but the seat seems to raise up and I peer inside; just enough room for me to squeeze in.
“Well if that’s all you’re going to do,” the producer mutters, dropping the camera to his side. He ambles away as I pull the bench lid down. My knees are tucked up to my chest, my miniskirt has ridden up to my stomach, and something is poking into my thigh. The lid almost closes over me, but my hips jut upenough that a sliver of daylight peeks in. If only we were playing paintball at night, no one would notice that the bench seat is resting a quarter inch too high.
The gong sounds again from inside the house, and I clutch the paintball gun to my chest. As the reverberations fade into silence, a new sound greets me, and it isn’t paintball shots. The door to the house slides open and two pairs of footsteps step out onto the veranda. They’re walking far too slowly to be part of the game.
“You were right. They were Georgia’s.” One of the people is Rhett, his voice gravelly and tired.
“I knew it.” The other is Lainey. “And what does she think now?”
There’s a pause before Rhett replies, “I ended it.”
My mind races to the worst conclusions, each one a sharp stab to the heart. I should never have let Serena talk me into bringing that damn phone to set. I’ve handed Rhett all the ammunition he needs to sink me, and after weeks of silence, he’s finally pulled the trigger.
The footsteps get closer, and I squeeze everything in my body, trying to make myself as small as possible so they won’t notice that the seat of the bench is out of place. A second later, someone sits on my bench, making the wicker press painfully into my hip. Through the tiny slats I see the dark denim of Rhett’s pants, mere inches from my face.
“Good.” Lainey sighs. I hear her pace back and forth. “Does she want money?”
My ears prick up, and I press my eye to the wicker. I can just make out Lainey’s legs, and something pink dangling from her hand.
“You can’t pay off everyone who knows something, Lainey,” Rhett says.
“I’m aware,” she says. The pink thing glints in the sunlight.I squint, pressing my eye to the wicker. She’s holding her own plastic paintball gun.
Rhett clears his throat. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” she hisses. “I have to make sure she doesn’t say a word. And if she’s difficult, then she’ll have to leave.” I hear the ominous sound of her paintball gun clicking, and then there’s a sharp splash a few feet away. “Pink,” she mutters. “My favorite.”
My heart hammers as Rhett stands, giving me a little more breathing room. “You don’t have to scare her. Georgia won’t tell. And even if she did, would that really be so bad? It’s going to happen sooner or later, especially if he keeps going like he is. He can hardly get out of bed right now.”
