Page 87 of Most Eligible
The texts. Roland’s texts.Rhett’stexts. “Listen,” I plead. My fingers close around her bony wrist. “You can do whatever you want with the information about Roland. But not the messages from Rhett. I think the press is onto it anyway.”
“Oh, I know.” Serena winks.
The realization hits me like a wave. I don’t have to ask, but I do anyway, because I need to hear her say it.
“It was you? You leaked the information about his arrest?”
She grins. “Yup. I couldn’t publish under my name, of course, if I wanted to come on the show.” She leans in, like we’re sisters sharing secrets. “But I figured if it was out there, it would generate more hype for when I do go public with all the other details.”
“What other details?” I ask, my voice faint.
“The hookups, obviously. I just need to wait until I can confirm how many there were. It would be so much better if there were multiple women,” she adds wistfully. I wrinkle my nose at the comment. When Serena and I started out in journalism together, it was always about exposing the truth, helping the underdog. But somewhere along the way, our values seem to have completely diverged.
Beneath us, the boat sways ominously. We’re not sailing—that would be too hard for the cameras—but the water is choppy. I grip the railing beside me.
“Please don’t publish that,” I whisper.
She pauses in the middle of adjusting her bra and frowns at me. “But it’ssojuicy. Did you make a deal with him or something?”
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Georgia, come on,” she scoffs. “He’s a celebrity, you can’t seriously trust him.”
It’s exactly why he didn’t trust me, didn’t believe we could be something real. I refuse to believe it could be a reason for me not to trust him as well.
“You don’t know him.”
“Do you?” she asks, raising a penciled eyebrow.
I deflate a little, then square my shoulders. “Don’t country singers have random hookups all the time? Nobody’s going to care.” She doesn’t look quite convinced, so I push on. “I think something on Roland will do better once the season airs. Especially if it’s right before Wimbledon.”
I hold my breath as she considers, silently begging her to agree with me. If she keeps going with the Rhett hookup story, it’s only a matter of time before she finds out that the woman was me.
She purses her lips, then nods. “You’re probably right. Do a little digging anyway, though, okay? Try to find out more from Rhett.”
“But if I get you stuff on Roland—then you won’t need a big splashy story on Rhett.”
“I guess,” she agrees, leaning back against the railing. “Fine. If it means that much to you.”
“I’ll keep digging,” I promise.
Never mind that it will ruin Roland’s life. But between him and Rhett, I have to choose the latter. Especially since I’m the one who gave Serena the ammunition to leak the story about his arrest. I’ve thrown him into the headlines once—I can’t do it again.
“If you’re going to stay, you’ll need to step up your game,” she says, changing tactics. “I’m sure the others have already said the big ‘I love you’. You can’t be the only holdout—he’ll send you home.”
“I—”
“Georgia,” she interrupts. “We talked about this. Youhaveto play the game. I can’t be going around keeping secrets and making concessions if you’re not even doing your part. Just buck up and be sure of yourself for once.”
As she says this, a flush rushes through me because it’s all so clear, so sickeningly obvious. I’m not sure of myself. I don’t know who I am. That’s why Rhett and Roland shouldn’t want me. But that’s exactly why I’m perfect for Serena. Even before this assignment, through all our years of friendship, she’s been a knife, cutting me down, building me up, until I’m exactly who she wants me to be.
But I won’t be pushed around anymore. Not by her, not by Lainey, not by anyone. If I don’t get the job, so be it. But Iwillprotect Rhett. And that means I have to stay and finish this assignment before I can leave Serena behind for good.
I take a deep breath and straighten up. “You have to trust me. This is on my terms, okay? I’m the one on the front lines, so you have to stop micromanaging me.”
Wordlessly, Serena reaches into her bra and pulls out a small flip phone. She leans forward and tucks it into the front of my corseted top.
I smooth the fabric down as Jules reappears and snaps new batteries into the pack tucked against my waist. I stare at Serena as Jules feeds the wire up the back of my shirt, bisecting the few inches of bare skin like a tattoo.
