Page 94 of Most Eligible
When I blink, my mind spins through a million moments. I imagine Rhett walking me backward into the outdoor shower, slipping his fingers beneath my waistband. I imagine him reading the texts on my burner, the betrayal he must’ve felt. I imagine myself in a year, once again trying and failing to make meaning of a life without him.
“You’re the one who left this time,” he says, voice breaking. “You weren’t honest with me.” He shakes his head, his eyes glistening. “I wish it were different. But I can’t—I just can’t do this. I know what I want, but it’s… it’s not real. And it sure as hell isn’t this.”
I step back, wounded, and he closes the door in my face before I can protest. Before I can ask if what he wants is me.
Overnight dates are one of the most important parts of the entire journey. It’s your first time together off camera, and while there is no explicit expectation that you will have sex, it is strongly implied.
—Shacking Up: The Definitive, Unauthorized Guide to WinningLove Shack
Chapter Thirty-Two
My hands are numb as I push open the door to my room and go straight to the shower. Tears pricking my eyes, I stand, fully dressed, under the hot water.
I don’t know how I thought that Rhett and I could work when every part of our relationship has been based on a lie. My job, my motivations, even my fucking name.
I hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt for lying my way ontoLove Shack. But lying my way into Rhett’s heart—that’s much harder to stomach.
My wet clothes are heavy, so I peel them off and toss them out of the shower. I scrub my skin, but I can’t get rid of the feeling of Rhett’s fingers burning over my hips, my tattoos. The way his lips branded all the softest parts of me.
I shudder under the torrent of the shower, pulling at the handle to make the pressure stronger. I want to feel something—everything, instead of acting unaffected, like I have for so long.
Rhett and I have been hurtling toward this since the beginning. And maybe part of me knew that, which is why I let myself keep on with all the lies. Because if we weren’t real from the start, he’d have less of my heart to break. Maybe the storyline that Lainey and Serena have been pushing—of me as a broken,untrusting child of divorce—wasn’t fake at all, because the pain aching in my chest is all too real.
Even though most women leaveLove Shackheartbroken, I never thought I’d be one of them. I always thought those women were shallow. But really, they were in too deep. And now, so am I.
If I leave now, I could try to forget all of this. But what would I be going back to? There’s no dream job anymore, not now that I know the extent of Serena’s cruelty. Just more freelancing, going from gig to gig with little to no stability. And bailing now would leave things unfinished.
Serena wouldn’t be able to sink Lainey without my first-person accounts, and I can’t bear to let Lainey walk free. Not after what she put us through. I think of Olie, dragged from the mansion, of Brooklyn, kept on the show when Roland didn’t see a future with her.
They deserved so much better.
If I stay, I could see things through. It’s risky, but I could shop the story to other outlets. There’s nothing stopping me from doing it—Serena was too cocky to make me sign a contract, especially since we wanted the operation to be as under the radar as possible. The only reason I’d have not to steal her thunder and publish on my own is, well… Rhett. And that doesn’t matter now.
I have nothing to lose, so I’ll stay. I’ll go on the overnight date with Roland tomorrow. I’ll let Serena think I’m still working for her until she realizes otherwise. I’ll write a killer story. And I’ll burn Lainey’s reputation into dust. All with my real name.
Rhett and I may be over, but my job is far from done.
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off with the luxurious monogrammed hotel towel and wrap it around myself. I scrub my hands over my tired eyes and look at myself in the mirror. Then I open my makeup bag and get to work.
The sleeplessness rimming my eyes requires a few layers ofhighlighter and an extra swipe of white eyeliner before I look even marginally alive. I pat cream foundation over the hickey blooming on my neck—Rhett’s hickey—before averting my eyes. Looking at it is too painful, too much of an echo of our first night together. But back then, I didn’t have a hundred cameras scrutinizing every pore on my skin.
I grab one of the wardrobe crew’s suggested outfits—high-waisted shorts and a cropped halter top with, yes, a built-in underwire bra. As I slip it on, Rhett’s words from last night curl around my ear.
I think it might ruin me…
His fingers dragging across my bare skin, the raw heat left in their wake.
I pull on a pair of strappy sandals, then head downstairs to the hotel lobby, where Jules hands me a piece of toast.
“You okay?”
“Not really,” I mutter. “But I’ll survive.”
“Listen,” she says. “Don’t freak out, but there’s been a change in schedule. Your overnight is going to be today.”
I nearly spit out my toast. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Something about the contract with the hotel.” She shrugs. “You’ll be okay. Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
