Chapter 4

“Griff,whaddya want me to do, here, son?” Jerry asks.

“Huh?” Remy must’ve handed the phone back to Jerry when I wasn’t paying attention. “Is Remy still there?”

“No, he got some sort of alert and said he had to go. Took off like a bat outta hell.”

I hope that means he knows where Molly is and she’s okay.

“I can’t put Sheriff Davenport off any longer,” Jerry says in a low voice. “He’s doin’ me a favor lettin’ me and Remy talk to ya first. You gotta talk to him.”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“All right. Here’s Sheriff Davenport.”

I don’t recognize the name but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had a run-in with him at some point. He asks a bunch of questions. Doesn’t seem too impressed I’m filming a reality show—can’t blame him.

Finally, our conversation comes down to one thing.

“It seems to me everyone knows who damaged your car, Mr. Royal, including you.” He pauses, probably waiting to see if I’ll fill the silence. “If you want to file an insurance claim, you’re going to need to press charges.”

“Sir, I’m not planning to bother the insurance company with this. And I’m not pressing charges against anyone.” I don’t bother correcting him—that the car’s actually Molly’s. She doesn’t need the hassle. “I’m sorry your time was wasted with this today.”

“It’s my job.” There’s a slapping noise on his end. “No damage to the garage or anything else. Seems like the vandals exercised a lot of restraint. Someone got a grudge against you, Mr. Royal?”

“Probably. But like I said, I’m on a locked set, four hours from home, so there isn’t much I can do about it right now.”

“Uh-huh. When will you be home?”

“I don’t know, yet.”

He releases an annoyed sound and I add, “I’m not trying to be evasive. I really don’t know. I could get sent home tomorrow or be here until the end of the summer.”

“Fine,” he grunts in surrender. “If you change your mind, you have my number.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a rustling and a few seconds later, Jerry returns on the line.

“Look, Griff, don’t worry about anything. I got your car stored here. It’s safe. Your buddy said he’d take care of the other one. It’s all good. Keep your head in the game, all right?” He hesitates. “Don’t get suckered by any distractions.”

Great, Jerry must think I slept with Kiki too. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Thanks, Jerry. I’m sorry for all the extra trouble.”

“Not a problem.” He coughs. “Be smart, kid.”

“I’m tryin’.”

We hang up and I sit staring at the phone.

Rage, slow but hot, builds in my veins. A cloud of anger pushes all rational thoughts out of my mind.

Dread tightens my stomach into a knot.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Irrational rage wins.

I launch myself out of the chair and storm out of the office, not bothering to make sure the door closes behind me. Fuck it. I hope everyone in the house discovers the secret room and calls home. Then they can all find out how we’re being fucked over.

The show’s already airing. How is that even possible? Is that why I haven’t seen Diane since the first week? Is she out there somewhere trolling for new suckers to embarrass and destroy their lives?

If Kiki really hooked up with someone, wouldn’t we have heard about it? Deadass, Naptime, Pirate, none of them would be able to keep their damn mouths shut.

So who was in the video?

It wasn’t me. That’s all that matters.

Snorting like a bull, I storm through the maze of hallways and pound down the stairs in search of the editing room Jordan mentioned earlier.

I spot him in the hallway outside the gym.

My feet thunder over the tile floor as I charge him.

“We need to talk.” I grab his sleeve, spin him around, and throw him against the nearest wall. He jerks away and I pin him with a hand to his chest.

“Help!” Jordan shouts. “Help!”

Imagine working on a show with a bunch of street fighters and being afraid of your own shadow.

“Quit whining.” I jerk him forward by his shirt collar, slam him into the wall again, then release him. I lean close. “How can you look me in the eye after the bullshit lies you’ve been broadcasting?” I whisper in his ear. “And don’t you dare try to deny it.”

His eyes widen.

That’s right motherfucker—I know.

“You can’t tell the others,” he warns.

A sneer turns the corners of my mouth, but the wide-eyed look of fear on Jordan’s face stops me from saying anything else.

Control. Get control of yourself. Breathe. You’re smarter than this.

I don’t know what I’m dealing with. There were a lot of contracts and documents I signed for the show. Hope, the lawyer I spoke to, tried to warn me most—if not all—of the contracts wouldn’t be in my favor. Who am I kidding—everyone in my life tried to warn me that coming here was a bad idea. I went ahead and signed my life away anyway.

No one could’ve predicted this level of fuckery, though.

All I wanted to do was make Molly’s life better. Instead, I made it worse. Forget the car. I hate that I made her last few weeks of school miserable because all her friends and classmates were watching the show.

And she never said a word in our brief phone calls. She couldn’t. But I should’ve been able to tell something was wrong.

That I might have lost her for good, doesn’t enter my mind. Molly knows me. Once I’m able to see her and talk to her, she’ll understand it was all fake.

Everything will be fine.

“I’m serious,” Jordan warns in a low voice. “Don’t.” He flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “Or at least be careful where.”

His cryptic warning isn’t hard to untangle. There are cameras recording us everywhere in this damn house.

While I had him on the phone, I should’ve asked Remy if they show footage from the bathrooms.

I’m losing my mind.

“I won’t,” I promise. Jordan’s not the one I’m mad at. He’s trying to earn a paycheck like everyone else. “Sorry.”

Racing footsteps squeak over the polished hallway floor behind me. I hold my hands in the air and take a few steps back. I glare at Jordan who’s shaking and looking anywhere but at my face. “Get me someone in charge to talk to—right fucking now.”

“What’s going on?” Venom says from behind me.

I turn and find his big frame blocking two of the camera guys and a production assistant from getting too close. It’s a small gesture but after the conversation I just had with Remy, gratitude floods my system. At least not everyone’s trying to stab me in the back. I nod my thanks to Venom, but Jordan’s warning still echoes in my ear.

“Nothing. I just need to talk to someone.”

There’s still a chance I can salvage this situation. Turn it around to somehow work in my favor. Repair my relationship with Molly. Or maybe I’m fucking delusional, and I’ve already lost everything.

I still have to try.

Our standoff in the hallway lasts for a few minutes. Enough time for Jordan to pull out his cell phone and frantically tap out a text. A few seconds later, he places a call.

I back away, giving him the illusion of privacy.

“What’s going on?” Venom murmurs close to my ear.

“I can’t talk about it.” I meet his eyes, hoping he’ll understand that if I could tell him, I would.

He nods slowly. “You better not be leaving.”

No words come to me. It would take too long to explain. I shake my head.

“All right,” Jordan snaps. “Paul’s going to meet us.”

I can’t remember which one of the many producers, production assistants, directors or whatever-the-fucks who have been wandering around the set Paul might be, but the tight set of Jordan’s mouth says he’s not happy about the visit.

Good, must be a suit with some juice.

“Let’s go.” Jordan tilts his head toward the hallway. To everyone else he says, “Go back to whatever you were doing.”

I nod at Venom. He frowns and backs away slowly. I wish I could warn him. Would the producers really stoop so low and fuck with his marriage?

No time to worry about Venom. I can’t help anyone if I don’t handle my own business first.

I follow Jordan to the other side of the house where there are fewer cameras and lights stationed in every corner. An area the contestants aren’t supposed to visit.

Apprehension thrums through my veins. This could be the end. The hard work and sacrifices I’ve made over the last few weeks could mean nothing if I get sent home.

Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Jordan stops at a door and knocks, then pushes the door open.

I vaguely recognize the guy behind the desk. A bland and unremarkable face to go with his potato-shaped build. Even his short, curly hair is the color of a russet potato’s skin. His tan suit doesn’t help, either. Arrogance surrounds him like a cloud of Axe body spray.

To the potato’s right, the show’s host, Matt, is awkwardly crammed in behind the desk. Potato didn’t even move over to make room for the star of the show. He must be important.

We usually only see Matt when someone’s getting kicked off the show. Even though there are no extra cameras in the office filming this showdown, it doesn’t mean I’m safe from getting sent home.

“Where’s Diane?” I ask, resting my hands on the back of the chair in front of the desk.

Potato’s lips tilt in an evil villain way I don’t care for. “We had a difference of opinion on the direction of the show.” He flicks his hand toward the closed door. “She’s off scouting new talent for another project. That’s really her area of expertise. Not this.”

Maybe Diane didn’t set me up after all. Or she doesn’t give a fuck.

Potato stands and stretches his hand across the desk. “Paul Simplot.” He rattles off a long title that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me other than he’s the one in charge. “I’m the one you want to speak to, anyway.”

“And me,” Matt adds in such a needy, pathetic tone, I cringe with secondhand embarrassment for the dude.

I lift an eyebrow at Paul. He subtly lifts his shoulders in a lets-humor-him gesture that doesn’t put me at ease. We’re not on the same side here.

“What’s on your mind, Griffin?” Paul points at the chair across from him and takes his seat behind the desk again.

“I found out that the show’s already airing. And it seems to have nothing to do with what’s actually happening here.” I stab my finger toward the floor. “It’s causing havoc for the people I care about at home.”

“How did you…Who let you…” Matt stutters.

Even though I threw Jordan up against a wall less than fifteen minutes ago, I’m less eager to throw him under the bus with his boss. “Don’t worry about that. The point is, the show’s airing lies and it needs to stop.”

“This is unacceptable,” Matt snips. “He should be sent home, now. He’s violated the rules.”

“Easy.” Paul holds up a hand. “We send him home now, we lose a lot of viewers.” He turns his cold, flat brown eyes on me. “And you’ll lose out on a lot of money.”

“No amount of money is worth having my reputation torn to shreds.”

“Reputation?” Matt snorts. “How is fucking that young, hot Barbie look-alike going to ruin your reputation, stud?”

So, they know exactly why I’m here and why I’m pissed.

My hands curl into fists but I don’t so much as flick my gaze in Matt’s direction. I continue as if he hadn’t even spoken.

“I don’t give a fuck what contracts I signed. You can’t keep me here against my will,” I warn in calm, confident voice, even though I’m making shit up as I go. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re breaking your end of the bargain by telling those lies.”

Paul’s lips twist with annoyance but my words seem to be hitting their target.

“If I have to walk my ass back to Johnsonville, I will,” I add. “Feel free to sue me for my collection of vintage T-shirts.”

Paul steeples his hands in front of his face and leans forward. “You think that’s the worst we can do to you? I’ll keep you tied up in litigation for the next decade. Garnish your wages for the next twenty years.”

“I got two lawyers in my family ready to go, so do your worst.” Small lie. The two lawyers I know are wives of officers in the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club. But I’ve been invited to family dinner night at their clubhouse. That’s close enough, right?

Paul hesitates, as if he’s actually worried about my toothless threats. “Name your demands. I assume you want to be the last one standing?”

“I don’t want to win something that’s rigged,” I protest.

Paul rolls his eyes. “You must be the first.”

I glare at him.

“Fine, what do you want?” he asks. “We need you to stay until you’re sent home. You’re in the unique position of holding some leverage here.”

Leverage.Huh. Never had any of that in my life before.

“One—stop showing footage of my girlfriend. That’s nonnegotiable.”

Paul leans forward. “I’m entertaining your little tantrum because you’ve grown a pretty solid fan base, but don’t push it.”

“Trust me, when I’m having a tantrum, you’ll know.” I lean forward, so we’re almost nose-to-nose over his desk. “Stop showing Molly’s face. I don’t give a fuck about the release Diane tricked her into signing. Molly is not part of this.”

A slight smile—that should probably warn me something’s not right—tilts the corners of Paul’s mouth. “Fine.” He sits back against his chair. “We don’t need her anymore anyway.”

Wasn’t expecting him to agree so quickly. “Stop insinuating that I fucked Kiki. You know that’s not what happened.”

Paul shrugs and raises his hands toward the ceiling, proclaiming his false innocence. “Who can really say with all the footage we have to go through. Maybe we got mixed up.”

Fuck, I want to punch this guy.

“That’s it?” Paul lowers his hands to the desk and clasps them in front of him again. “You really aren’t going to ask to win the show and all that money?”

“No.” I frown. After all the interviews and psych tests I had to do, these guys didn’t learn a damn thing about me. “I’m the best fuckin’ fighter in this house. If I win, I want to win fairly.”

“Sweet summer child,” Mark mutters.

Paul smirks but doesn’t say anything.

I tap my fist against the desk. “But all right, since we’re talking about money—the show’s paying to fix the car my girlfriend destroyed when she saw the last episode.”

“Holly shit.” Jordan whistles, startling me. How’d I forget him standing against the wall like a creepy statue? “Why didn’t we think to get a camera crew up there when that aired? What a missed opportunity.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. I should’ve kept my mouth shut about the car.

Paul slowly turns toward Jordan and Jordan’s eyes bug out from having his boss’s full attention laser-focused on him. “That’s a good question. Why didn’t someone set that up?”

Jordan shrinks back, as if he’s trying to become one with the wallpaper.

“I told you we should’ve taken our time with everything,” Matt says to Paul. “But nooo. You wanted to rush the premiere.”

“We had a slot to fill,” Paul says without looking at Matt. “And we needed to try something new. Keep things fresh.”

My head’s going to explode if I have to sit here much longer. Why the fuck did I have to tell them about the damn car? Did I really think anyone connected to this show had human emotions and might feel bad for all the problems they caused? What a joke.

“Fine,” Paul says. “We’ll cover the repairs. Regardless of any winnings from the show.” He slides his sneaky gaze Jordan’s way. “But you’ll have to sign another release not to sue for any damages.”

“Whatever,” I mutter.

How much more of my life am I going to sign away to these vultures?