Page 121 of Love Me Tomorrow

Hand moving from the doorknob to the door itself, I plant my shoulder on it and shove, pathetically hoping that it might jar loose off the hinges.

I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life but accomplishing the art of picking locks has never been one of them.

The door doesn’t budge.

Frustration coils deep in my gut as I bang my fist on the door, once, twice. Twisting around, I plant my back against it. Sink the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, running through possible scenarios in my head. While stalking down Quell and forcing him to confess is a real enticing thought, who knows if he’s even here today. Not to mention that I’ve never seen him in person, making the chance of me recognizing his face while walking down the hall slim to none.

Either I get my ass back to Room B before someone notices that I’m missing, or I say screw it and do my own thing anyway.

Because I’m me, I opt for the second.

Hands shoved deep into the pockets of my slacks, like I’m going for a casual stroll, I retrace my steps and then keep moving. When I hit the stage area, I hang a right, looking for one of the entrances that lead to the platform area where the fans are seated.

There we are.

I slip through a curtained doorway. Glance right, then left, checking for anyone who might recognize me, then take an empty seat at the end of a row. The overhead lights are turned down low, centering the entire room’s attention on Savannah and thePut A Ring On It’s host, Joe Devonsson. With their backs facing the far wall, all twenty-six contestants are seated in three rows. I drag my gaze down to the first, looking for the two guys who got down on one knee and proposed to Savannah.

Nick Stamos.

Dominic DaSilva.

Neither man looks all too happy to be sitting there. Both dark-haired and dressed in equally dark suits, they watch the stage with identical expressions of displeasure. I wonder if Mina Pappas, Nick’s fiancée, is in the audience, then recall reading about Dominic’s girlfriend online, and wonder if she’s joined, as well.

Both men came on the show and ended up with different women.

I got kicked off and ended up with the bachelorette.

I seek her out now, catching the tail end of her response to whatever question she was asked: “—wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone. That’s not the sort of person I am.”

Opposite her, Devonsson sits with one ankle propped up on his other knee, a stack of notecards gripped in his hand. Looking like a king posturing before his court, he idly drums the stack of cards on his thigh, then waves a hand at the contestants. “The fact of the matter is, whether that was your intention or not, many of our guys feel utterly destroyed by your betrayal.”

My fingers grip the armrest.Destroyed?Christ, could the guy be any more dramatic? No one in those seats is shedding a tear, not that I can see.

Savannah opens her mouth, only to be soundly cut off by Devonsson. “Before we give you the chance to defend yourself, Savannah, I’d like to take it to the floor and give some of these guys some much needed closure. Viktor,” he says, pointing the notecard stack toward the group, “you’ve been rather vocal on Instagram regarding your feelings on the matter.”

A guy in the second row pops up, and I immediately recognize him as one of the assholes who was hounding Savannah earlier in the waiting room. With slicked-back hair and a suit with lapels the size of Texas, Viktor fixes his bow tie and then sticks his head out like a chicken pecking at feed. “Savannah, I just want to say that I quit my job because of this experience and for you to—”

“I want it to be clear for those watching on,” Devonsson interjects, looking over to the audience, “Viktor is an Instagram influencer.”

Off to the side, a projector on the wall flashes a word that reads ACT DISGUSTED.

As one, the crowd promptly draws in a heavy breath, amplified by the fact that there are at least a hundred women seated around me.

I roll my eyes. What a load of shit.

Up on the stage, Savannah uncrosses her legs. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a social media guru,” she says thinly, snapping the room into silence. “My family’s business wouldn’t be nearly as successful as it is without the critical eye of my staff member, Jorge. We owe him everything.” Turning to Viktor, she sets a hand on the sofa, beside her hip, and leans forward. “And I’m sorry you feel that way. Truly, I do. I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope your pages really take off for you.”

There you go, sweetheart.

Looking shell-shocked, Viktor sits down to the chorus of clapping from the audience. I keep my hands on my thighs, not wanting to draw attention to myself from the women sitting nearby. Subtly, I shoot a glance around the room. Is Quell in here? It makes me uneasy that he could be, and I wouldn’t even know it.

Meanwhile, Savannah doesn’t even realize that anything’s wrong. Maybe that’s a good thing—let her handle the contestant mess before I clue her in to the fact that we’ve found ourCelebrity Tea.

Another contestant launches up, this time without being called on. He straightens his thin tie, then waves a hand toward Savannah. “My problem is thatIwas accused of having a girlfriend and you sent me home. I sat at home watching every week, while seeing spoilers hit the internet, and the hypocrisy kills me. You’re just as much of a liar as I am.”

I watch as Savannah closes her hand in a fist. “Harry, listen—”

“The difference is, man, you went on a showwitha girlfriend. An official one.”

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