Page 7 of Dating the Dealing Demon

I scowl at my runaway imagination and complete failure to find a single camera, except when I glance over my shoulder, Theo’s attention is locked on my ass as though I’ve hypnotized him.

I can work with this.

Seduction holds power, and I’ve no problem using his interest to pry secrets from him. Secrets like what the show expects from us with this little taping stunt. I let my gaze linger on him, slowly traveling in a deliberate taunt.

What did he last prattle on about in hisI’m better than youbaritone that gives me shivers in all the right places? Oh right. We have to leave our stuff here while we tour. He talked big game about propriety interest nonsense and optimal tour experience. What a crock of showbiz crap. As tightly wound as this guy seems with his thorough prep before meeting us, he should be glad he has sex appeal on his side. Otherwise, he’d just be another arrogant asshole in the industry.

“Afraid we’ll give away your secrets before your big opening?” I ask him, daring him to admit the haunted house is a total front and there will never be an opening. At least not one starring Theo. Because my family arranged this little exclusive preview.

From the couch, Rosemarie clears her throat—a pointed reminder that she and Meg are still hostages here, forced to witness the awkwardness between me and Mr. Using Us For His Big Break. She gives me awhat are you up tolook before glancing to Theo. “The waivers you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes.” He slides a tablet across the antique desk and puts cheap plastic bands beside it.

I pick up one of the bands, noticing the holes and notches along it as well as weird symbols etched into the smooth finish.I wrinkle my nose at the memory of how my mother made us wear platinum versions of these at the twins’ last birthday party to activate hidden sensors as we walked through a beauty influencer’s fantasyland. I got sprayed with glitter body paint that took an insane amount of scrubbing to wash off.

Theo gestures toward the awful plastic band. “To be worn at all times in the house. Your choice of body part.”

Great. The producers probably planted cameras throughout the house, ready to be triggered by whatever tech they’d installed in the bands. I glare at Theo, ignoring his gorgeous eyes and kissable mouth and daring him to ‘fess up to this deception.

He doesn’t crack. Either he’s a method actor who has taken this rolewaytoo seriously or he’s simply immune to my intimidation tactics. My older sister could break him. The twins could definitely make him talk. But I’m failing at charming answers out of him.

Jinx. My family’s favorite insult comes back to haunt me worse than any ghost in this place.

I don’t bother hiding my irritation. “You strapping us in LoJack so we won’t steal more of your precious intel?”

He levels me with a look.

Fine. If he insists on embracing the whole broody bad boy stereotype to its extreme, then I’ll play along.

“Let’s see your liability waiver.” I skim the tablet, looking for any mention of my family’s corporation or the show’s studio. Instead, I find mentions of kissing, bondage, hard limits, and acts that would make my nonnabreak out her evil eye charms. “Theo, I think you screwed up your waivers. This reads more like a kink club menu than a haunted house warning.”

“I assure you it’s the correct contract,” he says smoothly.

He probably didn’t even read it. I figure a production assistant gave him a tablet pre-loaded with contracts and hotguy here picked the wrong one. Or he clicked this one to freak us out. He’ll need to try harder to mess with my head. I’ve been through the Hollywood gauntlet of paparazzi, Internet trolls, and mean girl celebrities.

I settle my hip on the desk, scrolling through the kinky call sheet that won’t be happening. Not if we want the show to stay on mainstream television instead of a porn site. “Nope to everything on the list, unless we pick sexy times over scary times,” I tell him, slashing my finger through limitations from knife play to a fetish involving bugs.

Theo smirks, andugh, why won’t he just admit this is all an act for the show?

I skim through the remaining text, keying in only on boilerplate liability stuff I sign every few months for the producers. “The rest looks super standard. The kink is probably part of the psychological game, to unsettle us before the tour.” I swipe my finger along the signature line and hand the tablet to Meg, giving her and Rosemarie chance to read and choose whether or not to go ahead with this.

“Here.” Theo opens a compartment in the bookcase to reveal a lockbox for our phones. What else is hidden in those shelves? Cameras? Mics?

I drop everything inside and take the key. None of us need production assistants poking through our stuff, and my life is in my purse since I can’t misplace things if they’re all tossed inside…somewhere. Swiping hand sanitizer over the stupid plastic band, I strap it around my ankle since that’s where I ended up hiding the sensor during the twins’ birthday party so it wouldn’t set off glitter bombs every five seconds. Too bad this isn’t something I can lose and blame on being easily distracted.

Everything’s okay—weird but okay—until Theo insists we take our tours separately. Why does he want to get us alone?

When he leaves with Meg, I start searching the desk, the crown molding, everywhere for cameras. Rosemarie stays on the couch, seeming stuck in her own thoughts and shuffling her tarot cards.

This is fine.No matter how many times I reassure myself, I can’t relax. Tension crawls through me.

My friends didn’t volunteer to be dragged into my family’s financial problems or its grab for yet more power. I should say something, should intervene, shouldstopthis. But I’m worried my friends won’t understand why I didn’t simply go with my gut and call the tour off when I first suspected Theo isn’t the tour guide he said he was.

I pace, still searching for cameras. Where could they have hidden them? Maybe they’re in other rooms. But Meg and Theo couldn’t have taken much time to get her started on her tour. “I don’t know what’s taking them so long,” I tell Rosemarie. “This house didn’t look that big from outside.”

As if someone spies on our conversation, a door slams nearby with a heavy thump.

Rosemarie jumps, and her tarot cards go fluttering into the air like a murder of crows taking flight.

---