Page 111 of The Love Lie
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
cooper
Cooper stalksacross the small dressing room like a caged lion yearning for the hunt. It’s been three weeks since Sam walked away without so much as a single glance back, three weeks since he last saw that sly little look cross her face, three weeks since her laugh has sent goose bumps down the back of his neck. And somewhere on the other side of this door, Emily is waiting like his last ray of hope shining in the black. He can’t stand it.
He tries the door again.
Locked.
Goddammit!
Is this part of the producers’ plan? To make him go completely insane before sending him out onto the stage for the live finale being watched by ten million people? Because it’s working.
“Nina?” he calls.
Nothing.
“Fred?”
Silence.
“Trish?”
Nada.
“Fucking hell!” he shouts and kicks the door. He just needs to talk to Emily. He needs to find out what Sam told her. He needs to fill in the gaps. He needs to explain everything before they go on air and there’s no turning back. “Can someone please open the door?”
The knob suddenly turns.
Cooper isn’t used to feeling like the small one of the group, but a guy with at least two inches and probably fifty pounds of muscle on him slips through the crack. He’s amazingly quick for his size, nothing but a blur of blond hair and tan skin in the dull fluorescent lights. For a moment, Cooper wonders if the network sent someone in to subdue him. Then he remembers this isn’t the Mafia—Idiot!—and he jumps forward.
“Wait, don’t—”
The guy spins in surprise. Behind him, the door closes with a definitivebang.
“No!” Cooper lunges for the knob. It doesn’t budge. “Shit! It must have an automatic lock or something.”
“You trying to get out?” a deep voice asks.
Cooper looks up at his new cellmate, then does a double take. “Are you—”
“Tyler Briggs.” He stretches his hand forward for a shake, offering the sort of smile that makes it clear this isn’t the first time he’s been met with shock and awe. “Nice to meet you.”
Cooper’s jaw just about hits the floor. This guy is one of the most famous pro hockey players in the country. He just signed an eight-year, ninety-million-dollar contract with the Los Angeles Royals. What in the world is he doing here dressed in a suit and tie?
“So, you want out?” Tyler asks again. “Because I can probably help you with that.”
Cooper frowns. “How?”
“I’ll pick it.”
“Pick it?” he asks, wondering if he heard correctly.
His companion just shrugs. “Why not?”
Cooper looks around, wondering if a film crew is about to pop out of a secret panel in the wall because surely he must be getting punk’d. Either that, or the solitary confinement has really gone to his head. Because seriously. Tyler Briggs? The guy is worth a fortune. What does he know about picking locks?
Enough, apparently.
