Page 32 of House of Deceit

“That’s normal for the first few days. The first deceiver tends to have it the hardest. Between nerves and the fact no one has set a bar on what’s going too far for the group, it can be hard to act. How are you feeling?”

His gray eyes are earnest, but his tone is the clipped, professional one I got used to when we met in the hotel. A part of me is sad at the loss of the more familiar tone we had by the end of our time together before the game started.

“I can feel the cameras on me at all times. My nerves are kind of shot, to be honest.” I doodle flowers in the margins of my journal, keeping my eyes averted from the truth I just gave to Alec.

I hear him shift in his chair and look up at him, his gray eyes boring into me.

“Other than on the live shows, nothing is aired without me seeing it first. So just think of it like that. I’m the one watching you. Just me.”

Butterflies launch in my stomach at his words. Maybe the cameras won’t be so bad after all.

“Also, I just want you to know, I made sure your five thousand dollars was transferred into your account.”

Relief, pure and sweet, sweeps through me as a weight is lifted from my shoulders.

My eyes are tired from watching hours of footage of Charlie. Although the new facial recognition software is greatly reducing the amount of time I have to spend combing through footage to find her, there are still twenty-four hours in a day. Luckily for my eyesight, she seems to enjoy going to bed early, although her early rising is a pain in my ass.

As the days pass, she’s quickly asserting herself as a dark-humored, caring person and I foresee no issues selling her to our audiences. She does not seem to have any allegiance beyond her budding friendship with the striking, towering goddess that is Molly.

The other wranglers are seated in folding chairs placed around the makeshift viewing room when I walk in. Watching the immunity competitions together every week is a tradition. The cheering is enthusiastic. The trash talking is top-notch. Week one always has more of a party feel. The relief of getting through the first few days of filming and our charges settling into life in the mansion eases a lot of pressure.

Chinese food covers the buffet table this week. I grab a plate and load it down with the various options of lo mein, rice, and chicken dishes. This is the only night a week I eat whatever I want.

The singular empty chair is next to my buddy Frank.

“Who’s yours this time?” he asks, as I sit down in my chair.

Frank scoops up some fried rice and shoves it in his face. He is an easygoing fellow, very different from me. But his affable nature tends to calm me from the stress filming can bring.

“Charlie Price.”

His fork stops on the way to his mouth, and he puts it down on his plate, still full. “So you’re the one who messed up the balance.” His smile irritates me. “How did that happen, anyway? Some of the contestants are pretty pissed.” He whispers this last bit, not wanting to be overheard by the others in the room.

“The interns put her application in the wrong pile. It’s not like I was trying to cheat.” The prospects of finally ending my stint with the show are too enticing to jeopardize.

“I know you weren’t. You’re way too much of a stick in the mud,” he jokes, but when I simply cock an eyebrow at him, he continues. “But you have to admit, it can be hard to fight against someone who looks like that.”

Defensiveness at the insinuation Charlie is nothing more than a pretty face instantly has my hackles up. “She’s more than her looks, and she has to compete just like everyone else. Maybe instead of being jealous of how pretty she is, they should focus on making sure their contestants are prepared.”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to bad-mouth her,” Frank says, and I tamp down my anger, bringing the cool, professional demeanor I wear like armor to the forefront.

“It doesn’t matter. I have the winner and that’s all I care about,” I say, a bit of snap lingering in my voice.

“I guess we’ll see.” His charge has made it to the final three a few times but, like me, he’s never picked a winner. “I have Parker this year. I have a good feeling about him. So long as his crush on your girl doesn’t distract him.”

That catches my attention.

“He has a crush on Charlie?”

“Again, have you seen her? Of course he does.”

I have seen Charlie. I know exactly what he means. But that doesn’t make the spark of jealousy dissipate any faster.

“Well, keep him away from her. I need her focused and not getting emotionally attached to anyone.”

“I’m right there with you, brother.”

We watch the live feed of Jacob Jacobson standing in the studio in front of a monitor with the contestants bustling around in the house behind him. His raspberry suit makes my eyes burn while simultaneously making me realize how boring my closet is. His smile is glued to his face. I’ve only seen him without the smile once—when his spray tan application went wrong, and he was orange for a week. While the audience had a field day, the technician who applied the wrong color was left in tears.

---