Page 22 of House of Deceit

I smile at her, trying to be approachable. Polite. “Sorry. I was just coming to talk to you for a minute. Do you mind?”

“Oh, sure. I was going to grab some lunch, but I could have something brought up.” She moves out of the way, ushering me in. “Would you like anything?” The kindness surprises me.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having. Thank you.”

She nods, picking up the phone and dialing quickly.

“Hi there,” she smiles, “yeah, it’s Charlie Price in room 1015. Could I get two of the grilled chicken salads with the dressing on the side, please?” The voice on the other end of the phone is garbled. “And two of my normal dessert, please. Sure, sounds good. Thanks!”

“A salad sounds good.”

“Their salads are really delicious and probably not at all healthy.” She stands up from the bed and moves to sit on the edge, closer to where I’m leaning against the dresser. “So, what’s up?”

Her thumb nail picks at the nail polish on one of her other fingers. After mom died, when Lore was particularly stressed, she’d pick at her fingers. Sometimes, she’d pick so much, they’d bleed. I hated watching her hurt herself, so every night I painted her nails. The next day, she’d pick off every fleck of polish.

Her hand is soft against my fingers as I bend forward, stopping the nervous tick. Sapphire blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity I feel move through my chest and clutch my lungs in a fist. Straightening, I cross my ankles and put my hands in my pockets. I give a small cough, getting my lungs working again.

She smiles and I know she’s going to be a crowd favorite. Between her beauty and feisty personality, everyone is going to fall in love with her. I know it like I know the sound of my sister’s laugh. It might not be enough to win, but I pray I’ll be around to see how far she can take it.

“Are you going to tell me what y’all came up with, or are we just spending quality time together?” I don’t know why I say it. Flirting with the man who yanked me out of the ballroom like a toddler throwing a fit shouldn’t happen. But between his genuine surprise when I asked him if he’d like lunch combined with his long, dark eyelashes fanning around bright, gray eyes, my hormones seem to be winning out.

“I wanted to share what we came up with, since we weren’t expecting you to be you,” he says, his tone grating.

The desire to lock myself into the bathroom and sing while plugging my ears so I can’t hear what’s coming tries to take over me. It grabs hold of my legs, making them twitch, but I lock my body down. I will sit here and pretend my world will not crumble if I lose this chance. I will not give him a piece of any emotion I feel except vague disinterest.

“I’m going to need you to stop saying that like my existence is the equivalent of Armageddon bearing down on us,” I tell him instead.

He stares at me for a moment. “Right, sorry,” he clears his throat but says nothing.

“Any time now,” I snark.

Maybe not so much as vague disinterest, then. His gray eyes flash, and the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“I’m here to offer you a choice. Typically, female contestants have a female wrangler but because of this mix- up, I picked you. For the next twelve weeks, if you’ll have me, I’ll be your wrangler. Sheila, the executive producer of the show and my manager, wanted to offer you the opportunity to switch to another wrangler.”

“I’m not kicked off the show?” The terror at the thought of losing my apartment slowly dissipates.

“No. Per your contract, you’ve done nothing to warrant your early departure, so you get to stay.”

Relief, cool and deep like a coursing river, washes my nerves away in its current.

“So, who would I be assigned to if I kick your ass to the curb? Which, P.S., you would totally deserve after the way you treated me.” He fidgets. For a man who commands a room, he’s been off center since the moment he walked in. This guy was an asshole, but the journalist in me rears her head, catching the whiff of a story.

“Um, unsure, actually. They’d have to pull in a new wrangler for you. There might be a veteran available, but if not, you’ll be stuck with someone they pull out of a stack of applications for people that have never been on the show before.”

“What do you get if you’re my wrangler?”

“What makes you think wranglers get anything other than a paycheck?”

I open my mouth, but a knock at the door interrupts us.

“Room service!” the man calls out through the wood. I go to move from the bed, but Alec waves me down, pushing off the dresser. The cart wheel squeaks, a pitch that makes every hair on my body stand and my teeth clench as the attendant pushes it into the room.

Alec, the walking ad for men’s suits, takes it and puts the cart right before me, signing the receipt in my place. After the server has left, he lifts the domes from our salads. His gray eyes sparkle with humor as he raises an admonishing eyebrow at me.

“Is that hot fudge on top of the ice cream?”

“Yes, yes, it is.” I smile. I could eat my weight in hot fudge. I grab up the ice cream bowl and spoon and promptly dig in.

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