Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) Page 10

  Trevor says he doesn’t know. Though of course he does.

  “I could get used to this view,” Jessica says.

  And she will. With Trevor’s billions, Jessica will have this view and any others she wants. Because although the contest is a ruse, the winner will become his bride. He needs a counterbalance in the public eye. Everyone knows Trevor Stone, but he can’t stay a playboy forever. Even for a sex company, the fresh face leading it needs stability. There are stockholders to consider. There’s a board — I’ve abundantly heard in private — to please. Trevor has a reputation. It’s fine for a young man, and Eros for now. But if he doesn’t settle, stock prices will suffer. It’s dumb luck that the arranged wife this farce has found for him — a wife with an ulterior purpose, though I believe what Daniel is up to will smash those obligations before Jessica learns what they are — happens to be his perfect wife. Trevor and Jess will make a cute couple. And I couldn’t be in the next room and expect to sleep, the way Jessica rocks the bedposts.

  “Don’t get too used to it,” I say. “I might be the winner, you know.”

  Jessica rolls her eyes. She really should act better, and not make it clear to anyone watching that we’ve made a plan. Everything is perfect now; these are the short roads to the finish line. We should all be on our best behavior, to keep this ship from rocking until after the final elimination when Jessica claims her crown. But she can’t help her excitement. And because I don’t want to marry Trevor no matter the dowry, I’m happy, too. I’m happy for her. And I’m happy for me — and my future with Daniel and more money from second place than I ever thought I’d earn in my entire life.

  Three million dollars.

  I could buy that hip little building in downtown Inferno Falls — the one with the all-glass lobby, the third-floor balcony over the topsy-turvy out-jut of the second floor offices, the siding that looks like horizontal slats of cedar. It’s more than I need right now, but I already have talent I could hire. If I want to produce audio instead of just recording it myself, I’ll need to up my game. Three million will get me there. I could even dabble in music production. Why not? Abigail and Gavin’s band could have better sound, and I think their current producers are ripping them off.

  “Seriously,” I say as Jessica continues to goggle comically at me. She stops rolling her eyes. It also makes her stop licking the air and making blowjob pantomime using one hand and her tongue in her cheek. She’s my kind of asshole.

  “Sorry.”

  That’s just as bad as rolling her eyes. How could anyone not watch this idyllic little breakfast and not know we were in collusion? We’re not supposed to plot our win; we’re supposed to let Halo make the call and abide by its decision. I gather, from Daniel, that trust in Halo is very important to the board. He’s counting on how much the board trusts Halo so he can snap its neck if he has to. But that part is something I barely understand, nor do I care to.

  Another man brings us toast. Bagels. Nothing but carbs, because fuck it. How and what we eat doesn’t matter.

  All that matters is that we’re all in agreement.

  All that matters is that our enemies and threats are all gone.

  Kylie. Ivy. Roxy. Caspian White.

  Jessica was never an enemy. Now everyone knows where everyone stands. Now everyone knows we coast to the storybook ending we’ve all discussed in the hidden room, without the house watching, and Halo judging everything we do.

  All that matters is that I made it.

  All that matters is that, thanks to a ton of last-minute Bridget sabotage, there’s no way in hell I’ll win this thing. Daniel’s been erasing my rivals’ accomplishments to get me this far, but now he and Jessica have deleted mine. Gone through the footage, removed anything that might give me points from Halo’s memory.

  How could Jessica not win now?

  How could I not lose, and be forced to accept my three million, my dream recording studio … and, as an unexpected bonus, my dream man?

  Boo-hoo. Poor me. I’m not going to marry the billionaire. It’s so sad, I’d jump onto the table and cheer if I didn’t think Halo might find it suspicious.

  A third man — different from the other two, as if Halo has an inexhaustible supply of human limbs to use in delivering our desires to our table — brings us a small basket of spreads for our bagels and toast.

  There’s jam, in maybe a dozen organic varieties.

  There’s cream cheese.

  There’s honey in adorable tiny jars.

  And there’s —

  I hold up a small tin. It makes my skin prickle and I’m not even sure why, beyond the obvious reason.

  “That’s strange,” I say.

  Daniel was saying something to Trevor. I wasn’t paying attention, but he’s half laughing as he turns toward me. When I came here, you never saw Daniel smile, never. And yet lately, it’s the expression I’ve seen on his face more often than not.

  He looks at me, his smile growing puzzled.

  “What’s strange?”

  “Peanut butter.” I set the thing down. My allergy isn’t life-threatening, but I’m still not sure why I touched it.

  Trevor’s still smiling. His hand is on Jessica’s lap, as Daniel’s is on mine. He says, “Actually, it’s not strange at all. What you do is to get a bunch of peanuts, crush them, and … ”

  But he stops as my eyebrows furrow. When I look back up, everyone’s eyes are on me. All over a stupid little tin of peanut butter.

  Trevor’s eyes, looking amused.

  Daniel’s eyes, looking curious.

  And Jessica’s eyes, looking …

  “I haven’t seen peanut butter since I mentioned once that I was allergic,” I say.

  And Jessica’s eyes, looking like she’s trying hard to get me to stop talking — the way you’d stare at someone about to blow a secret, urging them to shut the hell up.

  “What?” I ask.

  The man who brought us the basket, now near the exit, touches his ear the way Secret Service guys touch their ear when receiving a transmission.

  He rushes from the room.

  Daniel rises to run after him.

  “What’s going on?” I repeat.

  But Jessica looks sad, and Trevor is rising to follow Daniel.

  I know I’ve just done something awful.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Daniel

  Motherfucker.

  MOTHER. FUCKER.

  My system has shifted into full fight or flight. And worse, I’m frozen. About to come down with some serious adrenaline blue balls. Even though I know it’s a bad idea, I can’t help chasing the page. I don’t know the guy’s name so I can’t call after him. There are layers between me and the help — I only know the people I see most often. The problem has only exacerbated since the board set up Trevor’s and my arrangement. I used to pride myself on being hands-on. My roots are proud, even caked with shit. We all come from something, and I wasn’t born sucking on a silver spoon. I wanted to keep my hands in the nitty-gritty. But the board — especially once they started sniffing around for partners like GameStorming and others I suspect must be out there — had other plans.

  I speedwalk down the lushly carpeted hallways, asking myself what I plan to do at the end of this errand. I can’t call out for the page because I don’t know his name. I can’t summon security to stop him because those who are officially in charge here would say the page is doing exactly what he’s supposed to do. I can’t even speak aloud — to Trevor, Bridget, or Jessica — because it’ll blow my cover. I’d need to drag them to the hidden room, or to one of the established mind fuck blind spots, if I wanted to discuss what we need to do next. And how would that look to the board?

  I can’t run.

  I won’t walk.

  I can’t stop the man, even if I find him.

  I can’t find him.

  But I won’t stop looking, knowing there’s nothing to be done.

  My mind flashes back to my last meeting with the bo
ard. It was naive and stupid to think I’d handled things. I remember how cocky I felt, as the love bomb settled, especially between Alexa and Welty. Alexa believed; Welty didn’t. But both were effectively handled. Alexa is looking for something to pour her faith into; that’s half of her quest. Eros would claim this contest is about uncovering and then developing an asset. Finding the business version of a chosen one. But for Alexa, it’s barely a joke. For Alexa, this is a long game. A very long game. If she could find a way to be immortal, she’d play the game for thousands of years, however long it took.

  But Welty? He wouldn’t stop staring, as if he saw right through me. Epigenetics is a real thing. Environment truly does change DNA, and not just through radiation. What I told the board made sense: Love made Bridget strong. Love made Bridget special. Problem is, I made it up, as much sense as it potentially made. And Welty knew it, I’m sure.

  His parting words: “I guess we’ll see.”

  Meaning he’d be watching.

  Meaning he wouldn’t wait for assessments. He’d keep his eyes on the live feeds, miss sleep to see where I went, where Bridget went, what we did and said. I didn’t think it mattered. We all knew to stay public until the final elimination, and keep out of the hidden room lest it look like we’re hiding more than we already are. We all knew the sorts of things we could discuss for the microphones’ benefit, and what we had to keep under wraps.

  Jessica’s rolled eyes could raise Walty’s suspicion, if he was watching. But whatever; an allegiance is only bending the rules.

  But what Bridget said could bring it all falling down.

  I turn one corner. Then another. I run into a big, lumpy wall when reaching the third: Tony.

  “Tony,” I say, exhaling with relief. “Thank God you’re here. Look. I need you to track down a page. Short guy. Very pale. Little mustache.”

  Tony laughs a little. He smiles. The hallway’s doors have all been closed — he must have seen the man because he’d have had to scuttle right by. He’s a bit farther on. Tony can catch him for me, get the man’s attention without attracting more suspicion. As to what we do next? Well, that’s a question for later.

  “You want Tim,” he says.

  “Yes. Tim. I need to talk to Tim.”

  “You seem to be in a rush.”

  “It’s urgent.”

  “Why do you need to talk to Tim?” Tony asks.

  “I just do.”

  I consider brushing past Tony to avoid the conversation. But he’s a giant — there’s no way I can get by without shoving.

  “Never mind. Just let me by.”

  Tony looks down at me. His face is conflicted, but he doesn’t step aside.

  “Tony. I really need to talk to him. Right away. Will you please just let me find him?”

  “Tell you what,” Tony finally says. “Why don’t I find him and bring him back to the dining room?”

  I look up at Tony’s massive form. I haven’t seen him for two days. Him or Logan or Richard. We’ve gone from a house of hedonism to one of monogamists. Trevor is with Jessica, and I’m with Bridget. Our hired studs are no longer needed, and it strikes me to wonder if they’ve asked anyone why.

  I’m supposed to be objective, off limits, beyond the contestants’ reach.

  Trevor is supposed to be open, trying the girls out, playing the field to find a match to what the board wants for Eros, and a match for himself, at least in the public eye. An arranged marriage that fires on many cylinders.

  But these days, we don’t need them. And it likely strikes them as strange.

  “How did you know we’re in the dining room?”

  “Just head on back, boss,” Tony says. “I’ll find Tim for you.”

  “Tony? How did you know where we were?”

  “It won’t take long,” Tony says.

  I try to dart past him on one side, but Tony effortlessly pivots to block me. I try the other side, and the standoff repeats.

  “I don’t know what Welty told you, but I promise he’s not on your side.”

  Tony crosses his arms.

  “Let me through, Tony. You and I go too far back for this.”

  “I’m sorry, boss,” Tony says. “I’m just following company orders.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Bridget

  “Jess?”

  After Daniel leaves the room and Trevor rises to follow, it’s just the two of us at the little white-linen table with the expensive silverware and extravagant modern flatware. I watch my coffee swirl, from the stir I gave it what feels like minutes ago. The ice in my water catches the light inside its crystal prison. Soft violins fill the air. I hadn’t noticed the strings until now.

  Jess’s eyes are here, there, everywhere. I know I’ve done something wrong, and I know that as ridiculous as it sounds, it has something to do with my allergy. But I can’t imagine what about that could possibly merit such silent seriousness. Maybe there’s an assault force at the gates, armed with peanuts. Daniel and Trevor have rushed off to protect me, and Jessica’s quiet because a sniper has a bag of peanuts aimed at her head.

  “What’s going on, Jess?”

  She looks around the room, toward me, then around the room again. She seems to wrestle with a difficult decision, then rises, takes my arm, and drags me to a spot near a table with edges that I swear look like real gold. She grabs a pillow on the way, then flops us onto a couch, lies almost flat, and gets very close to me with the pillow over our faces. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she wanted to make out. We’re incredibly tight between the couch, the pillow, and each other. I can smell her face cream. I can smell her breath.

  “You’re not allergic to peanuts,” Jessica says.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Bridget. You’re not allergic. Okay? There was a time, before the rock climbing trip, when we were standing around, before they split us up, and Ivy was hungry. Do you remember that?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jess?” It’s getting hot in here, and it must look terrible. Only, Jessica is making it worse, running her hand up my side, inches from feeling me up. I shake her off, but she persists.

  “Let it stay!” she hisses. “We’re in some shit right now, and if I have to eat you out to make it look good for the cameras, I’ll do it, and you’ll let me. Because this isn’t just about you anymore. Do you understand me?”

  Jessica is so close to me, her intense eyes are like headlights in the dark. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s panicked but strong. It’s a good look on her, as shocked as it makes me.

  “Do you understand?”

  I feel the hand and dismiss it. I do understand. This must look odd to anyone watching, but it’s better that the lookers believe we’re lesbians drawn into an opportunistic tryst rather than conspiracy. Jessica is doing an excellent job of dividing her attention, pawing me with her hand while awaiting my response. Business and pleasure, rolled into one.

  “Y-yes,” I stammer.

  “That day, with the rock climbing. Ivy said she was hungry. Abbie asked if we were going to eat soon. Kylie joked that they’d probably make us sandwiches. Ivy said, ‘Yeah, they’ll probably pack us PB&J.’ And you looked at her. Got it?”

  I blink, afraid to say I haven’t got it at all.

  “Bridget?”

  “O-okay. Yes.” The pillow over our faces, meant to dampen sound in what I can only assume is a space Jess remembers as being somewhat of an auditory dead spot, feels claustrophobic. My face is hot. Our breath fogs the small space between fabric. It makes me want to sweat, and escape into the cool room air.

  “Do you remember?” Jessica demands.

  “Do I remember looking at Ivy?” I say, sure I’m getting this absurd turn of events wrong.

  “I can only work with what actually happened. I’d be great if you’d said something about peanuts, but you didn’t. Halo knows you didn’t. But you did look at her, Bridget. That’s subtle enough that we can argue it.”

  “Argue w
hat?” It comes out too loud, almost angry. I’m so frustrated. Jessica is clearly freaking out, rushing like a clock is ticking. But I don’t know what the hell this is about, though my heart has ramped up to a thousand beats per minute regardless.

  “That it was meaningful when you looked at Ivy. That it was the sort of signal Halo might have misinterpreted as you having a peanut allergy.”

  “But I do have a peanut allergy!”

  The supposedly groping hand grips me instead. Jessica gets a fistful of boob, and it hurts.

  “No you do not! Do you understand me? You are not allergic to peanuts, Bridget! That’s the story! And if, when Daniel comes back, someone brings you a bag of nuts to prove it, you’d better stick a condom in your mouth or something — whatever it takes to swallow them and live. Do you get me?”

  I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, I’m so completely baffled. It must show on my face because Jessica takes a deep breath and whispers on, speaking quickly.

  “What you said just now. About how you haven’t seen peanut butter in the house since you mentioned your allergy?”

  I nod.

  “You haven’t seen it between the day you mentioned your allergy and now because Halo heard you and took it off the menu.”

  “But they brought us peanut butter today.”

  “That’s right,” Jessica says. “Because this morning, Daniel fed the footage of your encounter with Kylie back into Halo, causing the algorithm to erase it. So it’s like Halo has amnesia. It no longer has a record of you saying you have a peanut allergy, so it’s free to serve you peanut butter.”

  “Halo has forgotten I’m allergic because you erased the day I said it from its memory?”

  Jessica nods.

  “Why did you erase it?”

  She heavily sighs then resumes her heavy petting. It probably looks hot from the hidden cameras in the room, but I’ve never experienced anything less erotic.

  “Up until now,” Jessica says, “we’ve been erasing events that would give the rest of us points so you would score better by comparison, and therefore advance in the competition.”