You most definitely never will, you sick fuck, I thought. Did Troy actually have feelings for my husband, or had it all just been a mutually beneficial power move? How deep in was he?
“Shall we discuss your eleven o’clock number last night?” he asked.
“I was just… in the moment,” I replied, desperate to evacuate.
“Right,” he purred. “Well, why argue semantics when it’ll never air?”
“What?”
“It’s poorly filmed, and the sound is…yikes. Zara’s great at logistics, but that woman’s never taken an actual filmmaking class in her life. It’s like a home movie from the world’s gloomiest camping trip. That doesn’t even take the Bhaduris into consideration.”
My face flushed. “Erika will want this out there. It’s the truth.”
He scoffed, trademark charm officially jettisoned. “Can you imagine the firestorm of public opinion? You already ripped Arjun out of the closet once. The network won’t be complicit in you doing it again from beyond the grave.” He rocked smugly in his swivel chair. “But, hey, at least you got it off your chest. That’s what really counts, right?”
I fought to keep my breath even. That footage would air, but I had more immediate problems than censorship. Namely, resisting the urge to strangle Troy. He dismissed me, confident I’d been cowed into submission—exactly what I needed.
I darted into Greta’s old room, and Erika shot up from the sofa next to Imogen. “Did you bring me here so he could ambush me again?” shedemanded angrily of Imogen, but I frantically barricaded myself against the door to relay Melange’s news.
“I thought Barnes fuckedShawnat that party,” Erika replied, clearly skeptical.
“Multitasking was never his issue,” Imogen muttered.
“But why be all over Troy publicly?” Erika asked. “Wouldn’t a married senator care if someone saw him groping a guy?”
“My husband filmed himself ejaculating onto the American flag. I think it’s safe to say he’s been overconfident in people’s discretion.”
“Because it was awrapparty!” Imogen exclaimed. “Troy would outrank virtually every person there, and no one’s snitching on the network’s golden boy. He was untouchable.”
“Still, this photo doesn’t prove they did anything but maybe flirt,” Erika said.
“But they’ve known each other,” I insisted. “Since last year, at least. There’s no way that doesn’t impact how Troy would treat me.”
“Which sucks for you, but the producers have favorites every year,” Erika countered.
“You don’t think Troy rigs this so Barnes beats all of us?”
Her eyes narrowed as she made to leave. “You think I’m not used to a rigged system? I’ll figure it out, but your drama is not my problem.”
“Troy said he’d bury the footage from last night.”
She halted, shaking her head in disgust. “Damn.”
“Can’t Melange send Zara the photo as proof they met before?” Imogen asked.
“Even I met Troy beforeEndeavorcast me,” Erika dismissed. “You need to prove Troy sabotaged Luke to benefit Barnes, or that he fucked BarnesafterBarnes became a contestant. Otherwise they’ll argue nothing affected the game and weasel out of it.”
I collapsed on Greta’s bed in frustration, feeling a lump underneath. I winced, remembering Greta had stashed Shawn’s sunglasses there.
“We could steal Troy’s phone?” Imogen proposed, to which Erika just rolled her eyes.
I lifted the mattress to discover not sunglasses but a rolled-up notebook, bound in rubber bands. The pages unfurled, scarred in Greta’s middle school girl cursive—with PB’s missing tape recorder sandwiched in the middle. A few lines revealed what I’d found.
“We don’t need to steal a phone,” I marveled. “We need to steal a car.”
“So you leaked the video of Shawn and Luke to TMZ?”
“No, Greta, I said there wouldn’t be consequences for thepersonwho leaked it. The network won’t complain about free press from a video they could never air.”
