“That was on purpose.”
“I saw your welcome bag in the garbage, so I’m assuming it’s okay if I keep the coffee mug? Thought I’d give the matching set to my parents for their anniversary.”
She glared at him.
“Excellent,” he said. “Thanks. Also, the rest of us decided to let you be team captain.”
“That wasn’t open for discussion.”
“But a team captain has to lead, so at some point you’re going to have to, you know, talk to us.”
Carter was stealing glances at them from the middle row. When she saw Sierra looking, she spun away again. Adi, in the seat across from her, was pretending to read a book, but Sierra could tell he was paying more attention than it appeared.
“I’ll talk to you during the round,” Sierra said to Beck.
“We’d work better as a team if we got to know each other.”
Sierra ground her teeth. He had a point, but she didn’t want to concede.
“As for the team name,” he went on, opening the Notes app on his phone, “Carter and I were brainstorming, and we have a few ideas—”
“Team Helsing.”
Beck looked up from his screen. “What?”
“Or Van Helsing. I’ll let you decide.” There. Some generosity for the group.
“Hel—” Beck’s eyes cleared. “Like the vampire hunter?”
“Youarea smart one.”
“But isn’t . . . ?” Beck closed his phone, glancing around to make sure none of the nearby contestants were listening. “Isn’t that . . . ?”
“A reference to the room my sister was found dead in? Yeah.” Sierra bared her teeth in a smile. “The producers will eat it up.”
“I don’t think—”
“Listen. I know how this works. They want drama. Outrage. That’s why they brought me back. So let’s give them what they want.”
“You don’t seem like the type to give people what they want.”
“Are you kidding? You think I’maccidentallycreating scandal?” She lowered her voice so Beck had to crane closer to hear. “And if we provide it, what might the producers do to keep us playing?”
Beck’s expression slowly shifted. From confusion to comprehension to stubborn disbelief. “They wouldn’t rig the game.”
“It’s a reality show, not reality. We’re their puppets. So dance, little Pinocchio, and maybe they’ll keep us on the strings long enough to get that cash. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
A beat.
“Yeah. Obviously.”
The hesitation was interesting.
What did Beck want besides the cash?
His expression changed again, into one of curiosity. “So then . . .” He gestured to her. “How much of this is an act?”
“Fuck off, Pinocchio.”
