Burning Rivalry (Trevor's Harem #2) (19 page)

And besides, he just said that Trevor seems like he wants to believe. They know exactly who Kylie is, so the idea of this being on her isn’t a stretch. If we don’t rock the boat, I still win. I want out of this. But the bonus is that Kylie, who very much wants to stay, will be out of it with me.

“I don’t want you to try,” I tell him.
 

He’s standing over me. He seems so large, and yet right now his manner strikes me as hopeless.

“I have to do something.”
 

I take him by the collar and pull.
 

“Then kiss me,” I say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I barely sleep.
 

The girlish part of me — the part I normally keep so well hidden, because I prefer my walls high — wishes Daniel could have slept in my bed to calm me. But there’s no way that’s happening, now or ever.

I finished yesterday mostly as normal, but took my meals in my room to avoid everyone’s eyes. It’s not that I’m afraid of them, I’m just so fucking tired of the drama. And besides, being in my room is the one way I can be sure Kylie never enters.
 

Daniel came to me after dinner. The cameras were back on by then (apparently he got special permission last time, in the name of confidentiality, what with all those blown secrets lying around), but he offered to see if he could get them turned back off. I wanted to say yes.
Good God
, did I want to say yes, that last night most of all. But this isn’t just about me. I started yesterday intending to protect him, and I mean to do so until I leave. It’s only fair. Turns out, he’s been watching my back all along.
 

I knew it was our final night. Him being unable to stay despite us both wanting it broke my heart. But I had to be strong enough for us both. So I turned him away. But because nobody can blame Daniel for my bad behavior, I felt no need to restrain myself once he was gone. I made myself come, imagining his touch. Not hard, this time, but gentle like it’s never been. And never will be.
 

I imagined him watching the cameras, watching me. As I’m sure he was.
 

I could feel it.
 

And then I slept fitfully, sure that whenever I rose to use the bathroom, get a drink of water, or toss and turn, that Daniel was with me, separated only by a lens and a few dozen feet of wire. It helped to imagine him sleeping in a control room chair, or maybe not sleeping at all. Being with me. Watching over me, in our last hours no longer together.
 

I always woke thinking of him and knowing where he’d be. Maybe, if it wasn’t Daniel watching the cameras, he could still have whatever of us they captured expunged from the records. I’d be careful; maybe we could get away with it. But then my head cleared. Because what would it change? He’s here. I need to go home. He’s rich; I’m not. He’s forbidden to be with me, lest he lose — in Logan’s words — “everything.” And if I’m smart, I’ll forbid myself from being with him, too. We met on a dirty talk line, then as strangers in an alley. He’s cruel more often than not. It doesn’t matter that there’s something under the surface — something, I’m convinced, that almost nobody knows is there. If I allow myself to love him, I’m still as stupid as I’ve been with every bad boyfriend before.
 

I think of Brandon, who must be sick with worry. I think of how he accused me of desiring my own destruction.
 

I toss. I turn. Morning takes its time to dawn.
 

There’s a knock on my door as I’m getting dressed. I open it expecting to see another Single-Serving Helper, but instead I see a silver tray with handles sitting on the floor just outside, like something in a movie. There’s a cup of coffee, a single rose in a slender vase, and, as the main attraction, a breakfast burrito. I have a hard time believing that breakfast burritos are being served in the dining room, where I’d rather not go just yet. I’m about to shrug and eat the strange delivery when I see a slip of paper tucked under the plate. It’s written in Daniel’s handwriting and seems to be an explanation for the presence of a breakfast burrito inside a multimillion-dollar estate. It simply says,
Because you’re so low-brow.

I laugh, then eat my breakfast alone, suddenly sad about this long anticipated day.

I touch up my makeup after, careful to dab away the grease that only seems to confirm Daniel’s written accusation about my status. I look into the mirror, feeling even more strongly than ever that Daniel is with me. As if he’s right over my shoulder, or like I’m staring into his eyes instead of into this mirror.
 

I spend more time than usual getting ready, partially because I have time to kill before the elimination (as announced on yet another of those fancy envelopes slipped under my door) and partially because I figure I might as well go out in style. Trevor thinks it saves face for his side if I stay to be eliminated rather than leaving on my own? Fine. I’ll save face right back by looking my best while getting the axe. Stare Trevor in the eye when he knocks me out, holding my head high. Because even though I like Trevor and could see dating him if things were different, he brought me here to have sex with him but never did. This place twisted me. But contrary to Daniel’s prediction, it never broke me.

Maybe I’m better for having been here. A bit more humbled. A little less naive. Everyone takes her lumps in life. I’ve earned my scars — plenty of them literal. This place gave me some more. Now that I’m leaving, they’ll be tools in my life’s toolbox.
 

When I walk down to the Great Room, I do so with a straight spine, in a knee-length Prada with matching black heels that I sincerely hope I get to keep. Because bitch, I’m rocking them both.
 

I’m apparently last to arrive, which doesn’t particularly shock me. Everyone is nervous. Six of the girls in front of me are about to be fifty thousand dollars richer and that much closer to bagging their big, hot, rich fish. I can’t be the only one who slept poorly, and some of the girls probably didn’t eat (nervous stomach, eating disorder), but I’m sure we’re all here. There is social backstabbing to partake in, and drama to magnify. A disgraced, traitorous contestant to discuss behind her back.
 

At least half of the expressions when I enter silently say,
You’ve got some nerve, showing your face around here today
.
 

They probably think I’d have done better to leave yesterday like I wanted, before Trevor (through Daniel) convinced me to stay. I’m doing the host a favor by staying, but that’s not how the other girls see it. To them, I don’t know when I’m not wanted. I’m a gold digger who couldn’t resist grabbing one final paycheck.
 

Well, fuck them.

Fuck Kylie, her smug look, and that stupid little silver stud.

Fuck Ivy, hanging on Kylie’s hip like she has no mind of her own.
 

Fuck Roxy and that gap between her teeth. I’ll bet when she’s out sucking the fifty daily dicks that find their way into her mouth, she drools sperm through that gap before swallowing. And then I’ll bet the men that whore is blowing yell at her, saying,
Clean that up, you sloppy cunt
. And then she cries.

All conversation stops as they turn to watch me enter. I’m the prodigal daughter returning, and now they’re dazzled by how great my ass looks in this dress. The men, studded throughout the women like smoking-hot ushers, must be thinking about how after Bridget is gone, they’ll to have to settle for these remainders.
 

Seeing Erin breaks my spell. Stupid Erin. She’s not properly haughty, as befitting a member of Team Bridget. She looks sad and slightly defeated. Like she feels sorry for me. Jessica is beside her. To Jessica’s credit, she looks far less somber than Erin. First of all, she’s stunning, with her chestnut hair so perfectly done, her girl-next-door features, and the body, wrapped in a dress much like mine, though she’s honestly wearing it better.
 

The awkward moment breaks, and conversation slowly returns to normal. There are no helpers here, no aides, no staff. Just me, eleven other contestants of varying sympathy or bitchiness, our three studs, Trevor, and Daniel. The men are all wearing suits, but Trevor and Daniel are fully buttoned, not flapping open like Logan, Tony, and Richard. They look like they could be on their way to an evening gala. I lock eyes with Daniel, silent meaning passing between us. He can’t save me this time. But I still look him over from head to toe, from polished black shoes to short, styled hair. He looks almost respectable. Only an inch of tattoo, barely visible as scattered black spikes above his starched white collar, reveals the anarchy lurking beneath. Right now, he strikes me as a gentleman. If things were different, he could take my hand as I step into a Rolls, headed off to dance the night away.
 

Trevor clears his throat. We all stop and watch him standing beside Daniel as he pulls six long-stemmed roses from a side table, just like on that stupid TV show.
 

“Let’s take five minutes,” he says, “and then we’ll begin.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I guess the short break before the elimination is meant for everyone to use the bathroom, freshen up, and generally gather our collective shit before we have our nerves played like a child’s drum kit. I can tell everyone is nursing well-contained nerves. At least everyone but me. In a strange way, it’s nice to know you’re a dead woman walking with no nasty surprises lying in wait.
 

A few of the girls leave and come back a few minutes later, but most stay and mill, chattering nervously, pretending this isn’t painful. I’ve ended up more or less where I think we’ll stand at attention for this farce, eager to get it over with. Erin and Jessica come to me, Erin rubbing my arm in what’s probably supposed to be comfort. It strikes me almost as funny for five seconds, but then I realize how sweet it is, and how sad she looks. I try to think of my mascara to keep myself from crying.
 

“I’m so sorry, Bridget,” she says.
 

Jessica is looking around for Kylie, who’s vanished. Her pretty, lightly freckled face is clouded with anger. “We know you didn’t do it.”

“Everyone does,” Erin adds.
 

“And we know she did. Everyone knows that, too.”

I look at the front of the room and see Trevor arranging the roses on a large, dark-wood table. I catch a glance, and that almost hurts as much as Erin’s comfort. I know he doesn’t entirely believe I’m at fault. But given the guilt in his timid little look, I also know that his hands, as much as Daniel’s, are tied.

“Tell him that,” I say, nodding at Trevor.
 

“Abbie was with him last night. She said he knows.” Jessica gives me a regretful little shrug. “But I guess it’s really bad news that you
said
what you did, even if you didn’t know what you were saying. About Caspian White. That was a big deal. Abbie makes it sound like there’s someone else, like maybe someone in the company, sticking their nose into this. And if Trevor chooses a wife that has even the
appearance
of impropriety, like she can’t keep a secret … ” She trails off.
 

“Like she’s just a gossipy bitch.”
 

“Pretty much.”
 

“It’s fine, Jess. Erin. Really, it’s okay.” And to prove it, I tell them a bit about Linda. A hint, so they believe I have more important fish to fry, and that I’m not just saying I want to go home to make them feel better.

Kylie finally returns just as it seems Trevor is about to get started. Jessica’s eyes train on her. She says, “But they know
Kylie’s
a thief, too, Bridget. Nobody can pin her down, but we all know it. The stuff she tried laying on you, she had to steal it all first. So unless I’m misunderstanding how seriously Eros takes its security and values its secrets … ”
 

I smile. The expression, finally, feels genuine. “Thanks,” I say.
 

They both excuse themselves and run off, saying they’d better be quick if they want to make it to the washroom and back before the eliminations get started. After Erin and Jessica are gone, the remaining girls form a semicircle without being instructed, looking up at Trevor. I find myself with Kat on my right, her disapproval obvious and intense. She won’t look over, and her pixie lips don’t crack from their straight line.
 

“So,” says the girl on my left. “You stayed.”
 

It’s Kylie. Of course.
 

“That’s brave of you. I had you pegged for a quitter.”
 

“Funny,” I say. “I always had
you
pegged for a bitch.”
 

Kylie gives me a sardonic smile. “I told you from the start. You’re out of your league. You never had a chance.”
 

“I never wanted one.”
 

“Really.”
 

I turn to face her, feeling strong. Or, perhaps more accurately, like someone with nothing to lose.
 

“Really,” I repeat. “And I guess that’s what you forgot to consider while trying to figure out how to
get me back
: that I never wanted to win this thing. Ever, even from Day One.”