Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Potato stands and stretches his hand across the desk. “Paul Simplot.” He rattles off a long title that doesn’t mean a damn thing to me other than he’s the one in charge. “I’m the one you want to speak to, anyway.”
“And me,” Matt adds in such a needy, pathetic tone, I cringe with secondhand embarrassment for the dude.
I lift an eyebrow at Paul. He subtly lifts his shoulders in a lets-humor-him gesture that doesn’t put me at ease. We’re not on the same side here.
“What’s on your mind, Griffin?” Paul points at the chair across from him and takes his seat behind the desk again.
“I found out that the show’s already airing. And it seems to have nothing to do with what’s actually happening here.” I stab my finger toward the floor. “It’s causing havoc for the people I care about at home.”
“How did you…Who let you…” Matt stutters.
Even though I threw Jordan up against a wall less than fifteen minutes ago, I’m less eager to throw him under the bus with his boss. “Don’t worry about that. The point is, the show’s airing lies and it needs to stop.”
“This is unacceptable,” Matt snips. “He should be sent home, now. He’s violated the rules.”
“Easy.” Paul holds up a hand. “We send him home now, we lose a lot of viewers.” He turns his cold, flat brown eyes on me. “And you’ll lose out on a lot of money.”
“No amount of money is worth having my reputation torn to shreds.”
“Reputation?” Matt snorts. “How is fucking that young, hot Barbie look-alike going to ruin your reputation, stud?”
So, they know exactly why I’m here and why I’m pissed.
My hands curl into fists but I don’t so much as flick my gaze in Matt’s direction. I continue as if he hadn’t even spoken.
“I don’t give a fuck what contracts I signed. You can’t keep me here against my will,” I warn in calm, confident voice, even though I’m making shit up as I go. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re breaking your end of the bargain by telling those lies.”
Paul’s lips twist with annoyance but my words seem to be hitting their target.
“If I have to walk my ass back to Johnsonville, I will,” I add. “Feel free to sue me for my collection of vintage T-shirts.”
Paul steeples his hands in front of his face and leans forward. “You think that’s the worst we can do to you? I’ll keep you tied up in litigation for the next decade. Garnish your wages for the next twenty years.”
“I got two lawyers in my family ready to go, so do your worst.” Small lie. The two lawyers I know are wives of officers in the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club. But I’ve been invited to family dinner night at their clubhouse. That’s close enough, right?
Paul hesitates, as if he’s actually worried about my toothless threats. “Name your demands. I assume you want to be the last one standing?”
“I don’t want to win something that’s rigged,” I protest.
Paul rolls his eyes. “You must be the first.”
I glare at him.
“Fine, what do you want?” he asks. “We need you to stay until you’re sent home. You’re in the unique position of holding some leverage here.”
Leverage. Huh. Never had any of that in my life before.
“One—stop showing footage of my girlfriend. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Paul leans forward. “I’m entertaining your little tantrum because you’ve grown a pretty solid fan base, but don’t push it.”
“Trust me, when I’m having a tantrum, you’ll know.” I lean forward, so we’re almost nose-to-nose over his desk. “Stop showing Molly’s face. I don’t give a fuck about the release Diane tricked her into signing. Molly is not part of this.”
A slight smile—that should probably warn me something’s not right—tilts the corners of Paul’s mouth. “Fine.” He sits back against his chair. “We don’t need her anymore anyway.”
Wasn’t expecting him to agree so quickly. “Stop insinuating that I fucked Kiki. You know that’s not what happened.”
Paul shrugs and raises his hands toward the ceiling, proclaiming his false innocence. “Who can really say with all the footage we have to go through. Maybe we got mixed up.”
Fuck, I want to punch this guy.
“That’s it?” Paul lowers his hands to the desk and clasps them in front of him again. “You really aren’t going to ask to win the show and all that money?”
“No.” I frown. After all the interviews and psych tests I had to do, these guys didn’t learn a damn thing about me. “I’m the best fuckin’ fighter in this house. If I win, I want to win fairly.”
“Sweet summer child,” Mark mutters.
Paul smirks but doesn’t say anything.
I tap my fist against the desk. “But all right, since we’re talking about money—the show’s paying to fix the car my girlfriend destroyed when she saw the last episode.”
“Holly shit.” Jordan whistles, startling me. How’d I forget him standing against the wall like a creepy statue? “Why didn’t we think to get a camera crew up there when that aired? What a missed opportunity.”