Page 45 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

“Hey, drink some of this first.” Lennon sat beside her and gently guided her up.

Avery groaned but obliged. She accepted the open bottle from Lennon and took long, slow gulps. Once she’d had enough, Lennon put it on the table between the two beds as Avery sank her head into the pillows.

“What if he’s making a mistake?” Avery mumbled.

“Who?” Lennon asked. “You mean Chad?”

“They were together for so long. Like you and Dylan. What if she’s his Lennon?”

Lennon froze, unsure of what to say to that. A knock rapped on the door. If it were a cameraman or that male model, so help her.

“I’ll be right back,” Lennon said.

Cracking open the door, Lennon released a sigh of relief at the petite pregnant woman on the other side.

“Hey, is Avery with you?” Candace asked, clear-eyed and sober. “My husband said he saw you bringing her to your room.”

“Yeah. Where’ve you been?” Lennon didn’t bother to hide the judgment in her tone. Why had no one been looking out for the bride, especially when she was upset over Steph?

“We’ve been hiding out in my room. He stepped out to find me some food.” Candace cradled her baby bump through her simple, draped dress. “I dipped out shortly after you left the fire pit. Everyone was starting to get too shit-faced.”

Lennon opened the door wider. She gestured toward Avery as Candace stepped inside. “She’s in a very … vulnerable state. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Lennon shut the door on the cameraman again. Candace’s delicate brow sunk inward at Avery curled up on the bed, the expression on her face suggesting guilt. And dread. “I didn’t think this party was a good idea,” she remarked quietly.

“Why’d you come, then?”

Candace’s expression hardened, mouth flattening into a line. “Same reason you did.”

While the comment was vague enough, Lennon knew what she meant. Money .

Candace’s round eyes flitted to the ceiling—to a white, spherical device mounted in the corner opposite the beds. At first glance, it looked like a security system or smoke detector, but the truth hit Lennon with a wave of nausea.

A camera. Probably equipped with night vision.

Carol Anne had told her the bathrooms were the only rooms safe from cameras. Silly Lennon for thinking the bedroom would afford her privacy, too. How many partygoers were too drunk to remember the fine print and were unwittingly performing acts on camera that they would later regret?

Lennon’s stomach churned. This really was a hellscape.

“Have you seen Dylan?” Lennon asked, every muscle in her body pulled tighter than a violin string. She needed to warn him.

“No. He’s probably with the guys.”

“I need to let him know I’m leaving.” Lennon rested her hand on her abdomen, wrinkling her forehead to really sell it. “I’m not feeling well.”

Candace gave her a knowing look but didn’t say anything.

Lennon dug her phone out of her luggage and checked her messages in case he’d gone back to his room. Nothing. She sent him a text just in case.

Lennon: Where are you?

Lennon checked on Avery while Candace went to the bathroom to run a washcloth under water. She’d drifted off to sleep.

Lennon couldn’t stay here. No amount of money was worth it.

As Candace returned and folded the damp cloth over Avery’s forehead, Lennon pounded out a text to Bruno.

Lennon: Hey, it’s Lennon. How fast can you get back here? I’m leaving.

As the text flew off, Lennon said, “I’m going to see if I can find Dylan.”

“I’ll look after Avery,” Candace assured her.

Lennon tucked her phone in the waistline of her skirt as she strode toward the door.

“Hey, Lennon—” Candace smiled softly as Lennon turned to her. “Thanks for looking out for Avery.”

Lennon returned the smile, not wanting to think about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t found her when she did.

She made her way down the hallway back to the party, the cameraman on her heels.

Lennon wound through a maze of booze, bodies, and bubbles. She wasn’t sure where the latter had even come from. Dubstep music pumped omni presently through hidden speakers, and gold G-strings and bras hung from the crystal chandeliers lining one of the main hallways.

Someone clipped Lennon’s shoulder as they ran past her.

“Hey, watch it—” The sight of bare, bouncing breasts stopped her short as the woman stumbled past her, giggling at the rumble of animalistic noises following her.

A drunk man in a toga made a strange combination of monkey/howling noises as he raced after her with a cup in hand, beer sloshing over the top onto the floor.

Lennon tucked into the wall as he barreled past her.

The splash of booze narrowly missed her.

Across the hall, beyond a dining room, white soap suds filled an entire Olympic-sized pool like a bed of clouds. Arms and heads peeked out from the fluffy substance.

The party had made a swift descent into chaos.

There had been a few memorable times in her life when Lennon hadn’t felt safe, like being alone in a handsy record executive’s office or walking back to her apartment alone at 2 a.m. after a gig at a dive bar. Tonight carried that same energy.

Filming for the show had been uncomfortable at its worst, awkward at its best, but this felt different. Lennon’s instincts buzzed with warning.

She needed to get the hell out of there, but she couldn’t leave without telling Dylan first.

Lennon checked her phone again. The text to Dylan was still trying to send, but Bruno replied that he was fifteen minutes out. Why wasn’t the one to Dylan going through? Had he switched his phone off? She thanked Bruno and shot off another text to Dylan.

After a several minutes of searching, Lennon spotted Chad exiting the billiards room. He was at least a head taller than everyone else. She sprinted down the hall to catch him. “Chad—hey!”

Chad stopped, turned. It took him a moment to recognize her in his drunken state. “Heyyyyyy. Lennon.”

“Have you seen Dylan?”

“Uhhh … yeah, he was heading upstairs by himself. Not surprised he tapped out early.”

Neither was Lennon. Her guilt weighed heavier by the minute. He’d come for her. “Do you know which room is his?”

Chad could only point her toward the groom’s wing on the opposite side of the manor from the bride’s.

Lennon climbed the winding stairs, slipping past the tangle of bodies making out on them. The noise of the party tapered off as she reached the top and a long, vast hall.

Alexei, the model who had shown her to her room earlier, stepped out of one of the rooms. The gold makeup around his mouth was smeared. He stopped when he saw her.

“Hey, do you know which one Dylan Strickland is in?” Lennon asked. Her attention darted briefly to the handprints across his abdomen.

He directed her to the second door on the left, then passed her without a word.

As she approached it, music seeped out from the other side. Something wasn’t right. Maybe Alexei had gotten the room wrong.

Lennon swallowed and knocked. “Hey, Dylan? Are you in there? It’s me.”

An unsettling feeling roiled in her gut as seconds passed with no answer. She was about to knock again when the door opened. The music—a dark, sultry beat—poured into the hallway. A brunette clad in a white bra and a micro skirt leaned on the door.

“You bring us more shots?” she slurred. Rhinestones glued above her breasts spelled out brANDIE.

Lennon tried to look past the stranger’s shoulder as more laughter came from inside, buried under the loud music. With a swift, forceful push, Lennon sent the door swinging open and the stranger staggering backward.

“Ow! What the hell?” Brandie whined.

Kelsey guided Dylan’s hands around her waist as she danced against him.

Dylan took a step back and stumbled onto the bed—with Kelsey.

A yelp launched out of her as she fell on top of him, her legs tangling with his, a hand braced on his chest. One of his arms hung around her waist, flopping to the bed after a moment. She giggled into the crook of his neck.

Lennon’s heart sank to her stomach.

“Who are you?” questioned Brandie.

Kelsey lifted her head and caught sight of Lennon. “Oh, shit. Lennon—” A breathy laugh slipped from her lips.

Dylan looked like he was struggling to stay awake. Dazed. He rolled his head to the side, groaning.

It snapped Lennon out of her frozen state.

He wasn’t sober.

Fire lit through her veins as she crossed the room. She clasped a hand around Kelsey’s arm and wrenched her off Dylan. The blonde gracelessly stumbled off the bed, nearly falling.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Kelsey ripped her arm away from Lennon.

“What the fuck are YOU doing?” Lennon shot back. “What happened to him? Why is he unconscious?”

Kelsey rolled her eyes. “He’s not unconscious .” Dylan dragged his head to the center, bringing a hand to his face. “See? He’s just relaxed.”

The music pounded against Lennon’s skull. “What happened to him?”

“What do you think?”

Lennon’s gaze fell to the plastic cups and empty liquor bottles littering the end table. It didn’t make sense.

Had their conversation in the bathroom sent him over the edge? Had she pushed him too far?

The cameraman settled into the corner of the room. A chill swept through her.

No. Dylan wouldn’t. Not here. Not with everything at stake.

Lennon’s body vibrated—practically shook with rage. She fixed her attention on the bed. “Dylan,” she said through gritted teeth. “ Dylan . Wake. Up.” She grabbed his arm lying across the bed and shook it.

Dylan swept his hand down his face. His chin squished against his chest as he lifted his head, squinting. “Lennon?”

“You his girlfriend or somethin’?” Brandie picked up one of the cups from the other end table. She sniffed it, then took a sip.

“Ex,” Kelsey interjected. She pushed her fallen strap up her shoulder and rested a hip against the bedside table. “Honestly, Lennon—you’re starting to look desperate. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing is forcing yourself on someone,” Lennon bit back without turning around.

Kelsey laughed. “Are you serious right now? Are you really this delusional? I’m not the one forcing herself on him, babe …”

“What’s going on?” Dylan mumbled, the words clumsy on his tongue. His eyelids seemed to fight against staying open. What did they do to him? Fear clamped a fist around her.

“We’re getting the fuck out of here,” Lennon answered. “Where’s your phone?”

Dylan swallowed. “Pocket.”

Lennon checked, relieved to find it deep in the left pocket of his pants. Turned off. “Come on. Let’s go.” She balanced a knee on the bed for leverage and guided him to a seated position.

“ Oh , my God,” Kelsey said as if suffering secondhand embarrassment. “Where the hell are you taking him? This is his room.”

“Home.” Lennon wrapped her arm around his torso as he flopped his arm over her shoulders. “Can you stand?” Dylan mumbled an affirmation. He was a lot heavier than Avery as she guided him up. He reeked of booze and Kelsey’s perfume.

Kelsey was lucky Lennon’s hands were full.

Lennon led Dylan toward the door. They passed another cameraman in the hall.

She clung to a singular focus: Get downstairs and out of that fucking mansion.