Page 9 of Rival for Rent

“Come on, man.” I pushed. “He’s listed for two seats, isn’t he?”

“He’s in the Dogwood Box,” he said reluctantly. “But I still don’t think—”

“I’m running late already,” I said, cutting him off. “If he doesn’t want me there, he can kick me out and you’ll see me again shortly. But right now, I don’t have time for this.”

I pushed past him, not quite running. The Dogwood Box. That helped. I wouldn’t have to scan the whole theater to find Kai. Even if he wasn’t a patron, he clearly had friends who were. And he was still important enough that even the low-level staff knew his name.

What the hell had Kai been up to since high school?

I made my way up to the second floor, then the third, until I found the Dogwood box, right up next to the stage. A self-important-looking usher was stationed outside, but the hallway lights were flashing, signaling the show was about to begin. I didn’t give the guy a chance to speak before brushing past him and into the box.

It was swanky inside—red velvet everywhere, silk drapes framing the space like something out of a palace. Three heads turned to stare at me—Kai, and an older couple in their sixties, seated towards the front. The woman wore an off-the-shoulder evening dress in deep blue, a massive blue rock set in a gold necklace at her throat. A sapphire, maybe? Those were blue, right? The man beside her wore a navy tuxedo. He was smoothing his thinning gray hair with a confused expression as I entered.

“I thought you said your friend changed his mind,” the woman said to Kai.

Kai glared at me. “I thought he did. Excuse me a moment.” His voice was as sharp as the diamonds—I was pretty sure they were diamonds—encrusting the pin in the woman’s hair.

He stalked over to me in the back of the box. It’s hard to stalk in a space that small—it only took four steps to reach me—but he managed it. He dropped his voice to a furious whisper.

“I told you to go home.”

“You did,” I agreed. “But I never said I would.”

“How did you even find me?” he hissed.

“You weren’t exactly hard to follow.”

It took effort to keep my temper in check these days. The military had rubbed away a lot of my social graces. Still, I worked at it, because it wasn’t fair to take my frustrations out on other people. But Kai’s relentless rudeness was starting to wear thin.

“If you’re worried enough to need a bodyguard,” I said, keeping my voice low, “you might want to make yourself a little less easy to find.”

He made a disgusted noise deep in his throat. “I don’t need a bodyguard. And I don’t need you. Now leave. You’re upsetting my hosts, and I need to make a good impression tonight.”

I glanced over his shoulder. The couple was watching us with curiosity, but they didn’t look upset.

“They don’t seem bothered,” I said. “Why do you need to impress them? Are they the people you’re worried about?”

“They’re not the people I—” Kai cut himself off, eyes flashing. “I don’t have to explain this to you. It’s none of your business. The only person I’m worried about right now is you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.” I placed a hand on his arm. I wasn’t trying to restrain him—just to reach through the wall of heat radiating off him like a stove on high. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but you called Dana’s company looking for a bodyguard. I’m not going to walk away and leave you in danger just because you’ve got some unresolved high school grudge. Grow up.”

“Grow up?” Kai repeated, incredulous. “Grow. Up?” He shook his head, seething. “I cannot fucking believe thatyou, of all people, think you have the right to say that to me. Not after what you did.”

“What I did?” I blinked. “All I’m trying to do is help you.”

“You’re insane.” His voice rose slightly, eyes wide. “Or delusional. Or—fuck, I don’t even know. But I’m telling you now, I’m not in danger, and I don’t want you here.”

“You already paid for my—”

“Keep the money,” he spat. “I don’t care.”

Didn’t care? I didn’t know all the details, but I was pretty sure my time tonight wasn’t coming cheap. I’d been worried about not getting change from that cabbie, and here Kai was, throwing a few hundred bucks away like it was nothing. Looking around the plush box, at his well-dressed friends, maybe it really was.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Everyone in high school knew Kai came from money. His family could afford tuition at our private school without blinking—unlike Dana, who got in on an academic scholarship, or me, who barely squeaked by thanks to football. Definitely not on academic merit.

Kai’s family had lived in a mansion right next to the school’s parkland campus. His dad was in politics, and his mom had her own cable news show. Not exactly scraping by.

Meanwhile, Dana and I took two buses to school every morning and came home to a house that was falling apart in Prince George’s County. We were the scholarship kids. His tuition probably paid for my entire sophomore year.

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