Sterling and Charlotte—and between them, Trina.

“This is a stupid game,” Trina said.

“Do I need to throw you over?” Sterling asked her.

Last one down pays the price. Charlotte was wary enough of Liv’s ever-changing moods to fear she’d make good on that threat, but the alternative was leaving Sterling up here alone with the girl he’d picked up.

He knew I’d be here. He knew I’d be here, and he brought her anyway.

That thought buzzing through her brain—and her bones and her blood—Charlotte grabbed the whiskey bottle off the ground and took a swig. Then she walked to the edge.

Instead of jumping, she dove.

CHAPTER 46

Forty-five minutes before the party was scheduled to start, Victoria pried me away from the dossiers and escorted me down to the guesthouse. Because, of course, the Gutierrez lake estate had a guesthouse. When we opened the front, we were greeted by utter silence.

Then I heard an eep that was almost certainly Sadie-Grace.

Victoria was undaunted. “They must have brought out the scissors.”

That was not the most comforting thing I’d ever heard.

“Scissors,” I repeated. “Why would we need scissors?”

In answer, Victoria led me to a small—or at least, smaller, relative to the main house—living room. White Gloves and Candidates sat scattered around the room wearing nothing but their bras and panties.

As promised, one of the White Gloves held a pair of gleaming metal scissors.

“I may be off base here,” I said, “but I was under the impression that getting ready involved clothing.”

Victoria shrugged and shed her own dress. “This way, none of us will get hair on our clothes.”

Popular culture had led me to believe that “trust exercises” generally involved falling backward and allowing another person to catch you. But for the White Gloves, trust seemed to involve two key things: underwear and scissors.

“I’ll go first.” Campbell was awfully blasé for someone whose auburn tresses were practically trademarked. She shook out her hair. “It’s getting a little unruly anyway.”

Campbell’s hair was many things, but unruly wasn’t one of them. She was wearing it wavy, not straight—this was the lake, after all—but the waves were salon-perfect, unlike my own hair, which had a habit of waving itself right into knots.

“Who wants to do the honors?” Campbell asked. Hope raised her hand and gave a wiggle of her fingertips. The scissors were passed to her.

“Any requests?” she asked Campbell, giving a snip or two of the blades.

Campbell smiled, undaunted. “Surprise me.”

The room held its collective breath as Hope began finger-combing Campbell’s hair, and then—snip.

A lock of auburn hair, an inch or so long, fell to the floor. More followed. The result brought the hair next to Campbell’s face up in a subtle frame.

“Not bad,” Hope commented before passing the scissors on to Nessa.