#charlieriley

Reese steps closer, still several inches shoeter than Riley, even in her heels. She looks Riley up and down, disdain in her gaze. Looks at Riley's right hand, her nails, cocks her head to the side. "Riley, darling, don't tell me you take turns." "That's... personal," she says as her face heats up, and she goes to turn her head away. Coffin nails suddenly digging into her chin stop her. "Personal?" Reese asks, faux concern in her voice. "It's personal? You're practically drooling over the biggest sack of shit in Midlands while standing in the middle of a hotel hallway—a hotel hallway that has cameras, for the record—and you say 'it's personal?' Darling, the only personal thing about that is how personally close you got to someone much more vindictive than me finding you and getting you fired for fraternization!" "It's not fraternization," Riley manages to reply, somehow. "I'm not stupid enough to date a contestant while the show is going on." Just do everything else, apparently. Reese lets out a laugh of disbelief. "Oh, lovely, my second in command is being fucked by Charlie the Chump and they haven't even defined the relationship!" Reese releases Riley's chin with a flick of her hand. Riley is certain Reese's nails left imprints on her skin. She doesn't dare reach up to touch them. "I can't believe you let her touch you, christ. Follow me." Riley follows.

"You lied to me!" Charlie accuses, quick to follow Riley out of the room. Riley rolls her eyes, walks faster, heading towards a quieter area of the hotel. "Stop—fucking strutting away from me, you lied to me!" "You recovered beautifully," Riley reassures her, not bothering to slow down. "I needed to lie, Charlie, it was for the edit. We needed that genuine surprise on your face." She chances a glance back at Charlie through a window, winces at the look on Charlie's face. Right. She's going to need a bit more. "Oh, don't look at me like that. That close up on you solidifying your resolve after realizing the situation? The edits to Sabrina Carpenter are going crazy. I've seen more fancams of you in the last hour than of Rob in the last week." A pause. "You're watching fancams of Rob?" The offense in Charlie's voice is laughable. But Riley doesn't laugh. She's not stupid. Anger is vulnerability for Charlie. Instead, Riley spins around, places herself in front of Charlie, focusing Charlie to suddenly stop walking just in time to avoid collision. Charlie wobbles as she does so, nearly overcorrects, fixes it—barely. Once it's clear Charlie isn't going to fall, Riley brings her hand to Charlie's chin, tilts it up until they're making eye contact. Charlie looks angry. Jealous. Good. "Baby, I told you, I'm watching more fancams of you," Riley says, pitching her voice deeper. She knows the tone that she knows Charlie can't resist. She squares her shoulders, tosses her hair back. Watches Charlie watch how jacket shifts with the movement, revealing her collarbones. "They're loving you."