This is a sham, a mockery of everything I’ve held dear. This is the residual side effect of something I never got to experience myself—something Lex stole from me and used without my consent—and that hurts more than I can say.
Acting was an art form for me. A beautiful expression of beauty and truth. I wanted to conquer Hollywood because I was meant for it, because people wanted to hear that truth, not because someone exploited me and twisted a story I cherished into a charade.
A lie.
Apaycheck.
And now they want to turn me into their little PR puppet to play a role in their next game.
The audacity.
Joplin can see the heat climbing up my neck and gracefully pivots the conversation. “You know, Stevie has a really good set tonight at the piano bar. We should go to support her.”
“I’m down.” Misty flits into the kitchen and starts rummaging around the pantry for snacks. “Oh, maybe I can be your bodyguard? That sounds even cooler.”
Blowing out a sigh, I traipse into the kitchen and pull a bag of chips off the counter. “You have zero upper body strength.”
“It’s not my fault I never grew out of my toddler muscles. I’m effective with sharp objects though. Quick on my feet.”
I crunch a chip and lick my fingers. “Honestly, if I had the extra cash, I’d pay you just to screen my phone calls. I’m even getting harassed by Lex’s people now.”
Her eyes bug out. “Wait, his people? Like his entourage? His celebrity besties?” She gasps. “Did Jacob Elordi call you?”
Joplin actually looks intrigued by this.
“What? No. Just some guy.” I shrug, brushing crumbs off my skirt. “Rudy Sinclair.”
“Did he sound important?”
“He sounded hyper. Said he was Lex’s agent or something. Or someone moonlighting as his agent anyway.”
Another gasp, followed by rapid face fanning. “Dear God, woman. What did he say?”
My cheeks heat, which isn’t a bad thing, considering I could use the added color. “He said we have a common interest, he represents Lexington Hall, and that if I kept an open mind, he wanted me to consider a ‘fabulous opportunity.’” The air quotes are in full swing.
Misty and Joplin gawk at me, unblinking, awaiting the big reveal.
I turn away and pretend to be immersed in everything but this conversation, rushing out, all in one breath, “There’s some charity ball next month, so he offered me an all-expenses-paid trip to LA to attend this very high-profile event as Lex’s date for the evening, which would be a great chance to reconnect with an old friend and boost my public profile, yada yada, but I basically hung up on him so it’s not even—”
“What?” they both demand in perfect unison.
My shoulders slump. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Right,” Misty squeaks out. “Just like that one time you accidentally set your bedroom on fire with aromatherapy candles. That wasn’t a big deal either.”
“It was only a slight blaze.”
They both go silent, and I move over to the decorative mirror in the entryway, double-checking my appearance. My newfound style. Joplin calls it “whimsy goth”—an eclectic mix of dark and vintage elements, edgy and feminine.
Black ankle boots pair with a long plaid skirt that flares over sheer tights, and a fitted, deep-purple top with lace trim at the collar and cuffs tucks into the skirt, accentuating my hourglass shape. A choker with an ornate pendant, the color of shallow ocean waters, hangs at my neck, while dark eyeliner and deep-red lipstick hopefully counter my ghostly complexion.
Speaking of ghosts…
I glance over my shoulder at Joplin and Misty as they stand shoulder to shoulder beside the kitchen table. “What?”
Misty tosses her own bag of chips aside, sighing dramatically. “Man, Stevie, I admire your willpower, but I really think you should reconsider. An all-expenses-paid trip to Hollywood to attend a glamorous event with famous people?” She shakes her head andtsksher tongue. “You should put your pride on the back burner for one night and live it up. You deserve it.”
My nose wrinkles.
