I bite my lip. His agent must have given him my number.
Traitor.
Me: Lex.
Lex: Good guess.
Me: The room is wonderful, thank you.
I watch his bubbles dip and swirl.
Lex: Be ready by eleven a.m. tomorrow. Have a good night.
Rereading the message over a few times, I hover my thumb over the Add to Contacts prompt, then change my mind.
Me: Will do.
I wait for a response, but it never comes.
***
Saturday is a blur.
Makeup, hair, catered lunch, dress fittings. People everywhere. All hands are on deck, and never in my life have I felt so pampered.
So…important.
Luda, a late-thirties firecracker with coal-black hair and a European accent, is in charge of making me shine, flitting around my hotel room in a stunning mustard-yellow dress while draped in chunky gold jewelry. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” she chants my name, swishing a huge makeup brush across my cheek. “Tell me the origin of such a quirky name. Is it Greek?”
“Um…I think it’s rock.”
“Pardon?”
I laugh a little. “My parents are classic rock music buffs. My siblings and I are named after famous musicians.”
“How charming. I love when a good story accompanies a name.” She grins, bopping powder to the tip of my nose. “All set. Mr. Lex will surely be tongue-tied when he lays his eyes on you.”
My throat constricts. Every part of me wants to tell her it’s not like that, not at all, but I know the reason I’m here is to pretend. I force a smile. “Have you worked for him long?”
“Just over a year. He’s a prickly man. Doesn’t enjoy hands all over him, tending to his hair and ties. Makes him cranky.”
He never did like to be touched.
I remember when he held my hand on the rooftop and it felt like I’d uncovered a piece of rare, buried treasure.
“Take a look,” Luda says, ushering me off the stool and snapping her fingers. “Drink in the fruits of my labor. I think you’ll be impressed.”
My skin heats, heart thumping. Standing from the stool, I make my way over to the floor-length mirror, closing my eyes the moment the glass is in front of me.
And when I open them, I lose a breath.
Staring back at me is someone almost unrecognizable. Luda has transformed me into a vision of old Hollywood glamour with a modern twist. My hair, usually left to its own devices, is styled into soft, cascading spirals that fall perfectly over one shoulder, held in place by a silvery hairpin. The dress, a deep sapphire blue, makes my eyes pop and my skin glow, layers of silky fabric clinging in all the right places and flowing down to the floor in a way that feels both elegant and daring. A thigh-high slit on my left leg adds just the right amount of edge.
My makeup is a work of art—smoky eyes that give me a sultry look, framed by long, dark lashes. My lips are painted a matte, bold red, and a subtle hint of shimmer highlights my cheekbones, catching the light with every twirl.
I don’t just look the part. I look like I belong.
“Mr. Lex is a goner.” Luda claps her hands together, dark hair bouncing at her shoulders. “Come on, come on. It’s time to go. Your chariot awaits.”
