Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
But I’ve never had to talk about it in front of this big an audience. And never with a recent ex standing in the same studio, watching me do it. All while his recent ex—or maybe not-entirely-ex—hovers in the wings waiting for a full report about how I performed afterward.
My stomach knots have become a full-on tangled mess. I can feel the caffeine I downed earlier—an extra double shot of espresso because I was still feeling the hangover—ratcheting through my system, amping up the nerves to something close to panic.
You can do this.
I square my shoulders. I haven’t come this far, or worked this hard on my brand, just to let one badly mistaken fling throw my entire career off track. This should be one of the proudest days of my life. I’m going to make it be that.
With Herculean effort, I repress all these messy emotions, stuffing them into that mental box labeled: to deal with later. Then I storm up the front steps of the studio and toward the doors. Even despite my late wakeup, I’m here fifteen minutes earlier than the time they requested I arrive by. That’s me all over—punctual to the extreme.
I pull open the front doors and introduce myself to the guard sitting near the entrance. He checks my name off a list, prints me a badge and waves me through. And on the other side of the sliding doors, a familiar face greets me, all smiles.
“I knew I’d be seeing you again soon,” exclaims Marcel, the same studio owner who showed me around back when we were photographing my makeup samples for our first press release. It feels like both a million years ago and just days ago.
I’m so grateful for someone familiar—someone who’s not Lark, anyway—being here that I practically leap into his offered hug, squeezing him tight. “What are you doing here?”
“Lark mentioned your big gig, so I managed to sneak into this studio as a guest for the day.” He winks. “Didn’t want to miss your first televised interview, since I knew you at the start. Makes for too good a story!”
I laugh and squeeze his shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
He tilts his head, sizing me up. I wilt under his gaze, pretty sure that he’s immediately dissecting the bags under my eyes and the tension in my face. He leans in closer again. “And, I must admit, I have ulterior motives, too. Lark’s been worried about you, you know.”
My cheeks flush, and I glance away. “I’m sure.” My tone comes out drier than I expect.
Marcel sighs. “Look, honey, whatever happened between you two, that’s between you two.” He catches my chin and tilts my face to the light, eying me critically. “But I am here to make sure that you knock it out of the park, for your sake and for your investors’ sakes. Plus, we cannot have you on camera looking like a zombie, or nobody’s going to trust a single product you’re offering,” he points out.
I grimace, but I can’t exactly contradict him. “It’s… been a rough week.”
“Tell me about it.” He drops my chin, thankfully, and takes my hand instead, leading me across the studio toward a back hallway with doors on each side. I catch a brief glimpse of the stage beyond it, surrounded by more cameras than I’ve ever seen in one location before—film cameras, still shot cameras, every type of lighting equipment you could imagine.
All aimed at the middle of the stage, where there are just three plush chairs set all in a row. One of which I’ll be occupying in a little less than an hour’s time.
There go those nerves again, churning away.
“Do not spiral on me,” Marcel commands, and I yank my gaze from the distant seats to focus.
“Right. Sorry. I’m fine now.”
He arches a brow at me, clearly not buying it for a second. But he does lead me into a narrow dressing room—an entire room of my own, not like the photography shoot we did at Marcel’s studio where everyone just did their makeup at little tables right beside the backdrop.
Inside, I spot familiar objects. My makeup sets, all lined up and ready to go.
“Where’s the makeup artist?” I ask, scanning the room.
Marcel guides me into a chair and practically forces me back. “Uh uh. I told the manager I’m taking charge of this one personally.”
I grin at him. “You used to do makeup?”
“Before I bought my studio and moved over to the production side of this industry, hell yes. That’s where I got my start.”
I watch him sort through the palettes and select just the right hue of foundation for me on the first try. I don’t need to check the label to know he’s picked out the one I always use, and it makes me smile. “Guess that’s why you were so into my stuff when we first met.”