by Amy Marie
Inside, I’m assaulted by color. Racks upon racks of clothes and shoes of every conceivable shade and shape line the walls of the small dressing room. A table is set up with make-up spread out in meticulous rows. Another displays all manner of torture devices meant to beat hair into submission as well as another rack of Styrofoam heads with wigs in a rainbow of colors and styles.
The place looks like Rainbow Brite exploded, her remains coating every square inch of the space. Everything is bright and cheerful, a Disney Princess paradise that I have absolutely no business being in.
Jeanne stands in the center of this hell, embracing a petite platinum blonde with bright red lips. Her brows are dark slashes across her expressionless face as she returns Jeanne’s greeting with air kisses to each side of her face.
“Orelia Carlisle,” Jeanne says, “this is Tawny.”
I waited for a last name, but that’s it, just Tawny. Deciding to let it go, I step forward and offer her my hand. She gives me a limp shake and glances at Jeanne as if to confirm if I am indeed, for real. Jeanne just shrugs.
Releasing her hand, I shift nervously, wiping a sweaty palm down the front of my jeans. Tawny watches me closely, her lips pursed as her eyes roam up and down. She moves slowly, circling me like a hawk, making me suddenly all too aware of my every flaw.
I glance at Jeanne, but her attention is focused on her phone as she taps furiously at the screen with her thumbs.
Cold, bony fingers dig into my chin as Tawny turns my head sharply to the right then to the left. She leans into my personal space, clucking her tongue, obviously not a fan of what she sees.
I jerk my head away, ready to rip into the evil sprite when a grin spreads wide across her face. “Crystal,” she tells Jeanne, whose eyes light up in response, “with her complexion and those eyes.”
“Brilliant,” Jeanne beams.
“I’m sorry,” I frown, “who’s Crystal?”
Tawny laughs and gestures to me. “You are, my dear.” She stops, looking me over again. “Well, you will be anyway,” she corrects.
“I don’t think you understand,” I say as she users me toward a chair set up in front of a large lighted mirror.
“Relax, darling,” she coos, pushing me into the seat. “You’re going to love it!”
My eyes are wide and filled with fear, staring back at her from the mirror. I glance down at the pen still clutched tightly in my hand. The metal, now warm, cuts painfully into my skin. I stare down at the black and gold instrument that sealed my fate, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
Five hours later, I have to pee. Jeanne comes in bringing me tea every thirty minutes like clockwork, and since I let the first cup go cold without taking a sip, I thought it rude to refuse the second, and the third, and the eighth. So now I have to pee, and the corset Tawny is currently cinching me into is not helping in the least.
I must have tried on outfits from every major label, and a few I’ve never heard of that are apparently all the rage in Europe, according to Tawny. None of it comfortable, practical, or even close to resembling something I would consider me, but she is the expert. According to Jeanne, she’s dressed everyone who’s anyone on stage and screen. So, it shouldn’t matter that the corset encrusted in gaudy crystals has my boobs pushed up into my chin, or that the skinny jeans threatening to cut off the circulation to my thighs are strategically slashed to show way more ass cheek than I’m entirely comfortable with. Right?
With one final tug, Tawny takes a deep breath, something I no longer have the lung capacity to do and steps back to admire her handiwork.
I turn to face her, and her smile widens as she makes a few minor adjustments to the lavender wig that has been itching the back of my neck for the better part of the last hour.
Tawny smiles and gleefully claps her hands together before dragging me toward a lighted three-way mirror set up in the corner.
I stumble a bit on the sky-high, jewel-encrusted torture devices she insists I wear and step onto the platform. The sight is nearly blinding as my chest and abdomen sparkle and glitter in lights. I squint, unable to open my eyes fully from the weight of the jewel-tipped lash extensions glued to my lids. More crystals wink from the light purple bob pinned to my head, causing sweat to drip down the back of my neck. How in God’s name people actually perform in get-ups like this, I will never understand.
“You look incredible,” Tawny squeaks. Her eyes dance with wonder at her creation.
I rake my eyes from bejeweled head to diamond-encrusted toe, unable to believe what I’m seeing. It’s not me staring back from the mirror. I swallow hard and begin to suck my bottom lip into my mouth before remembering the forty-five minutes it took to carefully place fifty-six Swarovski multicolored crystals. That’s right. I counted.
The door flies open, and I turn at the sound as Hannah Fucking Miles strides through, phone pressed to her ear. “I don’t see what the problem is. Fix it,” she barks, groaning as she ends the call.
“Darling,” Tawny squeals, greeting her with a trademark air kiss to each cheek.
“Jeanne said you were back here,” she says without even noticing someone else is in the room. “I just left Valentino, and my dress for the AMA’s is a disaster. It’s red, as in blood.”
“Not to worry,” Tawny coos, “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Good. I can’t be seen in red.” She snorts. “I’m a vegan, for fuck’s sake.”
Tawny rubs her arm in support as I shift my weight, trying to gain some of the feeling back in my toes.
Hannah’s eyes snap up, suddenly aware of my presence, and she glares at me, the light from my crystal-covered body dancing across her face.
“Who are you?” she asks
I open my mouth to speak, but Tawny answers for me. “This is Crystal,” she says, gesturing to me like this is The Price is Right, and I’m a brand-new car.
“Who the fuck is Crystal?”
“The newest member of the Dionysus family,” Cole says from the doorway.
The moment he enters the room, her entire face brightens, and the pinched scowl morphs into a radiant smile. “Hello handsome,” she says, laying both hands on his shoulders and pressing her boobs into his chest as she leans in to kiss his cheek.
He smiles sweetly at her then quickly steps away, much to her dismay.
“Hannah, you remember Orelia,” he says, stepping forward and taking my hand in his, looking up at me still perched on the platform in all my glittering glory. “You look positively incandescent.”
“It’s prolly all the jewels,” I mumble, afraid moving my lips too much will result in the loss of bling and possibly a chipped a tooth.
Of course, the movement causes the excess saliva in my mouth to dribble from the corner of my lips. I reached to wipe it away, feeling less than incandescent when Tawny lunges forward, tsking at me and dabbing at my chin with a tissue.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “you’ll get used to them.”
“Orelia?” Hannah questions. “The emo chick from the plane?”
I shrug, nearly smothering myself with my own boobs, thanks to the corset. “The one and only.”
“Why did you say your name was Crystal?” she sneers.
My chest fills like an over-inflated balloon as I stare at Cole, hoping he’s seeing the obvious problems this ridiculous clown costume will cause when I have to, oh I don’t know, actually sing.
“Well, I think you look incredible,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Doesn’t she, Hannah?”
“Positively glittering,” she sings, her eyes shooting daggers at me so hard I almost feel the urge to duck.
“Well, it seems you ladies have everything under control.” He heads for the door with a grin but stops, turning back to me. “Orelia, I’ll see you in the studio in fifteen minutes.”
I nod, not wanting to risk making a bigger fool of myself than I have already. With a smile, he heads off down the hall, Jeanne followin
g closely behind.
Stepping down from the platform, I turn to Tawny. “Bathroom?” I ask.
A worried look crosses her face as she directs me to a door just outside the dressing room.
Moving as quickly as my heeled feet can take me, I shuffle across the hall to relieve myself of the five gallons of tea. I hear the main door open, and heels click against the tile as I finish up and wiggle back into the skintight jeans, panting as I finally manage to get the button closed over my stomach.
When I turn the corner to wash my hands, Hannah meets my eyes in the mirror, her mouth a perfect O as she reapplies her lip gloss.
“So, you’re Ezra’s latest project?” she asks, rubbing her lips together and pouting at her reflection.
I step to the sink, pumping soap into my hand and turning on the water. “I guess you could say that.”
“Well,” she drops the gloss back into her bag, “enjoy it while it lasts.” She runs her pinky along the edge of her mouth to clear a non-existent smudge. “He has a short attention span.”
My hands clench beneath the water as soap oozes between my fingers.
Her smile is wicked as her eyes lock with mine in the mirror. “Us girls need to look out for each other,” she quips.
“Right,” I respond, my smile tight.
“By the way, I’m loving the look.” She smiles and tosses her baby pink curls over her shoulder, the crystals on her nails catching the light as she throws open the door.
Glancing back at my reflection, my stomach turns at the clone that stares back at me from the other side.
Chapter 7
Ezra
Turning off the water, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. Steam hangs heavy in the air as I run a towel through my hair and slide open the pocket door to my bedroom.
“Hey, baby.”
The sound of her voice stops me cold.
“What the fuck?”
Hannah giggles and wiggles her fingers at me from where she lays sprawled across my bed.
“How the fuck did you get in here?”
She smiles and bats her lashes. “My key silly,” she answers, dangling a pink rhinestone keychain from her fingers.
I step forward and snatch it from her hand. Her smile falters, and she juts her bottom lip out in a childish pout. “Don’t be like that, baby.”
“Cut the shit, Hannah, and get out.”
She huffs and pushes to her knees as I move toward the dresser. Pulling open the drawer, I pull out a pair of black boxer briefs and a gray T-shirt. Arms snake around my stomach as she presses against me from behind.
I exhale and drop my head back with a groan. “Where’s your babysitter anyway?”
She sighs. “You mean my sober companion.”
“Whatever. Where is he?” I turn and walk away, tossing my clothes on the bed.
She taps a finger to her lips. “Hmmm…He’s right where I left him, handcuffed to my headboard.” A wicked smile splits her lips as she looks up at me beneath dark lashes.
“Jesus, Hannah.”
“Don’t worry. I left him some water and a sandwich on the nightstand.” She brings that finger to her lip again. “But with both hands tied, I guess he won’t be able to reach it.” She pouts, then in a flash, all sympathy for the poor schmuck vanishes. “Oh, well.”
“You’ve fucked him already?”
“No, just a little light pain play, no penetration.” She smiles. “For me, anyway.”
I groan. Then reach for my phone, sending a text to Jeanne.
Me: Send someone over to Hannah’s house to unshackle Ryan.
Jeanne: Do I even want to know?
Me: Doubt it. Also, tell him he’s fired.
Jeanne: You need me to hire a new companion.
Me: Get a woman this time.
I glance over at Hannah, who’s adjusting her breasts in the mirror above my dresser.
Me: An ugly one.
Jeanne: On it.
“Don’t be mad,” Hannah says, stepping up behind me again and pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades. I hate that the touch of her lips still sends a shiver straight to my cock.
Her hands move down, yanking the towel from my waist. The damp terry cloth pools at my feet, and I break from her grasp. “Knock it off.” I curse, quickly tugging on my boxers, which doesn’t do much to hide my thickening cock. Hannah has always held this power over my body. One look, one touch, and I’m granite, but in the past few years, it has become painfully clear that my attraction to her is nothing more than physical.
“Save it for the press,” I tell her, pulling the shirt over my head. She follows me into the closet as I reach for a pair of dark jeans.
“Come on, baby. I know some part of you still wants me.” Her hand moves to cup my shaft, and the traitor jerks at the contact. “Besides,” she purrs, “what’s a little foreplay between friends?”
She slinks down my body toward my stomach, and I growl, gripping her arms and yanking her back to her feet. “We are not friends.”
Her eyes go dark and her lips thin. “Jesus, Ezra, when are you going to get over that? It was like three years ago. I told you it meant nothing.”
Whirling to face her, I step forward, forcing her back a step as I stare down at her. “It meant something to me.”
She blinks, then moves forward, pressing a hand to my chest. “I’m sorry.” Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears. It’s the same move she used in a cameo on that CW show last year.
I shake my head, stepping around her and back into the room. “You are unbelievable.”
She follows me as I grab my Chucks from the shelf and sit on the edge of the bed to tug them on. “So, you’re done with me.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like that.”
Leveling her with a glare, I point my finger at her. “We’ve been done.”
“I made a mistake,” she cries.
“No,” I say, slapping my hands on my thighs. “I trusted you. I stupidly believed that you loved me. That was a mistake.” I stomped toward my nightstand, wrenching it open and grabbing the small leather box that holds what I thought was the start of my future. Instead, it’s a vivid reminder of everything I lost, collecting dust in a drawer.
I toss it on the bed in front of her. “That was a mistake.”
Her eyes widen as she stares down at the little black box lying on the bed between us. “You bought a ring?”
“I was going to ask you to marry me that night.” My jaw ticks as I clench my teeth, fighting back the white-hot anger that shoots through my veins every time I think about that night.
A whimper escapes her throat as tears run down her cheeks. There’s no doubt in my mind that those tears are real, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen the real Hannah Miles, right down to her selfish, manipulative core.
She wasn’t always like this. When we met, she was sweet and a little shy with this big powerful voice just bursting from her petite frame. I’d never seen or heard anything so beautiful in my life. I was captivated, and it wasn’t long before the world was too.
Music was her dream, and I did everything in my power to make that dream a reality. My sweet, beautiful Hannah is gone, and what’s worse is I’m not even sure she really even existed. This primped, polished, soulless version of the woman I loved could very well be the real Hannah Miles.
I move toward the bedroom door, and she quickly steps into my path, her fingers sliding up to grip my neck. “We can still have our future. Everything we talked about, everything we planned, can still happen.”
Grasping her wrists, I pull from her grip as my throat goes tight. “No, it can’t.”
“Why?” she cries. “Why can’t we just push past this? I fucked up, okay. I own that, but this, you and me, it’s real.”
She crushes her lips to mine, and for a moment, my body reacts kissing her back, my fingers biting into her hips as she pushes her tongue further into my mouth, but all too soon, the moment is gone, and I break away.<
br />
“Stop, just please stop.”
Shouldering past her, I move down the hallway, grabbing my leather jacket from the back of the couch. The sound of her heels clacking on the hardwood follows me into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and reach for a bottle of water, then slam it shut, coming face to face with a picture of us taken on the red carpet at the Billboard Music Awards. My head was buried in her neck, and she was looking straight into the camera, a broad smile across her face. I must’ve walked past it a hundred times since we broke up without even noticing it was still there.
I snatch it from under the magnet and toss it to the floor. She storms into the kitchen, getting right in my face. “This is about that girl, isn’t it?” she snarls.
My nose wrinkles, and I jerk back. “What girl?”
“The one from the plane. I saw how you looked at her.”
A dark laugh escapes my lips. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The hell I don’t. Cut the shit, Ezra, I get it. Malcom wants me to clean up my act. But parading some tramp around in front of me is not helping anyone.”
“I’m not—”
“You should have seen Cole this morning, fawning all over her. He even brought in Tawny. They had her wearing the same crystal lip I wore on my last album cover.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You bring this girl out here. Dress her up like she can take my place to teach me a lesson. It’s fucked up even for you.”
I tighten my fists at my side. Fucking Cole.
Reaching for my keys, I head for the door, swinging it wide and gesturing for her to leave. She huffs, stomping across the threshold, watching as I close it behind me, flick the deadbolt, and head for my car, which is currently blocked by the pastel pink Porsche I bought for her.
I move toward my car, but her words stop me in my tracks. “You know why they call you King Midas, Ezra?”
Turning back to face her, I narrow my eyes.
