Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Em. I love you.”
I gestured at Charlie, and he opened the door all the way, handsome in a classic black tux, his dark golden hair combed to the side. He grinned, showing me his megawatt smile.
“I love you too, Mom. Bye.”
I disconnected the call, smiling at Charlie. “Well, hello there. You look amazing.”
“So do you. Wow.”
I turned slightly, giving him a sultry look over my shoulder. “Will you zip me?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
Charlie kissed my shoulder before pulling my zipper. I sucked in my breath as the dress came closed, groaning as the zipper moved slowly up my back and Charlie struggled to move it inch by inch. “Do you want to hold on to the bedpost like Scarlett O’Hara?”
“I don’t have a bedpost.” Or a corset. Unfortunately.
“Damn,” he said, working for a few more minutes before finally making a sound of victory in the back of his throat. “Got it!”
I turned slowly. It felt like my boobs were resting right under my chin, but by Charlie’s heated stare as his eyes hung on my—decidedly high—cleavage, I must look better than I felt.
“I guess I won’t be eating tonight.” I half laughed, half groaned.
He raised one brow as his eyes grazed my body. “Or sitting,” he said. “Or climbing stairs. Or… Can you breathe?”
“Barely.”
“Does it help to know you look drop-dead gorgeous?”
The only one who was at risk of dropping dead was me. A laugh bubbled up, but I swallowed it down. There wasn’t much room for that either. “It does,” I said. “Breathing is overrated anyway.”
Plus, Destanie would have a fit if I told her this dress wasn’t working. I linked arms with Charlie, pushed the door open, and then walked out into the main room to a loud chorus of oohs and ahhs. I grinned, batting my lashes, slipping far more effortlessly into my Nova persona than I had into the red dress.
seven
Emily
My facial muscles hurt from smiling. My feet ached from the toe-squeezing, five-inch spiked heels, and the clamp of my dress had dictated only small, shallow breaths for the last two hours. I felt like I was wearing a boa constrictor. I had somehow managed to bend just enough to ride in the limo, wave and smile on the red carpet, but I wasn’t sure I could hold on to the beaming grin one more second without a short break.
At least the premiere itself—a big-budget action movie Charlie had starred in—would take place in the dark where I could bend my spine a little, even if it meant rolls of mashed-down skin spilled out the top.
I hurried to the restroom, my shoulders dropping as I curled my spine forward and exhaled the bit of breath I’d managed to suck in just before exiting the limo.
“You’ve got this,” I muttered to myself. This was an important night for Charlie, and I was thrilled to be celebrating him, but arriving on his arm would also garner lots of press for me. The pictures from the red carpet splashed all over social media sites tomorrow would make any amount of physical discomfort completely worthwhile. They would provide a big spike in tour ticket sales the next day. I was already sold out in LA but was hoping to sell out in the entire US before my tour started. At least I wouldn’t be singing tonight. I could exist for the next several hours in this dress but singing would have been out of the question.
The surprising thing about finally “making it” as a singer was that there wasn’t a whole lot of singing involved. It was a disappointment I hadn’t considered before my popularity had begun to rise. Sure, I had recorded my album, but once that was done, the recordings had been handed over to technicians and sound engineers for the mixing and mastering. When that was done, it was time for the release of a press kit, media appearances, photo shoots and showing up at every event I was invited to in an effort to get my photo, and my name, in front of as many people as possible.
Of course, it helped that I was dating one of Hollywood’s most popular young actors, not only because cameras naturally followed him, and if I was on his arm, they followed me as well, but because he’d introduced me to a new echelon of society. Half of my team had come from introductions Charlie had made, high-level professionals that never would have taken my call if not for him.
But that wasn’t why I was dating Charlie. I mean, I had to admit I liked the attention, and it benefitted my career. But more than that, he was sweet and funny, and an all-around good guy—a rare quality in show business, I was beginning to learn.
I walked around the corner to the row of sinks, a long mirror stretched above them. For a moment I simply stood staring at myself. I looked good. Amazing even. Which was interesting considering how physically awful I felt. I’d become good at it though. Grinning for the camera regardless of whether I wanted to or not, laughing at jokes that weren’t remotely funny because I knew it was expected of me, making idle chitchat and appearing engaged even though I was dying of boredom. It was all part of the job. Part of being Nova. Someday I’d be able to make my own rules. Someday, singing, not media buzz, would once again be my focus. But for now, I had to play the game. And I would because I’d worked my entire life for this moment.