"Absolutely not."
I stared at the photograph on Nina's phone while a makeup artist blended something expensive across my cheekbones.
"What do you mean, absolutely not?" Nina asked. "He's hot."
"He looks like he don't care after cheating."
The room erupted.
Tessa, the makeup artist currently attacking my face with a brush, snorted so hard she nearly stabbed me in the eye.
"Please don't move," she said, laughing. "Unless you want eyeliner in your brain."
"I'm just saying," I continued, holding perfectly still, "that man has guilt written all over his jawline."
Nina collapsed backward onto the velvet sofa in my dressing room, one hand over her stomach.
She had been my manager for nearly four years and had somehow never learned that laughing at me only encouraged me.
She was wearing a dark green pantsuit, her blonde hair tied into a sleek ponytail that made her look far more organized than she actually was.
"Fine," she said, swiping to the next photograph. "What about him?"
I looked.
"No."
"You didn't even think."
"He cheated on his last three girlfriends."
Tessa hummed. "Confirmed."
One of the hairstylists glanced over from behind me. "Wasn't he caught leaving a hotel with that reality star?"
"And her sister," Tessa added.
I stared at them through the mirror.
"Her sister too?"
Nina waved her phone. "Allegedly."
"Allegedly my ass. That man has the self-control of a dog in a butcher shop."
The hairstylist, Marco, lifted one of my auburn curls and pinned it carefully into place.
"Okay, what about this one?"
Nina showed me another actor.
I studied his face.
"He gives small dick energy."
The room went silent for exactly half a second.
Then everyone started laughing.
Marco bent over the back of my chair, shaking with laughter. Tessa dropped her beauty sponge onto the floor. Nina made a strangled noise and almost slid off the sofa.
"What?" I said innocently. "You asked."
"You cannot say that tonight," Nina warned.
"Why not?"
"Because half the people in that room own newspapers."
"Then they can print it."
Tessa retrieved the sponge and pointed it at me. "For the record, I agree."
"Thank you."
"He definitely drives a sports car to flirt," Marco said.
"See?" I nodded. "Evidence."
"There is no evidence," Nina said.
"There is spiritual evidence."
Nina wiped tears from beneath her eyes, careful not to ruin her own makeup, before swiping again.
The game had started twenty minutes earlier when Nina decided we needed entertainment while I got ready for the dinner presentation.
According to her, the event was supposed to be sophisticated, elegant, and extremely important.
According to me, it was a room full of rich people eating tiny food while pretending not to hate one another.
We had been invited because a major studio was presenting several upcoming projects, including a romantic thriller called Ashes Between Us.
My name had apparently been mentioned for the female lead, though nobody had officially sent me a script.
That was Hollywood.
Everyone discussed your future before they bothered to include you in it.
"Next," Nina said.
She turned the screen toward me.
Elena Harper stared back.
I knew the photograph immediately. Everyone did.
Elena was standing outside some business conference in a black suit and tie, long dark hair pushed behind one shoulder.
Her blue eyes looked cold enough to preserve a body, and the edge of a tattoo disappeared beneath her collar.
She looked less like a CEO and more like a mafia boss.
My mouth went dry for no good reason.
Marco whistled.
Tessa leaned closer. "Now that is a woman."
Nina watched my reflection with an irritating little smile.
"Well?"
I tried to sound casual. "It would not work or maybe."
Tessa stopped moving.
Marco's hands froze in my hair.
Nina's eyebrows climbed so high they nearly left her face.
"What?" I asked.
"You said maybe," Nina replied.
"I did."
"About Elena Harper."
"She's attractive."
"She destroys people's careers before breakfast."
"Some people enjoy ambition."
"People magazine said she was going to marry her work."
I looked at the photograph again.
Elena's expression was unreadable. Controlled. Beautiful, but not in a soft way. She looked like she had been carved out of expensive black marble and taught how to fire people.
"Then I suppose I'd lose to the company," I said. "I'm not competing with a multinational empire."
Tessa tilted her head. "I think you could."
"Please. She probably schedules emotional breakdowns between quarterly reports."
Nina grinned. "That wasn't a no."
"It was absolutely a no."
"It sounded like a sexually curious maybe."
I turned toward her too fast, making Tessa curse.
"Careful," Tessa snapped. "I am holding liquid eyeliner, and you are emotionally unstable."
"I am not emotionally unstable."
"You just stared at Elena Harper's picture for fifteen seconds."
"I was analyzing her suit."
Marco met my eyes in the mirror.
"Sure."
"Fuck all of you."
They laughed again.
I tried not to smile, but it was impossible.
These moments were the only part of the industry that still felt real sometimes. No rehearsed answers. No photographers. No publicists whispering which side of my face looked better.
Just people I trusted insulting me while applying products worth more than my first car.
My phone began vibrating on the table.
I glanced at the screen and smiled.
"Mom."
Nina lowered her phone. "Answer it. We still have ten minutes."
I picked up.
"Hi, Mom."
"Finally," she said immediately. "I've called you twice."
"I was getting ready."
"You are always getting ready for something."
"That is unfortunately my job."
I could hear kitchen sounds in the background, cupboard doors opening and closing.
My mother was probably cooking enough food for a small army even though only she and my father lived in the house now.
"When are you coming home?" she asked.
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Home meant quiet mornings, my father arguing with the television, my mother trying to feed me every twenty minutes. It meant being Riley, not Riley Carter.
"I'll try for Christmas."
"You said that last year."
"I know."
"And then you worked."
"I know."
"You need rest."
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My skin looked flawless. My eyes looked bright. My hair fell in perfect waves around my shoulders.
I looked rested.
Hollywood had entire teams dedicated to making exhaustion look beautiful.
"I'm fine, Mom."
She was quiet for a moment.
Mothers could hear lies through walls, oceans, and apparently several layers of foundation.
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm just busy."
"You're always busy."
Before I could answer, Nina tapped her watch.
Time.
Guilt curled in my stomach.
"I have to go," I said softly. "The car is waiting."
"Call me tomorrow."
"I will."
"You said that yesterday."
"I really will this time."
"You'd better."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
I ended the call and stared at the dark screen for a second too long.
"Hey," Nina said gently. "You okay?"
I forced a smile.
"Perfect."
Nobody believed me, but thankfully, nobody argued.
Tessa finished my lipstick while Marco adjusted the final section of my hair.
My dress was pale silver, fitted through the waist before falling into a soft train. Elegant without looking desperate for attention.
At least, that was what Nina had said.
Personally, I thought it looked like a dress designed to prevent breathing.
When we reached the venue, the noise hit before the car door opened.
Photographers shouted my name from behind the barricades.
"Riley!"
"Over here!"
"Riley, look left!"
"Who are you wearing?"
The door opened.
I stepped out smiling.
The transformation happened automatically.
Shoulders back. Chin angled. Smile bright but not too wide.
Camera flashes exploded around me.
I moved along the carpet, pausing where I was told, turning when someone called my name. The crowd sounded excited. Hungry.
I gave them what they wanted.
For three minutes, I became the version of Riley Carter they had paid to see.
Inside, the venue shimmered with chandeliers, champagne towers, and people whose faces appeared on billboards across the world.
Actors. Directors. Investors. Studio heads.
Everyone beautiful.
Everyone watching.
Nina appeared beside me and handed me a glass of champagne.
"You survived."
"Barely."
"Try not to insult anyone important."
"How do I know who's important?"
"They're all important."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
I took a sip and scanned the room.
I had barely taken two steps when someone moved too close behind me.
A hand closed firmly around my ass.
For one stunned second, I froze.
The fuck.