My role. “Are you sure all this is necessary?” I could already tell my day looked like a montage from a teen movie where the nerdy girl gets a makeover. Only I wasn’t sure I was ready for all that. And hadn’t Ash said, he’d picked me because I was so average? Why did they want to give me a whole new look?
Lola gave a dry laugh. “You’re so cute.” But she didn’t sound like she really thought that, more like moronic. “Have you ever been interviewed before, Anika?”
“You can call me Ana.”
“Ana?”
“One time, my school was changing its lunch policy and the local news came and interviewed students.” My palms had sweat and I’d looked like a terrified rabbit on the news that night, replying in one-word whispers.
“We’re not talking anchormen and school lunches, Ana. We’re talking vultures. Sharks. You’re going to be smack in the middle of a feeding frenzy like nothing you’ve ever known.”
I cringed. “Won’t they mostly be interested in Ash?”
“Sure, but you’re new. Fresh blood. They’re going to want to know all about you. And we’re going to have to give them some great shots.”
She meant staged romantic moments, candlelight dinners and all that. My stomach flipped, and I had to admit it wasn’t entirely because of the media circus she was describing. It was also the thought of the show I’d be a part of in the ring, the focus of Ash’s attentions.
“Now, I know you’ve signed the NDA. And you’ve passed a thorough background check.”
I had? When had they done a check on me? How had they had time?
“But I have to ask, are there any skeletons in your closet we should know about? Because now’s the time, Ana. Any misdemeanors, fetishes, drug habits, enemies?” She rattled off the list as if she were well-accustomed to dealing with clients with all of the above.
“No,” I answered honestly, suddenly feeling squeaky-clean. I hadn’t thought of myself as such a girl scout, but I guessed when you compared me to the kind of celebrities who needed to hire PR firms to do damage control I looked like an angel dropped down from heaven.
“Well, prepare yourself,” Lola continued, “because they’re still going to try to look for dirt. So, believe me, you’re going to want a good haircut.”
§
Two hours later, I stood in the middle of what looked like a giant closet filled with racks of clothes on wheels in the shortest dress I’d ever worn. It barely brushed the tops of my thighs.
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head, but no one seemed to hear me. People buzzed around with clipboards and wireless earpieces and swatches of fabric. They weren’t all on my case, I didn’t think. That would be weird. But they were all intensely busy and focused for a Saturday.
A woman began measuring the inseam of my leg, her hand brushing alarmingly close to a part of my body only my OB/GYN got access to. And Ash last night. Heat crept back into my cheeks.
“I’m not sure I can wear this,” I tried again a little louder. The woman measuring me spoke to someone next to her. “OK for the show in L.A., but for S.F. we’re going to need to tone it down.”
“San Francisco! Get out the performance fleece!” a man sauntering past called out.
My phone rang in my bag. “Sorry, I just need—” I broke away from them for a moment and grabbed it. It was almost noon and I hadn’t heard from Ash yet. But it wasn’t him.
“Hi, Mom.” I tried to make my voice sound normal, like I was having a typical Saturday, maybe still at my apartment drinking coffee and chatting with my roommates. Chilly hands unzipped the back of my dress and the fabric fell to my feet.
“What’s this?” a woman asked, fingering my bra strap as if it were contaminated.
“I know, right?” another woman agreed, shaking her head in disgust over the sorry state of my plain, beige bra. Apparently they didn’t buy their lingerie off the extra-markdown discount rack at Marshalls. But maybe they should, you could get some good deals there.
“Who’s there?” my mom asked, her spidey sense tingling. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing, just my roommates.” Stripping me naked and making me try on new bras, just like every other Saturday.
“Do you work today?”
“No, not until Monday.” They’d been cutting back on our shifts, part of their money-saving campaign. Which would end in a month, I reminded myself. That was the silver lining of all of this.
Speaking of silver, the bra they hooked me into fairly glittered with silver beading and boy did it lift and plump. But why were they bothering with my bra when Ash and I had a no-sex clause clearly and explicitly written into our agreement? I’d signed the papers, twice now, electronically last night and in hardcopy this morning. Despite romantic appearances, both parties agreed to not engage in sexual relations of any kind. I knew it made sense and would certainly help to keep things simpler between us, but I had to admit when I signed I felt a hint of disappointment. He’d made me feel so delicious, so irresistible, as if he couldn’t stand to keep his hands off of me. But then hours later he’d signed an agreement to not touch me for the next month.
Guess all that adoration had been manufactured, a ploy to reel me in. It had worked. The feel of his fingers working their way along my thighs, slipping under my panties, stroking my sex so slippery wet for him. It had worked really well.
“And this afternoon, are you finishing your Christmas shopping?” Mom asked.
“I think so.” How was I going to handle this with my parents? Maybe I should drop a hint? “I had a nice time on a date last night.”
I winced, knowing the avalanche of questions my simple statement would provoke. “A date? You didn’t mention a date! Who’s the boy? Do we know him? What does he do for work?”
Like a life preserver thrown from a coast guard ship, another call came in offering me an out. “I’m sorry, it’s my boss at the library calling. I’ve got to talk to her.”
“Call me back!”
“OK, Mom.”
The conversation with my boss went as easily as I’d expected. She was thrilled that I needed more time off around the holidays. As it was, they’d been encouraging people to take vacation so they could save money. They already had implemented reduced hours and reduced staffing. My requesting more time would only ease things up for them.
It wasn’t any harder with the families for whom I taught piano. Around the holidays, none of them stayed in town anyway, all heading either somewhere warmer to de-thaw or somewhere even snowier to ski and snow board. My absence until the second week of January wouldn’t create any inconvenience at all. It was almost too easy to free myself up. I almost wanted to ask—wait, don’t you need me?
But Lola had informed me that she and Ash certainly did. She wanted me to treat m
y romance with Ash Black as my full time job for the month, and as such all of my expenses would be paid. I’d be outfitted, styled, flown across the country and perhaps out of it—details were still being finalized. I was expected to give everything to this.
Starting tonight. Apparently Ash’s family didn’t just throw a typical sort of party for the holidays. No, they held their party at the Waldorf Astoria, black tie. Stop one on the Crazy Train.
The stylists slipped something new over my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for the wildest ride I’d ever been on.
Chapter 2
Ash
The Waldorf Astoria ballroom. I knew it like the back of my hand. If the back of my hand kept getting redecorated and retouched every year. We’d congregated here for our annual holiday party as long as I could remember.
After all of five minutes, I ducked out of one of the service doors. Ana wasn’t there yet, no need to torture myself with relatives I didn’t know and former colleagues of my father’s offering their condolences. I could hide out until Lola texted me that Ana was about to arrive. Then, I’d rush to the entrance, the eager suitor, helping her out of her limo and embracing my dearest love.
Lola had assured me that that there’d be a full array of media outlets represented to capture the moment, our public debut. Our modest family shindig of 500 usually got a few pics in the press anyway, what with all the socialites and brand names in attendance. Lola had merely turned the usual interest up a notch. Well, really I’d done that. She’d just let them know that if they came, they’d get an Ash Black-related hot new scoop.
In the empty, plain corridor connecting to the kitchens, I exhaled. There, I could relax, just for a minute. I could really use a cigarette, but I knew I had to resist. There was the image thing, of course. These days smoking a cigarette landed you in the doghouse worse than kicking a puppy. Not that I’d ever done anything like that, though Mandy Monroe would probably pay good money to doctor up footage of exactly that. Point was, I didn’t need any grainy photos leaking of me scowling like a villain with a cig in my mouth.