Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  “And what is it doing in front of me?”

  “You told me to prove I know what kind of man you are.” Dropping her palms against the table, she slides them forward until her breasts are eye-level to my face. “Well, taking into consideration your lack of charm and weak conversation skills, I assume sloppy seconds are all you’re used to.”

  Son of a bitch.

  I don’t know whether to report this girl or worship at her feet. Instead, I push the shot away. “You’re ballsy, you know that?”

  “And you’re a sore loser.” Letting out a low laugh, she reaches across me to grab the wad of cash, but I clamp my palm over the top of her hand.

  “Not so fast.” Reaching under my wallet, I unroll the folded ticket. “The bet was for you to bring me what I wrote on this paper.”

  Her smile peels into a smirk as she closes the space between us, leaning across the table as her finger curls around the money. I can’t help that my gaze goes straight to her chest again. I’m a man, and it’s involuntary.

  That’s when she lets out a low laugh. “My mistake, cupcake.”

  I’m so distracted watching her tongue dart out and drag across her bottom lip it’s only the sight of my money disappearing that shakes some sense back into me. Growling, I grab her wrist.

  She’s practically draped over my lap as she hisses, “Let go of me.”

  I release my hold and let her take it and walk away with an extra sway in her hips because what the hell, that was the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks. It also verifies my instinct about her.

  Reaching into my pocket again, I pull out the creased picture, unfolding it with a calculated hand. “What do you know…” A slow smile spreads across my face as I glance from one fallen angel across the bar to another. “Milly was right after all. Once you stop looking for what you want, you really do find what you need.”

  I found her.

  I wait for Milly to respond to my text. Just when I’m about to type a few four-letter words, my phone lights up.

  I still don’t think this is a good idea.

  Of course, it’s not. I never said it was a good idea, but it’s the only one we’ve got.

  Good thing I don’t pay you to think.

  Three dots indicating active typing flash. Then stop. Then start again. What the hell? Is she writing a thesis?

  Fine. What do you want?

  To go back seventeen years and not get in that fucking SUV, for starters. But I don’t type that. Instead, I set something in motion that could very well bite me in the ass.

  Build a blast with the headline: Alexandra Romanov found alive and well and living in Chula Vista, California.

  I toss the phone face down on the table before she can respond. It’s not the catchiest grab, but then again it doesn’t have to be. It’s a guaranteed money maker. Regretfully, it’s at this girl’s expense, but we all can’t win in life. It’s not my fault I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Besides, it’s not like what I’m about to offer isn’t the opportunity of a lifetime for someone like her.

  We all pay a price in life.

  Show me a kid who dreams of growing up and airing people’s dirty laundry for a living, and I’ll show you a liar. But I’m not here to complain about labels when my life is on the line.

  Minutes ago, my ship was sinking. Then she walked out from behind that piece of shit bar, saving the day, my ship, and my ass. The woman who, in moments of taking my last twenty bucks, just became the most important person in my life whether she likes it or not.

  That cocktail waitress is my golden ticket. She’s everything I’ve been looking for. Perfect eyes. Perfect hair. Perfect charm. Perfect wit. Perfect puppet. The world wants an heiress, and I need them off my back.

  It’s a no brainer.

  People will sell their souls for a buck these days.

  My own words come out of nowhere, drilling holes into what little conscience I have left. For half a second, I hesitate. This is a ball that once put in motion, can’t be stopped.

  Fuck it.

  I sold my soul a long time ago. Besides, if I don’t step up to the plate, someone else will. Why not me? Why not her? Once Angel hears what’s in it for her, I doubt she’ll have many objections. If she does, I’ll charm my way past them. Just because I’m an asshole ninety percent of the time, it doesn’t mean that ten percent isn’t lethal when I want it to be.

  I can lay a little girl to rest as I lay a brand-new starlet at the world’s feet.

  It’s selfish. It’s risky. It’s a gamble that could very well land both of us behind bars. But I’m likely headed there anyway, and if she’s desperate enough to try and scam me out of twenty bucks, she can’t be far behind.

  And that’s when I make my decision.

  I’m not leaving here without her.

  I slide out of my chair, anxious to get the show on the road. I don’t have a tab to pay. The whiskey was on the house, and I already paid twenty dollars for a goddamn drink I didn’t even order. Which is a good thing, because thanks to a certain waitress all I have left in my wallet are credit cards and condoms. Regrouping, I roll around what I’m going to say to Angel in my head as I bend over the table for my wallet.

  It’s not there. I pat down my pockets. It’s not there.

  I check again, because surely, I missed it. Surely, I’m not the idiot who drove to the middle of nowhere, spent all night at Satan’s pit stop, only to end up losing his wallet.

  A red haze blots my mind as I rewind the last hour. I had my wallet when I walked in. I had it with me at the table because I took cash out of it when Angel came over, and I decided to swing my dick around. She served me that fucking shot, shoved her tits in my face, leaned over to grab the money…

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  I push off the table so hard it rattles. “Fuck me.” I spin around, pure octane pumping through my veins. Fuck this bar. Fuck this waitress. Fuck my wallet.

  And fuck my offer.

  It just turned into an ultimatum.

  As I tear through the kitchen, men in white aprons and bewildered faces glance up, unsure of whether to stop me or go back to doing their shit jobs. Most of them make the right choice, except for one exceptionally stupid asshole who steps in front of me.

  “You can’t be back here.”

  “Move.” I surprise myself at how calm my voice sounds when I’m two seconds away from punching this guy’s lights out. He starts to argue when a familiar pair of olive-green eyes steps in front of him, her fists balled at her side like she’s pissed I want to hit this guy.

  Me.

  The guy she ripped off.

  “Can I fucking help you, Dick?” she hisses.

  I’m on her before she can say a damn word. Wrapping my hand around her arm, I drag her out the back door as she stumbles behind me. It isn’t until the metal door slams behind us, and she realizes we’re alone in a dark alley, that she plants her feet and fights back.

  “Are you insane? Let me go!” The words come out a little shrill as if her mind is working at twice the speed of her mouth. I can tell she’s calculating her best option for escape, and that’s why I anticipate her next move before she can make it.

  “Oh, you do like to play dirty, don’t you?” With a sharp twist, I block her aim and swing her around, driving us both into the side of the building, “I just want to talk, cupcake, but if your knee gets within grazing distance of my dick again, I have no problem doing it with you face down on the ground.”

  “I’ll scream,” she hisses, tugging on her pinned arms.

  A deep laugh rumbles in my throat. “Oh, please do. And when the dishwater cavalry shows up, you can explain to them how you stole my wallet.”

  She jerks against my hold again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t take your goddamn wallet.”

  It’s the response I expected. “No?” I arch an eyebrow. “What would you call it? Borrowing it?”

  “So, I knocked you down a few notch
es and won twenty bucks because you have a god complex. So what? That just means you’re just another idiot with an inflated ego. You know, to make up for”—her eyes lower to the tight space between us, a smirk tugging at her mouth—“much smaller things.”

  “Insults are the lowest form of retaliation. You can do better than that.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I smile. “See, now you’re not even trying.”

  An infuriating hum rattles low in her throat. “If I had your wallet it’d be in my apron, and you have me pressed against a wall. There’s not a lot left to the imagination here, champ. If your wallet is as big as you seem to think it is, don’t you think we’d both feel it?”

  That’s the second time she’s insulted my dick. Normally, I don’t let that kind of thing get to me, but something about this girl crosses all kinds of wires in my head.

  I grind my teeth. “Cupcake, I’m going to tell you this one time, so I suggest you listen. Not only is my wallet really that big, you wouldn’t be able to walk after having it shoved in your…apron.” I can’t help but smirk when her lips part, and she lets out the smallest breath. “That’s why I think you would’ve hidden it someplace a little less conspicuous.” I lower my gaze to where the tops of her breasts peek above her red top.

  Instead of being offended, she snorts. “Prove it.”

  “Don’t tempt me. If you think I’m too much of a gentleman to shove my hand down your shirt, you’re wrong.”

  “Go ahead. I dare you,” she growls, and taking it as an invitation, I release one of her wrists to dive into her cleavage when she smacks my hand away, adding, “Of course, that would be assault. So, tell me, are you feeling lucky today, champ? You still want to spin that wheel?”

  A surge of emotions runs through me at once. Anger. Frustration. Irritation. And hell, maybe even a bit of respect. Not that I’d ever tell her that.

  Let’s just say I’m not exactly LAPD’s favorite person. Then again, something tells me this girl isn’t exactly a shining star of morality herself.

  “Okay, you win.” Her jaw drops, and in that moment of weakened defense, I take a gamble and shove my hand down her shirt. Angel lets out a string of obscenities and comes off the wall swinging, but it’s too late. Closing my fingers around the familiar leather, I drag it from between her breasts and dangle it in front of her face. “You were saying?”

  “Fine, so you busted me,” she growls, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good for you. You gonna turn me into the cops now?”

  They’re the same words Naomi Grecco said just a short while ago. Only this time, my answer will be very different. “I can. You did steal from me, and I have witnesses. However, what do you say we work this out another way?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

  “I have a proposition for you. One that can make you a very rich woman, and as we both know, money is very important to you. Plus, you don’t strike me as someone who walks away from a sure thing.”

  I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s not her open hand across my face. The one that connects with my cheek so hard, my head slingshots over my shoulder. By the time my ears stop ringing, she has both hands full of my shirt and fire in her eyes.

  “Go to hell,” she hisses. “I’m not a whore.”

  I’m still processing the fact I just got slapped for the second time tonight, so it takes a minute to realize why she’s so pissed. Leaning down, I press our faces so close I can feel her breath on my cheeks. “Christ, woman, I said I’ve got a proposition for you not that I’m propositioning you.”

  “I don’t care. Call the cops. I’d rather go to jail than listen to anything you have to say.”

  “For such a smart girl, you make some stupid assumptions,” I say, shifting my position before she can raise her knee for round two. “See, from the minute you swung that tight little ass over to my table, I got your number, cupcake. You and me? We’ve fought for everything we have and it’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough. Especially for you.”

  She glances to the side. “You know nothing about me.”

  Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.

  Because this is what I do. This is the shit I live for. I’ve been taught by the best and now I crave it. The hunt. The reveal. The look in their eyes when I read them like a bargain shelf book.

  “You grew up poor,” I press, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes back on mine. “Had a bad home life, and eventually, you got sick of it and bounced. I mean, even the streets had to be better, right? Only they weren’t. Life doesn’t discriminate on who it fucks over, and it fucked you good, didn’t it?”

  The tension in her jaw pulses under my fingers, fueling me even more. She wants to pull away but won’t. Because doing so would verify I’ve hit a nerve. I pause for dramatic effect. If ten years in this business have taught me anything, it’s the only thing people hate more than truth is silence, and this girl is no different.

  “You were a kid with no skills, no money, and no choice but to take whatever shit job you could to survive.” I take a breath, enjoying the flicker of fear in her eyes. I’m so close to cracking this girl’s shell that I don’t even care about the damn wallet anymore. “That’s how you were able to read me in a two-minute conversation and go in for the kill. That kind of skill is only taught at the school of hard knocks.”

  “Are you done, or do you want to read my palm next?”

  Damn it, I’m starting to like this girl.

  Don’t get me wrong, I have two eyes and a dick, but I also enjoy a challenge. She’s throwing up roadblocks faster than I can knock them down, and that gets me off more than anything. If I hadn’t spent the week running interference between a handful of fake heiresses and a tabloid hungry mob, I might drag this out. But I’m not one to beat a dead horse, and this one is clinging to life by a thread.

  The moment I go in for the kill, she tilts her head down, and my mind blanks. I don’t think to ask. My hand drifts on its own, my thumb brushing along the delicate curve of her neck, a spark of something I can’t explain igniting.

  She inhales slowly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  I blink, the spark fading away. Instead of chasing it, I grab the brass ring already in reach. “You’re a little rough around the edges, but with a little coaching, we could actually pull this thing off.”

  She smacks my hand away again, only this time there’s hesitation. “Pull what off?”

  “I’m talking about a way out of this hellhole. Forget the wallet. Forget the cops. What if I told you I can offer you the acting job of a lifetime? One that can put five hundred thousand dollars in your pocket in less than two weeks?”

  Chapter Seven

  Dominic

  She narrows her eyes, like I’ve offended her. Unbelievable.

  Muttering out a curse, I dig in my newly retrieved wallet and pull out a business card. “I overheard you and that purple-haired bitch in there,” I say tipping my chin toward the bar. “I know you’re an actress, and your phone isn’t exactly ringing with offers.” Before she can spout off any more insults, I give her hand a tug and press the card into the middle of her palm. “This isn’t something I care to discuss next to a dumpster. Since you refuse to give me your number, mine is on the card. Think you can knock that chip off your shoulder long enough to call it?”

  Her eyes trail down to the card in her hand. I watch as they scan the words embossed in gold, her lips mouthing the name I’ve yet to reveal. Then every inch of her stills.

  “Dominic McCallum,” she says, spitting out my name as if she can’t stand the taste of it. She looks up, disgust burning bright and hot in that murky, green glare.

  “Yes?” It’s all I offer. I’ve just thrown down the gauntlet. It’s up to her whether she accepts the challenge.

  Holding my stare, she rips the card in two and tosses it to the ground by my feet. “Fuck you.”

  “Tempting, but I want an answer first.”

  “Fuck—�
��

  “Fuck you, I know. You’ve said that already.” Stepping forward, I cage her against the wall again. “But wishes come in threes, cupcake. So, if I were you, I’d be very careful about tossing out a third. Even with your shitty attitude, I might be tempted to grant it.”

  “You can go straight to hell.”

  “No thanks. Been there, done that. I don’t recommend it unless you’re into getting fucked in the ass by Satan.”

  She stares at me for a minute like she doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, she just shakes her head and blows out a slow breath. “What do you want from me?”

  It’s a simple question which should have a simple answer, but I’m losing focus as our close proximity starts taking up all available space in my head. “Everything,” I growl.

  I don’t know who leans in first. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s both of us. All I know is I’m imagining those lips wrapped around something a hell of a lot more enjoyable than an insult.

  “Everything okay out here?”

  The voice comes out of nowhere, and we spring apart like two over-wound Jack-in-the-boxes. Angel glances over my shoulder, a nervous smile tipping the corner of her cheek, so I follow her line-of-sight straight to a shock of purple hair and black Sharpie-rimmed eyes.

  Great.

  “Yeah, a customer lost his wallet and thought I might have seen it, but he was mistaken. Right?” She stares at me with a dare blazing in her eyes. If cocktail waitressing doesn’t work out for this woman, she has a solid future in extortion.

  “Right,” I say, dragging out the word. “Thanks for your time.” I glance down at the ripped card strewn across my shoe. “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  The bartender stares at me with suspicion in her eyes, so I smile just to be a dick.

  “I have to get back to work.” Angel scurries past me like someone lit her ass on fire. I watch as she swings the backdoor open, pausing only to glance over her shoulder at her friend. “You coming, Violet?”