Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  “So, what do you think?”

  I glance up, my brows knitting together as Dominic stands over me, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. “I’m sorry, what?”

  He cocks his head. “You’ve seemed kind of off since we left the bar. Are you okay?”

  No, I’m not okay, but I can’t tell him that. I can’t replay the conversation I had with Violet. The one where she warned me he was Jekyll and Hyde wrapped up in a Calvin Klein ad. He’s already proven he’ll railroad anyone who gets in his way. I know that first-hand. I won’t let him drag her name through the dirt.

  I fidget under the weight of his stare, my eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall. I hate emotion. I hate the person I become when I let it in. Vulnerable. Raw. Exposed. Weak. That’s why I love acting. It provides the ideal platform for turning on and off at will.

  I force a weak smile. “It’s just a lot to take in.” Before he can probe anymore, I change the subject. “So, what did you ask me again?”

  I can tell he doesn’t buy a damn thing I’m saying, but to my relief, he lets it go. “I asked you what you thought about leaving the rest of this stuff here. You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t have much to pack.” He motions to the beat-up suitcase sitting on my bed. “Most of your clothes and shoes fit in this. So, unless you have any sentimental—”

  “I don’t.”

  “It’s okay if—”

  “I said, I don’t, okay?” I should’ve let it drop, but for some reason my mouth keeps moving and words keep spilling out. “I learned pretty young not to get attached to stuff. It just gets taken away.”

  I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. What exactly is he supposed to say to something like that? Oh, poor little orphan, sorry your life was shit, here’s another twenty bucks?

  Fuck that. I don’t need a handout.

  Other than a five hundred-thousand-dollar handout, you mean.

  I cringe as we’re plunged into an awkward silence neither of us seems to know how to navigate. Dominic tips his head back and rubs his knuckles up and down his neck. I rock back and forth on the floor, bouncing an anxious gaze from wall to wall, trying not to stare at how the corded muscles in his neck stretch under his fingers. Trying not to stare at how he pushes his tongue against the back of his top teeth on a hard exhale.

  “A man like that has two faces, and you never see the ugly one until it’s too late. As long as you don’t fall blindly in love with the pretty one and forget that, you’ll be okay.”

  Damn it, why does he have to be so pretty?

  Dropping his hands, he lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  Yep. Second. Third. Fourth.

  I run my finger over a stain on the carpet, my gaze drifting toward the window. “No, I made a promise and I’m keeping it.”

  “Hey.” Bending down, he crooks his finger under my chin. “Don’t be scared. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

  “Don’t be scared, little one. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

  I freeze. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to chase after the words as they fade back into that locked place that scratches in the back of my head.

  There’s a faint scent of pennies.

  Brightly colored fireworks.

  And then nothing.

  Opening my eyes, I blink, my breath feeling trapped in my lungs as I gaze at Dominic. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ve got this.”

  “Did you…” I blow out a shaky breath. “Did you call me ‘little one’?”

  “No.” His eyebrows draw together in confusion just before a wicked smile peels across his face. “Why, do you want me to?”

  I smack his hand away. “I’m serious!”

  “Ouch! Shit, okay!” he says, holding up both hands. “No, I didn’t.” Pausing, he looks down at me like I’m a strange animal. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  I shake my head, forcing the whole thing out of my mind. “Yeah. Look, can we just go. I don’t want to drag this out.”

  Thankfully, Dominic doesn’t push back. Leaving me drowning in my own daze, he latches my suitcase and drags it off the bed. “I’m going to take this down to the car if you want to do a once over before we leave.”

  I nod. “I’ll be right down.”

  As soon as I hear the front door close, I climb to my feet and wander from room to room staring at empty space. That’s when the realization hits me. Even with my things gone, this place doesn’t look any different. Almost as if I was never here in the first place.

  Maybe living so simplistically was a subconscious attempt to not put down roots in Chula Vista. Maybe I told myself not making this place mine meant there was still hope for me in another place.

  A place that clearly never wanted me there.

  But here I am, diving back in headfirst, trying to tame the beast, armed with nothing but a determination to succeed and a second chance.

  At living somebody else’s life.

  My skin crawls as the words sink in. Truth is an ugly thing. It’s a dull, rusty arrow that hits hard and mercilessly at the worst of times. I promised myself I’d leave everything behind. That I’d start fresh. That I’d leave Angel Smith and all her baggage in the past and commit to being Alexandra Romanov.

  But what happens when the noise dies down?

  Sometimes noise is the only thing that makes people remember you’re there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dominic

  Every city has secrets. Some hide them better than others, but peel back enough layers and you’ll find an underworld that feeds on the lust and greed of the very people who condemn it. That’s where I’ve spent most of my life—burrowing through layers and hiding a side of me no one knows.

  If that makes me a hypocrite, so be it. But in order to end a reign, you have to incite a revolution. No one’s infallible. Everyone has scars. Sometimes, you just have to scratch below the surface to get them to bleed.

  So, as I turn into a parking lot in West Hollywood, it’s anticipation of that first drop of blood that drives a premature pull of the trigger, ignoring the very instinct that’s kept me alive.

  Angel sits quietly, a deep, vertical line sinking between her eyebrows. “I thought we were going to the Romanov estate. Where are we?”

  I gaze across the car, soaking in her confusion as she stares up at the modest two-story building in front of us. It’s not much to look at, but that was by design. I’m a walking target as it is. The last thing I need is to conduct business inside an even bigger one.

  “For now, it’s BTN headquarters.”

  She tilts her chin, the line between her eyes sinking even deeper. “For now?”

  Chuckling, I nod toward the simple white building. “Keep up, rookie. I told you at the café, you’re not the only one late on a few bills.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “So I’m a rookie now, huh?”

  “Well, I did just bring you from the minors to the big league. However, if you prefer, I can go back to cupcake.”

  “I have a name, you know.”

  “Yeah, Alexandra Romanov,” I say, the reminder causing my voice to fall heavy. “And I’m pretty sure neither of us can be trusted to use it in mixed company.” Leaning over the console, I tap the pad of my finger against her forehead. “So, until the day I look at you and see it stamped across here, I think it’s safer to stick to pet names, don’t you?”

  “But—”

  “Rookie or cupcake. Pick one, or I’ll pick for you.” Throwing the driver’s side door wide open, I climb out of the car and lean over the hood, waiting until her dark hair pops up on the other side to add, “Piss me off, and I’ll throw in a third option.”

  “Rookie’s fine,” she grumbles, slamming the passenger’s side door.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Angel keeps any more comments to herself, following me across the parking lot and through the back door. As we climb the stairs to the second le
vel, I hear movement. A fact that makes me question my decision to show up unannounced.

  I barely make it inside before a tiny tornado charges toward me, knocking Angel to the side and me into the wall. “Where the hell have you been?” Milly yells, shoving a phone in my face. “I was getting ready to call hospitals, you jerk!”

  “I told you not to worry.”

  A low growl gurgles in her throat as she punches my arm. “Why don’t you just cut me and tell me not to…” Her voice trails off, and she cocks her head to my right. “Who’s this?”

  The proverbial and literal million-dollar question.

  “Milly…” I start, but I might as well turn around and talk to the wall. Once she jumps into investigative mode, there’s no reasoning with her.

  In three wide steps, she’s in Angel’s face. “Milly Boone, producer at Beyond the News, and you are?”

  That’s not a friendly greeting. It’s a pointy-edged challenge dressed up in etiquette’s clothes. I should intervene, but I’m just as curious to hear the answer.

  I didn’t plan for a trial by fire introduction, but since the flame’s already lit, I might as well watch it burn. I won’t always be around to spoon-feed Angel canned responses. I need to know she won’t crumble under pressure. Milly has teeth, but the public has fangs.

  Angel’s eyes shift toward me in question. I shouldn’t take as much pleasure as I do in that small act of submission. I nod, and she clears her throat before staring Milly in the eye. “Alexandra Romanov.”

  I cringe. Good form. Poor execution.

  And judging by Milly’s howling laughter, she agrees. “Right,” she wheezes, palming her forehead. “And I’m the Queen of England. Girl, if you’re going to sell that load of crap, you should at least swat the flies off it first.”

  “Milly!”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Angel has agreed to come forward as the missing Romanov. She’s still trying to process all this, so give the girl the weekend before you nail her to a cross, yeah?”

  Angel rears back, eyes wide with shock as they bounce between us. “Wait, she knows?”

  “Hey, Angela!” Milly clips, waving a hand in her face. “I’m right here. I don’t need an interpreter.”

  Angel’s expression darkens. “It’s Angel.”

  Milly smirks. “Not for long.”

  Son of a bitch.

  It’s not like I expected them to start wearing best friends necklaces, but this bickering is ridiculous. Not to mention counterproductive.

  “To answer your question, yes,” I say, stepping between them. “Milly knows about our arrangement.” A snort erupts behind me. Gritting my teeth, I glance over my shoulder. “Did you set up the blast with the information I sent?”

  Milly dips her chin toward my glass enclosed office. “Yeah. It’s choppy, but I figured you’d fill in the blanks when you got back. It’s on your laptop if you want to take a look.”

  Scrubbing a hand down my face, I turn toward Angel. “Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’ll be difficult, but I think I’ll manage.”

  Great. Just what I wanted. Attitude from both sides.

  Once Milly and I are safely behind the thick wall of glass separating my office from the BTN bullpen, I lay into her. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “Yeah, well, she doesn’t think I’m a bottomless well of honesty, either.”

  Milly’s quiet for a moment, lines creasing across her forehead. “How the hell did you convince her to do this, Dom? You’re a smooth talker, and I admit you have a knack for provoking insane leaps of faith, but this…” Exhaling a worried sigh, she shakes her head. “This is next level leaping.”

  Turning toward my desk, I dig through the top drawer and hold up a tiny, plastic black circle no bigger than a nickel. “I called for reinforcements.”

  Milly’s mouth falls open. “Holy shit, you pulled the camera in the shower trick on her? And she bought it?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker.” Smugness creeps into my voice as I picture the shock on Angel’s face as I blindsided her.

  “So, you made her so afraid of what little she had, she had no choice. It was either your way—”

  “Or the highway,” I finish for her, tossing the camera in the air and catching it with a smirk. “Under an overpass to be more specific. This will work, Mill. You’ll see.”

  “This is a very dangerous game you’re playing, Dominic.” Sucking in a sharp breath, she shakes her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I don’t respond. I know the risk. Hell, I’m gambling our lives on the skills of a failed actress who hates me. Vengeance is a fickle game that landed me in front of two guns. One more misfire could ruin everything.

  “Show me what you’ve got,” I say, pushing the thought out of my head and nodding to the laptop sitting open on my desk. After keying in her password, she pulls up a document and turns it toward me. Immediately, the first thing I see is my own headline.

  Alexandra Romanov Alive and Well and Living in Chula Vista.

  After reading the basic skeleton web blast she prepared, I add a few minor adjustments and flashier words and step back. “There, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re about to make history.”

  Damn right, I am.

  Grinning, I hit publish, pulling the pin on a grenade no one sees coming. Now all that’s left to do is stand back and wait for the explosion.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Angel pointing an accusing finger at my ringing phone. The one I’m ignoring. The one that’s gone off every fifteen seconds for the last half hour.

  “Eventually.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” I didn’t want to get into this here, but I guess Angel’s crash course in fame has its own timetable. “Look, I know every self-absorbed shit in this town thinks the key to creating a buzz is to give more, but it’s just a guaranteed way to ignite fast and fizzle faster.”

  “So, we’re intentionally playing hard to get?”

  “First rule of Hollywood”—I hold up a finger—“is to make them wait. Dangle that carrot and then yank it back. Make them salivate so damn hard for just a taste, they’re foaming at the mouth. Mystery attracts a lot more flies than confession, rook.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “But if you’re not responding, then I guess we won’t be meeting with the estate tonight.”

  “Correct.”

  Letting out a labored sigh, she props her elbow against the window and tucks her chin into her palm. “I don’t have money, Dominic.”

  “I fail to see the problem.”

  She groans and stares into traffic. “I couldn’t afford a shitty apartment in Chula Vista. How the hell am I supposed to pay for a hotel room in Hollywood?”

  “Who said anything about a hotel?”

  “Then where do you expect me to…?” Angel leaves the rest of the question hanging as she turns to face me, her eyes wide. “No way, Dominic. Absolutely not.”

  Absolutely yes.

  If she thinks I’m letting her wade through the shit infested waters I just stirred up alone, she’s crazy. Too much is riding on this for me to leave her in a hotel room to fend for herself. “Why not? I have the extra room, and you’ll need a good front line offense.”

  I expect her to protest. Instead, she shuts her mouth and bends over like every other schmuck in this town. The ones who learned quickly you can’t stop a train by stepping in front of it. This is Hollywood. It does what it wants, when it wants. If you want to come along for the ride, great. If not, get the fuck out of the way because it’s going with or without you.

  Neither of us speaks again, too lost in our new reality to bother with small talk. It isn’t until I make the final turn into my neighborhood that I break the silence. “Here we are, home sweet… what the hell?�
�� As my house comes into view, I take one look at it and every calculated move I’ve made goes up in flames.

  Dozens of paparazzi are parked in front of my house, buzzing around like bees in a hive. Some I recognize, some I don’t. It’s hard to differentiate when they’re all swarmed together.

  I’m not pissed because they’re here. After all, I just alerted the whole damn world I’d found a missing heiress. I’m pissed because they’re here. At my house. A place I’ve gone to great lengths to disassociate from both BTN and the McCallum name.

  Angel has a white-knuckled grip on the dashboard as she leans forward and peers out the windshield. “Are all those…?”

  “Paparazzi,” I finish for her. “In the blood-sucking flesh.” Although I admit, I didn’t expect quite this many of them. Just goes to show how quickly news travels.

  Angel stares holes through them without blinking. “How do they know where you live? Don’t you pride yourself on your omniscient presence in this town?”

  The way she says it isn’t a compliment. In fact, it’s a pretty direct insult, and if we didn’t have the tabloid apocalypse closing in, I’d call her on it. Instead, I settle on an irritated smirk as I kill the engine. “Well, you can’t expect to make history without making a few waves.”

  Her breath catches. “So, what do we do?”

  No time like the present.

  “Give them what they want,” I say, opening my door to a storm of lights and flashes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Angel

  I grab Dominic’s arm as he rounds the car. “You can’t be serious.”

  Oh, but he is. Evidenced by the dark eyebrow he cocks as his gaze drops to where my nails dig into his wrist. “I’m sorry, were you unclear about the job description? This is what your life is going to be from now on. I suggest you get used to it.”