Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  I stumble, missing steps in the waltz as the static from my dream blinds me, clouding my vision. The zigzag lines flash as the scratching in the back of my mind gets louder and louder. In between the zigzags, I can see slivers of faces but not enough to recognize anyone. I see lips moving, then they disappear as static turns them into dust.

  But then there’s a voice. Broken words, sifting through the scratches.

  “Here… sweet… good… now.”

  I listen but there’s nothing until...

  “Special.”

  A gurgle rattles in my throat, and then they’re gone. The flashes, static, scratching, and voices all vanish as quickly as they came. Almost as if they were never there at all. I know something important just happened, but it’s like someone marked over my memory with black chalk.

  “I have to go.” I can taste the bile rising up in my throat as I try to wrench out of his hold, but he only tightens his grasp.

  “Alexandra, you don’t look well. Maybe I should take you somewhere to lie down.”

  No. No. No.

  He’s caging me. I’m flapping my wings as hard as I can, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll never matter.

  “Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice rumbles behind me. “Traffic was a bitch.”

  Rosten and I both turn and relief rushes over me like warm water. I was told wishes and hope don’t exist. But if they do, they’re standing in front of me wrapped in all black and accented with a pair of piercing pale blue eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Angel

  “Dominic,” I breathe, and I don’t know if it’s his name or a prayer. Maybe it’s both because he looks like an angel sent down to rescue me. Although, looking as ominous as he does with that solid black tux, heavy stubble, and slicked back dark hair, maybe he climbed up more than floated down.

  “Hi, rook.” A deadly smile creeps along his sinful lips, and I don’t know if it’s for me or Rosten. However, I don’t have time to decide. In a flurry of motion, he clamps a firm hand around my wrist, and I fall into him, my knees unlocking as I burrow my face into his chest.

  “McCallum, aren’t you here on a limited media pass?” Rosten growls. “I believe you’ve crossed out of your designated area. You can’t just barge into the VIP sector and interrupt—”

  “No? I think I just did.” The room suddenly becomes an endless swirl of lights as Dominic spins me around, dropping his hold on my waist and grabbing my hand. I don’t have time to ask what the hell he’s doing before he’s dragging me across the ballroom and down a long hallway leading away from the party.

  “Dominic,” I pant, my breath coming in labored gasps. “Slow down, I can’t…keep…up.”

  Two twists and turns later, we’re in a darkened hallway I hardly recognize. By the time he stops, I’m bent over, out of breath, half-pissed, and confused as hell.

  When I can finally form words, I glance up, barely making his face out in the darkness. “You mind telling me what this is all about?”

  Instead of answering, he paces in front of me like a caged tiger, his hand shoved in his hair, tugging at the roots. Gone is the calm and flippant Dominic from the ballroom. This Dominic is on edge and unstable. “What the hell did I walk into?”

  “Nothing. He just wants me to sign with Silverline.” The more he paces the more my anxiety magnifies. I was so relieved to see him, I momentarily forgot I’m pissed at him. “Where have you been?” I hiss, rising to my feet, my heart racing. “Fashionably late doesn’t mean two and a half hours, asshole.”

  “I was busy.”

  “You were busy?” I snap, forcing an attitude I’m honestly too exhausted to put this much effort into. But I let him touch me. I lowered a lifetime of walls for a moment of weakness he just threw in my face. I’ll be damned if he gets to just manhandle me like nothing happened.

  “Can we not do this—”

  “I’ve had to deal with strange men who want to have weird conversations, and there’s all this fucking static in my head that won’t go away. But that’s nothing compared to the scratching. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, Dominic.” Closing my eyes, I palm my forehead as my mind starts to blot with that damn black chalk again. “I can’t think with all these zigzags and rules, and—”

  “I think you should take Rosten’s offer.”

  Like an eraser swipe across my mind, the chalk disappears. Opening my eyes, I gape at him. “Are you insane? Greg Rosten. The same Greg Rosten you blasted for sexual assault.”

  “I issued a retraction.”

  “We both know you were forced into that.”

  Dominic sighs, and even in the shadows, I see his shoulders sag. “The Romanovs have a history with Silverline, rook. It would look suspicious to go with anyone else.”

  I want to believe him, and that’s the problem. I never know if he’s working an angle to ensure our success or his own. But surviving on my own taught me always to question people’s motives. And this feels too rushed. Too planned. Too wrapped up in a shiny gold box tied with invisible strings.

  “What’s in it for you?”

  Dominic steps closer and as the distance between us disappears, so do the shadows obscuring his face. “Nothing. Maybe I just missed you.”

  Oh, no you don’t. Not today, Satan.

  “What happened to, ‘We both got what we wanted. I got my money, and you got the career you kept bitching I stole from you. Everyone wins’?”

  He groans. “Look, I’m used to working alone, Alexandra. This whole ‘looking out for someone else’ thing is new for me, so how about cutting me some slack?”

  Squaring my jaw, I stare him dead in the eye. “And I’m supposed to forgive you just like that?”

  He fists his hands by his side as if it’s taking every ounce of control to rein in his temper. “Look, let’s just get back to the party. You need to talk to Rosten.”

  I can’t believe him. After that elaborate tap dance he pulled, he’s ready to send me right back into the arms of a predator.

  Rage boils hot and furious inside me, and I snap. “Fuck you, fuck this party, and fuck Greg Rosten.” Resisting the urge to punch him, I turn to stomp back down the hall when I’m spun back around and slammed against the wall.

  The impact knocks the breath out of me. I open my mouth to gasp for air, but Dominic doesn’t give me a chance. His mouth comes crashing onto mine with such force I’m thrown into the wall a second time as he devours me. Consumes me. Incinerates me with every demanding delve past my lips. I moan as his nails dig into my hips, his cock hardening with every press against my stomach.

  I’m powerless against him when he’s like this, and he knows just how to play my body to get what he…

  Oh God.

  Images flash in my head over the past couple of weeks. Intimate memories of us together. Outside the café when he kissed me after I refused his offer. On his patio when I let him touch me after evading my questions about his past. And now, kissing me like this after I refused to play nice with Greg Rosten.

  I’m such an idiot.

  “No!” Rearing back, I slam both palms against his chest and shove him away. “I’m not your fuck toy, McCallum!” I shout, not giving a damn who hears me. “You don’t get to be an asshole and then shut me up with a few kisses.”

  A shiver rolls down my spine as he stalks toward me, his eyes dark and lethal. Grabbing my wrists, he swings them above my head, and pins me against the wall. “I don’t want to shut you up with a few kisses, Alexandra Romanov,” he growls, and hearing him say her name while grinding his hard cock against me makes it seem even more forbidden. “Do you want me to tell you what I want to do?”

  Say no.

  “Yes,” I shudder on a breathy exhale.

  He releases my hands, but with one look from him, I don’t dare move them. Then with no hesitation or slow seduction, his fingers bunch around the opening at my thigh, widening the slit so fast it rips. A sadistic smile teases his lips. “This dress gives me perfect access
without tearing the whole thing off. And, make no mistake, Miss Romanov, I wouldn’t care if we were alone, or the whole goddamn party watched, I’d shred every fucking inch and show everyone your pretty little pussy.” My breath comes rough and ragged as he reaches between my legs, lazily dragging a finger across the drenched scrap of lace. “Because then they’d know how wet it gets for me.”

  “Oh God.”

  “What would you do, Miss Romanov? Would you push me away”—his finger stalls, then barely dips under the edge—“or would you beg me to show them how hard I can make you come?”

  Beyond decorum, I push forward, desperate to drive his finger the rest of the way. But Dominic’s smirk only widens as he continues rubbing back and forth with light strokes. I’m hopelessly falling, my body slipping into submission.

  “Dominic…”

  “Words, sweet heiress. I need the words.”

  “Come,” I gasp. “I’d want them to watch you make me come.” I’m glad it’s dark because my face burns at my own wantonness. Biting my lip, I turn to the side, only to shriek as a brutal bite stings against my hips. Shocked, I glance down to see Dominic holding my thong in his hand.

  “That’s a fantasy you can just tuck the fuck away, your highness,” he growls, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifts the shredded lace between us. “Because this pussy is mine, and nobody watches it come but me.” The corded muscles in his neck strain as he shoves my panties in his pocket.

  “Dom—” I never get the rest of his name out. After only one syllable, he returns his hand between my legs, and drives two fingers inside me so hard it takes my breath away. “Oh fuck!”

  His thrusts border on cruel, and when his fingers curl toward my front wall, seeking out the one spot he knows will send me over the edge, my nails dig into the wall over my head, preparing for the orgasm I know is going to wreck me.

  “Yes…”

  And then nothing.

  I open my eyes, realizing his hand is no longer inside me, and he’s staring at me, something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Something primal.

  “Not this time.” Lifting his hand, he rubs his thumb and index finger together, already slick with my arousal. “I’m going back out there and shake hands with the most powerful people in this town with the scent of you on my fingers and the taste of you on my tongue. Now spread your legs.”

  “W-what?”

  “I won’t ask twice, Miss Romanov. Spread your legs, or I’ll spread them for you.”

  Shaking, I widen my knees as far as my dress will allow, my stilettos scraping along the pristine floor. Dominic holds my eye as he sinks to one knee, lifting my leg and draping it over his shoulder. “Show me how hard an heiress comes,” he growls, “and maybe I’ll show you how hard a criminal fucks.”

  That’s the last I see of him before he dips forward, and I feel his mouth against me. I want it more than I want my next breath, and at the same time I know it’s just another mind game. It’s another piece of control he’s taking.

  But everything fades away the minute his tongue invades me. All semblance of reason evaporates, and all I can do is feel. My entire body bursts into flames as his mouth douses it with more and more gasoline.

  “Dominic!” I scream, not giving a shit about the echo when he flattens his tongue, licking me from opening to clit then sucking hard on the bundle of nerves until I’m out of my mind, thrashing as his heavy stubble scrapes against my skin.

  He doubles his efforts with voracity just as a burst of light explodes behind my eyes, and my world flips upside down. As if he can sense my impending orgasm, Dominic thrusts his fingers back inside me, pumping with the speed of a man possessed while wrapping his lips around my clit and circling his tongue like a goddamn tornado.

  And just like a tornado, I’m swept away.

  Leveled.

  Destroyed.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Cries pour out of me as I come hard, and Dominic grabs me around the waist to keep me upright. Slowly, he stands, and I slump against him as wave after wave of aftershocks ripple through me.

  This man is going to be the death of me. Dominic is a manipulator used to getting what he wants. But with me, he’s force with limits. He’s control with trust. He’s coercion with consent. And God help me, I want to succumb to all of it.

  After a few moments, he steadies me on my feet, and I watch both mesmerized and mortified as he wipes his glistening chin with the back of his hand and licks his lips. “Now, Miss Romanov, I believe it’s rude for the hostess to abandon her own party.” Turning, he offers his arm like we didn’t just defile a multimillion-dollar mansion. “Shall we?”

  I wish I had a snappy comeback, but I don’t. I’m too exhausted, too confused, and too satisfied. So instead, I take his arm, and we make our way back toward the main ballroom.

  “Take short steps, rook,” he muses as we turn the corner. Confused, I turn to find a smug smile plastered across his face. “Your panties are in my pocket.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Angel

  There’s something to be said for self-reliance. Even as a teenager, wandering from shelter to shelter and street to street, I preferred being alone. With solitude came comfort and with no expectation came no disappointment.

  I miss the security of isolation. When everything made sense, and I didn’t have all these conflicting emotions waging war inside my head. When every moment didn’t revolve around Dominic McCallum.

  Who I haven’t seen in three days, by the way.

  It’s just as well. After the party, Michaela put me on display like a show pony. Since Saturday morning, I’ve flown from LA to New York and back again, doing interviews, press junkets, daytime talk shows, late night talk shows, really late night talk shows—hell, at this point, I have no idea what I’ve said and what I haven’t. It’s all one big blur.

  One thing’s for sure—America loves me. Even when a few arrogant TV hosts tried to boost ratings by stirring up the Angel Smith/Jade Saxton controversy, the public stood by me. Some going so far as to picket outside Rockefeller Plaza.

  Of course, Michaela prepped me with pre-canned answers. Our story is that I saw the picture of the little girl Dominic carried around and (dramatic gasp) demanded to know why he had a picture of me.

  Brilliant, right?

  We thought so.

  And everyone bought it. So much that nobody cared about Jade Saxton’s history with Dominic McCallum or Angel Smith’s supposedly diabolical plan to get even.

  Nope. In seventy-two hours, Alexandra Romanov became a national treasure.

  Sweet. Infectious. And absolutely full of shit.

  Which is exactly how I feel this early on Monday morning. Full of shit and a host of other disgusting things as I leave the glass enclosed reception area of Silverline Studios and head toward the main executive building. The plastic keycard bites into my hand as I clench my fist, hesitating before opening the door.

  “This is what you wanted,” I whisper. “So just suck it up and do it.”

  Taking a deep breath, I open yet another glass door and step inside the building, making my way over to the elevator. As I wait for it to arrive, I can’t help but replay Dominic’s words from the party, moments before we reentered the ballroom.

  “Everything in Hollywood is a smokescreen, rook. It’s not enough to just play the game. You have to own the board.”

  “Own it. Right.” The elevator dings, and I step inside, inserting the keycard and counting the floors as they tick away toward the penthouse.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Seven. Eight…

  Ding.

  My stomach somersaults as the doors open, and I pull out the keycard, dropping it in my purse as I make my way toward the hard-faced secretary with the resting bitch face.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “Alexandra Romanov,” she says, standing quickly. “Mr. Rosten is expecting you. Please come with me.”

  I follow her to another door where she knocks, opening it a few
inches before announcing, “Miss Romanov is here.” I don’t hear his reply, just a low murmur as she nods her head and swings the door open. “Go right in.” Just as I start to move past her, she stops me, her palm slicing out just under my chin. “I’ll need—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Susan, let her in!”

  Susan, or whatever her name is, slowly lowers her arm, her tight smile widening into something resembling the Cheshire Cat—if it had a baseball bat shoved up its ass. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Romanov. Silverline is lucky to have you.”

  “Alexandra, please have a seat.” My attention is momentarily diverted as my gaze shifts to Greg Rosten, perched behind his desk like the lord of the manor. It sets me on edge, and when I hear the door close behind me, my nerves start to snap.

  Own the board.

  Forcing a smile, I make my way across the office and sink into the oversized chair on the other side of his desk. “I apologize for the delay. My schedule has been a bit hectic lately.”

  “I saw the interviews. You handled yourself well, Alexandra. Just like a true Romanov. Your mother would be proud.”

  I tilt my head. “Just my mother?”

  “She was always the media darling,” he answers with a wink. “A people pleaser, if you will. Your father was more traditional. Set in his ways. Never liked the give and take of the business side of this industry.”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, I’m my own woman, Mr. Rosten. I may bear the Romanov name, but I’m not here to bask in my mother’s shadow. I plan to make my own mark.”

  “Yes, you definitely are a woman.” His eyes slowly scan down my tailored jacket and past my sheer blouse and skirt to my legs.

  I shift in my chair. “That’s not what I—”

  “Alexandra.” He rises from his throne and strolls past the wall of windows, his hands locked behind his back. “I assume all contracts have been signed and made official.”