I shook my head. “When you say I’m going to be in the music industry, are you saying I should just go and fucking lie to everyone?”
He put his hands out like he was DJing on an invisible deck. “It’s not lying,” he said, hamming on more of a fake Bronx accent. “It’s manifesting. The truth changes when a king speaks. You just gotta own your truth, loud enough the universe hears it. When a king decrees, the people listen.”
“So we’re fucking lying.”
He dropped his hands by his sides, talking with a genuine voice for the first time since I’d met him. “Look, everyone’s posturing and shit at these parties. You won’t be the only one making things up. Besides, we’re already lying about who you are.”
“We’re already—we’re doing fuckingwhat?”
“You gotta have an invite to show up at this place. So we drop a little white lie,” he said, putting on the Kingmaker act again. “This girl called Cassandra Evans-Pierre is supposed to attend, but I have it on good authority she’s a no-show this time. So you tell them at the door that’s who you are.”
“Dude, what the fuck, I’m not doing this,” I said, backing away now. “You want me to just go lie about my work, my name, what else?”
“Hey, easy, girl,” he said. “You don’t need to go through the whole party pretending to be Cassandra. Just at the door, say you’re Cassandra Evans-Pierre and your friend Krysten invited you. Then you can show up as your actual self. It’s just party-crashing. People do it all the time. You’ve gotta do something to get your foot in the door if you’re gonna be a king.”
“I don’t want to be the king of lies.”
“No harm no foul. Little victimless crime. Cassandra ain’t gonna show, so it’s not like you’re taking her invite away. And a conquering king is always going to break some rules along the way. You gotta get with the flow or you’ll get swept away by the city. You feel me?”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“You should see a doctor about that.”
I scowled at him. Eventually, he broke.
“Do you want to do this, or do you want to go back to Missouri?”
Ugh. He had to hit me where it hurt. My face burned, and I shoved my hands in my hoodie pockets, hunching my shoulders. I should never have signed up to anything with this stupid guy. Now if I gave up and went back to Missouri, I’d spend forever asking myself what would have happened if I’d just toldonelittle white lie. I was quiet for a while before I said, “If it worked… which is a big if… then I’d already be in and stuff, right? I wouldn’t have to keep lying and pretending to be someone else?”
“Of course.” He put his hands up. “You got Kingmaker’s word.”
What the hell was Kingmaker’s word worth, anyway? I sighed pointedly, frustratedly. “Okay, fine,” I said. “Sure. Just this once. I’ll attend this party. What’s the harm? It’s going to be some stupid party that will amount to nothing and I’ll never see any of them again anyway.”
“That’s what I wanna hear.” He picked up another folder from his desk, and he gestured to the door. “C’mon,” he said. “We’ll hit up the recording studio today, and I’ll send you to my guy Daniel tomorrow for the styling appointment. No time to sit around. A king’s gotta keep moving.”
I was going to start up a drinking game where I’d take a shot every time this man saidking.Poison all my organs in an hour so much I wouldn’t be worth harvesting anyway. Win-win.
∞∞∞
Unlike Kingmaker, Daniel knew his stuff. He was a handsome ginger man with perfectly styled hair and goatee and a neat suit in a tasteful burgundy, and I felt so out of place going into his styling boutique that I crept in like I was a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal—the place was sleek and upscale, everything cleaner than I’d forgotten things could be, and I felt like I was in a showroom as I sat in the reception area, looking at framed magazine spreads and covers on the walls. Mostly of powerful, glamorous women. The one right across from me was a Vanity Fair cover with a beautiful brunette looking at the camera like she was vaguely mad at me but in a sexy way,HELENA WARRICK TELLS ALLwritten over it like I wasremotely hip enough to know who that was. Was I really trying to be like that? Trying to pretend like I was in that sphere?
Me? I wasn’t cut out for that.
I jumped when the bell jingled from the door and Daniel came in, smiling disarmingly at me. His neat suit and careful demeanor made me feel like a hobo wandering in off the street, and I burned with embarrassment about the hoodie, but he offered me a handshake that felt impossibly friendly, like we’d known each other for years.
“Julie Branch?” he said. “It’s wonderful to meet you. My name’s Daniel Harding, and I’ll be your stylist.”
“Hey, Daniel. Yeah, um… my, uh, Kingmaker said you’re the best in the business.” God, saying his name felt so fucking stupid. I wondered what his real name was. Something boring.
“He talks me up too much,” he said. “But I’ll try to live up to the expectations set for me.”
“Ha. Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He smiled wider. “What I see, Julie,” he said, his voice like melted butter, “is a beautiful white canvas.”
“I’m not that pale.”
His face fell a little. “No, no. I mean, as in… a clean slate. A perfect starting point for something beautiful. I’ll be happy to help bring your inner beauty to the surface.”
