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“Do you want a raise? Is that what this is about? You need more money?”
“No, Mom. It’s about me wanting to live my best possible life. I love fashion and cosmetics and pop culture and I want to share my passion and expertise with the world.”
“Good, then you won’t mind going shopping this afternoon to select some outfits for Gigi. She has appearances at Good Morning America, the Tonight Show and Hot 97 this week, and I want her to look fierce. Like the superstar she is.”
Demi narrowed her gaze. It was times like this, when Althea was picking on her, that she wondered if her mom even loved her. Althea’s life was centered around Geneviève and the next multimillion-dollar deal, which left no time for Demi. In her mom’s eye, she was a joke, just another staffer on Geneviève’s payroll, but Demi was going to prove her wrong.
“Mom, as you know, my last official day as Gigi’s personal assistant was Friday, and Maribelle’s my replacement, so I suggest you contact her.”
Althea’s face darkened and Demi knew her words had struck a nerve.
The pilot’s voice came on the intercom, requesting passengers take their seats in preparation for takeoff, but Althea didn’t move.
“Writing about eyeliner, dating and fashion trends isn’t a career, Demi, it’s a hobby,” Althea said in a haughty tone.
Demi swallowed hard. Nothing she ever did was good enough for Althea, and she was so frustrated about the situation, she could feel water fill her eyes. Knock it off, she chided herself, willing the tears not to fall. Only babes cry, so stop it right now!
“You’ll never make enough money from your social media pages to pay your bills or maintain your extravagant lifestyle, so quit blogging and keep the cushy, six-figure job your sister most graciously gave you.”
Seething inwardly, Demi straightened in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. She was more than just a sidekick, more than just Genevieve’s little sister, and it was high time Althea realized her worth.
“Don’t put me in a box. I’m good at a lot of things, and I could do anything I put my mind to,” she said in a calm voice, even though she was pissed. “I graduated from Temple with a degree in communications, remember? The sky’s the limit for me, and I won’t let you dictate what I can do. I’m chasing my dreams and you can’t stop me.”
Althea’s jaw dropped and she stumbled as if she’d been kicked in the chest.
“That’s right, sis! You’re a star and soon the whole world will know it,” Geneviève shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I believe in you, Demi. You can do it!”
Love filled Demi’s heart. Moved by her sister’s words, she blew her a kiss. Demi could always count on Gigi to have her back, and she couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and loyal sister. Reclining her seat, Demi closed her eyes, and pulled the thermal blanket up to her chin. She’d planned to live stream from the private plane, but arguing with Althea had sucked the life out of her and now she needed a nap.
“Ms. Harris, it’s time for takeoff. Please sit down,” a steward said in a quiet voice.
Althea stomped off, grumbling under her breath about having a spoiled, ungrateful daughter, and Demi sighed in relief. She’s gone! Finally! Thank God for small miracles. Someone was playing reggae music on their cell phone and hearing the popular track made Demi think about Chase. They’d danced to the song at Infamous nightclub and she’d giggled every time he’d pulled her to his chest.
Demi snuggled her face in the blanket. Ibiza had it all. Crystal-clear waters, picturesque beaches, attractive restaurants and world-class shopping, but the highlight of her trip hadn’t been exploring the island; it had been exploring Chase. They’d only known each other for a few days, but he’d made an indelible impression on her. On top of being an exceptional lover, he was authentic and sincere, and Demi couldn’t stop thinking about him or the memorable moments they’d shared. Maybe her girlfriends were right. Maybe she should find him online—
An elbow jabbed Demi in the side and her eyes flew open. The drummer of Divalicious, a smart-mouthed Cuban American with frizzy brown hair was holding Demi’s iPhone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. “Chiquita, get up. You’re not fooling anybody,” Esmeralda trilled in a singsong voice. “Now that the coast is clear, we can really have some fun.”
Demi glanced around the cabin. The window shutters were
down, the lights were dim and everyone was sleeping—except Althea. She was eating her breakfast and reading the March issue of Forbes magazine. Demi wore a fond smile. The only thing Althea loved more than fine cuisine was meeting billionaires and she’d spent the entire week schmoozing with some of the wealthiest people in the world. Considering where they’d come from, Demi couldn’t help being impressed by her mom’s drive and tenacity. Born and raised in the Badlands, a neighborhood in North Philadelphia known for its street gangs and drugs, Demi had lived in constant fear of violence, but Althea had taught her to be strong and how to defend herself against neighborhood bullies. Her father, Dwight Dellamare Jr., had left their family when Demi was nine years old and she’d never forget all the nights she’d gone to bed cold, hungry and scared.
Kicking off her slip-on shoes, Demi watched Althea make circles in the magazine with her yellow highlighter. As usual, she was creating a plan. Against all odds, she’d turned Geneviève into a pop sensation who was beloved worldwide, and although they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Demi admired Althea and was proud of everything she’d accomplished. Who knows, she thought, toying with her silver thumb ring. Maybe one day she’ll be proud of me, too.
“Perk up, chiquita. It’s showtime!” Esmeralda shrieked, pointing the phone at her face.
Demi tossed aside the blanket, fluffed her hair and struck a pose. She loved shooting videos with Esmeralda and enjoyed goofing around with her friend at the rear of the cabin. Why not live stream from the plane? Might as well. Geneviève’s security guards were playing dominos in the living room, but everyone else was fast asleep and Demi needed something to do to keep her mind off Chase. Posting videos and pictures would help pass the time and Demi knew her followers would enjoy their frank discussion about men, relationships and pop culture. Add to that, the private jet was the perfect backdrop for their conversation. It was sleek and glamorous, and filled with the best furnishings money could buy.
“Let’s play Twenty Questions!” Esmerelda balled her hand into a fist and thrust it in Demi’s face, as if it was a microphone. “Number one. Thongs, boy shorts or commando?”
“That’s an easy one. I hate panty lines so I’ll be a thong girl until I die.”
“If you were invisible for a day what would you do?”
“Rob a bank!” Demi shrieked, laughing outrageously. “And spy on Cardi B, of course.”
They talked and laughed, and soon Demi forgot Esmerelda was recording her and spoke freely, didn’t censor her thoughts. She was having so much fun, chatting and cracking jokes with her friend, she didn’t realize the plane was in the air until her ears plugged and her throat dried.
Reclining comfortably in her seat, Demi opened up to Esmerelda about her first kiss, the worst date she’d ever been on, her proudest moment and the near-fatal pool accident at her best friend’s house in the seventh grade. Demi tried not to think about that fateful August day, but she wanted her followers to know she’d faced hard times, too. Because she was Geneviève’s sister, people thought her life was “perfect,” but that couldn’t be further from the truth. “If Mrs. Castellanos hadn’t jumped into the pool and pulled me out, I would have drowned,” Demi confessed, turning and twisting her fingers in her lap. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Castellanos in years, but she’ll always be my guardian angel.”
