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“I’m Bonbon Barbie. Your organization emailed me and invited me here,” she chimed, doing her best to not melt into a pool of mortification. Heat rose to her cheeks. She could feel her douche nozzle ex-boyfriend’s eyes boring into her.
“Shit!” the tall guy muttered, shaking his head. “I forgot to email you about the mix-up.”
No, no, no!
She shifted her stance and fluffed her brown tutu. “Mix-up?” she replied, her voice rising another shaky octave like a jittery opera singer after pounding a case of energy drinks.
The pasty man tapped the clipboard. “We meant to inviteBang BangBarbie and accidentally reached out to you. I got the bang bangs and bonbons confused.”
He had to be kidding. But the man wasn’t laughing.
Three, two, one.
Blastoff for planet humiliation.
This was really happening.
She’d accidentally been invited to audition to become a porn star.
It might have been funny if she hadn’t pegged every hope she had on this contest.
A cacophony of laughter rang out.
She’d almost forgotten she had an audience.
Vance and his minions slapped each other on the back in blissful jubilation, taking pleasure in her catastrophic condition.
For the millionth time, what had she seen in this guy?
The tall man ignored the hubbub, took a step back, and undressed her with his eyes. He licked his lips.
Ew!
“You are hot,” he said with eyes glued to her bonbons. “Your whole sexy poop emoji thing might really work for some of our kinkier viewers. It’s working for me.”
This could not be her life.
She crossed her arms, shielding her bonbons from this sleazeball. “I’ll have to decline the offer.”
“Then step aside, poop kink.”
“Poop kink?” she repeated, to the delight of stupid Vance.
“We’ve got real performers to interview,” he huffed, giving her the brushoff. He peered down the hall at the trio of brunettes clad in…G-strings and pasties.
“Step aside?” she seethed. “Shouldn’t you apologize? I drove twelve hours to get here. I spent everything I have on gas.”
The tall guy shrugged. “Like I said, it was a mistake.”
A mistake that had led her on a wild-goose chase to Sin City.
White-hot anger and blistering humiliation flooded her system when Vance’s voice cut through the corridor.
“Always great to see you, Harper. Keep fighting the good fight and vibe on,” he called over his shoulder, convulsing with laughter as he dropped his douchiest of douchebag catchphrases and paraded down the hallway with his entourage.
It appeared rock-bottom wasn’t as low as she could go.
This slice of humiliation pie had landed her in the special sub-level of rock-bottom: the poop kink level of hell.
