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“Excuse me, but yes I can,” I argue. “I don’t recall signing a contract committing me to having to wear make-up to be in the presence of the great Will Power.”
He closes his eyes and presses fingers his temples. He looks tired, despite the make-up that he’s clearly wearing.
“Fine. Whatever. Joe,” he addresses the cameraman who has me in his frame. “Can you work with this?”
“Of course, Mr. Power. Just give me a minute to put a gel on the lens.”
He looks at his watch. “We go live in fifteen. I’ll be back in twelve. Seriously, Catherine, you’ll be a lot more convincing from your soapbox if people aren’t distracting themselves Googling what diseases make a person look undead while we’re talking.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Your funeral,” he deadpans as he leaves the room.
While the camera crew busy themselves with whatever they’re doing, I close my eyes and silently repeat the three messages I’d like to deliver. My phone vibrates and I pull it from my pocket.
ERIC
Break a leg! I know you’ll be amazing.
CATHERINE
Off to a good start. I’ve pissed off the entire crew and Will since I refuse to wear make-up. Ridiculous.
ERIC
Why?
CATHERINE
I don’t do make-up. You know that.
ERIC
Bad call, IMO.
CATHERINE
Not asking your opinion.
ERIC
Wrong battle. Focus on your goal.
I stare at his message and question my decision.
What if Eric’s right? I hate that he’s made me second-guess myself. A little voice in my head whispers,You know he’s right. You’re being pig-headed.A kinder voice pipes up,Think of it like sunscreen, but to protect you from the glare of the lights.
I click off the message app and notice the time. Seven minutes until we’re live. Dammit. I let my camera guy know he should remove the gel.
I knock on the door to the make-up room then try to push it open. It’s locked. I knock again. Wait. Knock harder.
The EA is headed down the hall toward me. “She’s not there.”
“Where is she?” I try not to let my panic seep into my voice.
“No idea.”
“Please call her. Get her back. Apparently, I need make-up.”
