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What did he mean? I know deep down, and that scares me, so on the ride home, I’m silent, staring out of the window. I feel Cillian’s eyes on me where he sits on the opposite seat, but I don’t make conversation, worried I gave too much of myself away today. If Dal read me that easily, did the others? Do I care?
I don’t know.
My phone rings, and I answer without looking, glad for any excuse for a distraction. “The team is here, Miss Harrow,” the gate guard says. “Should I let them in?”
“Team?” I frown.
“Um, makeup, hair, clothes . . . One second, Miss Harrow.” I hear him talking to someone while I frown. “For the premiere? Uh, of the movie you did the songs for? The action one?” he continues when I’m quiet.
Shit.
Kill List.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I forgot I confirmed that I would attend when I came back—mainly because it was fun to work on and I get along well with the director. Fuck a duck, I’m not in the mood for all the questions and cameras, but it seems I need to be. Plastering on an old, fake smile, I reply, “Of course, let them in. We will be home soon to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” Cillian asks.
Putting down the phone, I meet their eyes. “Have you ever been to a movie premiere?”
* * *
Once we arrive, I’m rushed upstairs to my formal dressing room. Luckily, the team has been here before and has everything set up. I take a quick shower and shave before sitting in the chair to let them work their magic. Hair and makeup are done at the same time, so I simply sit like a doll being pampered.
Cillian brings me herbal tea, and I thank him as I sip it and tell him to inform the others that they need suits. I give them a number for someone who I know can help if they need it, and then I’m forced to concentrate. I’m slathered, plucked, poked, and primped before being told to move over to the dressing area. My shoes are put on first, seven-inch sparkling stilettos, showing off my brand-new chrome toenails.
The dress bag is hung before me, and I can’t wait to see it. My hair has been slicked back with curls on the edges, my ears are decorated with several earrings, and my fingers and neck are adorned with numerous pieces of glittery jewelry, which makes me think the dress will be similar.
Usually, I work with the designer I pick to come up with a custom gown, but I’ve worked with this one enough to trust the options he sent. He gets noticed when I wear his designs, and I get to wear a beautiful gown. He’s a newish designer, and when I first started, he was a nobody sewing from his house, but I love his style. Everyone kept pushing big names on me, but I chose him. Every single time, I work with him nearly exclusively. He gets my style, and our partnership works well. He became a big name from dressing me, and I still work with someone who believes in their craft and passion.
When they unzip the bag, I almost cry. Gone are the puffy, beautiful dresses from before, and in their place is a sleek, sexy number. It seems Orita, my designer, has picked up on the change and is very happy. After all, he always wanted to push the boundaries, but my manager rejected it.
Not anymore.
The dress looks like a diamond, all long, sleek lines, and it glitters with a disco ball effect. It takes two people to help me into it. The cupped bodice enhances my breasts and leaves my shoulders bare, where they sparkle from the cream that was smoothed on me. It tightens at my stomach, showing my curves, and then flows down past my feet. When I drag my hand down the dress, it feels like silk covered in thousands of diamonds. I glance up, and when I look in the mirror for the first time, I feel like me—the me on the inside that I see, not the perfect girl they always promoted.
My tattoos are on display, my eyes are smoky and sexy, and my body is worshiped by the dress, encased not covered.
I look beautiful, but it’s more than that. I look confident and put together, something I’m going to need tonight. This will be the first time I’ve attended an event since I got back, red carpet and all, not to mention going alone. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I attended some alone in the past, mainly because Tucker was busy, but I was never single and now I am. All eyes will be on me, looking for my reaction. The questions will be sharp and shouted, wanting to rip me apart, but I won’t let them.
As I head downstairs, holding up the gown, I realize that I won’t be alone and the four men standing in matching black suits at the bottom will never let anything get to me. I never thought much about a security team, but I already feel better, not to mention they are some serious eye candy. Their suits might be meant to make them blend in, but the way they fill them out is anything but, not to mention they look like models themselves. People won’t know if they are actors, stars, or security, and I like that.
The only thing that stands out on their suits is a silver pin they wear as if to match me.
At the base of the stairs, Raff steps forward, offering me his arm. His eyes run down me hungrily, and when he meets my gaze, he smiles. “You are breathtaking. They won’t know what hit them. You’ll be the star.”
“I hope not.” I laugh, and he grins.
“Sorry, there’s no way you’re blending in, beauty,” he purrs as he helps me out the door, only to frown. “Wait here.”
I stop, wondering what he’s doing. He drives the car closer, the gravel crunching under the tires—ah, the gravel.
“It’s fine!” I call, about to step forward when he points at me as he gets out.
“Wait, Miss Harrow,” he barks.
He’s gone for a moment before he turns with the plain board I used when painting the pool house. He lays it in a path to the open door and then comes back for me, taking my hand and walking me to the car.
My team swoons. “What a man!”
