Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,94
enough, but my sharp cheekbones put me closer to handsome than pretty—an effect my strong chin enhances. The makeup, however, softens my features, bringing out the blue color of my eyes and highlighting the contrast with my black hair.
The makeup girl went overboard with it—you’d think I’m about to step into a shampoo commercial. I’m not a big fan of long hair, but I keep it that way because when I had it short, people used to mistake me for a teenage boy.
That’s a mistake no one would make tonight.
“I like it,” I say. “Let’s be done. Please.”
The TV guy switches the screen back to the live feed of the show. I can’t help but glance there, and my already high blood pressure spikes.
The makeup girl looks me up and down and wrinkles her nose minutely. “You insist on that outfit, right?”
The really cool (in my opinion) borderline-dominatrix getup I’ve donned today is a means to add mystique to my onstage persona. Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin, the famous nineteenth-century French conjuror who inspired Houdini’s stage name, once said, “A magician is an actor playing the part of a magician.” When I saw Criss Angel on TV, back in elementary school, my opinion of what a magician should look like was formed, and I’m not too proud to admit that I see influences of his goth rock star look in my own outfit, especially the leather jacket.
“How marvelous,” says a familiar voice with a sexy British accent. “You didn’t look like this at the restaurant.”
Pivoting on my high heels, I come face to face with Darian, the man I met two weeks ago at the restaurant where I do table-to-table magic—and where I’d impressed him enough to make this unimaginable opportunity a reality.
A senior producer on the popular Evening with Kacie show, Darian Rutledge is a lean, sharply dressed man who reminds me of a hybrid between a butler and James Bond. Despite his senior role at the studio and the frown lines that crisscross his forehead, I’d estimate his age to be late twenties—though that could be wishful thinking, given that I’m only twenty-four. Not that he’s traditionally handsome or anything, but he does have a certain appeal. For one thing, with his strong nose, he’s the rare guy who can pull off a goatee.
“I wear Doc Martens at the restaurant,” I tell him. The extra inches of my footwear lift me to his eye level, and I can’t help but get lost in those green depths. “The makeup was forced on me,” I finish awkwardly.
He smiles and hands me a glass he’s been holding. “And the result is lovely. Cheers.” He then looks at the makeup girl and the camera guy. “I’d like to speak with Sasha in private.” His tone is polite, yet it carries an unmistakable air of imperiousness.
The staff bolt out of the room. Darian must be an even bigger shot than I thought.
On autopilot, I take a gulp of the drink he handed to me and wince at the bitterness.
“That’s a Sea Breeze.” He gives me a megaton smile. “The barman must’ve gone heavy on the grapefruit juice.”
I take a polite second sip and put the drink on the vanity behind me, worried that the combination of vodka and Valium might make me woozier than I already am. I have no idea why Darian wants to speak to me alone; anxiety has already turned my brain to mush.
Darian regards me in silence for a moment, then pulls out a phone from his tight jeans’ pocket. “There’s a bit of unpleasantness we must discuss,” he says, swiping across the screen of the phone before handing it to me.
I take the phone from him, gripping it tight so it doesn’t slip out of my sweaty palms.
On the phone is a video.
I watch it in stunned silence, a wave of dread washing over me despite the medication.
The video reveals my secret—the hidden method behind the impossible feat I’m about to perform on Evening with Kacie.
I’m so screwed.
“Why are you showing me this?” I manage to say after I regain control of my paralyzed vocal cords.
Darian gently takes the phone back from my shaking hands. “You know that thing you went on about at the restaurant? How you’re just pretending to be a psychic and that it’s all tricks?”
“Right.” I frown in confusion. “I never said I do anything for real. If this is about exposing me as a fraud—”
“You misunderstand.” Darian grabs my discarded drink and takes a long,