Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,20

had one.

The thought jerks me out of my lust-filled haze and slams me back into reality.

“Nervous?” I repeat the word, hating the slight wobble in my voice. “Not at all. I just... You have four minutes left.”

His rough laugh melts over my skin. “What would you say if I told you I could not only fast-track your way back into Hollywood, I could make you the biggest star they’ve ever seen?”

“I told you before, I’m not a whore.”

“And I told you before, I don’t mean in exchange for sex.” I quirk an eyebrow which he answers with a wicked grin. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down, but that’s not what this is. I’m offering a professional opportunity for mutual gain. So, what do you say?”

“I say there must be something you want pretty bad to make such big promises.” I force a polite smile. “You have two minutes to tell me what it is before I call the cops.”

He smiles back, but it’s nowhere near as polite. “How about I show you instead?” Keeping his eyes on me, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn picture. Carefully unfolding it, he flips it around between his fingers and holds it up for my inspection.

It’s a little girl, and the longer I stare, the more my eyes sting. Not because of the obvious expensive dress she’s wearing, but because of the vacant, sad look in her eyes. She’s looking at the camera as if begging someone to hear her.

“Cute kid.”

“Look familiar? Long, dark hair and green eyes.”

“That’s not me.”

“No, it’s Alexandra Romanov. This picture was taken four days before the murders.” I’m still staring at the photo when he pulls out another folded up picture and holds it up. “But this is an FBI aged-progressed photo of what Alexandra Romanov would look like today.”

This one is much different. It’s a woman. Older, but just as sad. I stare at her long dark hair and haunted green eyes. I swallow hard at the stubborn set of her jaw and pale skin.

He’s right. The resemblance is uncanny.

“Look, I’m not interested in whatever—”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it’s the fifteenth anniversary of her disappearance,” he says, drawing my attention back to the hard lines on his face. “It’s all over the news that the estate has offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to her return.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

His hold tightens on both pictures as he pushes them even closer. “To quote a certain mouthy waitress, it’s been a long day. Do I really need to point out the obvious? You could be sisters, or at the very least cousins.”

That’s when it hits. When his words from earlier make sense, and all his cryptic offers converge into a moment of stark clarity. Horrified, my jaw drops. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You want me to pretend to be Alexandra Romanov? As in the Hollywood royalty Romanovs?”

He shrugs, as if the idea isn’t absurd. As if we’re simply trick-or-treating down Rodeo Drive. “The estate has hundreds of idiots trying to pass themselves off as Alexandra Romanov every day. They never get past the phone screen.”

I let out a patronizing laugh. “And you think I will?”

“You have something they don’t have.”

“Common sense?”

“Me.” He smirks. “Like it or not, when I talk people listen. If I write that I’ve found the missing heiress, you’ll get more than a phone screen. You’ll get the keys to the kingdom.”

“Wait, this is what you were talking to Naomi about? So, what…she failed your little test, so you thought you’d give me a spin?”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”

“Even if I were to consider this, which I’m not, your plan has a fatal flaw.” He raises an eyebrow, and I let a pause hang in the air before leaning forward. “The Romanovs are the first family of Hollywood. Do you honestly think the estate would hand over a million dollars over a cartoon printout? They’ll demand a DNA test, and once that comes back, I won’t have to worry about getting kicked out of my apartment. I’ll be behind bars.”

“The DNA test won’t be a problem.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. The next thing you’ll tell me is you know a guy.” A slow smirk creeps across Dominic’s face, and my stomach drops. “Oh my God. You know a guy.”

“That’s a conversation for another day.” He glances at his watch. “I believe my five minutes are up, Miss Smith.” Dragging that