Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,30

through the top drawer and hold up a tiny, plastic black circle no bigger than a nickel. “I called for reinforcements.”

Milly’s mouth falls open. “Holy shit, you pulled the camera in the shower trick on her? And she bought it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker.” Smugness creeps into my voice as I picture the shock on Angel’s face as I blindsided her.

“So, you made her so afraid of what little she had, she had no choice. It was either your way—”

“Or the highway,” I finish for her, tossing the camera in the air and catching it with a smirk. “Under an overpass to be more specific. This will work, Mill. You’ll see.”

“This is a very dangerous game you’re playing, Dominic.” Sucking in a sharp breath, she shakes her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I don’t respond. I know the risk. Hell, I’m gambling our lives on the skills of a failed actress who hates me. Vengeance is a fickle game that landed me in front of two guns. One more misfire could ruin everything.

“Show me what you’ve got,” I say, pushing the thought out of my head and nodding to the laptop sitting open on my desk. After keying in her password, she pulls up a document and turns it toward me. Immediately, the first thing I see is my own headline.

Alexandra Romanov Alive and Well and Living in Chula Vista.

After reading the basic skeleton web blast she prepared, I add a few minor adjustments and flashier words and step back. “There, what do you think?”

“I think you’re about to make history.”

Damn right, I am.

Grinning, I hit publish, pulling the pin on a grenade no one sees coming. Now all that’s left to do is stand back and wait for the explosion.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

I glance out of the corner of my eye to see Angel pointing an accusing finger at my ringing phone. The one I’m ignoring. The one that’s gone off every fifteen seconds for the last half hour.

“Eventually.”

“But—”

“No buts.” I didn’t want to get into this here, but I guess Angel’s crash course in fame has its own timetable. “Look, I know every self-absorbed shit in this town thinks the key to creating a buzz is to give more, but it’s just a guaranteed way to ignite fast and fizzle faster.”

“So, we’re intentionally playing hard to get?”

“First rule of Hollywood”—I hold up a finger—“is to make them wait. Dangle that carrot and then yank it back. Make them salivate so damn hard for just a taste, they’re foaming at the mouth. Mystery attracts a lot more flies than confession, rook.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “But if you’re not responding, then I guess we won’t be meeting with the estate tonight.”

“Correct.”

Letting out a labored sigh, she props her elbow against the window and tucks her chin into her palm. “I don’t have money, Dominic.”

“I fail to see the problem.”

She groans and stares into traffic. “I couldn’t afford a shitty apartment in Chula Vista. How the hell am I supposed to pay for a hotel room in Hollywood?”

“Who said anything about a hotel?”

“Then where do you expect me to…?” Angel leaves the rest of the question hanging as she turns to face me, her eyes wide. “No way, Dominic. Absolutely not.”

Absolutely yes.

If she thinks I’m letting her wade through the shit infested waters I just stirred up alone, she’s crazy. Too much is riding on this for me to leave her in a hotel room to fend for herself. “Why not? I have the extra room, and you’ll need a good front line offense.”

I expect her to protest. Instead, she shuts her mouth and bends over like every other schmuck in this town. The ones who learned quickly you can’t stop a train by stepping in front of it. This is Hollywood. It does what it wants, when it wants. If you want to come along for the ride, great. If not, get the fuck out of the way because it’s going with or without you.

Neither of us speaks again, too lost in our new reality to bother with small talk. It isn’t until I make the final turn into my neighborhood that I break the silence. “Here we are, home sweet… what the hell?” As my house comes into view, I take one look at it and every calculated move I’ve made goes up in flames.

Dozens of paparazzi are parked in front of my house, buzzing around like bees in a hive. Some I recognize, some