Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,54

dare I say. Why is that? Why would a team of vicious killers spare a young girl and risk having her identify them to the police?”

He doesn’t know we’re lying. He can’t know.

“From what I’ve read, the assailant was killed, as well.”

He takes a step forward. We’re so close we could be dancing, but somehow, I know it wouldn’t just be a dance. It would be an oath. “Then one might beg the question, how did an eight-year-old girl escape a crime scene unseen and then make it from Bel Air to Chula Vista with just the clothes on her back?”

“I-I don’t know.” I stumble backward, my high heel catching on my train. I feel my balance shift and the world tilt. I’m going to fall, and I can’t stop it. I close my eyes and wait, but I don’t fall. My eyelashes flutter open as I stare down at the man’s hand, wrapped firmly around my bicep as he steadies me.

“Like I said, a fascinating event.” Releasing me, he holds up his drink. “Until we meet again, Miss Romanov.”

As he tips his glass, the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket slides up his arm, and my eye catches something familiar. Something kept covered by expensive material and pretenses. Something that makes my throat close up and my heart slam against my chest so hard I can’t breathe.

Half an hour and three drinks later, my nerves still haven’t settled. In fact, I’m three times as on edge and wound tighter than a mattress coil.

“I’m overreacting,” I tell myself pacing the length of the kitchen. Dozens of wait staff dodge my repeated path, clearly annoyed, but smart enough not to say a word. Tipping back the fresh glass in my hand, I drink and pace until my lungs beg for air. “There’s no way that’s possible. Dominic is ruthless but he’s not a—”

“Alexandra, just the person I was”—Michaela’s wine-stained lips pinch as she plucks the flute out of my hand—“looking for.”

“Lucky me.” I sigh, my shoulders sagging.

Placing my half-empty flute on a passing food tray, she hardens a stare at me, “Alexandra, I feel as your PR director, it’s my job to remind you how paramount this party is in restoring the Romanov name. Your parents came to this country to make that name mean something. Not only did they do that, they made it a household name.”

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?”

She doesn’t acknowledge me, instead taking a firm hold of my elbow and leading me toward the main parlor. “But I also feel it’s also important to remind you the very people you keep rolling your eyes at can make or break your career, not to mention your reputation. The tabloids don’t have to dig very far to come up with a handful of dirt on you and Dominic McCallum.”

Shit!

“I don’t know what you mean.” God that sounds weak.

“Don’t play dumb,” Michaela bites out through a practiced smile. “I’m not in the mood.”

I scrape my palm across my forehead. “What did you need Michaela?”

She casts a quick glance at the boisterous party. “There are a lot of producers here vying for your attention. And when I say a lot, I mean every single president of every single studio that matters. You can’t keep ignoring them, Alexandra. If you hope to have a film career, this is your chance. Don’t screw it up.”

“You’re right. Just give me a few minutes, and then I’m on it.” She lifts a sharp eyebrow, and I groan, “I promise.”

“Good.” Nodding, she starts to walk away, then stops, her gaze snapping back as a waiter strolls by. “And no more champagne.”

True to my word, I play my part. I put on the perfect show, seeking out and networking with producers and studio execs from Ravengate, MillenniumWorks, hell even the assholes at Optimax who were involved in Paulo Bellini’s fiasco. By the time I finish stroking everyone’s egos I need more than a glass of champagne. I need a good shot of whiskey.

Whiskey.

Another reminder Dominic still hasn’t shown his face. Of course, I’ve spent the last hour under the lecherous watch of the men who all but own this industry, so he very well could have snuck in when my back was turned. Maybe he’s in one of the other rooms.

Maintaining an artificial smile, I cross the main ballroom at a speed unwise for a woman in six-inch stilettos. I’m racing around, determined to search every inch of this godforsaken house when once again, I crash