Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,56
heavy stubble, and slicked back dark hair, maybe he climbed up more than floated down.
“Hi, rook.” A deadly smile creeps along his sinful lips, and I don’t know if it’s for me or Rosten. However, I don’t have time to decide. In a flurry of motion, he clamps a firm hand around my wrist, and I fall into him, my knees unlocking as I burrow my face into his chest.
“McCallum, aren’t you here on a limited media pass?” Rosten growls. “I believe you’ve crossed out of your designated area. You can’t just barge into the VIP sector and interrupt—”
“No? I think I just did.” The room suddenly becomes an endless swirl of lights as Dominic spins me around, dropping his hold on my waist and grabbing my hand. I don’t have time to ask what the hell he’s doing before he’s dragging me across the ballroom and down a long hallway leading away from the party.
“Dominic,” I pant, my breath coming in labored gasps. “Slow down, I can’t…keep…up.”
Two twists and turns later, we’re in a darkened hallway I hardly recognize. By the time he stops, I’m bent over, out of breath, half-pissed, and confused as hell.
When I can finally form words, I glance up, barely making his face out in the darkness. “You mind telling me what this is all about?”
Instead of answering, he paces in front of me like a caged tiger, his hand shoved in his hair, tugging at the roots. Gone is the calm and flippant Dominic from the ballroom. This Dominic is on edge and unstable. “What the hell did I walk into?”
“Nothing. He just wants me to sign with Silverline.” The more he paces the more my anxiety magnifies. I was so relieved to see him, I momentarily forgot I’m pissed at him. “Where have you been?” I hiss, rising to my feet, my heart racing. “Fashionably late doesn’t mean two and a half hours, asshole.”
“I was busy.”
“You were busy?” I snap, forcing an attitude I’m honestly too exhausted to put this much effort into. But I let him touch me. I lowered a lifetime of walls for a moment of weakness he just threw in my face. I’ll be damned if he gets to just manhandle me like nothing happened.
“Can we not do this—”
“I’ve had to deal with strange men who want to have weird conversations, and there’s all this fucking static in my head that won’t go away. But that’s nothing compared to the scratching. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, Dominic.” Closing my eyes, I palm my forehead as my mind starts to blot with that damn black chalk again. “I can’t think with all these zigzags and rules, and—”
“I think you should take Rosten’s offer.”
Like an eraser swipe across my mind, the chalk disappears. Opening my eyes, I gape at him. “Are you insane? Greg Rosten. The same Greg Rosten you blasted for sexual assault.”
“I issued a retraction.”
“We both know you were forced into that.”
Dominic sighs, and even in the shadows, I see his shoulders sag. “The Romanovs have a history with Silverline, rook. It would look suspicious to go with anyone else.”
I want to believe him, and that’s the problem. I never know if he’s working an angle to ensure our success or his own. But surviving on my own taught me always to question people’s motives. And this feels too rushed. Too planned. Too wrapped up in a shiny gold box tied with invisible strings.
“What’s in it for you?”
Dominic steps closer and as the distance between us disappears, so do the shadows obscuring his face. “Nothing. Maybe I just missed you.”
Oh, no you don’t. Not today, Satan.
“What happened to, ‘We both got what we wanted. I got my money, and you got the career you kept bitching I stole from you. Everyone wins’?”
He groans. “Look, I’m used to working alone, Alexandra. This whole ‘looking out for someone else’ thing is new for me, so how about cutting me some slack?”
Squaring my jaw, I stare him dead in the eye. “And I’m supposed to forgive you just like that?”
He fists his hands by his side as if it’s taking every ounce of control to rein in his temper. “Look, let’s just get back to the party. You need to talk to Rosten.”
I can’t believe him. After that elaborate tap dance he pulled, he’s ready to send me right back into the arms of a predator.
Rage boils hot and furious inside me, and I snap. “Fuck you, fuck this party, and