Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
I stare at the mirror over the bar, and I have to admit, I look surprisingly cute. But in an entirely relatable way. In a best friend of the main character way. Attractive. Non-threatening.
I need more cool scars. People don’t take me seriously. They see me and think “Hello, girl next door. You won’t mind being a doormat.”
I’m going to have to do something about the Shelby situation. She’s going to make everyone miserable. I can only hope that she gets cut tonight, but history tells me that one will hold on to the end. The producers will likely want her to stay around for the drama of it all. Unfortunately, no one wants to watch a bunch of women happily dating one guy. It’s not like that would happen, but if it did it would likely bring in super-low ratings and not make it to a second season. However, there are ways to create drama that don’t hurt the people around you. Shelby went for the easy target, so I needed to find a way to make Hannah harder.
Not that I will be there or have any power to fix the problem since I’ll be picking up the poo of any animal we have on set. Patrick will likely find a couple if we’re petless.
My brain is frazzled. It was easier to not panic when I had someone else to focus on.
What the hell am I going to say to this dude who’s just trying to save his country?
That’s it. Concentrate, Anika. This is a performance, so practice.
I draw myself up to my full height and try my friendliest expression. “Good evening, King Reginald. Welcome to America. I hope you find a lovely, if temporary, bride here.”
No.
“Hi, I’m Anika. I’m here because playing a dead hooker was more interesting to the last girl than meeting you.”
Too harsh.
“Such a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.” I try a deep curtsey that nearly sends me rolling on the floor. Seriously. Don’t try that in heels.
“Well, that’ll flash your boobs his way.” Patrick is standing in the doorway. “I suppose that’s a choice.”
I frown at the man. We have not gotten off on the right foot, but that hadn’t been my fault. I’ve found in my business—in all businesses, I suppose—that if you start apologizing for things you didn’t do, some jerk will try to pin everything on you. “Are we ready?”
“Yes. Hannah’s carriage left two minutes ago. They’ll check her lighting and then do a quick live stream. Please don’t forget this is live. Don’t make small talk with the king. All you need to do is introduce yourself. Tell him how happy you are to meet him, and then hustle into the mansion for the cocktail party where you’ll hide in the corner until it’s time for the king to cut you.” Patrick holds the door open for me, and I walk down the short hallway and onto the street.
If we were in LA, there would be crowds of people where the police had blocked off the street. It’s one good thing about filming in New York. No one cares. Like no one. New York City is a place where celebrities come to be utterly ignored by normal people who are simply trying to get through a damn day. Sure enough, I can see people walking at the end of the street, but none of them are gawking.
“Do you understand the plan, Fox?” Patrick is looking at me like I’m an idiot.
“Blend into the wall, get cut on live TV, try to cry on cue and look pathetic.” I manage to make it down the steps without tripping and mentally add don’t let the shoes kill you to my list.
The carriage is like something out of Cinderella. To the viewer it will look like we’re at a distance from where the dark-haired man stands, his hand out to shake Hannah’s. We’re roughly a block away. I can see them standing, bathed in golden light, but I can’t make out more than he’s got dark hair and is really tall. He’s got a good half foot on Hannah in her ridiculously high heels.
I hope he’s being nice to her.
“Time to go.” Patrick holds a hand out to help me up in the carriage.
I’m a bit worried he’s going to do something to make me fall, but he’s a steady balance, and I manage to get myself into the luxurious-looking seat. I say looking because it’s actually stiff and uncomfortable, but that’s the way it goes.
“Sit up straight, Fox. You look like a glitterfied Marie Antoinette being driven to her execution,” Patrick grouses.
Well, that sums up how I feel except no one offered me cake.
There are production assistants and hair and makeup people all over, like a swarm of productive bees, ensuring everything—including me—looks perfect. The horse handler offers the gorgeous white horse who will pull my carriage a carrot.