Page 36 of All That Glitters

“Try to calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down! You heard what he said.” One of the straps loosen and the shoulder slides down, but I still can’t breathe. “You heard what he said about Mom.”

He stares me down. “I heard a lot of things. Parker was talking out of his ass because that’s what he does. It’s his job to incite the crowds.”

Marcus sounds as though he’s trying to be logical and hanging on by a sheer thread.

“He has no right to talk about her. I don’t want to hear her name come out of his mouth,” I rage through tears.

“I’m sorry to say, you'll have to get used to it. People are going to talk. It’s impossible to rip out all their tongues.”

He grabs me, and I turn on him, yelling, screaming in his face. “How could you get me involved with a man like that? Why didn’t you protect me?” I beat my fists against him, and he might as well be made of stone for all he moves. “You just left me there. You protected my parents, but you couldn’t step up for me?”

He’s the one who pushed me to accept the part. He made me feel like I had no choice.

“I did step up for you! I got you out, didn’t I?”

What about me made Marcus fall short tonight? Because it had to be me. He’d done everything in his power to be there for my mother and father, like a wall around them, always looking out for their best interests.

He let me rage, let me hit him, until I slapped him across the face, and his eyes darkened threateningly.

“You are a spoiled little brat,” he growled. “Ungrateful for every fucking thing in her miserable life, except you’re the one making yourself miserable.”

I laugh in his face. “You think I want to feel this way? You are so out of your mind.”

“You don’t understand this business at all, and it’s not like you haven’t been in it your entire fucking life. It’s time for you to wake up and open your damn eyes. People work for producers they don’t like all the goddamn time, Empire. Even your parents took a lot of roles they didn’t want to because that’s what you do when you’re making your mark. You take the parts. You do the lines, and you stifle your revulsion of the directors, and producers, and managers. You’re just fucking lucky that I’m here to actually look out for you, because if I’d let you sign that contract when Parker first handed it over, you’d be screwed right now.”

“I don’t want to make my mark.”

“You were born into this world, and you’re the one who made the choice to stay in it.”

“I don’t want to make my mark,” I repeat. “I don’t give a shit about Hollywood, or your career, or any of it! I just want out.”

FOURTEEN

Well now I’m goddamned pissed.

She wants out, does she?

The screaming and the crying and the blame, I can take, to a certain extent. I've been listening to Empire bitch since I started working for her mother, and the whining usually tapered off into silence, which would lead to apathy before finally, resolution.

She always knows when she’s going overboard and reels herself in. It might take days for it to happen, but never in all her tantrums have I heard her say anything about quitting. She’s never given any indication that she wants out of this life. And why should she?

She’s got it made.

She’s got the house, the money, the career without having to do anything other than exist and look pretty. To make matters worse, she’s got talent coming out of her fingernails.

But the lack of gratitude and the pity party have gone on for long enough, and if I hear one more word out of her mouth—

I’ve spent my entire life getting out of the mud and fighting tooth and nail to get to this point, only for her to throw it all away, and my career with hers. No. No.

“You don’t have a choice,” I grind out. Her tear-stained face tugs at my heart, and I force it to the side to focus on the anger. “I’m your guardian. You have to deal with me until you’re twenty-two. Until then, you’re going to do what I fucking say if I have to strap a leash around your neck and drag you to the shoot.” I step closer, heat rolling off me in waves. “You have a promising career ahead of you. I won’t let you throw it away because you got your feelings hurt.”

“My feelings hurt?” she repeats.

“People are going to talk about your parents. Get used to it, Empire. You want to walk away because Parker is an asshole? Tough shit! I can be an asshole too.”

Rather than backing off the way I partly hope she will, Empire steps forward, still sniveling and crying like the tantrum throwing toddler she is and half out of her dress, the ruined designer gown I painstakingly picked out for her for tonight.

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