Page 27 of All That Glitters

“What?” she asks again once the headphones are out. “Do you need something?”

“Brat,” I hiss under my breath. “We’ve got to talk.”

She stares up at me expectantly, and if she’d been standing, she would have tapped her foot. “Well?”

The tone has me seeing red almost immediately, and a small part of me, the little beast in my brain who wants to antagonize, slowly stretches awake. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and this—” I break off and gesture to her. “Isn’t working.”

She arches a brow toward her hairline. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

It’s before noon, and she’s in her pajamas, something fuzzy on the bottom and skimpy on the top. I’m not sure where I’d start rubbing my face first.

She washed her hair yesterday, and today, it’s sticking out on end, her makeup smeared and her complexion ruddy, about as far from a budding starlet as someone in her position can get, and the press will eat her alive if this gets out there.

“It’s time for us to work on your image,” I continue with a growl. “Since the movie is going to start shooting soon, it’s only right for us to lay the groundwork. Get your social media back up to where it used to be and then even bigger.”

I’ve been as lenient as possible with her. To lose one parent is horrendous, but to lose two, in such a sudden manner, is a goddamn tragedy, and I’d left Empire alone to grieve in her own way while I struggled through my own feelings.

I let her stay in her room, let her hide away. It’s time for us both to rejoin the land of the living.

“You know, the last time I went out in public, it wasn’t really a good experience for me.” She nibbles on her lower lip, staring at the script in her hands.

“Do you mean your coffee date with River yesterday?” News to me. She’d come home a little paler than when she left, but she seemed in good spirits.

Empire pushes the limp strands of hair away from her face in time for me to catch the eye roll. “I mean when that man shoved pictures of my parents’ dead bodies in my face.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I scrub the skin above my ear. “It was a dick move. You have every right to be wary of the press.”

“Which means I don’t want to go out in public anymore.” She says it matter of factly. I should have already gotten this fact, in her opinion, and pressuring her to do what she wants isn’t going to end well for me.

“Newsflash: you’ll never be royalty in this business if you never leave the house.”

She takes her time setting the script aside and working her neck side to side, her shoulders up and down. “You’re the only one who thinks royalty is achievable, Marcus. I’m not even sure I want it.”

I amp up my glower. “No, you just want to stay in bed all day.”

“I’m not in bed now, am I?” she asks with enough snark to choke an ox.

“Here’s the funny thing. You signed a contract. Not only will you have to leave the house to start filming, but you are required to sit for interviews and press releases. To walk in front of the camera and pose for it,” I reply.

There’s no way to accommodate her in this, even if a sliver of humanity left inside of me wants to gather her up and make sure nothing hurts her again.

“You need to show your face. The production company who hired you expects you to work to push the film and make it worth their while. They hired someone with virtually no acting credentials to their names. They took a chance on you.”

She studies me for a long moment before she purses her lips. She used to be sun kissed and happy, California’s golden child born into movie stardom. Now what’s become of her?

What am I going to do with her?

“You have to get back out there, If not now, when? You’re going to throw your life away to live here as a hermit? Sooner or later, I’m going to kick you the hell out of my house.” I say it without a hint of malice.

“You know how they say it’s always harder to get back on a horse after you’ve fallen off? It’s like that for me.” Her eyes go wide, wet, her lower lip trembling.

She’s got the skills. I’ll give her that much.

“Except this isn’t a horse,” I retort. “This is your future. Don’t throw it away.”

She sets her jaw, her shoulders squaring a little. “Are you telling me this as a manager, or as my guardian?”

“Both,” I answer without hesitation. “There’s no choice in this, Empire, and I’m too old to keep forcing you out the door. It’s a bad look for both of us.”

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